Graham’s Rants: Disclaimer

Graham is a forty-five year old man who has become cynical of how the world has become, what he sees, hears, smells and even tastes and his viewpoints on it. Rapidly approaching his mid life crisis (well, he’s a lot closer to the big five oh than he was twenty years ago) he has little care for etiquette, whether you like him or not, or whether or not he has managed to offend you. In fact, he does offend you then he would probably be quite happy as it means he’s touched a nerve. So do not think him a racist, chauvinistic, inappropriate, seedy, disreputable old man. He may be these things to you but he doesn’t consider himself in this manner.

They are the honest opinions of a fictional character, although he would be offended that I called him fictional. Through reading these postings, written by him, you are consenting to keeping an open mind and not judging him in the manner that I’m sure he would judge you. It is an unfair clause, I know, but I cannot be bothered to deal with the splurge of aggressive emails calling me every name under the sun for something that I didn’t do. Something I am not. Just because you don’t like something that he has said. It’ll be like me having a go at you for something that a relative of yours has done, you remember those injustices as a kid do you not? It wasn’t fair. I’m asking for the same benefit of doubt you yearned for as that kid. (Apologies to those without relatives or did not have a childhood, I did not mean to offend you.)

Graham is an average man on all accounts. He barely keeps his head above the financial red line. Doesn’t have a washboard stomach or require one of those mobility scooters to head down to get to the local greengrocers. He has the average lot in life, a wife that barely tolerates him, a son that disrespects him and a daughter that has him wrapped around her finger, as all girls should of their fathers. At work he is equally average. His boss overworks and ignores him and colleagues don’t acknowledge his self-perceived greatness, while benefiting off the work he does.

Essentially he is invisible to all.

You have you warning. His postings will be Headlined as his rants so it’s not as if he’s going to sneak up on you. So just enjoy… Or argue with it… It’s all the same to me.

Just don’t bother me over it…

The Problems With Fantasy

Now, for all those that know me, will know that I like to delve into the world of fantasy when it comes to writing. There are less rules and such that I need to follow in order to do what I want to do… Tell a good story.

However, upon embarking on this degree, I have found that there is a wealth of factors that my story telling seems to have overlooked and then I came upon a book that wasn’t really ‘coming upon’ at all… as it has been sat on my bookshelf for well over 8 years. maybe a decade now, without being read.

It is David Edding’s “The Rivan Codex”. David Eddings has long been my favourite author. It is possible that he will remain so until my own death as it was his writing that made me realise that this was the life for me. That I wanted to tell stories that gave future generations as much escapism as his gave me. I had thought that this book was another story from the world of Belgarion, Begarath and Polgara. That I was going to be reveled by one final, one of adventure. I completely overlooked the subtitle at the bottom of the front cover which said “Ancient Texts of the Belgariad and the Mallorean”. I would hate to think that had I seen this subtitle that I would not have bought the book, and that is probably true measuring the amount of disappointment I felt when I read the introduction back then and realised that I had been wrong. I wish more than ever that I had persevered because I found more answers to the questions I had been asking that anywhere else, and I valued them greatly due to the fact that it was in the words of my literary idol…

The book itself is all the notes he made when creating the world in which the two series are set, as well as the races and main characters and such. I re-picked this book up a few days after realising that in order to flesh out my story properly and give it a degree of realism. I was going to have to create a world that was almost tangible, rather than winging it like I normally do.

And the thing that spoke to me most, which would have been handy in my darkest times?

“I was in my mid-teens when I discovered that I was a writer. Notice that I didn’t say “wanted to be a writer” – ‘want’ has almost nothing to do with it. Either it’s there or it isn’t. If you happen to be one, you’re stuck with it.”

Julia’s Adventures: Lock out (2)

“She was in my sight the entire time,” Julia continued, quickly covering what onlookers would consider a faux pas of the first time parent. “Anyway, I went and got one of the ladders. I thought they’d never notice it gone for ten minutes.”

