Hi! The name's Stuart, Stuart D'Buckét, close friends get to call me 'S.B.' [few of them can be bothered to go from 'Stu' to 'ét', so use the initials and forget about the 'D' altogether, I'm cool with it, not a problem]. They could call me 'Stu' [only just thought of that and made a note of it, thanks]. I am the mild-mannered janitor at Randolph, Bruins & Hardacre - a TOP EXECUTIVE DESIGN CONSULTANCY or so it says on the front door. My bosses are Harry Randolph, who is always grumpy and smokes the funny stuff aaaall day and Ms. Patricia Bruins who is a lot nicer and prefers crisps. There is no 'Hardacre', they just added the name to make them sound BIGGER. I was going to suggest they change it to 'Randolph, Bruins & Associates' but I was working on a particularly tricky u-bend at the time and clean forgot. Our offices are above 'Knuts' joke shop, opposite The Theatre Royal, The Marquis Of Anglesey public house and my rooms* [*cupboards] look down on the statue of Sir Henry Irving. Around the statue sit three tramps drinking clear liquid from bottles wrapped in brown paper - they appear to be discussing the 'Christmas Tree Formation'.
I want promotion folks. Nothing against janitoring, it's a good honest profession and I'm in the pub by 11:30 - but man cannot live by cleaning the toilets alone. I've asked H.R. [as Mr. Randolph is called by all except me] and Ms. Bruins to extend my range of responsibilities but have found myself on stoney ground. Mr. Randolph did hand me a large bowl of loose staples and 38 staplers once - the task was to get the staples neatly arranged in the guns instead of going for my usual pint & pie in The 'Marquis, and he was very, very happy with the results. Never seen a man laugh so much. Ms. Bruins allows me to get her coffee from the rude man in the coffee shop and once let me carry her bags when she went shopping for shoes. I wanted her to get the red ones, she chose blue. 'Ce life such', as they say in France.
"Ms. Bruins? Erm, promotion, have you thought any more about...?"
"I'll see what I can do S, leave it with me."
She called me 'S' - that's even more familiar than 'S.B.'! To celebrate I went to The 'Marquis for a pie and a pint. Dennis Waterman was in there nursing a foaming one, I asked him what he was playing in, he asked if I could be quiet as he was listening to the Barnet game on his headphones. This struck me as strange - he appeared to have no headphones and I can't remember football matches taking place at 11:35 on a thursday morning before. Then Ms. Bruins walked into the pub. Then she walked towards me. Then she trod in some chewing gum. Then she just strode on regardless like a TOP LADY EXECUTIVE DESIGN CONSULTANT does....
"Wear a suit tomorrow, bring a watch, take a shave, buy me some crisps."
I didn't clean the toilets that friday. I did a bang-up job on thursday so... ah, I'll worry about that later, I was suited and booted. This was a problem as the standard issue safety wear which complies with health & safety law 6 [subsection 9] doesn't go with blue serge. I looked down at my be-socked feet and wondered if I could fulfill today's challenge shodless. I'd be alright if it was just an interview but if I had to walk out on the streets with these socks on?
[Sock note: there's a hole in the left sock, the toe to the right of the pinky is poking through and will not return inwards. The hole is cutting off circulation to the toe rendering it numb, if the upcoming journey is a long one then the toe may fall off like those of bi-polar explorer Sir Ranulph Fiennes. End of sock note.]
"Here S.B., try these babies for size."
Ms. Bruins handed me a pair of Doctor Martens shoes, blood red, my size, with laces and everything, for me.
"In the foyer are two packages, all you have to do is get them to Delaroche within the hour and H.R. will grant you promotion, fail and you will be fired, that's the bet. I'm banking on you S.B. Don't let me down."
She winked, you saw it too right?
She meant Delaroche's 'The Execution Of Lady Jane Grey', my favourite painting, housed in The National Gallery. I remember nearly bumping into her while gawping at it one afternoon, we both said "sorry" and moved on. I was to deliver lunch to her at 12:00 sharp to gain my promotion. The only other De La Roche was a print services on The Strand where all Randolph, Bruins & Hardacre projects were realised. The irony is that you can see Delaroche's 'The Portrait Of Lady Jane Grey' from a little window in the fire-escape door on the second floor of De La Roche Print Services. I *facepalm*ed my anger and looked at my watch. Time was almost up, only a fire escape escape could get me to the gallery on time. I kicked the door open, overbalanced and fell the two flights of black metal stairs to the ground. The heavier, squarer of the two packages softened the fall a little, the flatter, A2-sized one did nothing of the sort, in fact the corner got me somewhere on the noggin half-way down. At least it meant I didn't feel the ground as I hit it.
The tramps found me first. The smell of chicken and falafel was enough to bring them through the pigeons to my side. They didn't bother with the fold-away table in the A2 carrier but had the good grace to wrap the tablecloth around to keep me warm. As I woke I saw a bottle of clear liquid wrapped in brown paper to my right, to my left the most gorgeous pair of mirror-shined red brogue-toed high-heeled shoes I'd ever seen. No bow to make them look too girly, perfect.
"I thought you'd need a drink, dungbrain. You stood me up, you're fired. Get the suit cleaned and you can re-apply for the janitor's job at Randolph, Bruins & Associates tomorrow."
"Randolph, Bruins & ASSOCIATES?"
"Yeah, there's no Randolph, it's there just to make us sound bigger. Now I've got to get back to the office and clean the toilets. In these shoes."
She winked, you saw it too right?
