Read an interesting article in New Scientist about life online which made me realise how limited my internet life actually is...it occurred to me that I have absolutely zero online pals (i.e. people that I have never met in real life), every one I skype, email or otherwise are all people I have an existing fleshy (so to speak) life with. On those rare occasions when someone contacts me who I don't recognise it gets deleted straight away. Further, theres no way I want to have a myspace profile - I just don't have the time, or give ammunition to a future employer. Living online: Give it a try - tech - 17 September 2006 - New Scientist Tech Anyway, the interesting stat from the linked article is that 79% of British youth utilises instant messaging either via internet or telephone. Fucking hell, my phone does not even have a camera.

Obsessing on: Getting more air on more bicycle, c'mon on weekend.
Hooray for me/sweating about: Got the second interview with M - next week. Golly.
Why oh why: Haven't I seen any movies recently (angst after reading empire magazine recently).
Read: Astonishing X-Men written by the 'we are not worthy' Joss Whedon...most excellent (which the above gag came from).

Not often I poke gentle fun at the Swedish lanquage but this makes me chuckle every time I pass it......

Had my first interview with M today. As they said in there email that the interview would include not only a logical assignment but also a personality test I'd thought I'd preempt them and apply a little reverse psychology. The interview went something like this:

Interviewer: "So, J, I thought we could start by you telling us a little about yourself"
J: "Actually, I thought you could tell me something about yourself"
Interviewer: "But this is your interview, I'm asking the questions"
J: "Does it upset you when I ask the questions? You're being very evasive"
interviewer: "But if you ask the questions then I feel a bit useless...I mean a bit....
J: "inadequate?"
Interviewer: "yes, exactly."
J: "Do you feel inadequate often?"
Interviewer: "well yes, not always but sometimes when I get tired or stressed"
J: "Just at work?....."
Interviewer: "Well (coughs nervously, looks at feet), things have not been going so well at home......"
J: "let it out, its okay if you want to cry"

Surprisingly, it was nothing like that. However, it was pretty positive. I scored in the top third on the logic test and the personality test bracketed me as self assured and analytical with a tendency to sweat the small stuff and not take criticism well. Which, on the basis of a thirty minute chat and a few forms is pretty accurate. Lets see if they think I'm analytical enough for a second interview.

Listening:Benny Hill and Grandstand Tunes...totally recommend spending some time here.
Reading: Hellblazer, Ghost Rider.....erhm, and some shit sci-fi called Polaris which is pants.
Link:Heres a link to the UK skeptics website Home HTML, I have not really checked their site out much so if it turns out that they are funded by Exxon (as http://www.junkscience.com/ is - basically set up to rubbish the 'pseudoscience' of climate change.....check out George Monbiots new book 'Heat' serialised on the Guardian Online pages) then I apologise.

Exxon Secrets......depressing and fascinating. what more could you want.

Yisrayl Hawkins: "The House of Yahweh Prophecy
of 9-12-2006 Has Been Fulfilled "...or, if you look at this woo woo's website, we're seven days into a nuclear holocaust which no one has actually noticed.

Guardian Unlimited The Guardian 150 injured as Hungarians riot over PM's 'lies': "There is not much choice, because we screwed up. Not a little, a lot. No European country has done something as boneheaded as we have,' he said. 'Evidently, we lied throughout the last year-and-a-half, two years.
'You can't show me any significant government measure that we can be proud of, other than, in the end, we managed to drag the government back from the brink.'"

fucking hell, straight talk indeed. Don't even ask me about the Swedish elections......anyway, the toot is that I've got an interview with behemoth which is M tomorrow - so we'll see. Must remember 'bum titty wee. bum titty wee.'.

Yisrayl Hawkins...brilliant, -1 day remaining until nuclear war. Its quite nice out, I'm going to the park with my family. Carrying some Factor 10 000, just in case.

This came from the observer, fantastic. Cannot wait for 'Hot Fuzz' described as Michael Mann directing Midsomer Murders....hows that for a slice of fried gold?

Only one day left! Hurry hurry! Do all those things you've never got around to doing because as from midnight tonight its all going to hell in a handbasket........and its all according to woo woo Yisrayl Hawkins who has found all this in revelations. I tried reading some of his stuff on the website but it was like letting ants crawl around in my head. Anway, as he says on his website '1 day left before the start of nuclear war'. Golly, he's a nut. A brazil nut, or perhaps a cashew.

Just to put your minds at rest I say, in my capacity as Arch Nematode of the High Church of Lost Socks, that it won't happen and the only mishap tomorrow will be the disappearance of a small dog called Alan from his home in Kendel. Don't worry, he'll be found in time for his tea.

BBC NEWS Africa Sudan man forced to 'marry' goat: "'When I asked him: 'What are you doing there?', he fell off the back of the goat, so I captured and tied him up'. "

BBC NEWS Africa Sudan man forced to 'marry' goat: "'When I asked him: 'What are you doing there?', he fell off the back of the goat, so I captured and tied him up'. "

Hitler and Stalin were possessed by the Devil, says Vatican exorcist the Daily Mail.......speechless.

Dust has settled. New baby is back home - after a trip back to the hospital when, after only a few days home, her fever went back up and we were back in Malmö MAS (the local sick-house (direct translation) for two days. Well, K was while I spent the evenings protecting our local environment from our older child. Anyhoo, shes all better now - with a diagnosis of 'a virus' which, as is internationally known, is doctor speak for 'have not got a 'king clue but thank Christ she seems better now'.

All is cool.

Rants: 1. Madonna touting 'healing water', the UK response being (when Mads and her hubby approached the government with their scheme to clear up nuclear waste with mystical Kabbalah fluid) '...just bollocks'. More of the same please! 2. Ex-pats moaning. Don't get me started. Deep breath then repeat 'if you don't like it, fuck off home'.
Listening to: System of a Down. Metallica.
More Rants: Being told I'm overqualified for a secretarial job (perhaps it was the fact that my CV says at its top 'Academic Ninja').

Welcome to the world!

Heres the ever excellent Randi's comments on Steorn...James Randi's Swift - August 25, 2006

some loon predicting the end of the world on september 12th (presumably he felt that the 11th was a little old)......Yisrayl Hawkins.......better cash in my portfolio then.

Heres the Wiki article on Steorns perpetual motion machine.....Steorn - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

More of Tittwhistles work can be found here...Strange in a stranger land: 02/01/2005 - 02/28/2005...a retrospective will appear some time in the past.

The Mystery of the Sheep Tick

A poem in the modern style by the Right Rev. Guthrie Tittwhistle.

Ah, dread fundament that I gazed into slack jawed in terror,
My Witherington Acme Eye Piece clamped in my eye,
Lord Archer lay before me prostrate on a French couch,
crouched with derriere (like a supplicant), rearing heavenwards.

‘No man save Doctor or Priest shall see my withers’ quoth he,
‘and that Doctor has a hint of the Spaniard around him’
Thus I found myself, feeble old man that I am,
Investigating Lord Archer’s case of chronic piles.

I shouted my findings rearward, so to speak,
And, through the oak panelled door
(such revealed anus, the room had never witnessed before)
mumbled the good, but swarthy, Doctor Stuart instruction.

‘Ye Gods’*, I muttered, as the full furnace of his last meal blasted forth,
Shuddering I pushed aside great divots of wiry ginger hair,
My trembling hand lightly squeezed by his stout, leathery thighs,
To gaze, like a pilgrim at the end of his travels, at his besmirched whole.

And, grotesque, and not of gods world,
I saw the root of the pain Lord Archer had lamented of,
when he rode his horse, servants or the stone wall he was,
on occasion, proud to sit on and survey his great tracts.

A tick, a vile insect of hideous proportions,
Peeped out from the fringe of his manky hair,
Teetering as it did on the edge of a dirty well,
Perhaps, like a crone, supping a little in thought from a cup.

Not piles then but of natures kingdom,
Was the source of Lord Archers great pain,
And with the aid of salt and burning torch – with great screaming,
I destroyed that vile insect in a veritable conflagration of burning.

Months later I heard from the village Major,
(a florid faced man most fond of plums),
That the sheep, on the high moor, were found much distressed,
And I wonder? Happen that tick by chance or by mischief?

*In many of his writing Tittwhistle uses expressions such as ‘Ye Gods’ and ‘ by Shubniggnarath, black goat of the woods with a thousand young’ which has suggested to many latter day scholars that his belief in a single God was perhaps not as strong as his title of reverend would suggest.

Last night would have been a good night for the new one to arrive. There was a massive thunderstorm and it rained so much that the streets were flooding - portents indeed. There were not any ravens flying around but it still was suitable norse god weather. However, no baby yet and the weathers grey and overcast, with a bit of drizzle. Obviously going towards the English gods then. And on that subject, they have Odin we have, erm, the Green Man and some morris dancers. Great.

Reading: Spider Man, X-Men, Transmetropolitan (always great), and 'Marvels' - which is a civillian view of superheros, really cool.
Listening: Assuming no baby, the 'Archers' omnibus.

