The Worst Deadline in the World

Earlier in the year, I saw that the Folkestone Literary Festival was on again - and then I forgot all about it. Somebody made a passing comment today that made me hit the web to find out when it is, which is in a couple of weeks - 6 to 14 November. On their website, there was a "short story competition" link. Shall I have a go? Why not.

Well there was a bloody good reason why not. The deadline was midnight last night. That gave me three hours from when I got home to come up with an idea (confined to historical fiction based in Kent) and deliver it. Could it be done?

Yes it could. With minutes to spare, Smuggler's Leap was signed, sealed and delivered. It was rough going: a) I am the last person on the face of the planet to know anything about the history of anything - unless it involves Kiss or Starsky and Hutch. b) I know even less about Kent than I do about history but c) I am quite able to take some unrelated scraps of information and pummel them into something that resembles a story that will kick everybody else into the moat. As with The Fire Sermon, let's see what happens. If it goes nowhere, it will turn up here (or on the site) for public consumption.

I am now officially 'tired' and I don't do tired.

Anyway, what I was really pitching at was running out a whole series of pamphlets, all of which had the first chapter or first section from all the projects I'm currently working on and taking them down there. Maybe getting them into the hands of some people who matter. Maybe even get them into the hands of some people that don't matter as well. So today is a day of planning out just what the hell that might involve...

It basically amounts to nine pamphlets, so I had probably best get busy. As I'm sitting here writing this though, I figure I might be approaching this all wrong. Maybe it needs fleshing out into a proper PR attack on the local area. No point in trying to take over the world if you can't master the town that's less than ten miles away. Yes. A plan is needed...

...what would Gene do?

More later...

Fire in the Sky

I've done so much work today, I actually feel spiritually stripped down. Nonetheless, at lunchtime I picked up the first proof of The Fire Sermon (which looked great) and this evening, I slightly rewrote, redrew, moved and rewrote again until I can honestly say, I can do no more with it. The final will be shipped off tomorrow and we'll see what happens.

With the high street bookstores fll of the same generic tat that they were pimping a year or so ago, I've taken to scouring second hand bookstores and charity shops in search of something half decent to read. I found a real gem today: The Compleet Molesworth (Willans & Searle) which collects the four classics Down With Skool, How To Be Topp, Whizz For Atomms and Back in the Jug Agane. Originally published in 1958, my school pal Chalky and I pored over them like they were still relevant in the 80s... and hey, 50 years later and for 50 pence I can vouch that they're still as funny as I thought they were the first time. Check them out...

Tomorrow, work begins on We Three Kings - which I'm also excited about. It's another killer just waiting to be let out into the cold light of day.

That's enough for now. I appear to have come by a copy of Angels & Demons that needs watching.

The Circle of Fear

Ah... the sweet smell of things happening. A week or so ago, there was an advert in The Observer with details of a competition to win some hardcore stash. "All" you had to do was submit a four page graphic novel style story - making it a graphic novella I guess. Anyway, with all these other projects on the go, that was about the kind of size I could manage! Thus, The Fire Sermon was born. At time of writing, three pages down, one to go and well ahead of the entry deadline too. I don't really mind if we (that would be Charlotte and I) win or not - I'm just stoked to be back in the game. It's prompted us to think about doing more graphic novellas while we finish off Too Hot For Dogs and is just the right size for it not to be a spanner in the engine of everything else. If we win, we'll have to refrain from publishing due to the contract. If we don't, we'll just post it for download and/or digital page publishing over at issuu... where a freebie zodiac lung store is currently on its way.

Currently listening to: Kiss | Sonic Boom (you know what I think of this without me having to say a word!)
Currently reading: John Connolly | The Gates (and again.. it's a good week for product!)
Currently watching: Supernatural Season 5 and Californication Season 3. (Bring 'em on!)

Laying rubber...

Months behind schedule, I've almost finished Blackout in the Red Room - after the dumbest amount of proofs, I've settled on a cover, organised the running order and I'm now in the proofing stage. Once I'm happy with the goodies, it will be added to the very sad looking stock list in the store. On a much better note, there should be two more books up there by the end of the year as these are also in the same sort of shape. Things are looking up.