By day a mild-mannered janitor, by night an off-duty mild-mannered janitor.
................by day a mild-mannered janitor, by night an off-duty mild-mannered janitor...............
Thursday, 16 February 2012
Tuesday, 14 February 2012
CountryWars
A long time in the future in a galaxy exactly, exactly like this one, this one in fact......
It is a time of great calm. Every year, on a saturday they have an air show at Southend, every other saturday there is a world war. This particular saturday the weather is fine [they learned how to sort that out] and there is not a cloud in the sky [they learned how to sort that out]. Yesterday's 'Off-White' hosepipe warning was roundly giggled at because they learned how to get it to rain at night when all the gardeners tell you it's best. So we have an air show, this year coinciding with one of the 26 world wars in the year [think of an impressive leap in year number from 2012, I don't see why I should do all the work]. These world wars are not the clumsy sprawling affairs you are used to, they begin at the sensible hour of 8:00 and are always over in time for the football results. 'Our' side is referred to as 'EUSA' since Great Britain won the 4698 Eurovision Song Contest with 'Jiggggxy Jiggggxy Gleep-Gleep' by the transient gas 'Geton', and Europe's Queen Peaches XXXHI married President J.Z.Vax IIIIIIII in an uncivil ceremony.
Having ingested their beer through osmosis, the crowd gets restless, fighting is forgotten about because everyone is as soft as shite these days. The new calm is maintained by ancient readings from the 'Hotel California' scriptures, read over the 'Tannoy' [stupid name I know, but this is the future, so cut me some slack] by the 'Voice Of America'. She's hot, that's all you need to know.
"Air show? That'll be all zappy light-speed ninjaships right?"
No, please feel free to butt in with further questions but you're so wide of the mark that the mark has given up on you ever turning up and pissed-off home. No, [as I was about to say] the space program was called off somewhere back in the deep, deep distant recessions of time due to lack of funds, lack of interest and lack of aliens. See, man eventually came to the conclusion that he was an idiot, incapable of asking directions from a directions-to-be-asked-of Droid so thought "hey, if these aliens are so clever let them find us and hopefully they'll call ahead so we can get some vapourBeer® in and ultranibbles. They never called. They never called because there aren't any out there [sorry to get all Maulder on you, or is it Scully? No that was that scouser thing by Alan Bleasdale ... sorry] we are actually in a little crystal ball in God's little fortune-telling tent. The League Of Gentlemen's Papa Lazarou, is the closest you'll get to Jesus, so get the DVD. So no spacey ships, just old ones carried around on strings suspended from even older elastic-band-powered airships. No more petrol. None. All gone.
Lovely day. Really can't stress enough how pleasant it is. The only tension in the air is caused by the world war happening during what is, as I may have mentioned, a smashing air show. The highlight of these things is always the big victory fly-past with Lancasters, B-52's, Jonathan Richman, Spitfires, Red Arrow and T.I.E. all in formation available on-line and in leaflet form. [press the red button] But you can't have a victory fly-past without victory...
Silence, it's 4:45, all football matches will have been hosed away ready for tomorrows, the crowds mate, reproduce and die all in the space of a turnstile and the cycle begins once more. Meanwhile in Southend, the 'Tannoy' crackles...
"Is this thing on?...Ah,....this is The Voice Of America!! Hi Patriots everywhere!!... *cheer*
"..Hope you're having a swell time in your country here ! *cheer*
"..Well, here's todays world war result......... *hush*
"..WE WIN!!! *larger cheer*
"..No casualties on either side, no lateral damage, water prices to remain fixed, unemployment figures to be lowered, imbibe responsibly and BUY WAR GARY U.S.BONDS!!"
Although there is no fuel, the crowd still hear the rumble of distant engines as the majestic fly-past flies near towards the point where it will pass rendering it a 'past' once it is indeed passed that point. The sound is generated by the mile-high surround speakers on The Isle Of Grain. You should see the size of those elastic bands, little does man know that they are powerful enough to send him into orbit around the bearded lady beyond the coconut shy.
It is a time of great calm. Every year, on a saturday they have an air show at Southend, every other saturday there is a world war. This particular saturday the weather is fine [they learned how to sort that out] and there is not a cloud in the sky [they learned how to sort that out]. Yesterday's 'Off-White' hosepipe warning was roundly giggled at because they learned how to get it to rain at night when all the gardeners tell you it's best. So we have an air show, this year coinciding with one of the 26 world wars in the year [think of an impressive leap in year number from 2012, I don't see why I should do all the work]. These world wars are not the clumsy sprawling affairs you are used to, they begin at the sensible hour of 8:00 and are always over in time for the football results. 'Our' side is referred to as 'EUSA' since Great Britain won the 4698 Eurovision Song Contest with 'Jiggggxy Jiggggxy Gleep-Gleep' by the transient gas 'Geton', and Europe's Queen Peaches XXXHI married President J.Z.Vax IIIIIIII in an uncivil ceremony.
Having ingested their beer through osmosis, the crowd gets restless, fighting is forgotten about because everyone is as soft as shite these days. The new calm is maintained by ancient readings from the 'Hotel California' scriptures, read over the 'Tannoy' [stupid name I know, but this is the future, so cut me some slack] by the 'Voice Of America'. She's hot, that's all you need to know.
"Air show? That'll be all zappy light-speed ninjaships right?"