It occurs to me that 'Snakes in a Dane' would have been far funnier....

bloody marvellous...lifelong disappointment : there's no i hate you in team and speaking of blood it was second, and third blood to the bicycle last night, though I got some revenge by bending the back break lever back in one of the more acrobatic spills. Yes, a combination of rain, dark and dirty contact lenses caused several accidents and at least one 'active dismount' in the space of an hour. The last, and the most impressive, was notable in that it took me at least 10 metres to fall off, trying to wrest control of the bike as it slithered across a massive, wet, metal grating which I had totally failed to notice. I also failed to notice the wall I charged head first into, a split second after I got control back. Fortunately, my fall was broken by the border of sea polished cobble stones artfully placed around its base. Result: cut knee, bruised elbow and bent brake lever. I celebrated my fortunate escape by jumping off things (on the bike). And I wonder why people point and laugh.

Waiting: For the baby.
Reading: The Atrocity Archives by Charles Stross. This is excellent Chuthlu mythos mixed with the British Civil Service. Tentacles on the chin, anyone?
Listening: Veruca Salt

Strangeways, not Eton .........nothing new here, but just as a taster of bad smells to come....

The Eugent ships boiled out of dark space and deposited themselves, like turds on a sheet of glass, in orbit around the planet. They coasted for a while from the momentum of their remergence back into reality before their plague engines flared back to unlife with sickly incandescence. Within the bowels of their monstrously bloated forms the galley slaves who had survived the transit across the howlingly insane depths of space began to tread on the vast fly wheels. There was no purpose in their mindless stepping. It simply made the Eugent laugh.
The ships soiled their way down to the planets upper atmosphere. Dark pieces of hull cladding glowed suddenly red as thin gases grazed the ship's underbellies. They shook like nervous beasts. They creaked. They groaned. And sometimes they giggled. Nervously.

Dreadshaft (Caster of the of the Imperial Load, Catcher of the Holy Sow's Milk, Last Holder of the Lost Chance) stared out across the enormity of the battle bridge, across the shaven host and the calculating spider collective, and through the darkened windows. His gaze was on the crescent edge of the planet, and the dark spots which were the other Eugent ships, busily disgorging the Bone Storm soldiers into the upper atmosphere.His great armoured bulk creaked ponderously and the space between his eyes and their protective shield filled suddenly with a dark brown liquid. There was a low percussive boom from within the stygian depths of his body, a flat squeak, and then a metal vent at the side of his armoured, barrel like torso fluttered open and closed. The shaven host and the calculating spider collective swung, as one, on their fracture inducing chairs, away from the seizure control pods, and gazed, slackly, at their commander. Their mouths hung open, released from the mandible control arrays where they had been clamped, tormenting the ship across space. Cloudy, infected drool gathered briefly on the floor before being swept away by midget zombie chimps.

"Gross crew, my chosen emissions selected - despite erectile dysfunction - to join us on this great quest. This...glorious celebration of ultra violence. This communication of pain." Dreadshaft paused, as a particularly thick globbet of liquid squirmed through his helm."We attack now" He squeaked. The vent clanked shut, followed by a series of clicking noises as internal pipework opened and closed. His battle chair began to slowly move downwards, like a sinking ship, down into the depths of the battle cruiser. The shaven host swung back to their workstations, gripping the mandible arrays in their muscular jaws. The calculating spider collection stood and quickly skipped out of the room.

In the upper atomosphere of the planet the Bone Storm Elite streaked downwards on their ItchyCrotch 500 attack bikes. The bikes enabled one rider, and a rear gunner, to sit astride their half living, sausage like bulk. The bikes were like a lump of twisted muscle, pierced with weopons and equipment, a single great ominous eye looking forward. An eye which was currently shut tight, as the pilot cajoled the bike down to the planet at supersonic speeds. Above the contstant percussion of sonic booms could be heard the scream of the bikes war cry.
"oh shit, oh shit, oh shit......mother, fucking hell... I hate this....aaarrrrrgggggghhhhhhhh"The bikes, the sky peppered with them like gravel in slushy snow, tore down through the sky. They left vivid brown organic streaks in their wake.

****
Down on the planets unsuspecting and rather dull surface, Julian Fishguard (Cretin Class Accountant Grade 2) bimbled his way through the concourses and plazas of Capital City. It was a warm fine day with a fresh wind blowing from the deep blue sky (which, had he been paying more attention, he would have seen was criss crossed with vivid brown streaks which carved their way across from the horizon). Julian was vaguely humanoid, an vat bred offshoot from original Terran Stock Version 3.5, inhabiting a world which had long since been forgotten by the Greater Galactic Continuum. There possibly had once been a purpose in populating a plant completely with genetically engineered humans whose only aim was to be lawyers or accountants but the reason had been lost in the mists of time (or in a filing cabinet somewhere). He entered the portico of his office block, shrugging off a slight splash of rain, nodding his head at the security guard (Insipid Class Lawyer, ungraded) who, has ever, barely registered his arrival. The guard sat, behind his mirror polished desk, in a large bulky wheelchair as he had lost his legs in the great Factoring and Tax conflict of '35. Rumour had it, in the canteen, that he had singly handly deducted a nest of pen wielding export specialists.

High above Julian, and his sweaty musings of shared flat tax and leverage with the busty consultant he shared his office with, a ancient metrological airship drifted through the azure sky. It had long since ceased its use as a scientific platform and now served as a high end restaurant for the wealthier populous of the planet. Its massive yellowed bulk dwarfed the gondola which hung beneath it, but even that was capable of housing some 500 people, their servants and assorted hangers-on, lackeys and boot lickers. For its long since disappeared scientific staff the attraction of the gondola had been the open-air balcony which circled its girth, enabling them to operate their sensitive sniffing experiments and complex rain dances. The wealthy mainly used it for drinks partys, and spitting on Capital City.

Blim Fladderstock (Senior Partner, insurgency class, retired) lounged drunkenly in the bridge of the gondola and cast a lazy drink fogged eye over the bank of controls which, in their indolent ignorance, most of the crew (and particularly the captain) had little clue as to their purpose."I say Captain" Said Blim, waving a ring encrusted hand vaguely in the direction of the half asleep bulk slouched in the chair opposite him."what does the flashing red light, with the words 'Collision Imminent' mean, just beside the screen with the words 'impending doom likely' and just down from the console which is trying to climb out of the window with a parachute strapped to its back?""Well, its probably not good" said the Captain blearily, the gust of air from the now open window blowing his party hat off and sending swirls of coloured tape around him."I think..." begain Blim, which as his last words were unfortunate, as they were certainly not true. The Sausage Bike, its bone storm rider barely holding on (they were called shock troops simply because that was the state they were predominantly in) burst through Blims chest, after punching through the gondola wall, screeching to a halt which threw its madly chattering rider into the lap of the Captain.He looked down at the 1 metre long skeletal creature grinning up at him, its flash flensed skull adorned with largely uneccsesary flashing bionic implants."Definitely not good" he said, as it began to gnaw enthusiastically at his groin.

The debate continues to rage at :Steorn forum - All Discussions Viral advertising, hoax, truth? Heres a good article discussing steorn and their scientific approach. Remember, what the're effectively selling us is the idea of perpetual motion - almost certainly the greatest discovery of all time.

Hoax? To good to be true? Steorn: "We have developed a technology that produces free, clean and constant energy."

sorry, still frothing at the mouth (see ranting below). According to wiki the practice was invented by some Californian lady who became interested in the practice after learning that chimpanzees left the placenta attached until it simply dropped off. Presumably a good thing she didn't watch any other documentaries about bonobo's eh? Once again, hello, monkey/man difference here......we have evolved somehwat not to have the pleasure of draging rotting bags of clotted blood around with us......oh I give up. Instead, heres a nice picture of some bonobos playing 'horse and jockey':

Sorry just a quick rant, as I can't be bother to enter the debate on this at Wikipedia.....I came acrosss this:Lotus Birth - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia, which is the practice of leaving the placenta attached to the baby, after the birth, and allowing it to naturally drop off. One of the benefits is, apparently, that the baby receives more blood cells, inc. stem cells. Bollocks! These cells have a life span, just because you get more (and I doubt theres any significant amount entering the baby as, hello, no mothers heart attached to the placenta) does not mean they are going to be around for the rest of your life. Can you imagine the scene? "Heres my new baby, would you like to hold her" (gagging noises) "Good god, whats that foul smell, and whats in the bag......" (fighting off flies) "ohh, thats her placenta, we're leaving it attached, hopefully until she starts first school". The humanity.

Reading empire magazine always makes me feel that I must watch more movies, I only get to the cinema a few times a month and recently, have barely visited the video store (given that the last time I went I got out 7 movies and returned them the next day its probably a good idea to keep a low profile - me, ripping them, no. Mind you, they probably don't care.). Anyway, the thing which occured to me - when I read an article on 'Snakes On A Plane' and the internet phenomena it created (and was partly created by) is that my experience of the internet is extremely limited (or perhaps conservative is a better word). I don't visit many forums (other than the English expat one, which is better these days but still full of comments which makes me want to scream 'if you don't like it, fuck off back home' as it tends to be full of whining 20 somethings complaining about Swedish people not buying rounds and the lack of off licences, oohh, don't get me started), particularly those like youtube and myspace which tend to be full of such internet related bollocks. I have a very middle class experience of the internet, reading the BBC and guardian sites, before downloading progressive metal tracks from iTunes.
But anyway, heres something from SOAP which made me chuckle.

hey hey, me old mate Ramtha's back on line....Ramtha's School of Enlightenment, the School of Ancient Wisdom...check out the Seattle Address, I found my eyes glazing over within seconds - surely not the reaction when you are listening, really listening, to a 35 000 year old Atlantean being channelled through a nice, honest, very rich, lady. You could pose lots of clever scientific questions to Ramtha (like, where the fuck is Atlantis) but theres probably little point, much better to bundle JZ Knight (the conduit for Ramtha) into the boot of a car and drive her into the desert. Wheres your Ramtha now, Knight?

