Too Many Cooks Destroy the Planet

It has been a very long time since I last graced my presence on these pages, so I thought I would mark the occasion with a very deep and possibly controversial discussion.

It is no secret that, as humans, we are killing off the planet. We burn fossil fuels, destroy the ozone layer, pollute the air and water - and that is before we start senselessly murdering plants and animals - including each other. The problem is that we know about it, and yet we just can't stop ourselves from our endless destructive spiral into eventual suicide.

A large part of this is the human ability to survive. Charles Darwin was responsible for documenting nature's method of sustaining a balance in each ecosystem, and we have done our very best to prove him wrong by ensuring that those among us too stupid or incapable of surviving in fact live to a ripe old age - all the while creating a strain on society and causing the 'fitter' of us to support them. The way I see it, humanity should evolve the way it has for the past millennia or so - by removing the useless and weak aspects of the race, and enhancing the bits that make us more tolerant to our terrain, and make our lives more efficient. Instead we are hampered in our advances by some guidelines that are intended to aid humanity - human rights and health and safety laws. Whereas I do agree with most human rights, and that everyone should be treated fairly and equally, I also believe that if you make the decision to knowingly and wilfully break any laws or rules that affect another, you should also in effect decide that you can live without human rights yourself. However, that is a topic of discussion for another time. Right now, I want to wax lyrical about the absurdity of health and safety.

It is an area brought about by legal issues. For some reason, and I cannot for the life of me find any other than financial gain, people think that it is fine and dandy to go about life without a conscious thought and blame any accident or mishap on 'liable' people or institutions who didn't point out that suspending yourself over plate glass while teetering on the top of a ladder that is balanced on an office swivel chair could result in injury. What should have been the removal of stupidity from the gene pool has become an incessant dumbing-down of humanity. Add to this the fact that these idiots are still alive and procreating, and you have the recipe for overpopulation - and you can be sure that this overwhelming mass of fools are selfishly and stubbornly aiding in the destruction of our planet.

So what is the answer? Well, if you disregard the rights that we all have as humans then you could enforce a stupid person culling - perhaps a quick IQ test or something similar would highlight all those that need to be terminated. A bit harsh? Perhaps, but what else is there? We are racing towards annihilation by simply allowing the useless dregs of society to breed, spawning yet more fleshy, resource-sapping cretins to dilute our chances of evolving into a better version of ourselves. Now, I don't want this to sound elitist or condescending, so I will take a slightly different angle and stop spending time on the lazy good-for-nothing fuckers. Consider a couple of intelligent, useful members of society that have four offspring. Each of these children grow up to be intelligent, useful members of society, and each has four offspring themselves. That is twenty people in two generations - but they are self-sustaining, they have no need for any help from their community, so that is fine, right? All except for the fact that simply by living, we are causing irrevocable damage to everything we get our grubby little paws on - perhaps not in a diseased Midas touch way, but the sheer volume of population means we cannot sustain ourselves. Travel back 50 years, and you cut the world's population by over 50% - and even that number was causing a problem for Mother Nature. At the rate we are going, not only will we run out of fuel, but we may well run out of space.

Maybe genocide is not the answer. But surely we should think about the consequences of overpopulation. Nations are currently in so much debt, it hurts to think about the amount of money they owe. Unemployment is at a ridiculous level - and surely it can only get worse if we are increasing the number of people alive. I honestly don't think there is a valid answer that will resolve the issue. We, as a collective, will kill each other and everything on the planet eventually, and there is nothing that will stop us. Happy Christmas.

It Is Good To Be Busy

Well, I really have neglected my writing recently. And by that, I refer to the creative writing I do whenever I can - my time instead has been spent writing a website that has been in progress for just over 2 years.

It has been a project that started as a family site, for creating a present list for birthdays and Christmas. The idea behind it is to have one place for your list, then people can update it so that you don't get 2 of the same thing (unless that is what you wanted). It also stops you feeling cheeky/greedy asking for something expensive; you can always put it on your list, but those browsing for something to buy you can simply ignore the more expensive things.

MyPresentList.co.uk

After 2 years of work (admittedly not 2 solid years), I have got the site to a stage where everyone can join and use it. Previously, it was only available to users that I invited for testing. Now, however, it is completely live an available to all. It is both exciting and nerve-wracking, as I don't know how it will be received by Joe Bloggs & family and whether there will be unforseen issues that I have to overcome. It's all a bit of a challenge I suppose!

The invitation is an open one - go ahead and see for your self at MyPresentList.co.uk - signing up takes a few minutes and it is completely free! You can create different present lists for different events, and add presents to individual lists, or to all of them. There is still more for me to add to the site to make it a more rounded present-buying portal, so you will see changes as the site progresses. And if you want to give me some feedback, criticism, or suggestions, you are more than welcome to!

Jane

'A group of youths attacking an elderly couple in Raversham today were stopped by a mysterious masked man. He was wearing lycra leggings and a motorcycle jacket, and sprang on the attacking group with a flurry of blows before grounding one of the boys. The others fled, but the mystery man who calls himself The Disposer restrained the remaining attacker until police arrived. Mr. and Mrs. Flanshaw are very grateful to the hero that saved them, saying without his intervention, they could have been killed.'
'Recent riots across the country appear to be at an end. The riots, which have caused destruction of public and private property, along with hundreds of injured bystanders, started out as peaceful protests in London. The protestors were opposing a new law to remove the human rights of criminals, which has yet to be passed in the House of Commons. Many fear that the new law will give the government and police an ability to abuse the general public by imposing a criminal status on them, thereby removing any human rights that stop behaviour such as torture or privacy.'
'During the riots, several people have been spotted attempting to stop the rioters from attacking other people. These herioc citizens can not be named, as their identity was hidden by masks, cowls and costumes. Police are looking for one man, who was wearing a bandit mask and long black cape, for assault with a deadly weapon. The man was wielding a sabre, and used it to defend a group of women from attacking rioters. Two of the rioters were hospitalised with severe cuts to their arms and chests, none of the woman he defended were harmed.'
'Residents of Glasgow are testing a new public transport service this week, which could see a reduction in bus delays and accidents. The trial, run by Vertigo Transport Systems, will see a fleet of twelve new Fusion-powered Unmanned Civilian Transports replace several inner city bus routes. The vehicles are fully automated, including ticket dispensing and route adjustment  for closed roads, roadworks and accidents. They will also be the first public transport vehicles to be powered by the new clean fuel from TransGro Inc. Once the trial is complete, Vertigo plan to roll out the system to all major cities across the UK.'
'That's all from me, Jane Rayford, I'll be back tomorrow at six. Goodnight from all at Lookout News.'