No, please feel free to butt in with further questions but you're so wide of the mark that the mark has given up on you ever turning up and pissed-off home. No, [as I was about to say] the space program was called off somewhere back in the deep, deep distant recessions of time due to lack of funds, lack of interest and lack of aliens. See, man eventually came to the conclusion that he was an idiot, incapable of asking directions from a directions-to-be-asked-of Droid so thought "hey, if these aliens are so clever let them find us and hopefully they'll call ahead so we can get some vapourBeer® in and ultranibbles. They never called. They never called because there aren't any out there [sorry to get all Maulder on you, or is it Scully? No that was that scouser thing by Alan Bleasdale ... sorry] we are actually in a little crystal ball in God's little fortune-telling tent. The League Of Gentlemen's Papa Lazarou, is the closest you'll get to Jesus, so get the DVD. So no spacey ships, just old ones carried around on strings suspended from even older elastic-band-powered airships. No more petrol. None. All gone.
Lovely day. Really can't stress enough how pleasant it is. The only tension in the air is caused by the world war happening during what is, as I may have mentioned, a smashing air show. The highlight of these things is always the big victory fly-past with Lancasters, B-52's, Jonathan Richman, Spitfires, Red Arrow and T.I.E. all in formation available on-line and in leaflet form. [press the red button] But you can't have a victory fly-past without victory...
Silence, it's 4:45, all football matches will have been hosed away ready for tomorrows, the crowds mate, reproduce and die all in the space of a turnstile and the cycle begins once more. Meanwhile in Southend, the 'Tannoy' crackles...
"Is this thing on?...Ah,....this is The Voice Of America!! Hi Patriots everywhere!!... *cheer*
"..Hope you're having a swell time in your country here ! *cheer*
"..Well, here's todays world war result......... *hush*
"..WE WIN!!! *larger cheer*
"..No casualties on either side, no lateral damage, water prices to remain fixed, unemployment figures to be lowered, imbibe responsibly and BUY WAR GARY U.S.BONDS!!"
Although there is no fuel, the crowd still hear the rumble of distant engines as the majestic fly-past flies near towards the point where it will pass rendering it a 'past' once it is indeed passed that point. The sound is generated by the mile-high surround speakers on The Isle Of Grain. You should see the size of those elastic bands, little does man know that they are powerful enough to send him into orbit around the bearded lady beyond the coconut shy.
Saturday, 31 December 2011
DM4 #3
The scene is the A&E Department, Southend General Hospital. @Deity17, @Bradl and @Journey2 have been waiting for an hour.
"There! Told you, that bloke just walked in and went straight through without even talking to Reception.."
"It's always like this in A&E, they hope your body's natural defenses put right whatever is wrong and you just go home."
@Deity17 raises a hand.
"I think I should tell you: the last thing we want is to have your name called, to go through those doors, to see a doctor. We appear to be safe here because mobile telephones are forbidden, none of these people seated are seeking treatment either."
"I thought I was getting my eye seen to" said @Journey2, still smarting from a black eye and having his mobile stolen by a robed girl.
"Your body's natural defenses will soon heal your wounds..."
"And then we can go home eh?"
"Home? That will depend on your concept of 'home'. Neither of you exist on Twitter, Facebook or online anymore, your dwellings will be under constant watch by the @Deities, your employers will have been informed of your deaths, you leave no relatives - which is not a coincidence of course.."
"But if we turn up, that'll prove we're alive right?"
"If you turn up, you'll be killed."
"So we just sit here and wait to starve?"
"This is a waiting room. All the people here are waiting to be linked to a safe domain, they have all been corrupted by @Deity1, used as alibis to dispose of his enemies just like yourselves. Outside of these four walls someone will betray us."
"How many ..whatevers...are in this bloke's gang then?"
"There are 20 @Deities, each with thousands of accounts, with thousands of followers each. For instance, did you find yourselves followed by a series of so-called 'rap' artists?" they nod "...all with about 10,000 followers and followees, tweeting what seemed to be undecipherable language?"
"I just thought it was slang, never did like rap very much.." said @Bradl
"All code, co-ordinates, viruses, slowly stealing the information of your lives, storing it and using it to control your very being."
"And those spam bots with the free iPads and stuff, I suppose they're in on it too?" asked @Journey2
"Brave seekers of truth and happiness, desperately trying to warn you of oncoming doom."
"Ah, bollocks, I reported every one of them as spam.."
"Which meant certain death I'm afraid - these truthsayers are suffering abominable losses."
@Journey2, squinting at the painful light: "I hate to bring up the little matter of my bloody mobile again, but you still have it, it is still turned on and you said they were forbidden here..."
"I told you I adapted it. It is no longer a device for oral communication, it is a telelinking machine only, and a not very powerful one at that."
"So-rry! Stick around and there'll be an upgrade along soon enough. I know I'm going to regret this but, 'Telelinking'?"
"How we made it to the pier, a link to here via the u.w.w."
"The wha?"
"The Universe Wide Web. You are aware there are other areas beyond Earth, and in it, that you are yet to explore?"
"We got as far as The Moon, got some rocks from Mars but seem to have given up lately."
"Far from it - a moment ago on a website from your capital city, it was announced that another Earth-like planet has been discovered in this very galaxy."
"Thats all well and good, but we're not going there.....are we?"
"It is unlikely. As I said, this is not a powerful enough machine, but if we could gain access to @Deity's hardware.."
"...we could escape to this planet we know nothing about and freeze or fry as soon as we land, whoop-di-do!"
"On the contrary, the atmosphere on Kepler 22b is perfectly suited to us and the journey is an easy one...... the @Deities found no difficulty getting here, did they?"