This afternoon, I started rebuilding the Wendy House that we bought to use as a rabbit hutch. It's huge... almost as big as the rabbits. Tomorrow - if I remember before the sun disappears - I'll take some snaps. For somebody not very inclined to even consider getting involved with DIY projects, I'm really pleased with it. It hasn't fallen down yet and it's been up for over three hours now.

Rummaging through some old stuff this evening looking for something in an old folder, I found a script report that I got back from the original incarnation of Too Hot For Dogs from way back. I'd forgotten this had actually happened but the script was shortlisted for the Orange screenwriting prize back in whatever year it was... as you can imagine, I'm running through the gears here trying to figure out how to get back on the hoss.

Wendy hutch aside, a pretty quiet day here. Must get on with proofing Blackout. I do however remember promising stunning pictures of a man reading a book in Tesco. This guy was walking so incredibly slowly that he didn't even notice when I stood in front of him and took a photograph. I thought he had a baby in there at first but no... it was a Louis L'Amour paperback. I haven't read a L'Amour western since I was about 12... I didn't think anybody else did either but it appears I was wrong. Right at this very moment though, blogger has decided it doesn't want to play, so you'll have to check back tomorrow...

Life 2.0

I think it is anyway... it may even be 3.0 or 4.0. I've lost count. No matter. That's quite sufficient downtime on this blog. So your house burnt down... so you got caught in a divorce... so you moved to a new house and flirted with bankruptcy. These are NOT valid excuses for letting your blog fall behind.

Anyway, in the last 2 months, I've driven over 5,000 miles. Home to Devon and back in the same day, then a few days later, I drove up to my ma's house in Wales, had a mug of tea and a bacon sandwich and then hightailed it across the north of England to Chesterfield for a wedding and then back again. Then a little while later I did the same trip to Devon and back again. Drinking and drugged up driving are illegal but I tell you, we should all be put away for driving on too little sleep. It's not good for your soul - and not good for anybody else on the road either.

To my profound horror, my mother revealed to me that she regularly reads my blog, so there goes at least half of my vocabulary but it might be a good time to mention the rather large tattoo on my arm that I never told her about. Telling her this on my blog is almost as bad as dumping somebody by text but somehow I feel justified. Human beings can convince themselves that is anything is accetable if you tell it to yourself often enough.

Also, my long lost sister got back in touch after 15 years. That's a long time but she also revealed she has been reading my blog too. So what have we learnt here? If you have a blog, you never have to speak to anybody, ever.

And that my friends, is enough for today but over the course of the week I will share such marvels with you that you won't be able to leave your seat (much like the Derren Brown experiment). Gasp as you share in the delight of the very large electric saw at work in B&Q; during the purchase of a £200 wendy house, bought for £35, that will make a great rabbit hutch. Hide behind the sofa as I show you mobile phone pictures of a man reading a book as he wanders the Tesco aisles aimlessly.

It's good to be back.

Currently reading: The Lost Symbol - don't be fooled by reviews desperate to find an opinion on it. It's a good solid thriller much like many others. Simply enjoy it for what it is and move along to the next one...
Currently listening to: Billion Dollar Babies - Alice Cooper.

Hell (1)

So, with the fire all but taking over my entire life for the best part of a week, I found myself volunteering for all sorts of jobs to try and help out as much as I could.

It was this reason - and this reason alone - that we found ourselves in PC World with a pocketful of cash and an instruction to "Go buy a netbook" to at last begin replacing some of the items melted down into demon food.

Finding what we wanted just inside the door, the objective appeared to be simple enough to fulfil in a reasonable short space of time:

1. Point at the item you require.
2. Explain that you want it with the minimum of fuss and chat because your house burnt down.
3. Pay.
4. Leave

To begin, we had to wait 15 minutes while the only salesman in 4000 square metres finished getting as much blood out of the two stones sitting opposite him as he possibly could. This, despite there being five other guys wandering around aimlessly in a 9 square meter holding area called 'technical support'. If you've ever taken any item into PC World, you'll know what we're talking about here. I once took in a twin ended firewire cable that belongs with my eternal hard drive. Showing it to the guy, I asked for one just like it to be told that such a thing does not exist and they didn't have any.