BBC NEWS Asia-Pacific Filipino 'dwarf' judge loses case: "He told investigators three mystic dwarves - Armand, Luis and Angel - had helped him to carry out healing sessions during breaks in his chambers. "

I'm insulated from the news in a number of ways, firstly language - the TV announcers simply speak to fast (and as E has destroyed the TV control I cannot have subtitles), English newspapers are expensive and usually a day out of date and the Swedish ones worth reading take, still, a bit too much time to properly decipher. Its hard to remain enthralled of an article when you have to keep reaching for a dictionary. So articles like this I have to be a little careful of, as I've not seen enough in the news to form any kind of opinion (which is a bit naive anyway). Guardian Unlimited Comment is free The timing is political

Reading: Genesis: story of Apollo 8; The Demon Haunted World by Carl Sagan; The Dark Knight Returns by Frank Miller; Bad Astronomy (which has taught me that water does not go the opposite way down sinks in the southern hemishere, why the sky is blue, and how the seasons work. Its also full of some good facts for arguing against people who think the moon landings were faked).

Listening: Malmö Festival starts today, so live music for the first time in ages.

Another perfect way of wasting your life can be found at Google Trends, where you can search for what people are searching for.

Thus, I found out, more people in the UK, than anywhere else, and in particular Milton Keynes, have used the search term 'trousers'. The people who looked for 'wanking' the most were the British, and once again were concentrated in Milton Keynes. 'poo' drops MK down to third place, with Portsmouth taking the number one slot as the potty mouth of Britain.

I found this at Google Labs, the Mars phots are worth checking out.

I've had some interest in the whole free running deal since I saw the absolutley wild movie 'jump london' but this is fucking awesome....russian climbing - Google Video its actually latvian, but never mind.....heres some more latvian free running - Dvinsk Clan Awesome awesome!

First blood to the mountain bike then. A few seconds after the front wheel slipped away from me, after bouncing down onto a very wet and slimey piece of duck boarding, I lay on my back and studied first the sky and then, after the pain signals reached my brain, my elbow; where blood oozed through the layer of mud liberally caked on it. Fortunately all the important stuff seemed to be working so I was able to cycle away under the gloomy trees while the rain continued to do its best to undermine by bike and lightening marched across the sky. Bloody excellent, I love it.

Still no insightful oberservations about life in Sweden other than, erm, its crayfish party time soon which means lots of crayfish and silly hats in the stores. Not so good for pregnant people though (bottom feeders and all that (not pregnant people, the crayfish...that would be one wierd craving, wait a minute, a crayfish craving bottom feeder, stop stop, bed time I think)) so will be missing out this year (its not much fun eating an entire mountain of the red critters by yourself. And on the pregnancy point, the little one has being making concerted efforts to freak me out 'alien' style. Remember the dream sequence in Aliens, where Ripley is the Gateway Station Hospital, and you get the idea.

and with the world still going to hell in a hand basket its good to see that JC decides to manifest himself to man 'going through a nasty divorce WDSU.com - News - Holy Shrimp: Man Sees Jesus In Dinner....so thats all right then. On the subject of 35 000 year old Atlantean warriors channeling themselves through a grunting multimillionaire I was hoping to take a look at ramtha.com to see whats going on and what self help courses I could enlist for but sadly its down.

Guardian Unlimited Arts In Glasgow, beware of flying axes: "Don't take crap from your own audience
Jean Jacques-Burnel, the Stranglers
'Very early on we decided that audience interaction made things an event. We developed a philosophy called Truth Through Provocation. For the encores, we'd be in Edinburgh and say, 'At least people in Glasgow know they're Scottish whereas in Edinburgh they think they're English,' and all hell would erupt. We had a similar approach with hecklers. If people spat at us, we'd wade into the audience, until one day we decided it would be more fun and more effective to drag them on stage and stick a banana up their arse. In New York we couldn't get bananas so we used celery. Some people were amused - when Terry Wogan mentioned it on the radio people started queuing up to get it done. But when we tried it in France, it ended our career there for years.'"

Which, despite all hell breaking loose around the world, gives me hope for humanity.

Guardian Unlimited The Guardian After 40 years' burrowing, Mole Man of Hackney is ordered to stop: "Until six weeks ago they had the audacity to tell us the house was structurally sound. The whole of the opposite street lost power one day after he tapped into a 450-volt cable.'" I admire this, in my first student house I fantasised about doing the same. I think I got as far as, when drunk, digging in the loose soil of the understairs cupboard. I managed a few centimetres.

aacch, just spent the last five minutes listlessly surfing the net looking for new age wankers to point fun but, you know, it really just made me sad after I'd read the 10th testimonial from, I dunno, Cynthia from Greenwich, who said 'after five days of the program I felt the toxins leaving my body'. Bollocks you did. You just felt l0ts of cash leaving your body. Anyway, I just couldn't be arsed to continue. Continuing with the science theme I was reading Ben Goldacres Bad Science website and learnt the disturbing news that Brainiac have been falsifying 'experiments' to make bigger bangs for TV..disturbing indeed, and no real surprise. Instead here's some blokes doing the real thing, and just for the hell of it, chucking kilos of sodium metal into a lake.

Swedish life is getting back to normal, E is going back to day care and the days are steadily counting down to the spawning of the next one. Gosh. Had a few beers with a Swedish chum last night which was most excellent. We went to the Pickwick pub, the local British bar and I noted that it comes complete with Adamant urinals. Aaaah, the taste of home....or something.

Reading: Snapped up complete collection of 'Moonshadow' so currently rereading that.
Potty Training: Not going well, the boy just needs to wee on a few more bits of the wooden floor and it will all be a uniformly off-yellow colour.

Something which has bothered me for the two years or so that I have lived in Sweden is the weather forecast. Not just for the grimness of the winter reports (i.e. grey, cold and miserable, stay indoors, try to think happy thoughts and stay away from sharp objects) but for the wierd fact that weather, in sweden, does not seem to happen in the morning. By which I mean that the prediction for, tommorow, will only be from 1400 hours onwards. This has led be to believe that the weather in the morning does not actually exist and is, in all probability, a special effect. Or perhaps its that the weatherman can only be bothered to get up and wave seaweed around, rattle pinecones and squeeze his spots after lunch.

Listening to: Managed to have a quick listen to the archers, after missing about 5 weeks of it. Ed's come back and Mikes getting frisky with Clary. Oh, the humanity.
Reading: X-Men, in Swedish.
And in the news today:......New Scientist SPACE - News - Alien 'art' soon to be revealed

Welcome :: Hoffworld :: David Hasselhoff King of the Internet - Powered by Pipex!.........a brief burst of chest hair madness to start the day off.

The wedding was bloody excellent, the evidence being that I still feel knackered. I wish I had the energy to write more, but it would probably come out as the crazed meandering of a diseased mind. Very tired, like I said.

Book: Marrow, by Robert Reed, most excellent and with a very, very large spaceship, how could it be anything else?
Music: Soundgarden (A sides) and Mr Cash.
Footnotes from History #34: The Endorian Holocaust. Read more. oh, and heres the link to the Star Wars Holiday Special, if you can be arsed.

Sweden swelters sexily.....temperatures are hovering around 25-30 and its bloody lovely in the sea. Of course, it also means that my body becomes a smorgasbord for all manner of beasts leaving me with welts the size of golf balls on my shin, that cavity behind my knee and elbow. Why not my biceps? or knob for that matter - at least then it would look vaguely impressive, rather than just silly. I've been up at the summer house for the last two weeks and spending my time playing with the family, digging holes on the beach, cycling, reading and training. To celebrate my 35th year I was purchased a fine mountain bike, which I am now trying to stuff up my arse my jumping over stuff I am far to old, and fragile, to sensibly consider. I took a trek out the other day and ending up carrying the bike up a very narrow cliff path in the baking sun, much to the amusement of the people watching. The stones they threw were affectionate, I'm sure.

Books: Reread the first book of LOTR - 'fly you fools', marvelous. 'History of Ukrainian Tractors', which is an excellent novel and not as dull as the title suggests (if you've ever worked with any Ukrainians, this book will be particularly enjoyable). Currently reading 'Mailman' which is intense as I hoped but I could do with a little less graphic descriptions of panic attacks. And the usual array of comics including Sin City, Bloom County and some cool stuff by Warren Elis.

True Story: I was out with the family cycling last week when we came across a couple of horses quietly grazing in a field by the roadside. As we want the boy to experience the sights and smells of the country we dismounted, unstrapped E from his child seat and proceeded to pet the horses. Shortly thereafter, as I leaned further over the fence to slap one of the beasts haunches, there was a loud 'crack' sound, I felt like I'd been kicked in the ribs and the horse leapt into the air, turned tail and fled. The moral being, don't lean against the electric fence and don't earth yourself through a horse.

I just read the draft of a earlier piece I wrote to start the blog again. It was bollocks, and was not even close to what I wanted to say. So, simply this. I loved A, he was massively important to my life and I will miss him.