"There! Told you, that bloke just walked in and went straight through without even talking to Reception.."
"It's always like this in A&E, they hope your body's natural defenses put right whatever is wrong and you just go home."
@Deity17 raises a hand.
"I think I should tell you: the last thing we want is to have your name called, to go through those doors, to see a doctor. We appear to be safe here because mobile telephones are forbidden, none of these people seated are seeking treatment either."
"I thought I was getting my eye seen to" said @Journey2, still smarting from a black eye and having his mobile stolen by a robed girl.
"Your body's natural defenses will soon heal your wounds..."
"And then we can go home eh?"
"Home? That will depend on your concept of 'home'. Neither of you exist on Twitter, Facebook or online anymore, your dwellings will be under constant watch by the @Deities, your employers will have been informed of your deaths, you leave no relatives - which is not a coincidence of course.."
"But if we turn up, that'll prove we're alive right?"
"If you turn up, you'll be killed."
"So we just sit here and wait to starve?"
"This is a waiting room. All the people here are waiting to be linked to a safe domain, they have all been corrupted by @Deity1, used as alibis to dispose of his enemies just like yourselves. Outside of these four walls someone will betray us."
"How many ..whatevers...are in this bloke's gang then?"
"There are 20 @Deities, each with thousands of accounts, with thousands of followers each. For instance, did you find yourselves followed by a series of so-called 'rap' artists?" they nod "...all with about 10,000 followers and followees, tweeting what seemed to be undecipherable language?"
"I just thought it was slang, never did like rap very much.." said @Bradl
"All code, co-ordinates, viruses, slowly stealing the information of your lives, storing it and using it to control your very being."
"And those spam bots with the free iPads and stuff, I suppose they're in on it too?" asked @Journey2
"Brave seekers of truth and happiness, desperately trying to warn you of oncoming doom."
"Ah, bollocks, I reported every one of them as spam.."
"Which meant certain death I'm afraid - these truthsayers are suffering abominable losses."
@Journey2, squinting at the painful light: "I hate to bring up the little matter of my bloody mobile again, but you still have it, it is still turned on and you said they were forbidden here..."
"I told you I adapted it. It is no longer a device for oral communication, it is a telelinking machine only, and a not very powerful one at that."
"So-rry! Stick around and there'll be an upgrade along soon enough. I know I'm going to regret this but, 'Telelinking'?"
"How we made it to the pier, a link to here via the u.w.w."
"The wha?"
"The Universe Wide Web. You are aware there are other areas beyond Earth, and in it, that you are yet to explore?"
"We got as far as The Moon, got some rocks from Mars but seem to have given up lately."
"Far from it - a moment ago on a website from your capital city, it was announced that another Earth-like planet has been discovered in this very galaxy."
"Thats all well and good, but we're not going there.....are we?"
"It is unlikely. As I said, this is not a powerful enough machine, but if we could gain access to @Deity's hardware.."
"...we could escape to this planet we know nothing about and freeze or fry as soon as we land, whoop-di-do!"
"On the contrary, the atmosphere on Kepler 22b is perfectly suited to us and the journey is an easy one...... the @Deities found no difficulty getting here, did they?"
The Weasel Has Landed
Some time ago - not that long and I'm not going to look it up - there was a Top Gear "challenge" and they were somewhere very snowfilled. We saw May [probably, he does flying] have a minor crash-land in a little plane. You could tell it wasn't planned because for once the camera was not perfectly positioned to capture the moment.
*Earnestly to camera* "Now we get a bit of stick on this show for setting things up, but you have to admit we couldn't have arranged that, now could we?"
Quite so, but by doth protesting too much like that you tacitly admit that every other thing you do is set up. Didn't think of that did you Mr. Clever Tousle? So to the Christmas Special which was a half-decent travel documentary of parts of India in picture form. Turn the sound down, ignore the out-of-place English cars and you may well have had a reasonable time watching it. They didn't set fire to a cow, but I bet they discussed a way of almost doing so. Those tins fell off of the roof of The Weasel's Mini, but notice how a path was cleared for it to happen & there's that camera man perfectly placed to get the full dramati.... oh, you know the rest - it's already a cliché about them not talking about cars anymore. And the cars they used, cars that would make lots of perfectly nice people contented as transport just have to be systematically ruined. You know what they're doing when they do that? They are laughing at everyone who has less money than they have - they do that anyway in private, but this is just to underline the point: "See this car? Nice isn't it? It works, and would do a good job for you. Now I'm going to take my pants down and shit in your face for thinking you have any connection whatsoever with the world that we live in* *Now we'll smash it up."
Top Gear is too powerful to be dethroned, it is ultra-popular and still entertains [with a handy put-the-kettle-on window while Clarkson pretends not only to be a top class comedian, but interviewer too - try high-wire walking why dontcha...] but tucked away on Channel 5 is 'Fifth Gear', which isn't great either but at least is car-based. I think all the people on there are 'Top' castaways, that Plato fella is a bit too "Dab Of Oppo" and it's on at a stupid time - try 8:00 Sundays, there's an idea. But they'll have to start jazzing things up with drag races and fights between rockets and tractors....
"Dab Of Oppo" is a thing - someone a bit anal about driving: "A dab of opposite-lock should see us safely through this Sainsbury's car park..." etc. [thanks to Dave Browse for the nudge]
*Earnestly to camera* "Now we get a bit of stick on this show for setting things up, but you have to admit we couldn't have arranged that, now could we?"