Hard of Hearing

I have never really given much thought to ears. Strange funnel-like objects that look like the designer got bored, or just had a bit of a scribble and submitted it to Mother Nature. However, ears only do half the job (or less really) as the transfer from sound waves to something we interpret as noise sound is far more complex than simply directing the waves into our heads. The ear drum is a very sensitive bit of equipment, able to work in various extreme conditions such as being emersed in water, below freezing, and strangley can become super-sensitive the night after a skinful, while the rest of your body is still less than useless.
Loss of hearing is very frustrating. I often find myself unable to hear what is being said because there is a louder noise nearby. Traffic, running water, a washing machine (undoubtedly somebody else switched it on) or anything that makes a loud and continuous noise - all seem to have my mind distracted from the task of filtering out the garbage and working out what is being said. Invariably it is "Can you do something" or "Why haven't you done something else". Because I didn't hear you. I never believed in 'selective hearing' before, but now I think about it I guess it is possible to ignore people who are communicating with you, especially when they are saying "Can you do something" or "Why haven't you done something else". I don't conciously do it, and I am sure that at the time I hear it and reply, perhaps have a lengthy conversation, but in my brain there is little space left for storing the things that are said, so I either have to purge the useful things I like to remember (PINs, passwords, enemy locations in my current Xbox game, etc.) or I can choose to only store the dialogue in my short-term memory. And even then sometimes I ignore that choice too.
Choosing not to hear (or forgetting you have heard) is very different from not hearing. I suffer from sometimes not hearing everything, as most people do, and for those that suffer from this constantly certain communication mediums can become very difficult - namely telephones. This is the sort of thing you can expect from a telephone conversation with someone who is hard of hearing:
"Hi Grandma."
"Hello ducky. What can I get you for Christmas?"
"I'd like some balti dishes."
"Some what dear?"
"Balti dishes."
"Can you spell it?"
"B-A-L-T-I."
"Oh Balti. Right you are."
I'm sure everyone has a similar conversation on the phone at some point, maybe with someone in a noisy area or a bad line. It happens. In this instance though, I should have gone on to spell out the second word, as a few days and several shop assistants later, my Grandma was unable to find any 'Balti scissors'. A pity, they would have been fantastic.

Sunrise is for nature, not for me

It seems like my life is largely spent working. I don't just mean my occupation, either. Most weekends I can be found doing some form of DIY, or household chores, or worse still - SHOPPING. It is all Hell. I don't consider any of these activities to be exciting, and more often than not when I think about the prospect of my required attendance or participation I release an internal sigh of desperation.
The worst bit is the morning. I am not a morning person, which is aptly named as all I do is mourn the loss of the slumber from which I have been unfairly torn. Generally my mornings start with an almost impossible task of removing myself from my bed - infintiely more difficult in winter when the air temperature outside my duvet-cocoon has plummetted into what feels like negative numbers. Once I have finally accomplished that, I somehow manage to shuffle through the preperations for the day - most of my body is functioning on autopilot as my brain is still in bed enjoying a lay-in.
Curiously, it is about an hour after rising that the grey matter sparks into life - while I am driving to work. It is a common occurence for me to suddenly think Did I remember to bring my work pass? and more spookily I find that I did, but I have no recolection of conciously picking it up. Worse still, I struggle to recall the beginning of my journey - so my mind is quite content in letting the rest of me control an automobile before it decides to wake up.
Coffee is the obvious answer, and in previous years it has been an instant injection of alertness for the mush in my bonce, but sadly it seems to have built up a resistance to caffienne so the morning cuppa doesn't start working until my brain wants it to. Quite cruel really, that I am at the mercy of my own mind. Waking up is just not something that I can do quickly, and I pity anyone who prematurely jolts me into the hostility of an early morning - I am not a pleasure to be with or to look at.

Peter

"Listen to me, shithead: I was here first. You can sod off," Peter said, straightening his back to make himself as tall as possible. Every muscle in his body was tense, and he was staring straight into the eyes of the man in front of him. The atmosphere was thick with aggression, as if the smallest spark would send the whole place up in a fiery explosion of hatred.
"You what?"
"You heard me. Get lost."
Car engines ticked over around them, giving their stand-off an unnecessary growl to fuel the rising testosterone levels as both men squared up to each other. Onlookers stopped to watch, unable to free themselves of their inquisitive paralysis. Nobody dared make a sound or sudden movement, fearing the tempers of the two men would be focussed on them instead.
Peter could feel the heat radiating from the man in front of him. His eyes were bloodshot, and he was baring his teeth. lines of saliva stretched out from his lips with every angry breath he exhaled. His body was trembling with rage, his leathery skin pulled taught across his muscular frame. His bulk was greater than Peter's, and his muscle-to-fat ratio was easily double his own. This meathead was obviously used to having his own way, or using his strength to make sure he got it anyway.
"Call me shithead again, and I'll shatter your jaw. Now, if you ain't gonna move your car, I'll move it for you."
Peter looked at him. If he was bluffing, he was good. Not a good man to play poker against; he could either make you fold and win, or lose and tear your arms from your body and bash you over your head with them. How had he got into this situation? Saturdays were always busy, and parking is a nightmare in the town centre, but violence before 10am? Foolish. A fool's errand. Not even something that he was prone to doing, probably hadn't been in a fight since his early years at school, and even then the fight was more like a slapping contest. No, this was not the way he wanted to behave, and he certainly didn't want to antagonise the grunting beast before him. Just back away, get in your car and try to find another space, he thought. You can collect your dignity another day. As the thought formed in his head, he heard a sound that both surprised him and filled him with fear. Surprise because it was his own voice, and fear because he heard himself say aloud:
"Shithead."
Time slowed as fury rippled through the man's body. He gritted his teeth, coiled his arm, and threw a punch with the force of a runaway train. He connected with Peter's jaw, sending him staggering backwards while his eyes rolled into his skull. The impact made a sound like a thunderclap, which seemed to silence the sound of the nearby traffic as if it really was sent down from the heavens.
Peter's backward fall was broken by the bonnet of his car. His vision swam for a second, but the blurring browns and greys of the concrete multi-storey car park disappeared as the grinning face of his foe filled his view. One oversized fist had him by the collar, the other was loaded for another strike. Grimacing from the first punch, and anticipating the fulfillment of the shattered-jaw prophecy, Peter scrunched up his eyes and waited for the inevitable. Instead, he felt the grip at his neck loosen, and opened his eyes to see another man pulling his attacker away from him.
This new contender was dressed from head to toe in wrestling gear. He had bright red knee-high lace-up boots, a golden leotard emblazoned with red and yellow flames, and a matching mask that covered his head save for the mandatory eye and mouth holes. Gone was Peter's fear, and even the pain in his face, both replaced by the hilarity of his attacker being carted off by a comic book character.
Peter and the previously apprehensive audience watched in perverse excitement as the wrestler dragged his victim in a rear headlock while he struggled to get free. He just couldn't get a foothold to shrug off this new threat, meanwhile his face was turning crimson as the blood in his head was trapped by the wrestler's burly arm.
"Stop it!" shrieked a nearby woman, rushing over to the two men still in their savage embrace. Neither paid her any attention, until she slapped the wrestler in the face. With that, he dropped the other man who fell to the floor wheezing, his face slowly returning to it's original hue.
"Violence will not be tolerated," said the wrestler with a Mexican accent.
"And who are you to stop it?" the woman asked.
"I am The Luchador!"
"You have to be kidding me," said the initial fight-starter as he regained his composure. "You lot into crime fighting now? Who are they sending to deal with bank robbers, Hulk Hogan?"
A few members of the gathered crowd giggled, and even Peter had to stifle a laugh.
"I am here to protect the innocent, to offer assistance to the needy, to-"
"I'm not needy!" Peter shouted, immediately wishing he hadn't as pain shot through his jaw.
"You see? Your not needed here, and you look stupid to boot. If anyone is a shithead, it's you." He turned to Peter, who was gingerly stroking his bruised cheek. "Sorry about the thump I gave you, I guess shopping just puts me in a bad mood."
"No worries, I had it coming. I shouldn't have called you that. Didn't know you had a bowling ball for a fist! You can have the space, by the way."
"Cheers mate. Go put some ice on that."
The men went their separate ways, instantly forgetting about The Luchador, who had disappeared as quickly and mysteriously as he had arrived.