And, well, theres not actually going to be much on the blog for the next few weeks. I'm off to the summer house for about four weeks. I may post a little, if I can be arsed, from the local cyber cafe but I suspect a may be a little caught up wrestling wolves and bears (two mammals enter, one mammal leaves).

ta ra for now.

ScienceDirect - Social Science & Medicine : Contesting contraceptive innovation�Reinventing the script.....check out the authors name, bad geek bad geek - abuse of powerful search engines.

The Observer Business New oil shock ahead as $100 spike looms.....forget all the other shit, this is the early notes of the tune called 'run to the hills, run for your lives'.

now, wheres me interceptor?

well fuck me sideways, Nomak in Blade II was played by non other than Luke Goss. I probably shown have known this a lot earlier, but there you go. Incidently, Luke Goss = Bacon number of 2.

The last few days has been bloody lovely weather which means that the whole of Malmö, ney Sweden, has descended almost to my doorstep to bask on the 'sun promenade'. This is the wooden boardwalk which runs for about 200 or so metres down the sea front here. Almost all the buildings on it are flats, so the owners have an obstructed view - in summer - of acres of sizzling scandinavian flesh. I understand that several of the flat's owners wanted to have the boardwalk private but were told, pretty much, to get stuffed, given that the whole redevelopment of this area was partly funded by tax payers money. If you walk about another 5 minutes down the coast you come to the start of about 3 kms of beach which, now, is pretty much deserted as the place to be seen is the aforementioned. Unless, however, you're one of the nudists (who have a little area at the start of the beach, carefully marked out with white stones)and then the place to be seen, or more accurately, get your cock out, is proudly on the beach, idly slapping yourself dry as you gaze, unabashed, at the shocked englishman.

Listening: Arctic Monkeys. Bad Brains. Prodigy.

From the BBC website:

The local election campaign was overshadowed by the flurry of government controversies, including the storm over foreign prisoner releases and John Prescott's affair with a secretary.

Yes, the - ahem - mislaying of rapists, murderers and other violent offenders (debt to society repayed and all) is clearly a major fuck up and thus well fits the controversy headline but two shags affair (which conjures up horrendous mental images) is NOT a government controversy. Sure its a controversy for his life, and presumably for the body of the secretary his whale like mass descended on, but its got fuck all to do with his ability to be part of the cabinet. Politicians are supposed to be representative of the people, but as soon as there is a sniff of 'sleaze' we demand a type of lifestyle akin to that of the pope. Please explain, its only sex. Its not like, oh I dunno, going to war based on a foundation of lies.

and the day starts well by, it feels to me, effectively abandoning my child into the care of strangers. No, i have not converted to Scientology but instead we're in the process of breaking E into daycare (or 'Dagis' as it is referred to here (which is slang)). We spent most of the last few weeks spending each morning there, either me or K, but starting yesterday we began the process of leaving him there without us. Tears, poo and lashings of angst. Was the result for me. Actually, I feel kind of okay about it as opposed to yesterday, when I did not.

Speaking of poo I managed to catch Viral Gastroenteritus off E, he got it mildly whereas as I got it massively. One day lost with lots of backdoor action as I verily squirted through the eye of the needle, this when I wasn't busy shouting down the bog. The end of the winter has been fucking horrible, this is the third time in as many months that I have been bed ridden. Its playing merry hell with my training schedule but has meant I've pretty much lost my love handles.

Reading: Fast Food Nation, excellent. The End of Oil, just starting it but right up my street. Also rereading Woken Furies (Richard Morgan), as always a good read combining, as it does, the words 'cock' and 'blaster' on the same pages.

Listening: The Archers, I reckon Alistair's going to top himself.

The exciting news is that the Scandinavian Science Fiction Convention is back at Malmö Massan which, as luck would have it, is just around the corner. Its a conference centre now but used to be a SAAB car factory. Interesting little factoid there. Among the guests at the convention are Carl Weathers (Major George Dillon in Predator and Apollo Creed in almost all of the Rocky movies.....), Craig Parker (Haldir from LOTR, who seems to have done mostly voice over work in Power Rangers) and Marc Singer (Donavan in V but also Dar, in the beastmaster). So, usual bunch of bitter, slightly mad actors then. Last year had a very pissed off David Carridine, although the guy who was Chewbacca seemed pretty happy. Personally, I'm looking forward to seeing Paul Blake, who played Greedo in Star Wars (and, as the ever useful IMDB identified, had a role in Crossroads). And, following on from that, and further proof that the Internet 2.0 is indeed the greatest social revolution of all time check this out.

And yes, the blog is coming back to life which also means tales of sausage bikes will no doubt follow.

Watching: Alien Special edition, Dark Crystal, History of Violence, LOTR, Starship Troopers, Akira.
Reading: Ruth Rendell (shite shite shite, I was stuck for something to read and it was either that or the hobbit, in swedish. Wrong choice). Rough Guide to Science Fiction (which has resulted in me ordering Death Race 2000 from Amazon, we shall see. This is actually one of those movies which got talked about at school, where you knew the lines, the plot and the grossest bits without actually having seen the film. I remember discussing in great detail Alien, countless zombie movies and mad max without actually ever having seen them. The prize was, of course, Texas Chain Saw Massacre, of which, it was said, they used real live people for the actual cutting scenes. It was somewhat of a relief when I finally saw it (ha ha), some twenty years later that it was not actually a snuff movie and was, in fact, not that gory.)
Listening: Guardian podcasts

God, just haven't got the energy to write the usual bollocks (its not as if I can claim some form of writers block, that would suggest some element of actual ability)....don't know whats up but my usual internet frolics have seemed somewhat boring recently. Still, boingboing cheered me up (as usual) with among other things, a link to all the images from Abu Ghairab (that high point of the American version of Pax Romana, i.e. Except democracy or we'll kill you), how to put your eyeball back in and an interview with Alan Moore, which is the link I actually went for. (MILE HIGH COMICS presents THE BEAT at COMICON.com: A FOR ALAN, Pt. 1: The Alan Moore interview

Alan Moore, of course - for those whose life is not brightened up by the consumption of comics, being the creator of V for Vendetta....coming to a cinema near you.

So whats up with the Swedish life....well, looks like the job front is going batshit as the NGO i work for is haemorraging money and has none to give me - so back out in the job market for little johnny I feel. Arse. The good news is that I got hold of the latest Steven Erikson book 'The Bonehunters' which was getting off to a bit of a slow start until Karsa turned up and kicked the shit out of some demon type beastie....fantastic. Actually, thats not the only thing in my life which makes me happy, but its the only thing I can be bothered to write about now.

And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him.

Seems like I've had some form of blogging block and, in actual fact, this will only be a short post as I have to get the dinner sorted. However, the news is that an Equaliser movie is in production - fantastic, this was one of my favourite shows in the '80s. Edward Woodward as Robert McCall. Always classic, every episode fucking brilliant and usually ending with him in pursuit of the bad guy, shouting 'stop' and then a split second later shooting him to death, then standing over the steaming corpse and gravely saying 'I warned him'. Director will be Paul McGuigan, who did gangster number 1 and lucky number slevin. I think.

Guardian Unlimited Film News Mads for it: new 007 villain unveiled....given that hes a Danish actor, I assume his planet endangering weopn will be a collection of rather weak cartoons, or some such.

Disturbing images......Atomic Bomb detonation by Harold Edgerton

Things are a little slow right now, but the days are getting lighter.

Me? I'm just keeping my head down (with chin firmly tucked into my Muhammad T-shirt) Jyllands-Posten Muhammad cartoons controversy - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

Snow is falling, its cold. I had a series of shite meetings, which combined with my still cough wracked body, put me in a black mood. Then the super new modern metro system in Copenhagen decided it would be fun to not let me off the train (though lingered tantalisingly at my station) before whisking me (and other commuters) off to some god forsaken fag end of Copenhagen new town. Once I managed to get back to the main line then had to endure the train to Sweden being around 20 minutes late (which was made worse by the freezing hail being thrown in my face. I asked the man to stop but he wouldn't). Of course, the train doorway was packed even though the carraige itself was empty and so I vented a tremendously english 'oh for fucks sake' which had the same effect Moses had on the red sea and the crowd parted, and I found my seat. Theres probably a moral there, but I suspect its filthy.

More on the Danish/Muslim war:
Guardian Unlimited Special reports Cartoon conflicts

Jyllands-Posten Muhammad cartoons controversy - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia: As usual, its the internet, so its probably all bollocks but about midway down the page theres some real interesting stuff about how this all kicked off....

Some fantastic stuff here...check out the smart materials......Middlesex University Teaching Resources

The cartoon row over the danish muhammad drawings claims a head with the firing of the French Newspaper editor who reprinted them yesterday.....if you want to see all the pictures you can go here, I read somewhere that they were printed as a result of the newspaper, at first, being unable to find anyone prepared to draw a picture of the prop forward Muhammad. My feelings on this, liberalist that I am, is that THIS IS FUCKING INSANE. This is the 21st fucking century and people are being threatened with death because they drew a sketch, what the fuck! I'm sorry, I've very much into right to protest but c'mon, you're acting like a bunch of spastic mentalists.

Anyone want to buy a T-shirt with muhammad on it?