Anyway, eventually Prick the Salesman came over with his smiley sales face blowing in the wind behind him.

I was not in the mood.

"See this" I said pointing, "I want one exactly the same as this and I don't want to be rude but I just want it in a box that I can pay for and leave because our house burnt down. Can we do that?"

"I'm sure we can." Prick replied. "I bet you could do with drink after a day like that! I know I could.. whoops, I shouldn't say things like while I'm working should I..."

"Can we just have the netbook please?"

"Would you like it in blue, red, white or..."

"Black - just like this one here that I pointed at when I said I wanted one just like this."

"OK. I'll go and see if we have one in stock. You'll be needing a sleeping bag for it - these are great. You simply turn it inside out and they make fantastic screen cleaners because you should never use a dishcloth or harsh materials."

"Just the netbook please." Yes. Steam had physically seeping from my ears at this point.

"I can do you one of these for £20!"

"Hang on a second, that's how much it is anyway. That's not a 'deal'. Can we just have the netbook please?"

"Has it been a long day?"

At which point, I swear I nearly turned the freaking 'sleeping bag' inside out and cleaned the inside of his mouth with it, but Eleanor gave me 'the look' that means I had to remove myself from the premises before something bad happened.

This is why Tesco and other supermarkets are allowed to sell computers. You go in, you put it in your trolley with the coffee, chocolate and toothpaste. You get what you want and nobody gets hurt.

Currently listening to: Roadstar | Grand Hotel
Currently loving: DirectLine Insurance

The House That Jack UnBuilt...

There are reasons aplenty to be lax in your blog postings but the front of your house burning down is probably the best.

Nobody got hurt but there are few scarier wake-up calls at half two in the morning than "wake up - I think the front of the house is on fire!" I don't think this picture really does it justice but standing outside watching it sweep through the place and eat everything it touched while licking its way down the fences towards the main part of the house was possibly the most frightening thing I've ever seen.

Stupidly, I thought it would be a good idea to move one of the cars before it caught fire as well. Yeah, I know... but you don't think straight in that sort of event. Your head moves into business mode and nothing less. As soon as I got in I knew I shouldn't have. It was so, so hot in there and as soon as I turned the engine over, the back windscreen blew into the car... not nice, but thankful that I have all this hair still even if it is a bitch picking it out.

I really can't even begin to get across what it's like watching something that out of control coming towards you. No matter how brave/stupid you feel, there's simply nothing you can do against hungry 60ft flames and a good headwind helping it along.

The Fire Guys turned up as quick as they could considering the house is in the middle of nowhere. Once they were on the scene, all you can do is stand back and watch them do what they do best. How 2.30am turned into 5.15am I'll never know but it did.

Once the fire had been reduced to red hot wet ash and dawn broke, there was little more to do but stand there, think what was there a few hours earlier and what's there now. Which as you can see here, is nothing at all. Now, I know it's not my house and I'm moving shortly, but these people who I rent some rooms from, lost at least half of their personal possessions. Thirty plus years of collective life gone in 20 minutes. Bad, bad shit.

The fire guys had a good look round and despite hearing a car at some vague time before the fire started (which is unusual for the middle of nowhere) put it down to 'maybe an electrical fault'. Arson or electrical fault, I don't know but I stood there coughing up ash and wondering if I simply hadn't given enough food to the angels that live in the field across the road. Maybe they'd gotten a taste for Yorkie's and were less than impressed with the apples I had thrown in there that had fallen off the tree. Seriously.

Anyway, it's been the most exhausting week and there's a lot of aftermath to blog about: A fire, a divorce, moving house, a magazine, stories and poetry... if you made it this far, you may wish feast away on this video featuring the last few moment of Monday morning. We had to wait until there was nothing left to burn before we even got this close... scary.

