Rob’s Things Of The Year

Tis the season to get reminiscy. I’m not the kind of guy that believes in compartmentalising my lists. Here is a quick rundown of the stuff that has moved/influenced/changed my view/intrigued/fascinated me in oughtsix. In no particular order then:

The Macbook 13 plus Airport means blogging on the sofa!
I can’t go on about this enough. I became very aware of the virtues of mobile computing in 2006, to the point where I wrote most of my upcoming novel (see below) on the train between Reading and Paddington. I’m chuffed to bits with my new machine, and it’s freed me up to be creative whenever, wherever. This will become very important to me in 2007.

The Queen – I got a credit!
From one of the country’s finest directors, a fantastic piece of docudrama. Cinematic in scale and ambition (yaaboosux to anyone that says it was a souped up piece of telly drama), and with an amazing central performance from Helen Mirren. If Granada have any sense, they’ll include the hair and makeup tests in the DVD extras. For me, the fun of the transfer was in seeing the way Helen would drop in and out of character between takes. There was a little look she’d give the camera just before the film rolled out. I always dug that moment. It got to be an in-joke. And incidentally, even in Queeny getup, even at her most dowdy – I still would.
Minor sidebar for a major talent – Affonso Beato was the D.O.P. on the film, and he did extraordinary work. Never less than charming, organised, creative, a joy to work with.
Just sayin’ is all.
Stay watching till the end. I’m the rushes colourist.

Children of Men
The SF movie of the year, no argument mooted. Sharply written, beautifully filmed, brilliantly acted, the most extraordinary use of digital effects I’ve ever seen, clever, funny, sad… gaaah. Look, if you’ve not seen it yet, get it on DVD. It’s a treat. Trust me.

The Reading Festival
We did all three days this year, and it was huge fun, if inordinately knackering. Highlights would include The Secret Machines, The Kaiser Chiefs, The Streets (GO LOW!), The Fall-ah, the multiple plays of Jarvis Cocker’s Running the World that led to the whole field singing along, and the highlight at least for me, an overwhelming, joyful set from Pearl Jam. I whooped the whole way through. It was the first time they’d played festivals since the tragic deaths of nine people at Roskilde in 2002, which led to an understandable nervousness at the beginning. “Let’s all take care of each other,” Eddie Vedder said at the beginning. So we did. And we looked after them too. And that was what made it work.

and while we’re on the subject…

Gogol Bordello
Clare’s band of the year, and if I wasn’t such a sad ole rocker, mine too. Famously described as The Pogues having a fight with The Clash in a bar in Tirana, they’re much, much more fun than that. Their show in the Radio 1 stage at Reading took the roof off. An utter joy. Start wearing purple.

Because I am such a sad ole rocker, my new band of the year is Wolfmother. Seriously old school, big hair Marshall stack unapologetic riffography that had me bouncing in a field like a loon. Bonus: they have riffs even I can play, and my guitar playing is seriously fucknuckled.

Goldfrapp
Marc Bolan shags a wolf in a tutu in Studio 54, New York 1975. The girl behind the camera filming this obscene act is Alison Goldfrapp. She is wearing knee-high leather boots and a German air force cap. Wendy Carlos is down to do the soundtrack, but the operations have done some nasty things to her hormonal balance, and things are going a bit … angry. S/He’s jabbing at the Moog with a screwdriver.
For some reason, the title track of the album this came out of has been used to advertise mobile phones. Ladies, gentlemen and others, screw the Scissor Sisters, this is disco in the 21st century.

The internet can have extraordinarily powerful and positive influences on people, none more so than on my gorgeous wife, TLC. Because of the friends she has found online, and the acceptance and openness of the community she is now a part of, I’m sending a shout out to everyone on the forums at davecullen.com. You know who you are. You know her as… well, been asked not to say. But there’s a clue in here somewhere.

Satan’s School For Girls is my big project for 06/07. It’s currently sitting at the 53,000 word mark, and the end is finally in sight. An extraordinary experience, and hopefully people will dig the end product. Thanks to the word nominators – look out for mongoloid and zygysy. They’re in there somewhere.

However, the big thing for me was the appearance in the SFX Pulp Idol book in August. I’ll be reprinting the story “Wolves At The Door” soon for people who didn’t get the mag to have a look, but this remains at the time of writing my proudest moment – my first published piece of writing.