Lori

The rain had been pouring down for hours, but it felt like days. Water splashed up from the ground as the raindrops hit like mortar shells from the heavens. Lori walked through the park, arms folded tight across her chest in an attempt to keep any warmth that hadn't already been sapped by the merciless weather. It was a short walk home from work, but this rainstorm made it feel much, much longer. Large puddles had formed across the footpath in several places, but her shoes were already wet through so she didn't avoid them. She just trudged through, hoping to get home faster where she could be dry, warm and safe.

It was a little after 1am, and Lori had finished her shift at The Golden Fleece. A university student, she needed any shifts she could get and bar work was the only job that could fit in with her studying and give enough hours to pay the bills. This part of town was gritty and dark at the best of times; right now it felt like something out of a police reconstruction, which seemed to fill up the TV listings these days. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw something shifting. Shapes moved towards her, like the shadows were melting and flowing in her direction.
She quickened her pace. It was probably just a small animal, or a drunk trying to get out of the rain, but she didn't want to stick around to find out. Either one of those could be dangerous anyway, or disgusting. Or both. Her thoughts were interrupted by a creepy intoned call:
"Hey lay-dee!"
She kept walking, almost jogging. She didn't turn to look, partly out of fear of what she might see, but mainly because she needed to keep an eye on the path ahead of her. She could see the gate that lead out onto the main road, where there would by cars, lights, any kind of civilisation that would make her feel at least slightly safer.
"Wait lady, I wants ta talk with ya," the voice called, laced with menace but still far enough away not to cause her much concern. Just a drunk, she told herself. Nothing to worry about, just get yourself home.
"Ignoring people is rude," he said in her ear, almost a whisper. She tried to scream, but a wet gloved hand clasped over her mouth and pulled her back, dragging her to the ground. She could feel the rough, worn wool of the glove on her lips, and an unclean taste like sour milk filled her senses. She struggled with her foe, trying to free herself from his grip but he was too strong, and he wrestled her with ease until he was on top of her. She was on her back now, lying on the cold hard paved path, pebbles and twigs underneath her digging into her ribs and spine. She looked up through the falling rain, her vision blurred from the water in her eyes, and all she could make out was a dimly lit figure of the hooded man pinning her down. He leaned in close to her, his hand still clamped over her mouth. She was breathing desperately through her nose, and the foetid stench of his warm breath was a suffocating veil of horror, making her gag. She closed her eyes. She wasn't sure if she was crying tears or if it was just the rain pouring down her face. Her mind was racing with images of violent murder from movies, blood splattering and spraying from arterial wounds, and sharp, ear-splintering screams. Pain flared again in her back, as he shifted his weight on top of her and yet more debris from the weathered path stabbed into her.
"Now we're gonna have ourselves a little party, you and me," he said, drool dripping down from his cracked lips and landing on her cheek. She flinched, but his mass and strength were too much for her. She lay still, staring into the dark shadow of the man's face, too petrified to do anything else. She could see his teeth as he grinned, dull yellow blotches of colour taunting her sadistically. He had freed his other hand, and was grabbing at her jeans while the rest of his frame acted as a vice, keeping her slim body from wriggling away. Sudden fear consumed her mind as she realised what this creature was going to do. All she felt was panic. Her eyes darted around, trying desperately to see a witness or helper, silently pleading with the emptiness of the park to bring forth something, anything, to save her from this vile act.
Then she saw him.
"Get off her, you pig," the mysterious figure shouted.
He stood only yards away, dressed entirely in black, save for a strip of red fabric around his head like an eye mask. In fact, that was the only thing she could make out.
"Fuck off!" the drunk spluttered, looking up from Lori's pale face.
There was a sound of grunting, and straining, then the weight lifted from her chest. She got up so quickly that she almost lost her balance, and stumbled forwards before she regained control again. She looked ahead of her, where the two shadowy figures were standing nose to nose.
"What are you supposed to be, Spiderman?" the drunk yelled.
"No, I am Ninjetsu, and I am here to stop you."
Lori had heard about this. Superheroes, like in the movies and the comics, were popping up all over the place. Only they weren't actually all that super. Just normal, everyday men and women dressed up like the fictional crime fighters of the silver screen. She remembered seeing something about it in the news, a masked vigilante had stopped some robbers breaking in to a warehouse in town. And there were rumours that in other cities the same thing was happening. She hadn't really thought about it much, they were just stories to her, but here, right in front of here, stood one of those heroes. He had saved her, probably saved her life.
"Change your name to shithead," the drunk roared as he swung his fist into Ninjetsu's face. The punch landed with a thud, making Lori cringe with empathy and sending the hero to the floor, sprawling. The drunk turned, muttering to himself, and walked away.
"Are you ok?" Lori asked, rushing towards her downed protector.
"I'm fine, it's nothing," he said, rising unsteadily. "Are you alright? You are lucky I was here, this is a dangerous place at night you know. You really shouldn't walk alone."

"I know, I just never thought it would happen to me. Thank you so much, you really are a hero to me," she said, but before she could finish speaking he ran down the path, the red of his mask fading into the gloomy darkness of the night. She watched him disappear, like he dissolved into the night, then turned and ran home as fast as she could.

To be continued...

Insert Coin(s)

Games arcades are designed to entice children, using bright lights and low quality electric sound that can only mean one thing: you can spend money here for enjoyment. I spent some of my childhood growing up in a seaside town littered with amusement arcades, along with shops and stalls selling rock and candyfloss, or mussels and eels. I was not immune to the siren call of the arcade machines either, and I spent a small fortune funding the life of many machines at the pier and other amusement venues. I was, however, immune to the fishy aroma of the fresh seafood stalls and simply refused to support their livelihoods.

Arcade games are fun. Back in the gaming prehistorics, when I was an avid player, you could spend an entire afternoon gaming with only one pound sterling. If you were to try that today, you would get one credit - and let's face it, the majority of us would balls that up inside five minutes if we were lucky. Classic games, even today, could last for a long time for someone with energy, skill, quick reactions and good hand-eye coordination. These are traits for youngsters and fighter pilots, and although I used to be one of these things, I am now neither. Yes, sadly Old Father Time has withered my mind and body, and gone are the speedy button pressing, stick waggling motions that would translate to character moves on the slightly convex CRT screen built in to the unit.

Frogger. This game was absolute in its ability to steal my money. Splat, splash, munch - the many deaths of the suburban frog, trying with all his will to make it across the busy road and to the other side of the logger's river. The idea itself was simple, and not once in my over-exuberant joy while playing as a child did I stop to think:

Crocodiles in the river, bright purple pavement. Must be Leeds.

Why are there five lanes of traffic on this road?
Why does each lane travel in alternating directions?
Who organised a lane for each type of vehicle?
Shouldn't the police stop these speeding motorists?
Are the loggers annoyed by the obvious boom in river-dwelling turtles?
Is nobody else nervous about the appearance of a frog-sized fly?
These are the questions that fill my [withered] mind today. I have said farewell to gaming naïvety, and embraced a far more cynical mindset (not just with games). So, Frogger is a classic, but it is something we can learn from. Let's make arcade games more realistic!