Look after yourselves people... death can come on swift wings.

http://www.youtube.com/get_player

Currently listening to: Roxy Music
Currently reading: The Likeness: Tana French and Red Rackham's Treasure
Currently: Also sleeping a lot

The House That Jack Built...

Looking for somewhere new to live is an interesting process to go through.

Over the last four to five weeks, I've seen some flats and houses that made me think I would be better off living in the car. I've seen places that are beautiful and overpriced, ugly and overpriced and just plain dull - and overpriced. I have learnt a lot - the main point being that even though the whole world is rocking on its credit starved ass, everything is still overpriced.

I've been to agents who think they're doing you a favour by showing you around a place and are generally a bunch of cocksuckers. I've met agents who are really decent and agents who haven't got a clue what's going on.

After weeks of this nonsense, a cool thing happened. Around a month ago, we put up some flyers in local newsagent windows and on Friday evening, got a call about a house that was priced perfectly and in theory sounded like it fell out of the sky into our lap.

I did a drive-by on it on Friday night and fell in love immediately. A small cottage in middle of nowhere... that was pretty much the directive from the start. Come yesterday morning, further talks took place which led in a meet yesterday afternoon and the deal being signed, sealed and delivered by the end of the day. That's less than 24 hours.

The moral of the story? You can go through normal channels to try and find what you want, you can register with every agency under the sun or you can stand in the middle of a field and request an audience with the Angels of the Sefiroth and ask for their help. Laugh away non-believers of supernature... wait until you see our new house.

A word from the wise though - nothing comes for free. Always remember to find out the terms of the deal before you start. In this case, a Yorkie bar - which will be delivered this afternoon as promised. It's one thing to piss off your landlord but another to have the Sefiroth fucking your life up over a forgotten chocolate bar.

Currently listening to: Maroon 5 | Songs About Jane
Currently reading: The Suspicions of Mr Whicher | Kate Summerscale and Good Living With Rheumatoid Arthritis (don't ask)

Wine...

I blame the wine...

Midnight of yesterday was the closing date for the Bridport poetry/short story competition. I was hoping to finish up The Tuba Farm to submit but just as I was getting to the end, I thought of a much better ending and I have decided to hold it back so that it's a much better story all round. So instead I submitted a couple of poems: The Fallen and The Girl With Venetian Eyes.

Yesterday was also the closing date for entries to the competition at United Press. I submitted a couple more poems out there and then had the dumbest idea. With five minutes left to submit entries, I thought I would submit a "live entry" - one written on the spot with no editing and submitted without reviewing. Now, I don't think this is good or bad because it is what it is - me hammering words together at the speed of light in a poem like structure and calling it a poem. In the spirit of fair play (and mirth), here it is:

The Animals That Broke The Law

Donkeys.
Hundreds of.
Marauding in the streets.
Throwing bricks through windows
Stealing TVs they will never get to watch.

Chickens.
Jaywalking.
Heads on sticks.

Iguanas.
Out of place in the high street.
Cold and lost.
Run off with a fan heater from Comet.

What the world needs right now is Bob the Rooster.
He will sort this mess out.

There seems to be an avalanche of competitions out there at the moment - maybe they're always out there. I've never looked that hard before, but I certainly have enough material to be shipping out to them. The Boy With Wasps For Eyes can go next. I'm struggling a bit with my own self-imposed word count on that one and there's a nice looking comp with a 2000 word maximum which means I can cut it back and tighten it to within an inch of its life.

I've been meaning to blog this next part for a while. In Waterstones - or maybe it was WHSmiths - I forget now, but they are both the same anyway - they appear to have developed human tragedy publishing into a whole new marketing experience. How much human misery can the reading public actually need? Quite frankly, this is shameful. Shameful of the authors, the agent, the publisher and the bookseller. All of the covers even have the same Lucida Handwriting font design so that tragedy can be easily identified by idiots.

