hirez: (Trouble with my worms (ii))
Marmalade-fettling last night. Low sugar and sharp as a bastard, but runnier than I'd like therefore.

About four years ago, I wrote a short story that was included in the 'Dark Spires' anthology. It was about a potential retro-future where the English gummit had lost the plot, the Welsh (and Scottish) borders were guarded by UN peacekeepers and the Hinckley Point nuke had suffered an alleged flooding accident that was completely denied by said gummint. That said, the main point of the story revolved around forced de-population of the flooded Somerset Levels.

Were I going to do it again I would remember that I was actually writing a Ballardian steampunk Vietnam novel, but there we are.

My favourite review was the one that went on about how unrealistic it was and how the IAEA wouldn't stand for that sort of thing.

I didn't put a Royal Visit in though. That would just have been ludicrous.
hirez: (Laser goggles and raybans)
... I've forgotten what I was going to jabber about. Shame. I get the impression that it was going to be rather good.

My right shoulder... Actually, both shoulders and neck... are comedically fucked up. A couple of times a day, I have to lie on the floor, remain calm and then indulge in arm-movements that make me look like a low-value space invader in a K-hole. Although since I'm old and out of touch, I have no idea what a K-hole looks like. K-Line, yes. K-hole, I am not hep to that crazy beatnik jive daddio. I was mildly convinced that she was one of the Kardashian clan for a few seconds, though.

You know, while I applaud the efforts of that Tom Watson fellow, his allegations in re this whole paedogeddon business do begin to look a little satanic.
hirez: (pillock)
It's t-shirt weather outside. This is really very fine.
hirez: (Bunny Eye)
I can't work out if a blanket ban on air travel over the UK is a Wyndham or Ballard trope.

A bit of both, I think.

It would be a strange old world if it lasted a while.
hirez: (Cooper-Clarke)
Have I bothered the populace about [livejournal.com profile] uk_jon's internet-wireless-thingy, Brierly Hill 90201 recently? Probably not. Choice cuts from Sevs, TRS-80 and someone/thing called 'Asobi Seksu' which is just bloody marvellous. 'Shimmering' and 'Epic' are two good words, and 'pliers' a bad one. They're probably all over the popular press and doing children's AM telly even as I eye up the next bottle of Hoegaarden, but there we are. I'm old and drive a Saab so know nothing of popular culture. Which is why I'm otherwise listening to a Brian Jonestown Massacre retrospective and some My Bloody Valentine rarities. The Wire cover is just excellent, but then I'm the sort of sad bugger who'd have been very happy indeed if there'd been a Loveless vol2. And indeed 3, 4 and 5.

And now the fellow's got an elljay, you can bother him about playing Swarf or something.

I was reminded of an eventful trip to Bristol Zoo in the early seventies, and the seeming ubiquity of nylon clothing. Psychedelic grundies and a dog driving a model train seemed to dominate. Thank NatSemi I came to my senses and was wearing natural fibres and DMs by the time I discovered 4000-series ICs. These days, a nylon t-shirt is sold on its superior wicking performance, but it's still an ugly shade.

Oh, Depeche Mode are this subculture's version of Genesis. If I never heard another (post Vince Clarke) track of theirs again, I'd be rather pleased.

(Good Lord. The Pipettes manage to sound exactly like Big Audio Dynamite.)

There's this big old house in the middle of the village of Stone on the A38 outside of Bristol. It looks like it would have been a coaching inn, or at least a reasonable simalcrum of one, but had been boarded up for at least a year. I presume a developer is waiting 'til it falls down under its own steam so Executive Houses may be built on the remains, which is a terrible shame. On the other hand, where on earth would I find the money to buy and fix some rambling old pile with startling views of both Severn Crossings, two nukes, both Purtons and Aust?

Wandering further, we find the lost venue behind The Retreat in Montpellier, parallel Cheltenham. It's bigger than I remember.
hirez: (Radiation)

Really rather good.
hirez: (Challenger)
Ran round the site yesterday (avoiding the cricket nets) and didn't expire. Good. JH-R 1, lung bugs 0.

Threw raw materials together in approximation of food, including fresh herbs from the garden. Once I'd wrestled them from the slavering teeth of a mob of slugs. I'll have to do something about them that doesn't involve explosives or launching them into the next street with a fire extinguisher. We got complaints last time. JH-R 1, slugs 0. (But they're grim and mithering invertebrates and they'll just come back like Sam Raimi villains.)

Via Boing^2:

"Everything you love, everything meaningful with depth and history, all passionate authentic experiences will be appropriated, mishandled, watered down, cheapened, repackaged, marketed and sold to the people you hate."


From this. (Mr. Jalopy is a jolly good chap.)


hirez: (Default)

August 2017

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