Dwarf on a pink wingless bird-thing. Must be Leeds.

Golden Axe. Ok, not realistic at all. A dwarf, an Amazon and a Barbarian travel across a fantasy world, killing skeletons and henchmen, while giving thieves a swift boot up the jacksie for nicking their potions. Of course, no fantasy world would be complete without a sea-going giant turtle (so giant, it has a village on its shell) and a ride on a giant eagle, not to mention fire breathing dragons that can be mounted. Magic, too, is abundant: each character has spells that can be cast, with greater effect depending on the number of potion bottles the player has accumulated.
This was one of my childhood favourites, and at 10p a go it did not break the bank. What young boy doesn't want to hack away at the undead with a battle axe, of broadsword?

Man wanted, reward $10. Guy worshipping a mullet. Must be Leeds.

Double Dragon. This was a game that just had to be played in two player mode, and for no other reason than you could win if you did. I was always teaming up with my sister to beat the hell out of some thugs, steal their knives and throw them at their boss. Then we would play Double Dragon to unwind.
The game revolves around two brothers, fighting an entire gang (but only a few at a time) and trying to save a damsel in distress, who is tied up in the gang's hideout. The true beauty of the game is in the ending, whereby the co-operating duo (after defeating hundreds of brutes together) are pitted against each other, the winner of this final showdown earning the [shallow] love of the kidnapped dame. This would create an emotion that was best suppressed when my sister would beat me, and apparently start a relationship with the girl whose affections I had sought to win.

I have loved all of these games, and part of me still loves them - I own all three as arcade games on Xbox 360. However, due to my inability to control my hands with the efficiency required to best such veteran games, I have not yet been successful in any of them - not without using 'continues', which in the arcade versions would have cost me a month's wage. Still, it is nice to take a stroll down memory lane - albeit with a stick of dynamite and a battle axe.

{LOAD} Time for Games

For those of you that do not know me, I like video games. It is, in my opinion, the ultimate form of escapism. Movies are great, or can be, but you are always just the observer - with games you can become someone else, you can experience life in alien worlds, or bleak futures, or just the life you can't have. It is immersing, engrossing and most of the time, thoroughly enjoyable.

5.25", enough to satisfy any man circa 1987

I first started playing games on an old PC, back when the floppy disks were 5 1/4" and actually were floppy. I think the PC, which belonged to my Dad, was a 386 with a 40MB hard disk drive, probably about 1MB of RAM and initially no sound card at all. I think I invested in an 8-bit sound card from a computer fair, and I think the RAM was upgraded too. As you can imagine, the games were quite simple. I remember buying PC magazines with the giant floppy disks attached, which held dozens of games - some text based, some platform. Quite an achievement, for a storage media that boasted a whopping 720KB. Even the drive itself had a lever on it to keep the disk from ejecting, relying on the user to be of sound enough mind to operate such heavy machinery properly. These days, if it doesn't do it all automatically it will be labelled as rubbish or unsophisticated.

That was the PC world. There was also the console market, which was making huge advances in technology. Sinclair research had started it all off with the ZX82, or ZX Spectrum (referring to the colour display). This was a single unit 8-bit computer with 16 - 128 KB RAM. In the late 80's, when my Dad bought one, the top of the range model also had a floppy drive attached for faster game loading times. Other models were restricted to loading games with cassettes. If you are old enough to remember the dreadful noise that accompanied the long loading times, then you will probably share with me the anger at waiting until the end to find that the game had not loaded properly, and all you had was an error on your TV. Rewind the tape, and start again - there goes the afternoon.

Top of the range awesomeness, 1987-1990

The games on the Spectrum were great. Harmless family fun. One of my favourites was Renegade, a side-scrolling beat-em-up similar to Double Dragon. I can remember learning to do the jumping kick to knock one of the bosses of a motorbike on one level, but every time you played it, you started at the beginning. In fact, every game you played started at the beginning - there was no save point, no way to continue the following day from where you left off. Once it was switched off, the game had to be loaded again and you went from the beginning.

Black, white, yellow and blue.

Because of this, games were not very long. Levels might take around 5 minutes to complete, and there might be 10 levels (unless you are playing a game that goes on until you can't play anymore, like telly tennis or something else cutting edge). Games were played purely for fun, and there was absolutely no danger of anyone thinking it was realistic. I was around 6-7 years old when I was playing this game, and at no point did I think it would be a good idea to start some gang warfare at the local train station. Simple times.

There were a lot of games for the Spectrum, plus you could even write out the code supplied in books to make your own games - writing in BASIC, which looks something like this:

READY

10 PRINT "HELLO, WORLD!"

20 GOTO 10

RUN
Except there were a few more lines for the games. Sadly, after spending hours writing it all out (using the novice 2 finger approach) and typing RUN, the program would compile and error at line 220, fail, and all the code would be lost. Occasionally it would work, which would be good fun for several minutes, but not as good as the shop-bought games.

<insert deity> bless Sir Alan Sugar

In the early 90's home computers became more popular and consoles continued their inevitable path into the bedrooms of all teenage boys. My Mum bought me an Amstrad 464plus, complete with colour monitor. It was very similar to the Spectrum from my perspective, except it had a slot on the side for cartridges - and came with Burnin' Rubber, a racing game which resembled Out Run in a lot of ways. The great thing about it was the loading time - mere seconds. Unfortunately, it was the only cartridge game I ever owned for that system, the rest of the games I got were on tape, so had slow loading times and that horrid screeching.

One of the stand-out games I did own for the 464plus was Treasure Island Dizzy. I played it and played it and never got bored. It is all about an egg with boxing gloves that runs around an island trying to solve puzzle and get on a boat to go home. It was fantastic. If you died, you went back to the beginning, which sometimes meant losing hours of play - but I would just start again. This was the first game I played that made me think - it wasn't just about jumping over pits or killing tough guys, you had to work out how to use the things you picked up in order to get to the next screen.

Gaming back in my childhood was fun. When I finished playing, I would go out and climb trees, cycle with friends, dig holes or throw sticks. I didn't have long conversations about the games, or spend any time thinking about how to get to the next level or defeat the next boss. I certainly didn't feel the need to check my score against other player's scores. If there was any other game playing, it was at the arcade for 10p a go.

But that is for another time...

True Realm: Episode 5

'Are you going to tell me what we are dragging this stinking carcass for? The stench is making me feel dizzy!' Nelevin said, trying in vain to waft the foul odour of the giant's corpse from his nostrils. He glanced at Rizdok, but he looked preoccupied with his thoughts.
The mountains had faded, and instead there where empty and broken buildings surrounding them. Nelevin had never been this far away from home, had never seen anything outside the forest borders. The buildings were far different from the ones he had seen in Hondale; for starters they were taller and broader, and showed an amazing attention to detail. Each corner, archway and fascia was crafted and sculpted with great skill, adorning the already beautiful and grand buildings. It was unnerving that such magnificence appeared to be deserted, without any sign of struggle or panic. There was definitely an eerie air to the place, as if the town itself was watching them walk through the streets.