Quite so, but by doth protesting too much like that you tacitly admit that every other thing you do is set up. Didn't think of that did you Mr. Clever Tousle? So to the Christmas Special which was a half-decent travel documentary of parts of India in picture form. Turn the sound down, ignore the out-of-place English cars and you may well have had a reasonable time watching it. They didn't set fire to a cow, but I bet they discussed a way of almost doing so. Those tins fell off of the roof of The Weasel's Mini, but notice how a path was cleared for it to happen & there's that camera man perfectly placed to get the full dramati.... oh, you know the rest - it's already a cliché about them not talking about cars anymore. And the cars they used, cars that would make lots of perfectly nice people contented as transport just have to be systematically ruined. You know what they're doing when they do that? They are laughing at everyone who has less money than they have - they do that anyway in private, but this is just to underline the point: "See this car? Nice isn't it? It works, and would do a good job for you. Now I'm going to take my pants down and shit in your face for thinking you have any connection whatsoever with the world that we live in* *Now we'll smash it up."
Top Gear is too powerful to be dethroned, it is ultra-popular and still entertains [with a handy put-the-kettle-on window while Clarkson pretends not only to be a top class comedian, but interviewer too - try high-wire walking why dontcha...] but tucked away on Channel 5 is 'Fifth Gear', which isn't great either but at least is car-based. I think all the people on there are 'Top' castaways, that Plato fella is a bit too "Dab Of Oppo" and it's on at a stupid time - try 8:00 Sundays, there's an idea. But they'll have to start jazzing things up with drag races and fights between rockets and tractors....
"Dab Of Oppo" is a thing - someone a bit anal about driving: "A dab of opposite-lock should see us safely through this Sainsbury's car park..." etc. [thanks to Dave Browse for the nudge]
Thursday, 22 December 2011
DM4 #2
Air. Very warm, smokey air. The view starts as if in cinemascope but soon becomes peripheral too - @Bradl is looking at The Isle Of Grain, slightly misted in what must be a heat-haze. This is a familiar view and looking around him, a familiar spot too. Behind, the now-derelict 'Palace Hotel' stands empty and apart from two third floor rooms, boarded against the outside.
"I am @Deity17, you are alive, so is your friend."
@Journey2 is slumped against the pier bench, sitting on the wooden boards of the floor. He is breathing. @Bradl had one or two questions to ask, but the next seven questions after that were getting in the way.
"Wha?",was all he could manage. It was a start.
"I was given the responsibility of disposing of your friend. It was my mistake that endangered him and you would have paid the price for his death. I.... decided this would not happen. I gave @Journey2 the same drug that left you unconscious, instead of a lethal injection - the beating he received was not my work, merely carried out to prove a violent confrontation between the two of you. I have his mobile telephone here and I have adapted it or 'upgraded' if you like, for your safety it is best it remains with me."
"...ah, that's the one: why are we on Southend Pier?"
"Specifically because today is the hottest day ever recorded in Great Britain and this is the hottest spot on the mainland."
"We are not on the mainland - it must be hotter in the town centre."
"Normally yes, today the last third of a mile of this pier burned away into The Thames Estuary. We needed a news-worthy domain to transport to - one that was familiar to you both and available through an electronic link. The fire, and the record temperature has made this spot very popular on the International Superhighway - enough traffic to hide our escape."
"...oh good, we escaped then?"
"Thanks to @Journey2's mobile telephone, yes. In terms you will understand, I clicked on the link to this domain and we were forwarded here. I set fire to the room we were in before, the atmospheric conditions had to be similar to avoid too much shock to your chemical make-up and it was also a perfect distraction. @Deity1 will have transported to a new domain too and will be wondering if his orders were carried out. He will quickly decide that they were not. He will be looking for us - all the @Deitys will be looking for us."
"Hey, kid - Give the phone back to the nice man and... where's the nearest pub? I'm thirsty or drunk or both, any help?"
"Welcome back, @Journey2. This is @Bradl, you used to follow each other on the social network site called 'Twitter' - we have a few things to discuss. As far as your thirst is concerned, you will be pleased to hear we have an app for that."
The lights in the two rooms on the third floor of The Palace Hotel fade slowly to black. The temperature drops dramatically. @Deity17 looks to the sky as snowflakes start to fall...
"We may have been at this spot for too long. The fire and the record temperature are no longer newsworthy, the traffic has returned to a trickle so the domain has been downgraded to a default setting. We are now simply in an out-of-season seaside town...let me see..."
@Deity17 peers at the phone, scrolling and pressing keys at tremendous speed.
"Are you going to give me my phone back or do I have to box your ears?"
"I am @Deity17, you are alive, so is your friend."
@Journey2 is slumped against the pier bench, sitting on the wooden boards of the floor. He is breathing. @Bradl had one or two questions to ask, but the next seven questions after that were getting in the way.
"Wha?",was all he could manage. It was a start.
"I was given the responsibility of disposing of your friend. It was my mistake that endangered him and you would have paid the price for his death. I.... decided this would not happen. I gave @Journey2 the same drug that left you unconscious, instead of a lethal injection - the beating he received was not my work, merely carried out to prove a violent confrontation between the two of you. I have his mobile telephone here and I have adapted it or 'upgraded' if you like, for your safety it is best it remains with me."
"...ah, that's the one: why are we on Southend Pier?"
"Specifically because today is the hottest day ever recorded in Great Britain and this is the hottest spot on the mainland."
"We are not on the mainland - it must be hotter in the town centre."