As you may have gathered Swedens noisy neighbour has managed, where the war in Iraq has failed, to set the entire Islamic world aflame....with a cartoon. This one, in fact, which was one of several printed in the Danish newspaper Jyllands Posten. Its not even that funny. Its at times like this I'm glad I have no faith in anything supernatural, it seems like so much effort - mind you, I feel the same way about supporting football teams.

Computer fixed, cough is not, snow is melting, eager to see what 'Invasion' will be like (though after Prison Break, I'm not holding my breath. Prison Break, which by episode 6 already has had a full on prison wide riot.....thus if its a logarithmic scale of insane plot devices means that by episode 20 they will all be enlightened higher dimensional beings floating in brane space.)

Lack of blogging over the last few days caused partly by persistant illness (hacking cough which makes me sound like something from a period piece BBC drama) and my completely successful attempt to blow up our new computer. Yes, it all started when I tried to install Intel's System Health program, a handy piece of software which lets you know processor temperature and fan speed etc - all of which are handy things to know.....it ended seconds later when our computer had the electronic equivalent of sudden, massive stem death and presented me - not with the blue screen of doom - but the black screen of fatality. Fuck knows what the Intel software did, the guy at Dell did know either and I'm not holding out much hope for the repair dude who comes tomorrow. Put it this way, if the software was a bullet and my computer was a head we're talking quiet 'pop' of silenced Heckler and Koch, sudden spray of red mist and head quickly jerking backwards, followed by twitching foot. Repair guy is bringing a new motherboard, thats all I care about.

Totally flunked a swedish exam today. Bah. I have so much swedish coming in my mouth (to paraphrase the scary German in League of Gentlemen) that the right words get totally mixed up...arrgh, it was all so much easier when I only knew how to say 'I am John' or 'My trousers are soiled, please direct me to the nearest outfitters'.

Listening: a strange medley of Front242, Ministry, Rob Zombie and Leila K.
Reading: More malazan stuff, don't ask.
Wishing: To stop coughing, start training again and writing about sausage bikes.

Greetings. Once again I ponder the purpose of this blog when I read other efforts from similarily ex-patted folk in Sweden who seem to be able to detect the slightest nuance of difference in Swedish culture and then write reams of guff on it. I can't. I'm sorry. But that won't stop me blitering on.

My mouth tastes like rancid steel after the Subway sub I devoured on the way to the Higher education information place....upshot is that the next intake for anything remotely interesting is next Jan, so I've got the rest of this year to get my Swedish knocked into shape....actually, probably not as long as there are various entrance exams to take before. Anyways.

The tale of the Eugent will shortly be updated and move across to seathingcity, assuming I can remember my password for that blog.....

Purchased: Firefly DVD (appearing at some point in the post), James Blunt CD (not for me, I hasten to add, but for 'her indoors').

Strangeways, not Eton

The Eugent ships boiled out of dark space and deposited themselves, like turds on a sheet of glass, in orbit around the planet. They coasted for a while from the momentum of their remergence back into reality before their plague engines flared back to unlife with sickly incandescence. Within the bowels of their monstrously bloated forms the galley slaves who had survived the transit across the howlingly insane depths of space began to tread on the vast fly wheels. There was no purpose in their mindless stepping. It simply made the Eugent laugh.

The ships soiled their way down to the planets upper atmosphere. Dark pieces of hull cladding glowed suddenly red as thin gases grazed the ship's underbellies. They shook like nervous beasts. They creaked. They groaned. And sometimes they giggled. Nervously.

Dreadshaft (Caster of the of the Imperial Load, Catcher of the Holy Sow's Milk, Last Holder of the Lost Chance) stared out across the enormity of the battle bridge, across the shaven host and the calculating spider collective, and through the darkened windows. His gaze was on the crescent edge of the planet, and the dark spots which were the other Eugent ships, busily disgorging the Bone Storm soldiers into the upper atmosphere.His great armoured bulk creaked ponderously and the space between his eyes and their protective shield filled suddenly with a dark brown liquid. There was a low percussive boom from within the stygian depths of his body, a flat squeak, and then a metal vent at the side of his armoured, barrel like torso fluttered open and closed. The shaven host and the calculating spider collective swung, as one, on their fracture inducing chairs, away from the seizure control pods, and gazed, slackly, at their commander. Their mouths hung open, released from the mandible control arrays where they had been clamped, tormenting the ship across space. Cloudy, infected drool gathered briefly on the floor before being swept away by midget zombie chimps.

"Gross crew, my chosen emissions selected - despite erectile dysfunction - to join us on this great quest. This...glorious celebration of ultra violence. This communication of pain." Dreadshaft paused, as a particularly thick globbet of liquid squirmed through his helm."We attack now" He squeaked. The vent clanked shut, followed by a series of clicking noises as internal pipework opened and closed. His battle chair began to slowly move downwards, like a sinking ship, down into the depths of the battle cruiser. The shaven host swung back to their workstations, gripping the mandible arrays in their muscular jaws. The calculating spider collection stood and quickly skipped out of the room.

In the upper atomosphere of the planet the Bone Storm Elite streaked downwards on their ItchyCrotch 500 attack bikes. The bikes enabled one rider, and a rear gunner, to sit astride their half living, sausage like bulk. The bikes were like a lump of twisted muscle, pierced with weopons and equipment, a single great ominous eye looking forward. An eye which was currently shut tight, as the pilot cajoled the bike down to the planet at supersonic speeds. Above the contstant percussion of sonic booms could be heard the scream of the bikes war cry.

"oh shit, oh shit, oh shit......mother, fucking hell... I hate this....aaarrrrrgggggghhhhhhhh"The bikes, the sky peppered with them like gravel in slushy snow, tore down through the sky. They left vivid brown organic streaks in their wake.

****

Down on the planets unsuspecting and rather dull surface, Julian Fishguard (Cretin Class Accountant Grade 2) bimbled his way through the concourses and plazas of Capital City. It was a warm fine day with a fresh wind blowing from the deep blue sky (which, had he been paying more attention, he would have seen was criss crossed with vivid brown streaks which carved their way across from the horizon). Julian was vaguely humanoid, an vat bred offshoot from original Terran Stock Version 3.5, inhabiting a world which had long since been forgotten by the Greater Galactic Continuum. There possibly had once been a purpose in populating a plant completely with genetically engineered humans whose only aim was to be lawyers or accountants but the reason had been lost in the mists of time (or in a filing cabinet somewhere). He entered the portico of his office block, shrugging off a slight splash of rain, nodding his head at the security guard (Insipid Class Lawyer, ungraded) who, has ever, barely registered his arrival. The guard sat, behind his mirror polished desk, in a large bulky wheelchair as he had lost his legs in the great Factoring and Tax conflict of '35. Rumour had it, in the canteen, that he had singly handly deducted a nest of pen wielding export specialists.

High above Julian, and his sweaty musings of shared flat tax and leverage with the busty consultant he shared his office with, a ancient metrological airship drifted through the azure sky. It had long since ceased its use as a scientific platform and now served as a high end restaurant for the wealthier populous of the planet. Its massive yellowed bulk dwarfed the gondola which hung beneath it, but even that was capable of housing some 500 people, their servants and assorted hangers-on, lackeys and boot lickers. For its long since disappeared scientific staff the attraction of the gondola had been the open-air balcony which circled its girth, enabling them to operate their sensitive sniffing experiments and complex rain dances. The wealthy mainly used it for drinks partys, and spitting on Capital City.

Blim Fladderstock (Senior Partner, insurgency class, retired) lounged drunkenly in the bridge of the gondola and cast a lazy drink fogged eye over the bank of controls which, in their indolent ignorance, most of the crew (and particularly the captain) had little clue as to their purpose.
"I say Captain" Said Blim, waving a ring encrusted hand vaguely in the direction of the half asleep bulk slouched in the chair opposite him.
"what does the flashing red light, with the words 'Collision Imminent' mean, just beside the screen with the words 'impending doom likely' and just down from the console which is trying to climb out of the window with a parachute strapped to its back?"
"Well, its probably not good" said the Captain blearily, the gust of air from the now open window blowing his party hat off and sending swirls of coloured tape around him.
"I think..." begain Blim, which as his last words were unfortunate, as they were certainly not true. The Sausage Bike, its bone storm rider barely holding on (they were called shock troops simply because that was the state they were predominantly in) burst through Blims chest, after punching through the gondola wall, screeching to a halt which threw its madly chattering rider into the lap of the Captain.
He looked down at the 1 metre long skeletal creature grinning up at him, its flash flensed skull adorned with largely uneccsesary flashing bionic implants.
"Definitely not good" he said, as it began to gnaw enthusiastically at his groin.

Sideways, possibly to the left

The Eugent ships boiled out of dark space and deposited themselves, like turds on a sheet of glass, in orbit around the planet. They coasted for a while from the momentum of their remergence back into reality before their plague engines flared back to unlife with sickly incandescence. Within the bowels of their monstrously bloated forms the galley slaves who had survived the transit across the howlingly insane depths of space began to tread on the vast fly wheels. There was no purpose in their mindless stepping. It simply made the Eugent laugh.

The ships soiled their way down to the planets upper atmosphere. Dark pieces of hull cladding glowed suddenly red as thin gases grazed the ship's underbellies. They shook like nervous beasts. They creaked. They groaned. And sometimes they giggled. Nervously. Dreadshaft (Caster of the of the Imperial Load, Catcher of the Holy Sow's Milk, Last Holder of the Lost Chance) stared out across the enormity of the battle bridge, across the shaven host and the calculating spider collective, and through the darkened windows. His gaze was on the crescent edge of the planet, and the dark spots which were the other Eugent ships, busily disgorging the Bone Storm soldiers into the upper atmosphere.