'I will show you the path to take. I will lead you from the sins of this world!'
High Priest Guadelin spoke with authority, in the otherwise silent chamber. His congregation sat facing him, spellbound and silent, all conformed to his ways. They were giants which is, at first, very intimidating. Especially for a man of the cloth with no combat experience or training, but his experience in delivering the word of God to the masses had him prepared for the chance encounter with these colossal creatures.
There was a different side to giants. They had a terrible reputation for angry, violent attacks on people, crushing their bones to powder and eating their victims while they screamed in pain. Of course, it was all true; they ate people. But that wasn't the extent of their diet, and they didn't go out in search of a tasty human morsel. They only ate people when they felt provoked, threatened, or there just wasn't anything else to eat. Most giants tended to stay away from eating humans because they thought they were 'too fatty, taste like rubber'.
Now, they were his flock. He felt that they were his family, and it was his responsibility to look after them, to make sure they lived by God's rule. They lived at Allchun in relative peace, after they had persuaded the townfolk to move on. It hadn't taken much - an army of giants marching through the streets was enough to see most of the inhabitants flee, and the stubborn few that did stay and fight made a good meal for the family.
Allchun was far from civilisation now, the nearest neighbours in Hondale had to travel through the treacherous Hell's Valley pass, between the mountains of Alldorn. Not only was the path unsafe, but it was home to many predators and bandits. Nobody came through that way, not these days, and that was fine with Guadelin. He wanted the family to live in peace, but there were others who had other ideas. He had been labelled as a crazy heretic, and had a price on his head as a result. Several groups of mercenaries had tried to stop him, all of them failing to overcome the might of the giants. He wasn't sure who was financing these attacks, but they had stopped with the last visit from the Rufa assassins. The Rufas were not particularly competent as killers, but they were cheap and would not give up at all; they could only be persuaded to stop by their own deaths. This hadn't been a problem at all for the giants, they had overcome the assassins before any weapons were drawn. It was almost a month since, and they had been living happily without intrusion.

'Sshhh! Do you hear that?' Nelevin whispered.
They both stopped. A gentle breeze caught some dead leaves, and they danced around the pair as if connected by string.
'Hear what? Now's not the time Nel, there could be more giants around the corner and I don't fancy getting eaten today.'
'Just listen. I can hear voices, muffled voices.'
They stood in silence again. The faintest sound of murmuring floated across the wind.
'There! Did you hear that?' Nelevin's voice was barely audible as he mouthed the words to Rizdok.
Rizdok nodded and pointed towards the great structure in the middle of the town, only a half-mile ahead of them.
They headed down a side alley, dragging the giant corpse with them. Nelevin wasn't sure what would happen next, and had a feeling that Rizdok felt the same.
'Are you going to let me in on this plan of yours?'
Rizdok stared at him for a moment, then said, 'The giants are protecting Guadelin. He has their trust, which must have been difficult. Giants don't like humans, so he had his work cut out. I'm guessing that he is going to use them for some sort of gain, but I haven't worked that bit out yet. Anyway, the plan is to turn the giants against him - let them do our job for us, and we don't have to get our hands dirty.'
'My hands are already filthy with this bugger's blood and guts! And you haven't really explained the plan - how are we turning them against the one who has befriended them?'
'I haven't worked that bit out yet either.'
Nelevin looked at the cadaver. Where did it fit into this detailed plan?
'Don't worry Nel, he is going to be useful. One thing I know about giants: they hate to see their own kind killed. They will want revenge, and they will stop at nothing until they get it. It will send them into a blood lusting frenzy, and anything that gets in their way will be crushed.'
Nelevin looked up, straight into the eyes of his partner. He saw conviction, unwavering belief in what he had just said.
'Is that supposed to put my mind at ease? A herd of giants rampaging after us?'
Rizdok rolled his eyes and sighed. 'No, not us Nel. We make it look like Guadelin killed him.'

Lazy Sunday

I got up early today. I needed to really, but it isn't something I enjoy. I have always thought that Sunday mornings are for sleeping, for letting the body recover from the torture we submit it to during the week. However, today is different - I have a list of D.I.Y tasks to complete, and there is no time to waste.

Immediately upon rising from my slumber, my body reminded me of Rugby Saturday - a win, and my last match of the season. Nice to go out with a victory, but I felt my performance was not as good as it could have been, largely due to my opposite number in the line-outs stealing almost every ball we competed for. Anyway, my body was aching all over, my back tight and even my fingers were sore. Not quite the hyper extended elbow and swollen nose from the previous Rugby Saturday (another win), but both injuries have managed to live on, remaining little niggles. The joys of getting older.

The morning started with some landscape gardening. I have been tasked with creating some vegetable patches where the decking used to be. It is a 4 metre square area, and for the past week I have been viciously ripping and smashing the wood to get it clear of my workspace. Had the screws been in good condition, I would have simply unscrewed and removed them, but that would be far too easy. Smash, break, rip, tear, that's what I have been doing - to various parts of my body. Decking now removed, I started outlining the two patches that will soon become home to carrots, beans, pumpkins and more.

The design is quite simple, just a couple of raised beds made from the decking wood that hasn't been shattered into a million pieces, most of which ended up embedded in my hands. After a couple of hours, the first is built and ready for soil, which is yet to be ordered. Instead of continuing with the second bed, it was time for respite in the form of an outing to B&Q, to buy a new kitchen sink and tap. Fitting this was to be the afternoon's task.

Kitchen sinks are unfriendly buggers, when you are trying to remove them. Especially if you want to keep your skin intact, or have an aversion to kitchen unit edges digging into your spine. Still, I successfully removed the offending item, and put the new one in it's place. Surprise, surprise, it doesn't fit. A few alterations to the worktop had it snug in no time about half an hour. The fiddly bit of screwing in the clamps was easier than I had thought it would be, but that lulled me into thinking the rest of the job would be a breeze. Unfortunately, the waste traps were to be an evil jigsaw puzzle of plastic tubes, bends and nuts. Just to make sure life definitely wasn't going to be easy, the instructions had the tubes running in places that housed existing plumbing that could not be moved, so I had to make a few changes. After attempt number four, the job was done. The water was back on, the plumbing was leak-free and the kitchen was back to normal (almost).

I think back to this morning, when my body was brimming with pain and stiffness. Now, my body is brimming with pain and stiffness, but my girlfriend has a new sink.

Public Speaking (ogre)

Once, I was pretty good at getting up in front of a crowd or audience, and talking/acting. I actually enjoyed it. These days, being out of practice and all, I'm not so hot. I get a bit shaky, and my tongue doesn't behave the way I want it to. Recently, I read out a piece I had written to only a few fellow writing enthusiasts, and I raced through it as if I had forgotten to punctuate it. I realised how daunting public speaking is for those of us without the courage or experience required, and it got me thinking about a time when I was about 11 years old.

I had been asked to read at a Christmas event with the local church group, because at eleven years old I was quite advanced in reading and showed maturity beyond my years. Inaccurate, of course. Regardless of my inner stupidity, my school teacher put her trust in me and gave me a passage about Mary and Joseph to read. The event was during a December evening, and I would be one of a few readers in front of the community's church-goers. Being of a young age, public speaking hadn't nested in my mind as the looming, laughing ogre it is today, ready to intimidate me and send me into a frenzied panic. I was good at pretty much everything I tried, and this was going to be a walk in the park.