The tale was being told while sitting in our living room. Steph and Elaine, my housemates, were sitting on the other sofa listening and it was here that Steph piped up. “I bet you were well scared of getting caught.”

“Yeah, you have no idea. I was like, don’t see me, don’t see me. Be out somewhere. Haha. Anyway, I got the ladder and propped it up against my balcony. Then I went back to the woman and said, “Look, I’m sorry about this but I’m scared of heights, so could you go and get my keys for me?”

“No way,” I said, “Really? You sent a woman you don’t really know up a ladder?”

“Yeah, haha!” Julia shrugged. “So I had to take Elloise, grab George’s lead while she went up the ladder, through my balcony door, grabbed my keys and came down and handed them to me. Only she had forgotten to close the balcony door so I had to then go back up and close it, shut the door and then hand Elloise to her again so that I could return the ladder.”

“I hope you put it back exactly how you left it!” I mocked, “Otherwise they’ll know.”

“I did,” she said, “I crept back with it as if it was like a completely normal thing to do. So, I put the ladder back, went and collected Elloise and then took George for his walk. And this is like ten thirty now. So took me hour and a half to leave to take him for a walk.”

She sat back with a contented sigh as we all watched the dogs play with one another in a reflective silence. No one thought to bring up her perculiar dress sense when visiting another home, albeit it quarter to ten at night. Nor further question it as she was heading off to Durley to pick up something that she bought on Ebay. The only thing I could think as I watched George, the older Staff than to our Ted, pin his younger counterpart to the floor with a playful growl, was how the hell did she end up in these situations?

Learning Café

Being back at university is oddly soothing after the last four months of inertia. I would like to put that down as the reason why my writing has been so erratic, however laziness and the need of a break from being creative were needed. For those who have been following the series… Yes it would seem that the institution had knocked me down for a while. For those who didn’t know that was the underlying theme with it, apologies for the spoiler.

Sitting here with such peace, however, is bizarre to me. I should be bricking myself shouldn’t I? Dissertation year. Conclusion to this massive gamble I took a couple of years ago in order to shove the boulder into the river and divert the course of my life. So I should be panicking, wondering whether I’m up to the challenge. I mean, the penalisations are seriously heavy this year. Ten mark loss if I don’t use enough sources in the critical peace on one of the modules as well as a further 10 if I don’t accompany it with an analysis of each of the primary texts.

But I’m not. Instead, I’m trying to do the reading for the lecture in a couple of hours and the soft fabric-covered sofas are being abused by Ranger hurling a slime covered demon through its back and shattering the glass of the vending machine behind it. It slumps down the shelving showering itself in Fairtrade crisps that were used as a makeshift airbag. Gabriel is standing above a large beast that he had just countered and driven through a table.

The silver wolf darts around the outskirts of the room, looking for the right angle into the fray while Paul tries to avoid the conflict, bearing the wounds of Waya’s most recent scrapes. The waitress blindly pours a coffee for another student that has just arrived to the battlefield and unbeknownst to them another monster of darkness lunges through the pair of them to be parried away by the Elf King Juan (need to think of a better name for the poor guy, eighteen year old me did not do him justice) and had its head severed by the mighty swing of his two handed sword, a great feat in such a cramped area as he managed to miss the waitress completely.

So it’s fairly safe to say that any hold the institution of life may have had over my writing has now been loosed by the freeing sensation of sitting on Uni campus and I am ready to take on the task of becoming a graduate.

(Now who honestly saw that coming? I sure as hell didnt…)

Julia’s Adventures: Lock Out

Of all the people I enjoy to write about, whether in fiction or creative non-fiction, one of my favourite subjects has got to be my sister Julia. I’ve not really written anything about her on here, however she never ceases to be a source of amusement and inspiration writing wise. For instance this evening she came round – I had offered to have George (mum’s boyfriend’s dog) for the day, which later became an overnight stay – to drop off some food for him.