...and before anybody starts, I know it's not Lucida Handwriting but you get the picture. Is it the same all over the world? Google Analytics is telling me that Zodiac Lung has readers everywhere these days... if you're from out of town and made it this far down, please leave a comment if you're familiar with this human misery factory. I'd really like to know if there are books about how a shepherd broke into your bungalow in Cuba one night and locked you in a cupboard...

The Poseidon Adventure

There's a scene in The Poseidon Adventure in which, to escape the oncoming onslaught of um... Atlantic Ocean, the remaining survivors have to swim underneath a staircase (or similar) to get to the other side where they can then battle *insert random plot device here, to further their escape. Anyway, in this group, there's a really fat woman and when you're watching the movie for the first time, you automatically think, 'she's next to die'. But no. In Poseidon, she turns out to have been a champion underwater swimmer or something when she was in high school and navigates the underwater labyrinth like a big blubbery seal. It's a great scene, but the crux of it is that her husband (I think) can't swim even in the bath, but he has to otherwise he will drown anyway.

This is kind of how I feel today. Like a mixture of these two characters. I know I used to be able to (metaphorically) swim for miles underwater, but something is making me stand still for far too long and though I don't think it's fear, I can certainly see the Atlantic bearing down on me and am not moving. It's an odd feeling, waiting to be swept away - hence total lack of posting this week. It won't last forever, it never does and when it blows away, expect to see something stupid like a million posts a day as the clouds blow away.

I think the answer lies in a big torch that got shone on me this week, though at the time it was more like a whole set of floodlights bearing down on me. It's hard being told your weaknesses and being grown-up enough to recognise them as real. Truth of the matter is I fucking hate being criticised - even constructively - and am just about grown-up enough to brush my own teeth, but I'm willing to go through this because for once - and it really is just once - I think I might be a better person on the other side. In this particular instance, the torch revealed that I am guilty - make that GUILTY - of sometimes not liking the things that the world throws at me but never doing anything about it to change those things. That's a really fucking hard thing to admit to yourself when you've always considered yourself a bit fearless.

It's even harder writing them down here.

It's a bit like walking into a room where there are a lot of people you know along with some you don't and announcing something you think is really awful and personal but the truth of the matter is, the people who know you are all thinking 'yeah, we could have told you that years ago' and the people who don't know you, don't actually care either way. They just came for the free biscuits and the chance of a few laughs because it was free to get in.

But you know what keeps me smiling and happy? The fact that you're all just as fucked up as me in different ways that you choose to display/not display as applicable. Which reminds me - I forgot to post up Communication Breakdown in The Wasteland. Will do that later today. Tut tut.

It's not all doom though. I'm about 500 words from finishing up The Tuba Farm short story for a big-ass competition. It's about time that got wrapped up once and for all but it took said conversation above to set some big and heavy wheels in motion in my head to get it moving again. There's a couple of other competitions lurking over the next couple of months too, so there will be a fair bit of offline writing going on - with a pen!

Huge cock

It's a pitiful state of affairs when you have to resort to underhand tactics to drive some traffic. Just taking a look at the stats for this blog and the day after I posted using the title Popular Dogging Site about the sheepdog trials, my traffic went up by 3,457% according to Google analytics. Some of them even stayed for a while which is nice of them before they go off into the wilds of the countryside to get their kicks.

It's an interesting experiment and one I would like to repeat again today to see what happens. Yesterday, we went on a road trip to gather some collateral for one of my other (and as yet undiscussed here) projects and found ourselves at this place, where coffee is freely available along with cigarettes and some decent chat. Behind her studio is a chicken house and I swear, I thought her rooster was a model until it moved. It was at least 3 feet tall and must weigh eight fucking stone. I've always been more or less satisfied with my lot but now I want a huge cock as well.

Jealous...

Thought of the day: When you plan to go somewhere in the evening, don't lie on the floor and fall asleep...

On being Byron-esque

The idea of getting out and about is gaining a little momentum. This seems like a good place to start (and yes, I've just realised that this in in fact, tomorrow)...