I took the passage home to read, and did so in the comfort of my bedroom, amongst the dirty clothes strewn on the floor and the Teenage Mutant Hero Turtles (Hero, not Ninja - didn't want to send the wrong message to kiddywinks) action figures lying awkwardly amongst other childhood debris. The passage was not a childish one, and it hit me that I had been selected because I appeared to be less childish than the other students in my year. In fact, I was often chosen to do readings, singing, acting, sports, pretty much anything. I lapped it up when I was young, too. Anyway, the passage was all about the birth of Jesus, and the emotions that Mary and Joseph felt that night. Everything was fine, until I reached a reasonably bland part of the passage, but one that an 11 year old boy could not cross without an alarm being triggered. In just two lines, I had to say 'bosom' and 'breast'. In front of church folk. Where people would know me.

Pleased to meet you said the public speaking ogre.

Never mind, it would be fine. It wasn't as if I was going to be describing some lurid pornographic scene. I could get through this, and show that I was a real grown up. It was all religious anyway, no problem. Just another passage to read, another crowd to wow. Piece of cake.

The evening came, and I found myself to be more nervous than I had ever known. Why had they given a young boy such an indecent passage to recite?! Some hymns were sung, some candles lit, then I took my place in front of the assembly. There were hundreds, and there was no way I was planning to think about them naked. That advice just doesn't work, especially when the average age is well over 60. I looked down at the paper I was holding and could barely focus on the writing, my hand was shaking so obviously. Relax, I told myself, noting to worry about. I began regurgitating the words, my voice so lacklustre and monotone that even I felt bored by it. As I was speaking, my mind had a meltdown and started an argument with itself, maybe warring sides of my conscience, bickering.

'The stars were bright, guiding the pair...'
Don't think about it. Don't think about it. You are going to have to say it anyway, best not to think about it.
But you should think about it, then you can be comfortable when you have to say it. Think about it now - BOSOM - not so bad, huh?
Shut up! What do you think you are doing?
'The road was long, Mary and Joseph had been walking...'
O no, it's coming up soon...
Leave it out! Just don't say it! It'll be fine, nobody will have a clue...
'The stable was warm, they were surrounded by...'

So my internal discussion continued, while my lips managed to mutter the written story. I kept my eyes down, and used all of my will to concentrate on what I was saying, and to control my entire body. I felt so aware of every minute detail, how I was holding my arms, the tingling in my scalp, that I was beginning to sway gently. I felt hot, absolutely roasting in my shirt and hoping that nobody had noticed that I was sweating. I thought I might look like somebody had installed an indoor water feature on my forehead. And still, I was reading.

'Travellers came to see the baby...'
He's going to say it! BOOBIES! Ha! BOOBS! At a church, of all places!
Come on, it's hardly a church. This is a hall, with some red cotton fabric draped over a few tables and some crosses dotted about. There isn't even any sort of decent arrangement, it's all willy-nilly.
Now you've started! Bosoms and willies? What next?!
You fool! You are just making things worse! He's going to pass out!
'Cradling the baby Jesus, Mary...'

My mouth was dry. My tongue was sticking to the roof of my mouth, like I had just been eating a jar of peanut butter. My teeth were suddenly in my way, causing me to spit out words, to stutter. My lips were sticking to my gums, like my mouth was made of felt. I could feel hundreds of eyes on me, everyone politely listening to this young man tell the tale of Mary and Joseph. My voice started to waver, I began to croak some of the words.

'Mary held Jesus to her...'
It's now! Panic stations!
Just relax, you are losing it!

Time slowed. I was aware of everything in the room, I could feel every cell in my body charged with electricity. There was silence. I could see the candles flickering in the gentle breeze that came through the hall. Then I shouted.

'BOSOM'

It felt awful. Not only had I merely whispered the rest of the line, I looked up to see a hundred faces looking back at me. Somebody found it funny; a man in the front row, maybe around 30. Not even a teenager. I still had several paragraphs to get through, but I could feel myself turning a deep red, like the fabric on the tables. Hopefully I could blend in and disappear, once I had finished with the embarrassment of blurting out female anatomy to geriatrics.

'The warmth of Mary's...'
This time will be better, you've got it out of your system now. Just finish off and -
'BREAST'
I give up. 

I managed to finish the recital, and sit down without any more offense. Nobody made any comments that indicated they were shocked, amused, or otherwise. It had gone unnoticed, but throughout the ten minutes I had stood there I had felt terrible. It was my first meeting with the public speaking ogre, and since then we have kept in good contact. He is always there when I talk to more than a few people, when there are strangers listening to me, and he has a habit of sending bolts of electricity through me whenever I am contemplating an event that has me as the center of attention. You can't get rid of him, but you can learn to live with him, to control him - but every now and then he just won't be contained.

Why are Sundays slow?

So, it's Sunday again. It's the end of the weekend, which always comes too soon. Sundays move slowly, like they are full of treacle and you can't race through them like you can the rest of the weekend, and I think I know why.

1. Shops run on a different clock. You can't go early or late, for anything other than alcohol (phew!) or the things you buy from a convenience store if you want to pay over the odds.
2. TV is lazy. The programs and movies seem to be lethargic, restrained. Entertainment in general seems to lack the energy and pizazz that occurs during the week.
3. Next week is only hours away. You have to prepare for another week of work, another Monday and all the joy that it brings. I think that we are getting ourselves ready for work by transitioning from our weekend selves into our business selves, and this has to take place on Sunday.

Just ponder that for a while: are your Sundays the same as any other day in the week? If not, is there a reason other than those that I have offered? I don't think I can consider any Sunday to be the same, whereas most of my weekdays are carbon copies of each other, give or take a few minor details. I always have a different task or event to attend to, and although there are not enough hours in the day to complete whatever it is that requires my attention, it still makes me feel like that day is running in slow motion. That doesn't mean that I get any more done than usual, as it would appear that my body is also running in slow motion, but my mind runs at full speed. Well, almost.

So Sunday draws to a close, and my thought before I retire to bed are all about the coming week. The cycle starts again, Monday is the beginning. Strange that we make that connection with our lives, that we label the start of the time cycle and structure our lives around it. We have to though, it's not something we can change. Changing Sunday is like trying to freeze water with your mind: I wouldn't say it is impossible, but I have yet to see anyone accomplish it, even those that don't work nine to five.

I don't have anything against Sundays, I love them and wouldn't get rid of them. I consider them to be the semicolon of time; a slight pause before continuing on with life. And we all need to pause once in a while.