"Normally yes, today the last third of a mile of this pier burned away into The Thames Estuary. We needed a news-worthy domain to transport to - one that was familiar to you both and available through an electronic link. The fire, and the record temperature has made this spot very popular on the International Superhighway - enough traffic to hide our escape."
"...oh good, we escaped then?"
"Thanks to @Journey2's mobile telephone, yes. In terms you will understand, I clicked on the link to this domain and we were forwarded here. I set fire to the room we were in before, the atmospheric conditions had to be similar to avoid too much shock to your chemical make-up and it was also a perfect distraction. @Deity1 will have transported to a new domain too and will be wondering if his orders were carried out. He will quickly decide that they were not. He will be looking for us - all the @Deitys will be looking for us."
"Hey, kid - Give the phone back to the nice man and... where's the nearest pub? I'm thirsty or drunk or both, any help?"
"Welcome back, @Journey2. This is @Bradl, you used to follow each other on the social network site called 'Twitter' - we have a few things to discuss. As far as your thirst is concerned, you will be pleased to hear we have an app for that."
The lights in the two rooms on the third floor of The Palace Hotel fade slowly to black. The temperature drops dramatically. @Deity17 looks to the sky as snowflakes start to fall...
"We may have been at this spot for too long. The fire and the record temperature are no longer newsworthy, the traffic has returned to a trickle so the domain has been downgraded to a default setting. We are now simply in an out-of-season seaside town...let me see..."
@Deity17 peers at the phone, scrolling and pressing keys at tremendous speed.
"Are you going to give me my phone back or do I have to box your ears?"
Wednesday, 21 December 2011
DM4 #1
@Bradl refreshes the screen again, clicks 'mentions' - no change, back to 'timeline'. A hashtag game is going but it is well over an hour old, so he'd have to check the previous entries to see if anyone had got there first... it was now twenty minutes since he'd replied to @Deity1 - the heavyweight had made a brilliant joke but @Bradl had a flash of inspiration and, for once, thought it worth elaborating on the original. As the minutes ticked by, @Bradl regretted the impulse - @Deity1 had never replied before and it looked increasingly unlikely he'd see fit to do so now.
An hour later, with 'mentions' still unchanged, @Bradl again considers unfollowing the @Deity1 but only for a second. Back to 'timeline' and @Journey2 [one of @Bradl's first followees and followers] seems to be locked in a conversation with @Deity1. Opening the tweet history..... sure enough, the two have been arguing for thirty minutes with links to sites, blogs and other conversations too. Trying to read between these lines, @Bradl concludes that one is accusing the other of some kind of literary theft - a tweet, the bones of an article, a domain - it is difficult to tell as the stream continues...
Asleep at the computer again.
The next day there is a new message. A DM from @Deity1. "@Bradl Thank you for your interest, it is appreciated. Would you meet me at the following address this evening at 6pm? I know you can make it."
A square building of grey concrete, some of the windows blocked crudely with wooden panels. Only two rooms seem to be windowed and lit. No security entrance formalities - porch and foyer door open. The apartment is on the third floor, the same floor as the light. The door to 3A opens automatically as @Bradl approaches. The room is square, the centre of the room is a square space surrounded by a linked square of desks. There are twenty chairs at the desks. @Deity is recognisable from his avatar, but that likeness must be twenty five or even thirty years old - on show now is a withered frame hunched over a set of apparatus. Opposite there appears to be an exact double.... until closer inspection reveals a female dressed identically. In seventeen of the other eighteen chairs sit children, identical children, exactly like their....parents? They stare into computer screens. This isn't the room with the light, or the windows - the screens provide the only illumination.
"@Bradl, thank you for getting here. A cup of tea, just how you like it - milk and two sugars. You follow me, yes? You also follow @Journey2. You are aware that we have differences of opinion?"
"I saw something..."
"We know what you've seen. @Journey2 tried to send you a Direct Message - he wanted your assistance regarding our little argument. You see, we used something of his, one of my little ones stole some information, we did not credit @Journey2 and this rightly irked your friend. It seems your Twitter history can prove that we were not first to the information - you replied to @Journey2 and so are a witness. The little one has been punished, it should not happen again but the damage has been done and this damage has to be limited for a greater good, you understand?"
"What do you wa...
"You do not possess a mobile telephone. You live at least one hour from this building. An hour is a long time on Twitter. Your account has been hacked, @Journey2's account has also been hacked. Over the last hour or so, the two of you have been locked in a fierce argument about tweet theft, joke theft, Twitter rules, Twitter laws, quite a spectacle. It has been made obvious to your respective followers that you are unlikely to be breaking bread anytime soon.."
"But what do you want from me?"
"To be here now. Your friend @Journey2 is safely enclosed in another room, there he will stay, and so will you. We will close your accounts. Your followers will assume you have tired of Twitter, you may be mourned on-line for a day or so but life goes on..
"But what about life, we exist beyond Twitter - after a while someone is going to notice I'm not at work..
"The doors to this building are now locked. There was an extra something in your tea and in a moment you will be asleep, when you wake you will be alone in the adjoining room with the deceased @Journey2. It will be obvious from your final tweets why you killed him."
An hour later, with 'mentions' still unchanged, @Bradl again considers unfollowing the @Deity1 but only for a second. Back to 'timeline' and @Journey2 [one of @Bradl's first followees and followers] seems to be locked in a conversation with @Deity1. Opening the tweet history..... sure enough, the two have been arguing for thirty minutes with links to sites, blogs and other conversations too. Trying to read between these lines, @Bradl concludes that one is accusing the other of some kind of literary theft - a tweet, the bones of an article, a domain - it is difficult to tell as the stream continues...
