Music, anger, etc.

Why am I getting so hacked off with music lately?

Was listening to Radio 1 and had to turn it off because it's all so damned boring and similar.

It's driving me nuts, all the stupid can't-write-an-original-lyric-for-love-nor-money "R'n'B" (my word, how I hate that concatenation), or the dire pseudo-rock-miserable-moaning-American stuff, or the I'm-a-stupid-ex-model-and-I'm-going-to-tell-you-you-can't-have-me-even-though-I-don't-realise-I'm-the-last-woman-you-would-want bull.

Grow some talent, you half-arsed idiots...

And so it begins... again...

With Lost now a distant memory (well, sort of...) a spangly new 'show' [1] has appeared to fill the missing "did you see?" item in the water-cooler conversation agenda.

FlashForward [2] has burst onto the modern sci-fi/spooky/conspiracy/Armageddon scene. I won't bore you with details, there's a fairly uninspired Wiki article here so feel free to check it out yourself.

Just thought it worth noting that there's another 'must-see' [3] Sunday night thing set to spawn a thousand pointless internet discussions about plot directions [4]. Yay.

[1] What's wrong with the word 'program'

[2] A smart adaptation of the word 'flashback'. Geddit? Good.

[3] Which means I mustn't.

[4] In this sense, the situation strongly resembles that of the Apple fanbase trying desperately to predict what's going to be released next, and scrabbling like starving vultures over every little tidbit of news.

Can you smell snow?

Wintry feelings today. Thoughts turn to Christmas, and to snowboarding, and other activities enjoyed in the dark, dormant months. The darkness and the coldness combine with shuttered windows and bright lights to induce sentiments not felt for some time. I long for winter in summer and for summer in winter. And in autumn and spring, I anticipate, and grow restless.

Winter is book reading time, and book writing time. As the days draw in and it becomes too cold, wet or treacherous to venture far from home, the mind begins more than ever to turn in on itself, to wander further into the realms of the imagination. Summer may be a fertile time for plants, but winter is when literature is grown and harvested.

Perhaps this winter my labours will bear fruit at last. A good book is there, bubbling under the surface, ready-written, if only in my mind. To the page it must be committed, and then... and then, well, who knows?

"Missing Posts", or "My Scattered Mind"

I used to have myriad posts about a certain author on my blog. I even had a label specifically allowing me to identify and track my varied rantings. Now they're all gone, and I can't remember if I deleted them, or whether they've been removed by some higher power. They weren't all that complimentary.

Part of me loves the fact that I'm so scatterbrained. It allows my mind to wander from fantasy fiction to crime thriller in the space of two Post-It notes. It gives me the freedom to make up stories, and will, in time and with much luck, lead to a career doing what I love - writing books which people want to read, will enjoy, will lend to their friends with glowing recommendations.

It drives my wife crazy, though. She's very down-to-earth, grounded, amazing at organising not only her life, but mine and that of our daughter too. Not that she's lacking imagination, or indeed intelligence, with which she has been blessed in greater abundance than anyone I know. No, she's merely capable of operating without the fear that she might forget to breathe.

I do DIY and feeding the rabbit, and writing stories and staring into space. And half the time she has to remind me to do those things.

JK Rowling Denied Top US Honour

Linky. 

Oh my. I really don't know how to begin here, or where to go after that, or even what conclusion to draw. Let's make a list.

1. Hahahahaaaaaa. She didn't get the award.
   
   
2. Hahahaaahaahaa. Some Americans (usually including, but not limited to, those who thought George Dubya as President was a good idea...) can be so flippin' narrow minded about literary endeavour, yet they're all about their 'free speech' bull. I have to tell you, the books are so realistic that I want to sue my parents for not sending me to Hogwarts and giving me the chance to be a wizard. Oh no, hang on a second, that's not right...
   
   
3. "Past literary recipients of the award include John Steinbeck and Harper Lee." She's in that class, is she? She deserves to rank alongside the authors of Of Mice and Men and To Kill a Mockingbird? Fools.

Those are just some of the myriad thoughts which came to mind when I saw this. It's not even JK's fault (for once) but she's such a raving numpty anyway.

Not bad for a mobile phone...

This little dude won't wake up until the sun gets to him in an hour or two. Those are oregano flowers he's hugging.

The Perils of Turbo Diesel

Coming up to one of my favourite roundabouts this morning, I was flanked by a Skoda Roomster. It'd been bugging me for a little while, following closely on busy roads, and now it had pulled nearly alongside on a short section of dual carriageway. The roundabout, though, is an old friend. We understand each other. I know how it flows.

Determined to teach Mr Skoda a lesson, I looked well ahead and saw that, should I time things just right, I would be away. It would be a brave or foolish man who thought they could keep up with me. Speed wasn't to be my escape, mind. Timing was what it was all about. Finding that gap in the traffic which left him for dead.

I got it spot on. With my engine singing at 3,000rpm in third, I gave a little squeeze of the throttle and nipped out onto the roundabout, having barely slowed. Skoda man, I noted with delight, was left floundering. Victory was mine!

Except that following pride very nearly came a fall. Not everyone was applying such judgement this morning. Ahead of me, lumbering like a whale, an S-type Jag had wandered out into the path of traffic. Its portly incumbent, realising the mistake he had made, quickly raised a hand in apology as I bore down upon him.

For a moment I could see the crash coming. Instinctively I lifted and slotted the car down to second, using engine and wheel braking together to shed speed. For a brief moment it looked like even this would not be enough to save us.

And then something mind-bendingly strange happened. The Jag was no longer there. It didn't so much move out of the way as simply bend space and time to not be in my path. I sailed past the rear of the silver beast, glancing to the right in time to note (as one often does in life and death situations) the small details which told me that this Jag, this lumbering, walnut-dashed beastie, had a heart of solid gold: it was the twin turbo diesel which will happily lap the Nordschleife in 9.

Turbo lag had left us on collision course, but by the same token turbo boost had saved us both.

I have no idea what happened to the Jag. I survived unscathed, as you may be able to guess. The last I saw, the poor unfortunate behind the wheel was experiencing the kind of face-melting acceleration normally reserved for shuttle astronauts on take-off.

What an engine...

Vulcanography

Thanks to my amazing wife, I was able to enjoy a fantastic long weekend celebrating my descent into middle age. One of my personal highlights (apart from being up close and personal with a ring-tailed lemur...) was the chance to see the Vulcan bomber flying again for the first time in far too long. The big delta wing used to fly every year at Biggin Hill, no more than a couple of miles from where I grew up, and each year I thrilled to see, and more importantly hear it.

Perhaps not the best picture (not even the best I took of it during the display), but this is the memory which will stick, the climbing turn with the four Olympus engines screaming, bomb bay open and empty, but never lacking menace.

Sometimes...

... this city throws something so spectacular at you, you'd be a fool to miss it. Shot in full colour. No post-editing, but it has been slightly cropped.

Cark Park Lambo Bingo

Working opposite the DVLA offices has its drawbacks at times (especially the last day of the month), but occasionally there are moments which make it all worthwhile. For those not in the know, that's a Lamborghini Gallardo in 'Giallo Halys' yellow.