The Sick Puppies. Fiends, friends, collaborators. It’s been an interesting year for the Sick Pups. Specific triumphs include sitting in the Odeon West End at Frightfest with them watching Snatching Time and getting a round of applause for my credit. The collapse of funding for Roleslay was a bit of a pisser, but we bounce back. Steve, Clive, I wouldn’t make movies without you.

Lambchop at Reading Concert Hall.
Atmospheric, warm, beautiful. On a rainy autumn night, with projections flickering against the globes in the rafters, Kurt Wagner and co. pulled off something magical. I regret not shaking his hand in the atrium afterwards when I had the chance but hey, it keeps the mystique up.

Hawk and a Handsaw at Reading South Street.
An amazing band. We saw them as part of a new folk night at South Street, an evening that swung from tinkly electronica to Fence Collective strummage. Hawk and a Hacksaw are the drummer Jeremy Barnes and violinist Heather Trost, from Alberquerque. For the most part they play Eastern European waltzes and polkas, and feature a home-made contraption of drums, tambourines and assorted whackables that Jeremy plays with sticks strapped to his head and knees.
At one point, the power goes out. We all think it’s part of the show, as Jeremy plays a chilling version of the folksinger Derroll Adams’ “Portland Town.” It is a tale of a person’s life from beginning to end, with all the triumph and tragedy that comes between. He plays, unamplified, in the dark, just him and the mournful cries of his accordion. It is utterly mesmerising. An extraordinary moment from an extraordinary show.

Thank You For Smoking – vanished like a … puff of smoke. What the heck happened? This acerbic comedy snuck up on the cinema screens of Britain, gave them a goose, then vanished. We should have paid attention. As an indictment of the spin industry it was a solid piece of cinema, but Aaron Eckhart’s central performance lifted it to a new level. Shits have never been so likable.

TVSF – the best bunch of programmes in years. I’ve never been so spoilt for choice. Doctor Who of course rocked, although I’m still missing Rose like a knife in the chest. (Wasn’t Billie great in Ruby In The Smoke?) Season three has me frothing.
Lost remains infuriatingly unmissable.
The mighty BSG deserves it’s Peabody award more with every episode.
I’ve loved the under-rated Eureka, and although it’s not here yet, trust me, people, 2007 belongs to Heroes.
The guilty pleasure of the year has to be Torchwood. – almost as much for the agonised wailings on Behind the Sofa the following day as anything. The quality control is up and down like… welll…

Supplemental:

Things that should be on the list but aren’t cos I ain’t seen/heard them yet –
Pan’s Labyrinth
Volver
The Prestige
The Proposition
Tom Wait’s Orphans (bought, not heard yet. I do believe I’m teasing myself.)
A Scanner Darkly

Books For Boys

I watched and enjoyed BBC Four’s “The Return Of The Hero” last night, on the subject of the re-emergance of the adventure book for a modern young male audience. Some interesting interviews and extracts, although it did seem a bit like a puff piece for Anthony Horowitz and Charlie Higson.
The point I found more interesting was that there was an air of complaint that as publishers in the 21st century became increasingly run by the dreaded girls, boy’s stories became sidelined in favour of touchy feely stuff by authors like Jacqueline Wilson and Anne Fine. It would, the programme posited, take the appearance of a certain boy wizard to reinvigorate the market.

erm. Not true. Let’s not even start shouting sexism, because what we’ve been presented with is a narrow focus and lazy research. There was always plenty of adventure and derring-do out there for the enquiring young mind – just not the sort of thing that the programme makers viewed as within their remit.

I’m talking SF and fantasy, of course. I grew up reading the sort of books celebrated in the programme. Biggles, John Buchan, (who my mum got me into!) Edgars Wallace and Rice Burroughs and so on. That material led me quickly to the SF of writers like Andre Norton and Robert Heinlein, and the classics of Wells and Verne. From there, my path was made clear to me. And most of the boys I went to school with were happily devouring horror and fantasy from the likes of James Herbert and Stephen Donaldson from the age of 12.