Our next Orange Street Poetry Night is on Sunday the 21st of June at 5:45pm. Entry as always is free, please come along and support your local writers. Creative writing groups and individuals are invited to bring promotional literature for their own events, and may also bring their own publications to sell on the night.

I shall of course be reporting back - either with a) lots of positive things to say or b) slamming the event from the top rope. I've always found these groups hit or miss with no in-between but this one I'm feeling pretty good about. I have been known to be wrong, but not often. Most interested in the quality of what's going on out there and maybe more so in the purpose... anyway, we shall see.

If all else fails and it sucks like a lemon, maybe it's time to form some kind of elite group that only performs once a year at a secret woodland location on the summer solstice. Now that is the kind of poetry group poets should want to be a member of. Maybe next year... being as that's also on Sunday. Then again, you only need two people to make a group. Would feel a bit of a loser going totally alone.

Curds & Whey | 1000 x 100 Word Stories (4)

"What I'm saying is, you can't call a Funeral Home Curds & Whey. We'll never get any people through the door, dead or alive!"

"...and what I am saying, is that it's traditional to use the surnames of the partners. I don't mind if we call it Whey & Curds, but those are our surnames and that's what we should be using! On the other hand, although I don't mind using it that way around, it's not half as snappy. You have to admit Curds & Whey is very memorable and comes quite early on in the Yellow Pages..."

Hard Boiled | 1000 x 100 Word Stories (3)

I never wanted to be a private detective. It just kind of happened.

My old man was the best private detective in the world. I know this because he told me so on several occasions.

My Ma died when I was only a few weeks old. Dad felt that in order to give me the best possible start in life, that he should work every case that came his way.

So he kept me close in his middle drawer. Top drawer: gun. Middle drawer: me. Bottom drawer: bourbon. I guess the apple really doesn't fall too far from the tree.

Out and about and some other bits...

I rather suspect that it's time to get the lead out and interact with some of the human race. There's a lot of good things going on around here that I've missed simply because most of the time I either have my head in a book or up my ass.

It's a little late in the day for most of these, but this last one is certainly worth checking out:

8.30-10.30,
Thursdays; 21st February, 27th March, 25th April, 22nd May, 26th June
Brown Jug Inn, 204 Ramsgate Road, Broadstairs
'Poems & Pints': Round-table readings of poetry in a traditional pub.
This is an on-going event occuring each Thursday.

Full listings for Poets on Fire can be found here. Maybe it's time...

Also going to see what's going on at the Folkestone LitFest this year. 19 to 24 September gives me a reasonable amount of time to get something decent together...

Observers with eyes will also see that I've started to post 100 word stories. Seemed like a good idea at the time! I quite often get half-baked ideas at the most inconvenient of times and nearly all of them lie blowing in the wind, so they're just being emptied out into somewhere a little more constructive than the ether. There will indeed be 1000 of them in all. I have no idea how long it will take or even what they will be like - if indeed they need to be like anything. What's a Zodiac Lung for if not something to empty your head into.

Kicking Leaves | 1000 x 100 Word Stories (2)

The Cat Carousel span around and around in the haze that was mounting beneath the canopy of the burnt oak.

Most of the cats were behaving themselves and stayed on the ride just as they had been told by the Man with the Nehru Collar, but Tabitha and Barabas had jumped off as soon as his back was turned.

Running in the shadow of the oak, they whooped and kicked up an unholy mess in the leaves, not caring one iota that the Man with the Nehru Collar would skin them alive when he discovered his rules had been broken.

Quarantine | 1000 x 100 Word Stories (1)

So there I sat, alone, the skin peeling off my body in increasingly large strips. Tense, with my back up against the cold brick wall in a pitiful attempt to not fall apart completely, I let out a scream that held the entire weight of my soul behind it.

The observers in the green and white coats - one colour presumably being more important than the other - simply looked back through the glass at me with hanging jaws.

Whatever had decided my body was a suitable host had grossly underestimated how habitable it actually was and now, we were all paying.