His great armoured bulk creaked ponderously and the space between his eyes and their protective shield filled suddenly with a dark brown liquid. There was a low percussive boom from within the stygian depths of his body, a flat squeak, and then a metal vent at the side of his armoured, barrel like torso fluttered open and closed. The shaven host and the calculating spider collective swung, as one, on their fracture inducing chairs, away from the seizure control pods, and gazed, slackly, at their commander. Their mouths hung open, released from the mandible control arrays where they had been clamped, tormenting the ship across space. Cloudy, infected drool gathered briefly on the floor before being swept away by midget zombie chimps.

"Gross crew, my chosen emissions selected - despite erectile dysfunction - to join us on this great quest. This...glorious celebration of ultra violence. This communication of pain." Dreadshaft paused, as a particularly thick globbet of liquid squirmed through his helm."We attack now" He squeaked. The vent clanked shut, followed by a series of clicking noises as internal pipework opened and closed. His battle chair began to slowly move downwards, like a sinking ship, down into the depths of the battle cruiser. The shaven host swung back to their workstations, gripping the mandible arrays in their muscular jaws. The calculating spider collection stood and quickly skipped out of the room.

In the upper atomosphere of the planet the Bone Storm Elite streaked downwards on their ItchyCrotch 500 attack bikes. The bikes enabled one rider, and a rear gunner, to sit astride their half living, sausage like bulk. The bikes were like a lump of twisted muscle, pierced with weopons and equipment, a single great ominous eye looking forward. An eye which was currently shut tight, as the pilot cajoled the bike down to the planet at supersonic speeds. Above the contstant percussion of sonic booms could be heard the scream of the bikes war cry.

"oh shit, oh shit, oh shit......mother, fucking hell... I hate this....aaarrrrrgggggghhhhhhhh"

The bikes, the sky peppered with them like gravel in slushy snow, tore down through the sky. They left vivid brown organic streaks in their wake.

****

Down on the planets unsuspecting and rather dull surface, Julian Fishguard (Cretin Class Accountant Grade 2) bimbled his way through the concourses and plazas of Capital City. It was a warm fine day with a fresh wind blowing from the deep blue sky (which, had he been paying more attention, he would have seen was criss crossed with vivid brown streaks which carved their way across from the horizon). Julian was vaguely humanoid, an vat bred offshoot from original Terran Stock Version 3.5, inhabiting a world which had long since been forgotten by the Greater Galactic Continuum. There possibly had once been a purpose in populating a plant completely with genetically engineered humans whose only aim was to be lawyers or accountants but the reason had been lost in the mists of time (or in a filing cabinet somewhere). He entered the portico of his office block, nodding his head at the security guard (Insipid Class Lawyer, ungraded) who, has ever, barely registered his arrival. The guard sat, behind his mirror polished desk, in a large bulky wheelchair as he had lost his legs in the great Factoring and Tax conflict of '35. Rumour had it, in the canteen, that he had singly handly deducted a nest of pen wielding export specialists.

Some of the times Drunkest I can barely remember-

1. Atlanta, USA. 2003. Feb.

After a week of travelling around the states to drum up business for my old company, and some time spent in the CDC (cute, sharing a room with America's smallpox reserve)myself and my business colleague were treated (read bribed) to a stay in a reet post hotel in the centre of Atlanta (rather than out in the waste land of nail painting and doughnut shops which our motel was located in). Anyway, to congratulate ourselves on a week of work, and - if I remember correctly - have a belated Xmas do we embarked on, what turned out to be, a 12 hour drinking binge. The salient memories are a. Believing I was in Atlantis and explaining this to some bemused, and quite possibly scared American students b. drinking whisky from little medicine cups in a bar where the clientale were dangerously excited (one of whom believed I was a pro-golfer from Canada and would not take 'no' for an answer. I think he may have had doubts, however, when I started talking about backspin and forehand) c. A playful punch from a bouncer which almost broke my arm d. A steak as big as my head e. Christoper Walken (or at least, someone whose dad was mates with him. Apparently) f. Waking up, in my pajamas, in the hotel corridor, with no memory of where I was, who I was, realising I could not see properly (corridor on its side, head spinning, no glasses)and that I had just finished urinating on someones door. g. Choosing the hotel door next to the wet steaming one and knocking gently on it f. my logic worked (i.e. that I would not relieve myself on my own door)and my room mate (it was one of those suite/apartment things)watched, to his surprise, as I stumbled back into the room. h. A hangover which lasted 24 hours.

Updated....I make no apologies. Actually, before you read on, I've noticed that many of my neighbours still have their Xmas decorations up...after the hallowed, nay sacred date of saints day...I wonder what happens, do the three wise men come around and throw stones at your windows (or even duff you up? I understand that Melchior was a bit tasty in his day)......

Up, not down.

The Eugent ships boiled out of dark space and deposited themselves, like turds on a sheet of glass, in orbit around the planet. They coasted for a while from the momentum of their remergence back into reality before their plague engines flared back to unlife with sickly incandescence. Within the bowels of their monstrously bloated forms the galley slaves who had survived the transit across the howlingly insane depths of space began to tread on the vast fly wheels. There was no purpose in their mindless stepping. It simply made the Eugent laugh.

The ships soiled their way down to the planets upper atmosphere. Dark pieces of hull cladding glowed suddenly red as thin gases grazed the ship's underbellies. They shook like nervous beasts. They creaked. They groaned. And sometimes they giggled. Nervously.

Dreadshaft (Caster of the of the Imperial Load, Catcher of the Holy Sow's Milk, Last Holder of the Lost Chance) stared out across the enormity of the battle bridge, across the shaven host and the calculating spider collective, and through the darkened windows. His gaze was on the crescent edge of the planet, and the dark spots which were the other Eugent ships, busily disgorging the Bone Storm soldiers into the upper atmosphere. His great armoured bulk creaked ponderously and the space between his eyes and their protective shield filled suddenly with a dark brown liquid. There was a low percussive boom from within the stygian depths of his body, a flat squeak, and then a metal vent at the side of his armoured, barrel like torso fluttered open and closed. The shaven host and the calculating spider collective swung, as one, on their fracture inducing chairs, away from the seizure control pods, and gazed, slackly, at their commander. Their mouths hung open, released from the mandible control arrays where they had been clamped, tormenting the ship across space. Cloudy, infected drool gathered briefly on the floor before being swept away by midget zombie chimps.

"Gross crew, my chosen emissions selected - despite erectile dysfunction - to join us on this great quest. This...glorious celebration of ultra violence. This communication of pain." Dreadshaft paused, as a particularly thick globbet of liquid squirmed through his helm.
"We attack now" He squeaked. The vent clanked shut, followed by a series of clicking noises as internal pipework opened and closed. His battle chair began to slowly move downwards, like a sinking ship, down into the depths of the battle cruiser. The shaven host swung back to their workstations, gripping the mandible arrays in their muscular jaws. The calculating spider collection stood and quickly skipped out of the room.

In the upper atomosphere of the planet the Bone Storm Elite streaked downwards on their ItchyCrotch 500 attack bikes. The bikes enabled one rider, and a rear gunner, to sit astride their half living, sausage like bulk. The bikes were like a lump of twisted muscle, pierced with weopons and equipment, a single great ominous eye looking forward. An eye which was currently shut tight, as the pilot cojoled the bike down to the planet at supersonic speeds. Above the contstant percussion of sonic booms could be heard the scream of the bikes war cry.

"oh shit, oh shit, oh shit......mother, fucking hell... I hate this....aaarrrrrgggggghhhhhhhh"

The bikes, the sky peppered with them like gravel in slushy snow, tore down through the sky. They left vivid brown organic streaks in their wake.

The Eugent ships boiled out of dark space and deposited themselves, like turds on a sheet of glass, in orbit around the planet. They coasted for a while from the momentum of their remergence back into reality before their plague engines flared back to unlife with sickly incandescence. Within the bowels of their monstrously bloated forms the galley slaves who had survived the transit across the howlingly insane depths of space began to tread on the vast fly wheels. There was no purpose in their mindless stepping. It simply made the Eugent laugh.

The ships soiled their way down to the planets upper atmosphere. Dark pieces of hull cladding glowed suddenly red as thin gases grazed the ship's underbellies. They shook like nervous beasts. They creaked. They groaned. And sometimes they giggled. Nervously.

Dreadshaft (Caster of the of the Imperial Load, Catcher of the Holy Sow's Milk, Last Holder of the Lost Chance) stared out across the enormity of the battle bridge, across the shaven host and the calculating spider collective, and through the darkened windows. His gaze was on the crescent edge of the planet, and the dark spots which were the other Eugent ships, busily disgorging the Bone Storm soldiers into the upper atmosphere. His great armoured bulk creaked ponderously and the space between his eyes and their protective shield filled suddenly with a dark brown liquid. There was a low percussive boom from within the stygian depths of his body, a flat squeak, and then a metal vent at the side of his armoured, barrel like torso fluttered open and closed. The shaven host and the calculating spider collective swung, as one, on their fracture inducing chairs, away from the seizure control pods, and gazed, slackly, at their commander. Their mouths hung open, released from the mandible control arrays where they had been clamped, tormenting the ship across space. Cloudy, infected drool gathered briefly on the floor before being swept away by midget zombie chimps.