True Realm: Episode 4

The sound was deafening, cutting through his eardrums like a rusty saw. Bloody giants, just my luck he thought to himself, and glanced at Nelevin. Fear had gripped him, he just stood and stared at the lumbering oafs as they cried out that awful noise.
'Nel, quick! Follow me!'
Nelevin remained where he was, as if he was becoming the rock that had surrounded them through the pass.
Rizdok let out a short growl and sped over to the immobile archer. Getting a good hold on the back of his collar, he yanked him back into reality, and Nelevin's legs suddenly started to operate, carrying him away from the path of the giants. They both ducked down into a hollow created by a cluster of rocks and boulders. Rizdok held a finger to his pursed lips, indicating Nelevin to keep quiet. They kept each other's eye contact, Nelevin held his breath. Rizdok could feel his pulse thumping in his ears, and wondered whether the giants could hear it too.
'I can smells ya,' one giant sang in excitement as he carefully stepped around the rocky path. His face was bulging and red, as if covered with sores. He had no hair on his scalp, but deep scars ran from his forehead to his nape in parallel. Two brownish-yellow tusks protruded from the corners of his mouth, sticking straight up in front of his cheeks, and long strings of saliva hung from his bottom lip where the tusks began.
Rancid.
'Yum yum, Dummo. Me gonna get a tasty bellyful today!' the giant blurted at the other, who was just coming into view.
'We share, one for you and one for me. He say we share, you have to share if He say it, Dawk.' The second giant had a much lower voice that rumbled inside Rizdok's head.
Nelevin looked at him and mouthed what now?
Rizdok didn't really know what to do, and had been trying to work out how they were going to get passed these repugnant beasts. His magik was not going to work against both of them, and he would be too tired to defend himself if it went wrong. Things were not looking very good.
'Use the magik you killed the sorcerer with!' Nelevin whispered.
'No good. That was void magik. It just reverses the defensive energy he was using. These brutes haven't got any energy to reverse, just stupidity.'
Their conversation was interrupted by the roar of one of the giants.
'Come out and play, manlings!'
The giants were stalking around, sniffing the air around the rocks and boulders. Both were making a growling noise, and Rizdok wasn't sure whether it was from their throats or their bellies. He reached for the hilt of his shortsword and caught a glance of movement next to him. Nelevin was loading his bow, and stepping forward from their hiding place.
'There a manling, Dawk!' The rocks around them shook with the force of the giant's bellow. Both behemoths were licking their lips, their eyes wide as they took in their prey. Nelevin fired off an arrow towards them.
'Ow. What that?' said the red-faced giant, pulling the arrow that had lodged itself in his lip.
'The manling give you toothpick, he kind. Bit early for tooth-picking Dawk, we crush their bones first!'
Nelevin turned and stared at Rizdok with panic in his eyes. Rizdok had a sudden thought, a plan that might just work. Well, if it didn't they wouldn't be any worse off than they already were.
'Nel, come here! Give me one of your arrows!'
Nelevin turned and flung an arrow at him. He stared, raising an eyebrow, as Rizdok drew a small amount of greenish powder from his satchel.
'I hope this works. There is a first time for everything, right?' Rizdok said, then chanted an ancient incant and sprinkled the powder over the tip of the arrow. As it hit the point, it hissed and fizzled and smoke rose in a delicate plume.
'I would hurry and fire that, Nel. It's got some explosive properties now!' Rizdok said, tossing the arrow back at his friend.
The ground started to shake with the booming steps of the red-faced giant as he lumbered towards the pair. His face was contorted with rage, his eyes bulging from their sockets. Nelevin loaded the arrow onto his bow, pulled the string to his cheek, and held his breath. Rizdok watched in anticipation as Nelevin let the arrow fly. Time seemed to slow, and Rizdok could see the path that the arrow made as it cut through the air, leaving a trail of smoke in its wake. The point pierced the giant's left eye and stuck fast, protruding from its skull.
'My eye!' the giant screamed, grabbing at his bleeding face and staggering around like a drunk.
'Rizdok, it hasn't worked!' Nelevin blurted, diving back into the hollow. As he landed and rolled, there was a loud popping sound, followed by an earth-shaking thud. Rizdok glanced out and grinned.
'Pass me another arrow Nel, that worked perfectly. I think you might have upset the other one though, so you better send him to meet his buddy, and do it quickly!'
Rizdok performed the same chant as before, sprinkling the powder on the arrow tip and throwing it back to the archer. Nelevin looked up to see the other giant inspecting the fallen corpse of his friend, and took the opportunity to send the arrow straight into the beast's chest. It stuck for a moment, but the giant flicked it away before it could explode inside him.
'Nice try manling, now I eat your friend and you watch. Then I eat you!'
'Do it again!' Nelevin shouted, throwing a quiver of arrows at Rizdok. 'Do it quickly!'
Rizdok started his chanting, and sprinkled the powder over all of the arrows. Nelevin leapt onto a nearby rock, steadied himself and called down to Rizdok.
'I need one of those arrows! Now, Rizdok, he's coming!'
Rizdok tossed the quiver up, it hissing like an angry snake.
'Send the lot Nel, we're gonna need 'em to topple this bugger!'
Nelevin fired each off at the approaching giant, watching as he swatted them away like buzzing flies. Faster and faster he sent the arrows, his hands a blur as they loaded and released his bow. Three arrows had stuck in the beast, and he wailed in pain as they erupted from his flesh in a blaze of red fire.
'My turn,' said Rizdok, 'I'll bring him down.'
Rizdok ran at the giant and drew his sword, chanting as he moved. He stopped just short of the beast, sprinkled the handful of powder he had been carrying over his sword, and launched it at the giant's head. It span through the air, smoke fizzing in a wave behind it, until it buried itself in the screaming giant's gaping maw. A few seconds later, the area was bathed in red light as the giant's head exploded, showering the two warriors in blood.
'Lots of blood, not much brain.' Rizdok remarked, collecting his sword from the charred body that lay before him.
'Is that still in one piece?'
'Of course it is. This was crafted by the greatest smith that ever lived! This sword will still be around when the world is done, and it will still be razor sharp.'
'Well, it's the first giant I have killed,' Nelevin said, poking at the body that had belonged to the red-faced giant.
'It almost certainly won't be the last, my friend. Not by a long way. But for now, we need to find the priest, and I have a feeling that these boys were his bodyguards, so he must be nearby.'
'Aren't we supposed to make this look like someone else? How are we going to do that?'
'I've already thought about that Nel. Help me drag this giant's body and I'll fill you in.'

What happens next? Find out in episode 5 next Friday!

Randomly

I had an active weekend. It didn't really start out that way, but momentum grew until I was aching throughout and just wanted to sleep. It doesn't take a lot, believe me.

Friday was a long day - I started work at 9am, finished at 4pm and took my girlfriend, Dee, home as she had walked the 4 1/2 miles to work purely for a bit of exercise. Once I had dropped her off, I went to my second job and worked from 4.45pm until 9pm. I'm not doing manual labour, but it still becomes an arduous task when you have to stay mentally alert - something I usually arrive at at about 10.30am on any given day.

Winding down is something that just has to be done. Unless severely sleep deprived, or work consisted of eight solid hours of meetings, getting home from a day's work means spending a little time adjusting from the frantic pace of sitting at a desk and ignoring answering telephone calls/emails. Nodding off immediately is generally something I cannot do, in fact I usually want to do something that lets my mind feel liberated, engaged, and above all working for me instead of the boss. This can be any number of things, such as reading a book, watching a movie, playing the guitar - well, you get the picture. Tonight, it was some light video gaming, and at 3.30am I decided that the quick session had definitely come to an end. I wasn't concerned about the time because I knew that I could make it up in the morning (I am in no way a morning person).

About 5 hours later, I was awoken to the tune of a vacuum cleaner whistling outside my door. That was the first plan that ended in failure, but to show that I am as stubborn as a grass stain against a generic brand of washing powder, I stayed put in my pit. If I remain unmoving, I argued internally, I could reserve the energy required for the day ahead.

I finally discarded the idea of slumber late in the morning, threw on some clothes and joined the rest of the household. Rugby was starting just after midday, so I had enough time to move a few boxes and eat a cooked lunch of gammon, egg and potato croquettes. Lovely stuff.

I got to the club at 12.15pm, and met with a few of the other prompt players. The plan this week was to turn up at the away game with plenty of time for warm-up and practise. A completely foreign concept to the Old Mods 2nd XV, but we were willing to give it a try. Once the team had all turned up, we piled into cars and set off. Halifax was the destination, a good 45 minute drive away. Conversation in the car was interesting, but not something that I will divulge here. All was going well until a tirade of beeps from the car behind alerted us to the horrible news that the game had been cancelled. We were halfway there - so we turned around and went back to the club.