Less is more/Black Dye White Noise

This evening I was trying to figure out how best to control my out of control meandering for the best and one of the things that was becoming a real grind - at least to me - was keeping up with the concept of multiple blogs. So instead of separate sites and feeds for things like Extracts from The Wasteland and Letters from..., they will all be posted here and be easily spotted by their tags - lovingly displayed at the top of the column opposite. I know a lot of you are a little slow of mind due to the trepanning in the woods, so over the next week, there will also be some highly crafted graphical interfaces deposited in that column too. I think they call them icons these days.

So, if you've been keeping up with the Code of the Zode, best kill off those other RSS feeds for they will work and be updated no longer. It also means that Tales from... will be updated more regularly and with far more random offerings.

It makes sense to me and will hopefully come into its own once the short stories and other promo scraps are posted.

I'll also be adapting a few other old items that have been sitting in the wings for far too long, the first of these is the rebirth of Black Dye White Noise. At the moment, this will come in the form of playlists archived at itunes. We'll see where it goes but in the meantime, here's the first:

Thank you. You may now return to your seats.

A tip of the hat...

I forgot to post about a range of books that I found last Saturday in the comic store (which I also forgot to post about). Picking up the Umbrella Academy second series, I found a rack of imported and translated European graphic novels collected from old comic book titles.

The guys that do this are Cinebook and they have a pretty damn good site if you're looking for something a bit different to fill the hole in your soul. There's some great stuff available that I used to be into back when I was a kid... though God only knows how I used to get hold of this stuff back then.

Most worthy of attention are the Lucky Luke and Blake & Mortimer series, particularly the latter for it's blatant homage to Herge's Tintin artwork. Even the covers are decked out in the same font and total style package. Luckily the stories hold up to scrutiny. Also worth a look is Madame Tussaud if you're looking for something a little out of the ordinary.

Nice - whichever way you slice it.

Popular Dogging Site

Nice post title. That should drive some traffic.

Despite the shit-list getting to me more than I should let it this week, there's been some great things going on this week as well. Sunday morning, whilst out looking at a cottage to rent that looked more than promising, we came across a secret sheep-dog trial. Dozens of Welsh Border Collies all in one place and a van that sold dirt-cheap huge egg and bacon rolls on a very blustery day? That's as close to heaven as you're going to get when you weren't looking for it.

As you would expect at such a place, the dogs were a lot more amenable to being sociable than the people they were with. There seems to be some general backlash against "hobbyists" who come to these events with their pets (who are nevertheless, well trained) as opposed to working dogs with their Shepherd owners. As I learned, there aren't many Shepherds around anymore. I can't help but wonder why this is. There are certainly as many sheep as there ever where. How do sheep get from one place to another without Shepherds and their dogs? Do farmers ride bikes at their sheep? Is there a machine that goes out and does it in the blink of an eye? Maybe the sheep just get left where they are - which would kind of make sense because you only have to put them back out in the morning. Surely they wouldn't get cold in the night with all that wool on them. I have slept outdoors in a woolly jumper before and I must say, it is most comfortable. Then again, foxes and wolves weren't trying to rip my head off for a snack... but if you really want to know, it was on Euston station, which if you've ever slept there, is at least twice as dangerous as sleeping in an open field in the country.

As Denis Leary once stated, it's the little things that get you through life. This weeks great little things have been, in no particular order:

A coconut slice from a rough looking garden centre, the egg mayonnaise filling in the sandwich shop suddenly becoming very tasty, the huge chunks of fruit cake that Sue has also started selling in there, the killer chips that they have started serving in the Three Tuns in Staple and both of the tins of Rice Pudding I ate stone cold out of the tin this evening. There was also the carrot cake in Costa Coffee and the shortbread thing from Starbucks... there are many others I could add to this list including the aforementioned egg and bacon roll at the sheepdog trial...

Did I mention I had started eating again?

I have lots to say about proper work things too, but I think I shall do that tomorrow... I appear to have suddenly become very tired.

And hungry. Maybe I have a tapeworm?