And if you not downloading the shows off the Guardian website, shame on you.
Ricky Gervais....

New Year, New Game. And this one's called TWAT spotting...as in The War Against Terror....clearly someone in the halls of power is aware of this acronym (which is so fucking appropriate) as you often see the 'the' dropped off it or referred to as the 'War on Terror'....anyway, heres some examples from the web....

"The 3rd question has to do with the title, TWATism" Noam Chomsky.

"In his forthcoming book, TWAT, Bobbit reflects on a new definition of warfare"
University Texas Austion

"some have argued that confronting the treat from Iraq could detract from TWAT"

"they're building a nation fully joined in TWAT"
President Whorebeast

...perhaps it was funnier in my head at 0530 this morning, never mind.

On a more serious note, and staying with Iraq, how come noone gets upset about the Downing Street Memo anymore. Just in case you've forgotten, this is the one where Blair was told that the US was cooking the evidence for WMDs. This still amazes me....the enormity of the lie is incredible. Heres a final factoid before I bugger off, the cost of the war to the US has been 204.4 billion dollars - thats a lot of money.

Reading: Midnight Tides by Steven Erikson (Again, its one of the Malazan Book of the Fallen - lots of hacking and slaying, but rather witty with it)

The Eugent ships boiled out of dark space and deposited themselves, like turds on a sheet of glass, in orbit around the planet. They coasted for a while from the momentum of their remergence back into reality before their plague engines flared back to unlife with sickly incandescence. Within the bowels of their monstrously bloated forms the galley slaves who had survived the transit across the howlingly insane depths of space began to tread on the vast fly wheels. There was no purpose in their mindless stepping. It simply made the Eugent laugh.

Merry Christmas!

Canon braces itself for arse induced copier carnage

Theres a lot of blogs out there, an awful lot. Some of them are the rambling of loons (where if they were on paper, they would be writen in shit), some are thoughtful observations on everyday life, some a stream of expert opinion on important things and others an interesting insight into someones life. This blog is none of those things. What is it? I dunno. Its not like its a chronicle of life in Sweden as, on average, I barely manage to mention the place more than one a month. Its certainly not (chump) an insight into the world of my work which, lets face it, is not that exciting. Nor is it particularly funny as usually when I blog its when I am tired, hysterical, weepy, drunk, sedated or spent....none of which are states of mind appropriate to being particularly witty. (speaking of which, I foolishly plugged the word 'arse' into google and then pressed 'images' rather than 'news', resulting in a flurry of shocking images to scroll down my screen.).
It does not provide any kind of great angle on the pop culture that I consume at a voracious rate (though my recent realisation that given the choice between a Bergman movie and a Die Hard movie (well, number 1 anyway) I'd plump straight for Brucie has made me realise that I'm much less the offbeat film buff that I like to pretend I am). So what is it? Its mine, its been a little focus for the last 2 years (well, not quite - but almost) of my life here. A distraction which has proven to be almost therapeutic. So the early resolution for the New Year is to keep on going - if you read this, and return (chump) then so much the better - I'll be here, not writing about anything in particular.


Annoyance In the space of 12 hours we have managed to destroy to large white goods, to wit, one siemens washing machine and one siemans oven. Accidently. And with much gnashing of teeth.
Reading Spares (again), which was the original script idea for that recent Ewan Macgregor movie, I think Bruckenheimer was the director
Listening Steve Earle

Trouser Press....indie rock heaven.

Wankers, obviously poorly sighted and thus unable to recognise the raw talent which slumped in the chair in front of them...in not one, but two interviews....yes, the fucks decided not to give me the job (and thus give me a 5 year contract, loads of dosh and a 75% position) which means I'm still jumping from one 3 or 6 month contract to the next. What was there not to like? Lets see, BSc, MSc and PhD - so straight away we're dealing with a serious fuck off academic ninja but, hold the press, in the subjects which the job was concerned with. Next, European Project experience - yeah, fucking loads. Next question. Entrepreneurial skills - well, lets see, founded a very successful and rapidly growing biotech service company, how do you like them onions, eh? So...and, oh whats my Swedish like, ska vi se, ja, Jag kan prata en del av svenska och det komma att blir bettre och bettre varje dag eftersom jag gå till en kvälls kurs två gånger en vecka........


wankers

This is something which has crossed my mind from time to time, as I gaze at my PC screen and wonder why am I not having more fun here? As Franz Ferdinand say "if you did the things you like, you would be happier". Fun, is of course, totally subjective and one mans fun may be anothers nightmare but the underlying concept seems to be that our work lives are based on fundamentally un-fun premises.

"Indeed, as my lectures bring me from industry to industry, I find myself amazed by just how little fun most people are having. Whether separated from one another by policy, competition, or cubicle, the last thing that seems to occur to people is to have fun together—when it should be the first priority. Instead, managers feel obligated to reign over employees; executives think they must hoodwink their shareholders; sales believe they must strong-arm their clients; and marketers assume they must manipulate the consumer. All for the life-or-death stakes of the next quarterly report."
Douglas Rushkoff.

I've been listening to Ricky Gervais's podcasts on the guardian siteand heard them discussing a fantastically bizarre story about 42 cambodian midgets squaring off against a lion. Sadly, or perhaps happily, this is another piece of internet lore and is a fake, but a bloody good one.
The podcasts are very funny though.

Listening: Franz Ferdinand
Watching: Animatrix
Reading: Strangers in Paradise (Comic), Hellblazer (Comic) and A big boy did it and ran away by Christopher Brookmyre. The last is fucking brilliant and this is the second or third time that I've read it. Constantly references all the games we grew up with (i.e. everything from 3D Monster Maze for the ZX81 to Quake) against a thriller examining what would happen if your flat mate from student days turned out to be an international terrorist.

You may remember the story scooped by the Mail on Sunday (?) which concerned bullying of Royal Marines...i.e fighting naked and then being kicked unconscious. Well, heres the follow up from the Evening Herald in Plymouth, with a great quote from the soldier who was sparko "The bloke who kicked me in the head is the nicest guy in the company"....which makes you wonder what the horribliest guy in the company is like.

Sometime last year I blogged about the first incarnation of this game, well, heres the second...I could not get the page to work but I guess its probably collapsed for the time being due to the link from BoingBoing....Samorost 2...I was actually looking at the Crimson Room the other day and went back to play it just now, stumbled across the Veridian Room...excellent, more point and click fun.

We were supposed to be at a Jul Fest (Christmas Party) this evening but E, and K, are both feeling a bit ill...we instead had a splendidly cosy time in town....I purchased the History of Violence comic book which I've been gradually reading this evening, good so far. Speaking of geek things, went to see Serenity with my chum S last night - must say, once again Joss Whedon comes up with the goods, a stonking good space opera of a 8 out of 10....I've not actually seen any of the series, which would - I guess- make the movie even better.

Still nothing from the potentially new employers, I'll give them (another) phone call next week - they said in the interview that I would hear within two weeks. When I phoned on monday the guy said they had not made a decision and would be getting in touch. Presumably with a brick through the window with a burning dog turd tied to it.

Saw this on BoingBoing, thought provoking....

map of world by population.....

Caught my eye that Swedes are amongst the most honest when it comes to downloading music (and paying for it)....whats strange is that since I moved to Sweden I went from knowing about the existance of filesharing services to being a subscriber to the services of iTunes. Must be some kind of infectious civic responsibility disease they put in the water here......

Young 'prefer illegal song swaps'

Good old Sweden, beneath that mild mannered exterior lies the beating heart of an arsonist.......Wierd Ritual of the Burning Goat.

Its been a great day, spent with E. We did not do anything particularly exciting but instead wandered down to the sea front, played with his bricks at home and generally just hung out. Strangely relaxing and the fatigue of being woken up several times in the night - especially for someone who really needs his 8 hours - is not a problem. Spending time with my son is one of the most relaxing, almost meditive, things I have ever done.

Off to Denmark on Friday for meetings then the Xmas bash - must have self control. Last time I got pissed in Denmark I was so drunk I almost pooed my pants on the train home.

Reading: Strangers in Paradise (comic book), Adolf (comic book), Good Omens (again, not a comic book) and looking forward to reading short story collection from China Mieville.

Listening: Marilyn Manson, Rob Zombie, Rammstein.

Looking: Like I will be starting training again this weekend, after almost 4 months of lay off since my ankle started playing up. I won't be doing much running, mostly bag work and free weights plus diet.

Worrying: This subject actually deserves more thought but I'll put it in anway. My mate R has really got be thinking about the looming crisis in oil production and what the future is going to look like. I've been reading around the subject a bit and apparently its 2010 when the shit is really going to hit the fan......more to follow.

Last snatch, dumped another creative turd on Seathing.

So, I had a second interview for the new job I'm after. It seemed to go pretty well, including the initial swedish session (oohhh er missus) at the start. We switched to English pretty quickly, and the problem - I realised - is that it is really difficult to read someone when they are using their second lanquage, even when they are fluent. Nuances and expressions come out differently, so I was never quite sure how enthusiastic the interviewer was being about me. Oh, a note to self - or anyone else having an interview in Sweden - they check references well in advance of you being offered a position so you might want to consider not including your current employer, as I have done. I've had to do some damage limitation to hopefully avoid the worse case scenario of a. not getting the new job and b. my old boss deciding that my lack of loyalty is a good enough reason to get rid of me. Paranoid? Moi?