Asleep at the computer again.
The next day there is a new message. A DM from @Deity1. "@Bradl Thank you for your interest, it is appreciated. Would you meet me at the following address this evening at 6pm? I know you can make it."
A square building of grey concrete, some of the windows blocked crudely with wooden panels. Only two rooms seem to be windowed and lit. No security entrance formalities - porch and foyer door open. The apartment is on the third floor, the same floor as the light. The door to 3A opens automatically as @Bradl approaches. The room is square, the centre of the room is a square space surrounded by a linked square of desks. There are twenty chairs at the desks. @Deity is recognisable from his avatar, but that likeness must be twenty five or even thirty years old - on show now is a withered frame hunched over a set of apparatus. Opposite there appears to be an exact double.... until closer inspection reveals a female dressed identically. In seventeen of the other eighteen chairs sit children, identical children, exactly like their....parents? They stare into computer screens. This isn't the room with the light, or the windows - the screens provide the only illumination.
"@Bradl, thank you for getting here. A cup of tea, just how you like it - milk and two sugars. You follow me, yes? You also follow @Journey2. You are aware that we have differences of opinion?"
"I saw something..."
"We know what you've seen. @Journey2 tried to send you a Direct Message - he wanted your assistance regarding our little argument. You see, we used something of his, one of my little ones stole some information, we did not credit @Journey2 and this rightly irked your friend. It seems your Twitter history can prove that we were not first to the information - you replied to @Journey2 and so are a witness. The little one has been punished, it should not happen again but the damage has been done and this damage has to be limited for a greater good, you understand?"
"What do you wa...
"You do not possess a mobile telephone. You live at least one hour from this building. An hour is a long time on Twitter. Your account has been hacked, @Journey2's account has also been hacked. Over the last hour or so, the two of you have been locked in a fierce argument about tweet theft, joke theft, Twitter rules, Twitter laws, quite a spectacle. It has been made obvious to your respective followers that you are unlikely to be breaking bread anytime soon.."
"But what do you want from me?"
"To be here now. Your friend @Journey2 is safely enclosed in another room, there he will stay, and so will you. We will close your accounts. Your followers will assume you have tired of Twitter, you may be mourned on-line for a day or so but life goes on..
"But what about life, we exist beyond Twitter - after a while someone is going to notice I'm not at work..
"The doors to this building are now locked. There was an extra something in your tea and in a moment you will be asleep, when you wake you will be alone in the adjoining room with the deceased @Journey2. It will be obvious from your final tweets why you killed him."
Sunday, 18 December 2011
Warbling In The Air
It is almost unimpossible to either over, under or accurately overestimate the unimportance or otherwise of 'The X-Factor'. If we have a scale from say -6 to 18, you might say "Oh, it's definitely a 21!" or "Pah, it's a -2 if it's lucky" or "I don't watch the motherfucker, get out of my way or I'll tear you a new one." Either, neither or threether* way you might be better off sticking a kazoo up your arse and farting 'Jerusalem'. I'd pay to see that.
There was a song that banged on about karaoke being easy on a Saturday night but don't get carried away and think you're a star because it aint so easy in front of the cameras and even if you do really well there are always people ready to knock you down back where you came from. This is about karaoke, local karaoke. I've never been to a big karaoke bar and have no desire to either - I expect it's busy and difficult to get served and the toilets are crowded - I prefer The Railway. Take Friday night:
You get there at eight and the guys who were drinking at lunchtime and got comfy, are in front of the fire - the music will be a cue for them to wander home. M.C. Pete is setting up the P.A. alone - his 'roadie' Daniel having got in with a rum crowd and gone off the rails. Daniel wasn't the same after the death of his idol Michael Jackson. He'd get a two song slot where a sparkly glove would appear from the back pocket like that of a very camp golfer - he was good but never did enough "HeeeHeee"s for the baying audience, who had to fill in for him. Pete warms everyone up with 'Pretty Woman' as the little tickets are passed around and songs chosen. "Mercy"
9:00 sharp: 'We're Walking In The Air'. Up steps Muriel. Muriel and Clive are the backbone, fulcrum, crux some say scaffolding on which the night is built. They are always there, even following Peter around the entire North Norfolk area to oke their karas. You may remember this song from a popular Christmas cartoon 'The Snowman' but here Muriel transports us back to the days of Warhol's factory and Nico is on 'vox'.
An Irish guy in the pool-playing area is asking any cowardly Englishmen if they'd like to go outside and discuss various historical differences at this point. He was nice as pie eight hours ago when he started drinking, amazing what comes over people. He is ejected noisily by governor Dave [five years in charge, ladies and gentlemen].
9:25: 'Funky Moped'. Clive's turn and much like Muriel's transformation this is now Leonard Cohen doing Jasper Carrot. Clive is so much more than a voice - he's a shake of the head from side-to-side like a pill-popping David Gray, a tiger pattern t-shirt and just the one note. It still works and if you think about it, an almost unstoppable plan. We love Clive and Muriel.
10:00: 'Runaway'. Norm [for it is his name] sometimes comes in straight from the fields mid-harvest [or whatever it is that farmers do all the time], orders and downs a pint of Guinness® in one or two gulps, strides to the stage and belts out his favourite tune. Everybody loves Norm. Norm, we love him. Tonight he will stick around for a duet with Muriel, 'Johnny Remember Me' and knock them bandy.