She came into the living room for general chat – and I think to make sure that he got on with the other three dogs we have here perfectly well – at around half nine at night dressed in her pajamas, thick white with spots fleece socks, her boyfriend’s slippers and a thick black wool dressing gown.

As the discussion progressed, she suddenly said to me; “I told you that I locked myself out today didn’t I?”

I shook my head, “No, I heard nothing of that.”

She held up a hand, “I just wanted to cry, you know, it was just one of those instances. First off, I’d managed to get myself and Elloise sorted and out the door today by nine o’clock. Which, I might add, is a miracle for me to get anything done by nine. I mean, we’re talking full make up and everything. Got downstairs and realised that I’d left my keys inside. I kid you not, I could have cried.

“I then knocked on downstairs glass door to see if they had a ladder to get in my balcony, she screamed at me!”

“A bit excessive,” I murmured.

“Yeah, she screamed at me, then I realised it as because she saw George, he was with me because we were taking him for a walk. I had Elloise in my arms, and I was like, “He’s OK,” she said she’d call her friend and he’ll bring one down soon. I asked how soon and she said an hour and I was like… Fuck… that, no way was I going to wait around for an hour. So I walked down the road to the house on the corner, because they’re renovating and getting an extension or something. Anyway, they had like four ladders in the garden!

“So I went and knocked on their door, they didn’t answer, so I went back up the road and knocked on the door across the road from me. She didn’t have one, so I handed her Elloise-”

“Wait, wait, wait,” I said, holding up a hand. “You handed Elloise to a random person?”

“No, I knew her… sorta… She was one of those who you pass and say hi, how you doing and stuff, you know…”

Actually, I didn’t know as I am an anti-social sort who doesn’t really talk to anyone in passing. In fact, majority of the people I see out on the street recognise me far sooner than I then. But I dutifully nodded and let her continue her story…

Gabriel’s Endgame: Alex

Alex laid back in the hammock tied between two trees in his yard, with a leg cocked over the side, allowing a light breeze to gently rock him. Although it had been a long day at work, something was stopping him from relaxing and winding down.

Something felt wrong.

He scratched at his short red hair, ruffling the curling hair that struggled against his attempts to control it. After a few more careful swings he restlessly rolled out of the hammock and paced back towards the house, stopping off at his workshop to look over one of his latest projects only to toss it back onto the workbench and leave.

Sophie stood in the doorway rocking their newborn babe in her arms. He smiled at the glow that seemed to emit from her face, the satisfied smile of new mother. She frowned slightly as she looked at his expression. accepting the kiss as he passed and smiled as Alex laid a kiss on their daughter’s forehead and went inside where he picked up his phone.

“What’s wrong?” she asked as Alex flumped down on the sofa and scrolled through Facebook.

“I don’t know,” he replied, his voice distant. “Something just feels…” he clicked on a profile and looked at the postings. There hadn’t been any in a few days. In fact Messenger said that it had been inactive for him in the same amount of time. “Wrong…”

Sophie leaned in and gazed at the picture onscreen. “You’re worried about Alan?”

“Probably nothing,” he threw the phone onto the seat and held out his hands for his daughter and beamed as Sophie passed her over. He settled her down and then picked up his phone once more. “~But, I’ll see if a few others have heard from him.”

“Uh-huh,” Sophie replied curling a rogue strand of hair back behind her ear. “I’m putting the kettle on, want one?”

Alex shook his head as he brought up the profile of Alan’s mother, clicking to send a message. How’s things?

“No thanks, would like a juice though.” He smiled down at Freya and stroked her cheek, who cooed back. He often found himself spending moments like these staring at her and just marveling at how complete he felt.

His phone beeped with a response.

Crap, Christie’s in the hospital and I can’t get hold of Alan. Have you heard from him? Naomi is missing as well.

His sense of dread increased. Something was definitely wrong.

(Needs more description…)

Things Just Aren’t The Same

“I swear that disappeared when I was a kid,” Justin said over a glass of the cold amber nectar. “And you’re how old?”

I take a sip from my own glass, its shape and logo branded by San Miguel. “Twenty-nine.”