Notable event: It was E's name day on saturday and his first B'day last week. One year old. Shocking.
Books:Century Rain by A. Reynolds, 6 out of 10 - definitely not his best but okay. More from the Alita:Battle Angel Series and various Sandman collections.
Music: Mudhoney, Libertines and Queen.

"Arguably the most dangerous machine ever fabricated at SRL: Pitching Machine".....actually blogged about these guys before but this is so cool, firing pieces of 2 by 4 at speeds of 120 mph.

More to come, but now I must make the tea.......work strangeness abounds, second interviews undertook, contract renewals floating, dreams of permanancy...hmmm, sounds a bit like a haiku.

After a savage bout of mushroom, or poo, induced poisoning yesterday I feel relatively fitter (although a little thinner) today......I fucking hate being ill, especially when the family goes off to the summer house and leaves me lolling in my sick bed with nothing but John Carpenters 'Assault on Precinct 13' to watch. They actually didn't just leave because of my explosive diarrhea but also because its that time of year when we must replace the cars tyres with the mighty studded ice breakers.

Annoyed, because I've started reading A. reynolds latest - Century Rain. Don't get me wrong, its started well and is a novel departure from the universe of his previous books BUT once again the curse of ideas rises again. You see, his latest involves the use of alien transit lines - the Hyperweb - enabling mankind to reach the stars. Which is identical to an idea I had some years ago. This is not the first time this has happened either, Neil Gaimens story of people living under london was pretty much identical to an idea I had, involving 'dwellers' some years before. This suggests, to me, that - I really should write more or that, more likely I think, theres a universal pool of ideas which we can access, and that ideas are not really our own. Or, that we are all sad geeks pretty much influenced by the same source material.

Still laughing at: Joke in 'Catch me if you can'.......'Knock Knock. Who's there? Go fuck yourselves.'
Getting into: Franz Ferdinand. Partly because the musics cool but also because they seem to be one of the few bands that smile in photographs.

I finally got around to adding some links...more to follow when I get around to it.....(just beneath the archives on the right side)........

First things first, if you go over to http://www.seathingcity.blogspot.com/ you'll find Shunt - a rather unpleasant, poorly edited short story which I put together on the commute to work. If you enjoy it, or at least could think of worst ways to have spent the 20 minutes or so that you used reading it then so much the better. I enjoyed writing it, which is the main thing I guess.

Some statistics from my life:

Nappies changed: approx 900, which is an average of around 2 a day - the daily average is higher now, but I was working more before E stopped breast feeding.
Times I have sung: 'Go to sleep little baby': approx 1080 times 'Man of constant sorrow': approx 700 times. 'Whisky in the jar': approx 500 times 'Copperhead road':approx 500 times. These are usually sung in the day, frequently in a medley. E, wisely, nods straight off to sleep in the evening and thus is spared further renditions.
Full nights uninterrupted sleep I have had in the past 11 or so months: approx 25 (almost all from trips). This is out of a potential of 360, considering this - and the amount of people who have young kids at any one time - its amazing there aren't more incidents of sleep deprived parents going postal.

Speaking of nappies I notice that Madonna said that her husband dosn't change nappies because he is a 'man's man', what exactly is it about changing a nappie which is unmanly? All the men I know, including myself, seem to spend a far greater time talking about poo than women.

To finish. I finally got my hands on the last book of the 'Bone' series by Jeff Smith. Its up there with Preacher as my favourite comic book- read it, its a bloody excellent story. (hence the image at the top). Currently wading my through Stephen Baxters 'coaltruck' or whatever the hell its called. Soon to start A Reynolds new one. Also finish Alita: Battle Angel.

A site called Camera Toss catchs my attention for all the wrong reasons.....interesting, and yet again remind me, is this why we came from the trees?

Its clearly the end of days, with alarums and diversions ringing out across the land.......so heres something to bring some light, this is cool. One mans quest to barter from a starting position of a paperclip up to a house.

Just back from Oslo, and as K and E were up at the grandparents it meant that I'm slightly delirious from getting almost 9 hours of straight sleep.....feel slightly odd, and in a perverted way, that I could actually do with a few more hours kip. Oslo was good, the occasion was the jamboree for our organisation.

Oslo, nice city but bloody hell Norways expensive!

Heres some stuff from Flickr....

I've set up a new blog...http://www.seathingcity.blogspot.com/ which will shortly contain Shunt, a short unpleasant story (which contains adult themes, graphic sexual references and swearing). Right then, bring on the coffee.

Music: Sugar Cubes

Film: The Faculty, most excellent horror. Saw Flightplan the other day, first half cool Hitchcockian thriller the second part pants.

Book: A. Reynolds new book, the name of which escapes me.

Most eagerly awaited: Resident Evil 4.

Photographs of game avatars and their real life counterparts.

Been a while. Been up to stuff.

The expression 'fucking mental' regularly flicks up in my head these days as I watch the world go ever madder under the Whore Beast and Skull Fucker.....heres a little something from Gov. Jeb apparently making Florida a safer place by enabling a law which, check this out, would render immune someone who fires into a crowd if they believe they were at risk....it would effectively prevent someone, not involved in an incident nor the 'target', to press action against the shooter if they were shot. The change in law now means that you can use deadly force if you feel threatened and that there is no need, as was previously in the law, to run away and hide. I only noticed this because of an advert in the Gruniad, which I actually thought was some kind of spoof at first, which suggested that travellers to Florida avoid any kind of confrontation. I suspect that this law, in the increasingly paranoid eyes of the Americans (sorry, generalisation, some Americans) will be seen as giving them the righteous authority to gun down anyone who looks vaguely...ooohhh...Black, Asian, Muslim, strange, democrat etc etc. In a time when we should be really doing something about the proliferation of arms and terrorism we're actually making it easier to kill people. Enough ranting. I despair, I really do.

Check out the shoot first, ask questions never campaign here.

my latest line of sweaty invective must wait.....its still in the boiler room brewing up. Instead, heres a bloke whose hair looks like a hat.

MediaGuardian.co.uk | Media | Remembering Ronnie: Barker's best gags: "'The West Drayton man who has kept himself awake every night for 17 years by snoring has at least found the answer. He's going to sleep in another room.'"
Ronne B., you will be missed.

"If you imagine the noise God makes before he eats a slice of cheese on toast, then comparably, that's how satisfying yearning the 65 minutes of Takk..... sounds. Ordinary people. Extraordinary songs"
NME reviews Sigur Ros latest album

SEE! Did I not say everyone in the world, living or dead, should be listening to these icelandic chaps!

school boy humour rocks!

check out these papers......

Letter to the Editor: Similar fasting ghrelin levels in binge eating/purging anorexia nervosa and restrictive anorexia nervosa •
Psychoneuroendocrinology, Volume 29, Issue 5, June 2004, Pages 692-693
Barbel Otto , M. Tschöp and U. Cuntz

... presumably an angry letter?

CARCINOMA OF PENIS AND CERVIX
The Lancet, Volume 316, Issue 8199, 18 October 1980, Pages 855-856
P. S. Cocks, K. R. Peel, R. A. Cartwright and R. Adib

Identification and biochemical characterization of an avian sulfatase homologous to the human ARSE, the gene for X-linked chondrodysplasia punctata
Gene, Volume 336, Issue 2, 21 July 2004, Pages 155-161
Paola Ferrante, Silvia Messali, Andrea Ballabio and Germana Meroni

....so I spent some of my valuable life currency plugging rude words into Science Direct, hey, it made me laugh...

Way cool....West Side Story reedited as a trailer for a zombie flick.....

I woke sweating.....the dreams I've been having recently are very disturbing, Condoleeza riding naked on a killer dolphin loaded with attack darts on a dying sea.......you see, its not all insanity either, part of Bush's new 'War Against Weather' has already began (don't believe the hype of telling the Americans to save fuel - the message is clear, bring on the monster trucks.....) with the 'accidental' release of killer attack dolphins reported in the aftermath of Katrina. They been trained to hunt down 'weather' (or as Bush said 'them folks in the sky that make it rain') and kill it without mercy........

if you think this is pure fantasy...ninja dolphins

The other piece which caught my eye this morning was William Bennett, friend to the American Neo-Nazi saying that 'if you want to reduce crime.....abort every black baby'. But its okay, because he went on to say '...an impossible, ridiculous and morally reprehensible thing to do, but your crime rate would go down'. Official sources report the Whore Beast as saying "the president believes the comments were not appropriate". Check the wording here..."believes", which suggests he was not exactly sure, probably trying to figure out how that worked with his pro-values. Read the full manifesto of Willy 'Baby Killer' Bennett here.

And Iraq drags on, with the lovely Condoleezzla shrieking out about not ceding the country to Barbaric Killers.......yeah, winning hearts and minds....You can win them to, just find a queue in down town Baghdad and wait for them to come tumbling from the sky. For fucks sake, have we got such short memories......., a war based on lies (now wait, don't start nitpicking - it was lies, there were no WMDs (oh except for the sarin which Saddam got from Ronnie (the senile monkey fucker) but by the time we invaded he'd long since used it on the Kurds) and the fuckers who started it grinning like fucking apes as the bodies mount up.