10:30: 'Rebel Rebel'. Norm's son Will has returned from work already relaxed from a Christmas party. He allows Janice, Carla and Sam to make him up Ziggy-style. He also does a very good 'Bohemian Rhapsody' where he reads a book or juggles or both during the bits that don't have singing in them. Will is almost as loved as Norm. We love Norm.
10:45: 'Some Sort Of Hideous Grease Medley'. 'The Kids From Fame' we call them - about 12 in number [only two mics, remember] and not much older, pushed onto the stage by their pushy mums. They are dressed in leotards because they were at ballet class before. If the police were to walk in on this scene of underage burlesque, our feet wouldn't touch the ground. Good time for a piss, or if you prefer, a cigarette.
11:00: 'Wonderwall'. Shame you've just had that piss because this is another ideal opportunity. Words, there are not enough of you of sufficient length or description to successfully communicate to fellow humans the depth, breadth or tallness of my hatred for this song. At least Bill is doing it, so it is tons better than the original.
The Irish fella is back, this time with the wife, to apologise to Dave and anyone who'll listen - they are un-barred and their is much rejoicing.
Try not to do the same song twice - it will make you less bothered about getting it right or wrong as you'll have an excuse. Duets are fun, even funner if you stick a pin in the book and do whatever you hit. 'Staying Alive' is as near to impossible as you can get so take a run-up. We've all had a drink and we're all in it together so give respect to anyone who has a go. Oh, and unlike 'The X-Factor' it is all about the music.x.
*new word for either when three things are involved, run with it if you like.
There was a song that banged on about karaoke being easy on a Saturday night but don't get carried away and think you're a star because it aint so easy in front of the cameras and even if you do really well there are always people ready to knock you down back where you came from. This is about karaoke, local karaoke. I've never been to a big karaoke bar and have no desire to either - I expect it's busy and difficult to get served and the toilets are crowded - I prefer The Railway. Take Friday night:
You get there at eight and the guys who were drinking at lunchtime and got comfy, are in front of the fire - the music will be a cue for them to wander home. M.C. Pete is setting up the P.A. alone - his 'roadie' Daniel having got in with a rum crowd and gone off the rails. Daniel wasn't the same after the death of his idol Michael Jackson. He'd get a two song slot where a sparkly glove would appear from the back pocket like that of a very camp golfer - he was good but never did enough "HeeeHeee"s for the baying audience, who had to fill in for him. Pete warms everyone up with 'Pretty Woman' as the little tickets are passed around and songs chosen. "Mercy"
9:00 sharp: 'We're Walking In The Air'. Up steps Muriel. Muriel and Clive are the backbone, fulcrum, crux some say scaffolding on which the night is built. They are always there, even following Peter around the entire North Norfolk area to oke their karas. You may remember this song from a popular Christmas cartoon 'The Snowman' but here Muriel transports us back to the days of Warhol's factory and Nico is on 'vox'.
An Irish guy in the pool-playing area is asking any cowardly Englishmen if they'd like to go outside and discuss various historical differences at this point. He was nice as pie eight hours ago when he started drinking, amazing what comes over people. He is ejected noisily by governor Dave [five years in charge, ladies and gentlemen].
9:25: 'Funky Moped'. Clive's turn and much like Muriel's transformation this is now Leonard Cohen doing Jasper Carrot. Clive is so much more than a voice - he's a shake of the head from side-to-side like a pill-popping David Gray, a tiger pattern t-shirt and just the one note. It still works and if you think about it, an almost unstoppable plan. We love Clive and Muriel.
10:00: 'Runaway'. Norm [for it is his name] sometimes comes in straight from the fields mid-harvest [or whatever it is that farmers do all the time], orders and downs a pint of Guinness® in one or two gulps, strides to the stage and belts out his favourite tune. Everybody loves Norm. Norm, we love him. Tonight he will stick around for a duet with Muriel, 'Johnny Remember Me' and knock them bandy.
10:30: 'Rebel Rebel'. Norm's son Will has returned from work already relaxed from a Christmas party. He allows Janice, Carla and Sam to make him up Ziggy-style. He also does a very good 'Bohemian Rhapsody' where he reads a book or juggles or both during the bits that don't have singing in them. Will is almost as loved as Norm. We love Norm.
10:45: 'Some Sort Of Hideous Grease Medley'. 'The Kids From Fame' we call them - about 12 in number [only two mics, remember] and not much older, pushed onto the stage by their pushy mums. They are dressed in leotards because they were at ballet class before. If the police were to walk in on this scene of underage burlesque, our feet wouldn't touch the ground. Good time for a piss, or if you prefer, a cigarette.
11:00: 'Wonderwall'. Shame you've just had that piss because this is another ideal opportunity. Words, there are not enough of you of sufficient length or description to successfully communicate to fellow humans the depth, breadth or tallness of my hatred for this song. At least Bill is doing it, so it is tons better than the original.
The Irish fella is back, this time with the wife, to apologise to Dave and anyone who'll listen - they are un-barred and their is much rejoicing.
Try not to do the same song twice - it will make you less bothered about getting it right or wrong as you'll have an excuse. Duets are fun, even funner if you stick a pin in the book and do whatever you hit. 'Staying Alive' is as near to impossible as you can get so take a run-up. We've all had a drink and we're all in it together so give respect to anyone who has a go. Oh, and unlike 'The X-Factor' it is all about the music.x.
*new word for either when three things are involved, run with it if you like.
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