Some players were devastated, having been robbed of a game, while others were at the bar ordering beers. Myself, I felt a bit lost. I wasn't sure whether to watch the first team, who were playing at home, or go home. Either way I had resigned to the fact that playing was not on the cards. Enter Ian Armitage, club legend and third team coach:
'Have we got and second rows?'
My mind knows that I am a second row, but my body doesn't react.
'Andy can play second row.' Ste says.
'Are you a second row?' Armitage asks.
'No, but I can play there if you want.' Andy replies.
'Hoff is a second row.' Ste offers.
'Do you want a game?' Armitage asks.
'Yes.' a voice says. It is mine, I realise, and off I go to get my bag.

The game was, erm, different. I am used to knowing all the players on the team, having played with most of them all season, and I think we have all developed a chemistry, a bond. The 2nd team always play as a team, and at the beginning of the second half, we always switch off as a team. Everything we do, it is as one - and that is the way a team is supposed to be. The thirds have not quite got that gel. I don't mean it in a disrespectful way either - it is difficult to create that synergy when the team changes every week, and don't really train together as a team. The players themselves are good, some of them have enough energy and enthusiasm for the whole team, but when you don't play together as a team things can fall apart. That being said, we only missed by one try, losing 34-29 to Burley. I don't think my mind had switched back on to playing mode; I felt detached from the game and didn't really make a difference.

After the game, and returning to the clubhouse for some banter with the lads that hadn't played, I headed off to Dee's house. I had chili and tacos, with Desperados (best lager ever) and lounged on the sofa. This was the point I managed to recoup some of those lost hours of sleep.

Sunday saw even more energy spent. It started with a trip to the gym shortly after breakfast, where I pushed myself and ended up feeling completely drained. A bold move, knowing that I still had the food shopping to conquer. Leaving the gym, we went to B&Q to get some tools and supplies (I am currently working on the garden) and then headed back. I dropped off the lot (including Dee) and I embarked on the food-gathering quest. To be honest, the usually horrific endurance test of Morrisons at the weekend was quite quick and painless, so I returned home with my temper still leashed and put the shopping away. I cleaned the kitchen, cooked (and ate) some lunch, put up a clothes line, installed a new kitchen light to compliment the replacement light I installed last week (not as easy as I had hoped), attempted to as least start the new fence for the rabbit's enclosure (I failed), had a shower, and cooked dinner (lasagna, if you are interested - from scratch). When I could finally park my arse and relax, Dee reminded me that I still had to clean out the hamster cages. I managed it, but I was running on reserves. I saw the day out watching a movie, not wanting to move and finally not having to either.

True Realm: Episode 3

‘Rizdok.’ Nelevin nudged his companion who lay on his back, sprawled across the table. ‘Rizdok, wake up!’

‘Leave me.’ He grunted.

‘Get up you drunk! You really should have stopped at the ninth ale you know.’

Rizdok yawned, rubbed his eyes, and slowly rose to the melody of his cracking spine. He stared at Nelevin with vacant bloodshot eyes, and shrugged. ‘I did stop. I only had nine flagons, then I took your advice. I remember it well; you nagged like an old hen until I gave in and stopped drinking ale.’

‘Yes. Then you started on the spirits. I can’t recall how many glasses of poteen you threw back, but I remember when you passed out on that table. I thought I would leave you to sleep it off, seeing as everyone else had started to leave.’

Rizdok swung his legs around and jumped down from the table. Nelevin was impressed at the relative ease Rizdok had dismounted, without even a stumble.

‘Yes, a good night I think. Today is a good day, maybe we will find Guadelin.’

Nelevin looked quizzically at Rizdok. ‘Is that it? You drink enough booze to sterilize a small village, and you can just sleep it off?! Now you want to run off and find death with an angry preacher?!’

‘Yeah, that’s about the size of it. What you standing around for? Let’s go!’

Peaks of grey rock loomed either side of them as they walked. They were in a pass between the mountains of Alldorn, barren rocky behemoths scratching the sky North of their homeland, Hondale. Nelevin had not seen any forms of life for miles, other than some small cacti clumped together around splits in the path, and some insects that moved too fast to appear as much more than just a blur.

‘Is Allchun really this way?’

‘I keep telling you: yes. It’s just passed the next cairn.’

Nelevin let out a sigh. This would be the fourth cairn they would pass since Rizdok first said that. He shouldn’t mind, but he was tired and had no idea what to expect when they finally reached their destination. A priest? They were after a priest? Life had taken a dip in morality, he decided, if he was to kill a holy man. He changed the subject to take his mind off it.

‘How did you learn magik? That’s what you used, against that sorcerer, isn’t it?’

Rizdok grinned. ‘Yep, that was magik alright. I’m no mage though, I just picked up a few things from an old wizard that came to The Guild. He was a strange sort, always muttering to himself and collecting strange plants for no obvious reason. Still, he taught me to incant a few spells and how to channel the energy from my mind and use it.’
'Is it difficult?'
'Yes and no. The difficult bit is learning how to master the energy. Once you have got that worked out, it is easy to do. It takes it out of you though - like sprinting up a hill. That's why I don't use it much, I don't want to waste all my energy and have nothing left to finish them off.'
Nelevin thought about how he had always wanted to learn magic, to become a powerful sorcerer and use it for good. Magic had always been a rich man's pursuit, and he was in no way rich.
'Look,' Rizdok said, pointing ahead of them, 'I told you it was here. Behold: Allchurn!'
Nelevin's gaze followed the direction of his companion's finger, and saw a large gathering of what he thought were ruins. In the centre stood a tall monument, like a giant needle made of white stone, surrounded by small brown buildings.
'That's Allchun?! It looks like a ghost town!' he exclaimed. Maybe they were too far away, and it was just an illusion from high up in the mountains.
They continued down the path, walking away from the jagged rocks and encountering grass and other small signs of life. The wind whistled in Nelevin's ears as they picked up their pace; the path was dropping off and the steepness was sending them down the mountain with gathering speed. He almost lost his footing as his legs frantically pumped beneath him, struggling to keep up with the world rushing by underneath his feet. Before he started to tumble, the ground levelled out again and he managed to come to a stop.
'Finally,' he panted, 'I thought I was going to travel to Allchun in a ball of broken limbs!'
'Yeah, I was almost eating dirt and rock then too!'
They were both bent double, taking deep gulps of air. Rizdok flopped onto the ground, stretching out with his hands behind his head.
'Well, aren't we a pair of fine warriors! Almost defeated by a downhill slope!' Rizdok said, breaking into laughter.
'Nature is definitely the most dangerous opponent we have.' Nelevin said, having caught his breath.
The jovial mood evaporated as the air was filled with a horrific screeching noise. Nelevin rushed to a nearby boulder and peered over it, towards the origin of the sound.
'Rizdok!' he screamed in a whisper, 'I think we might have company!'
Rizdok leapt to his feet and scuttled over to the boulder. Nelevin was right: there were two giants heading their way, bellowing cries as they came. They looked as if they had been sculpted from the rock of the mountains, and that they could crush the pair of them at their will. Judging by the looks on their faces, that is exactly what they planned to do.

Find out what happens next in episode 4!