“No way, mate.” Justin shook his head. “That stopped when I was about eight.”

This time was my time to shake my head. “I distinctly remember sitting there in the morning looking at it and waiting for it to go away so that I could watch the early morning TV. Like Playdays and the stuff.”

“Nah, nah, nah. That disappeared when I was a kid.”

I dug my heels in and adamantly glared back. “No way, I remember it.”

“No, you remember seeing a program about it. I remember putting 50p’s in the TV and seeing it.”

Di looked at her phone, “Ok Google,” she said. “When did the girl and with the clown disappear from the TV?” her phone bleeped at her. “It says here that it disappeared in 1997.”

“So I’m right,” I said exultantly.

Although, this memory caused a semi-heated debate that spread to other people, and several google searches later, I was still found to be right by the many wikipedia sources that all said that BBC went 24 hour in 1997. The Test Card disappeared in 1997. The main point of it all was that it gave me a lot to think about.

Although I am twenty-nine there is so much that has changed and going to University a decade later than I should have, has made it all the more apparent. Microsoft have even leaped on this with their advertisement for Windows 10, going on about the different things that the children of today will never have to do. Listening to that, I felt like I had to add a few more things.

Children of today will never have to listen to the dial up tone that I remember my Dad having to bear whilst waiting for the basic C++ software to handle the very first edition of Windows Explorer. They will never see 20 Benson and Hedges Gold selling at the paltry price of £1.80. Mobile phones that you could barely fit in your pocket. Not because it is the size of the Iphone 6. But because it was so thick and could barely handle calls or text and the most powerful game it could handle wasn’t The Simpsons Tapped Out but Snake.

The funny thing is, people complain about the size of phones today, however E-cigarettes are the same size as the phones of old (to no complaint by the user.) In addition, phones of today are rapidly getting bigger and bigger. Maybe we’ll see a retro revamp of the first mobile phone equipped with HD TV???

Maybe Yesteryear

I want to say a few years ago, but it really isn’t. It was eleven years ago that we went as a family to France, one of our visits to the Dordoigne area. It’s beautiful, for any pondering a visit. Lush green scenery, a beautiful river that meandered between towering cliffs. It’s a place that I would happily visit again, unfortunately the year that we went, I was an 18 year old lout with little appreciation for the subtleties that the region had to offer me…

Namely, I was a lout, a teenager of sixteen / seventeen and the last place I really wanted to be was on a family holiday in the middle of a caravan site in France. It was run by the Keycamp people, and the ones who helped the customers and looked after the houses were close to my age so I began talking to them. They were cordial at first, however after the first few days of me hanging around the site being bored off my tits as I refused to go anywhere with my family, they dropped the supplier / consumer proprieties and invited me along to their nights out and campsite gigs.

The one I can really remember was one evening a short while before we left for home. They asked if I wanted to join them offsite and a short car ride later found ourselves in a local pub. It was a low beamed hut which had a bar and a stage facing each other across three rows of tables and booths. The tables themselves were bare, save for the coasters to set beer glasses on. A tribute band had been setting up when we arrived and we were well into our beers by the time they came to play their set.

This was my first experience of pub culture with my peers, OK, I’d been with family and also with work colleagues, but this was the first time that I’d allowed myself to go out with people my own age. (My track record with that age group had not been to great to date.)

However, they didn’t disappoint. It was a lovely evening and the memory that sticks with me most was when they finally played something that I liked, Maybe Tomorrow and I was so pissed by that point that I went jumping up and down the aisles of tables demanding that people clap along whilst shouting out the words to the song and one scared looking blonde woman meekly complying…

The next morning, we left for home.

Slugline Challenge: Needs of the Business.

(Dedicated to my bro Alex Allen who set the challenge)

He was already up and running as the last bullet casing kissed the ground, his movements hampered by the canvas bag he guarded with his life. Barrelling through the first two attackers, he broke free of the enclosing circle and drove through the door to the freedom of the corridor beyond.

“Get him!” came the call and James realised that they were in hot pursuit, feet pounding the tile flooring drowning out the landing of his own. The corridor was coming to an end with a window showing the rail of the fire escape before U-turning round to the right and down another flight of stairs. More gunfire and the heat of a bullet passing his ear caused him to flinch away.

Stairs are suicide, he thought and instead dove through the window, hoping that that glass would shatter with impact. Another bullet passed through the air where his head was moments before as he ducked into his dive, piercing the pane. Thanks, he thought and leaped. The glass broke as his shoulder hit it and he flew through the opening, only to cry out as his back cracked against railing and his face slammed down to kiss the cold metal of the fire escape. He lay there stunned for a moment before realising his package had spilled free.

“A courier never looks in the package,” his mentor had told him, “nor does he let it fall into enemy hands.”

“He’s down!”

“Get the bag!”

One of the goons had reached the window and instead of firing was reaching for the bag which was laying beneath it. Groaning, James, pushed himself up enough to then twist his body into a spin and deliver a kick which rewarded him with a sickening crunch as it connected with the man’s jawline and he fell limp, blocking most of the window from those who followed. It was then that James saw the blood pouring from the glass impaling the suited man’s chest.

Knowing that he had only bought himself a few precious seconds, James grabbed the bag once more and charged down the fire escape and vaulted the railing. He landed and immediately ducked into a roll before racing down the alleyway and out onto the street beyond.

After he had gone, one of his pursuers casually pushed open the door to the fire exit and walked out into the alley, staring off into the direction that the boy had gone. Another emerged from the shadows and looked at his colleague with shaded eyes.

“Did he take the bait?” he asked, his voice cold, almost devoid of emotion.

The other man smoothed his comb over hair which was beaded with perspiration and  nodded. “We lost Morris doing it, but he believed it to be real. He’ll take it straight to them…”

“Good,” the newcomer smiled. “Now all we need to do is wait for the fireworks to begin.”

Role Reversal

The ding of the doorbell roused Laura from her doze with a start. The end credits of X Factor were rolling with the numbers people had to phone to support their favourite singers.

Dammit, she thought with a frown as she stretched out from her awkward position. Slept through it again!

The doorbell dinged again and she irritatedly looked around herself. “Where is that useless man,” she muttered under her breath before hollering, “Gary! Gary, get the fucking door, will you?”

Over the other side of the house, Gary sighed. Why do I have to answer it? The living room is nearer! Still, he dropped the towel that was in his hand and walked out of the bedroom and downstairs to the door. He poked his head through the living room door briefly, with a “Too much for you to move for it, huh?” and reached for the latch.

Laura grunted in response and resettled herself into her chair, while rewinding the show back to the point that she last remembered seeing while Gary opened the door. “Bob!” he said, inwardly wincing at the almost bedraggled state of his best friend’s face. “And Claire, you’re early, we’ve barely begun to get ready!” He pointed to his bare chest and suit-trousered legs.

“It’s alright mate,” Bob replied, toying with the lapel of his jacket. “You know how Claire hates to be late, so we left a bit earlier.” He ruefully ran a hand over his face as the couple stepped through the threshold. “In fact, a little too early for me, I don’t suppose you have a razor I could borrow.”

“Of course, of course.” Gary said nodding emphatically, “let me take your coat Claire, Laura’s just in the living room, should still be awake, you know how she can be at times, such a dear.” Claire nodded and pushed the door open to the living room open just as Laura stopped rewinding and played it from the new position. “They’re just up here mate,” Gary finished, nodding up the stairs, “I’ll show you.”

“Thanks. Hey,” Bob said, running a hand against the wall, “hallway’s different, redone the walls have we?”

“Yeah,” Gary replied, “did some over the summer. Claire loves her projects, but you know who ends up doing it.”

Bob nodded in agreement.

“Just through here mate,” Gary said when they reached the top of the stairs, and opening the bathroom door. “Top shelf of the cupboard there.”