Interestingly, there was also an interview with Conn and Hal Iddulgen, writers of The Dangerous Book For Boys, a birthday present that I read with delight. There is a section at the back on Books Every Boy Should Read. This includes (deep beath) David Eddings, the late lamented David Gemmell, Terry Pratchett, Isaac Asimov, Orson Scott Card‘s Ender’s Game, the Midshipman novels of David Feintuch, Raymond Feist, of course the Narnia books and Tolkien’s magnum opus and even good lord Stephen King! (actually the Dark Tower books would be great for a boy. Cowboys, fantasy and horror? Yes indeed!) I could go on – what about Clive Barker’s Weaveworld? Anne McCaffrey and Elizabeth Moon’s Sassinak stories (ok, yes, the main character’s female, but it’s big on adventure. Try one, you can always pass it on to your little sister.) And this is before we start talking about Bernard Cornwell, George McDonald Fraser, Patrick O’Brian, Philip Pullman… (actually, where the heck is Philip Pullman in that list, guys? Don’t tell me it’s because Lyra’s a girl…) Nothing for boys before Alex Rider? I don’t think so…
I guess the problem is that little in the list I’ve made above is specifically aimed at children. I think the list in the Dangerous Book for Boys is a great starting point, and should help develop a habit that will last a lifetime. Not convinced about the Famous Five books, though…

Season’s Greetings

Dear all,

Please accept with no obligation, implied or implicit, my best wishes for an environmentally conscious, socially responsible, low stress, non-addictive, gender neutral celebration of the winter solstice holiday, practiced with the most enjoyable traditions of religious persuasion or secular practices of your choice with respect for the religious/secular persuasions and/or traditions of others, or their choice not to practice religious or secular traditions at all.

I also wish you a fiscally successful, personally fulfilling and medically uncomplicated recognition of the onset of the generally accepted Gregorian calendar year 2007, but not without due respect for the calendars of choice of other cultures whose contributions to society have helped make our country great and without regard to the race, creed, colour, age, physical ability, religious faith or sexual preference of the wishee.

Rob.

By accepting this greeting, you are accepting these terms: This greeting is subject to clarification or withdrawal. It is freely transferable with no alteration to the original greeting. It implies no promise by the wisher to actually implement any of the wishes for her/himself or others and is void where prohibited by law, and is revocable at the sole discretion of the wisher. This wish is warranted to perform as expected within the usual application of good tidings for a period of one year or until the issuance of a subsequent holiday greeting, whichever comes first, and warranty is limited to replacement of this wish or issuance of a new wish at the sole discretion of the wisher. No trees were harmed in the sending of this message.

A Letter To Eugene Gershin

In my mailbox this morning…

“Hi. My name is Eugene Gershin. Perhaps we have met online, but more probably you don’t know me from Adam. I monitor blogs for SamsonBlinded, and came across your post.

I’d like to welcome you to look at Obadiah Shoher’s blog. Obadiah – an anonymous Israeli politician – writes extremely controversial articles about Israel, the Middle East politics, and terrorism.
Shoher is equally critical of Jewish and Muslim myths, and advocates political rationalism instead of moralizing.
Google banned our site from the AdWords, Yahoo blocked most pages, and Amazon deleted all reviews of Obadiah’s book, Samson Blinded: A Machiavellian Perspective on the Middle East Conflict.
Nevertheless, 170,000 people from 78 countries read the book.

Various Internet providers ban us periodically, but you can look up the site on search engines. The mirror www.terrorism-in-israel.com/blog currently works.

Please help us spread Obadiah’s message, and mention the blog in one of your posts, or link to us from theuglytruth.blogspot.com. I would greatly appreciate your comments.

Best wishes,
Eugene Gershin.”


Dear Eugene,
Thank you for taking the time to read the blog. I’m interested to know which of my posts you read to make you think I would be interested in the writings of Obidiah Shoher. Presumably not the ones featuring comedy vegetables.
Despite your dark insinuations, I found it remarkably easy to find references to his work online, and indeed the book is available on Amazon, complete with a user-friendly glimpse at an extract.
On reading the material online, I have to admit to a slight feeling of disquiet. Actually, make that a honking great lorryload.
Perhaps I misread Obidiah’s intentions. Perhaps his work is intended as a modern-day satire on Machiavelli’s book, “The Prince.” Please tell me that he’s joking when he talks about deploying biological and nuclear weapons at Palestine. Or sending troupes of “Indian mercenaries” into the region as Trojan horses. What kind of Indians he’s talking about is not made clear. If he’s expecting floods of Iroquois to tear into the West Bank on ponies, he may be disappointed. I doubt that the Native American community are that willing to do the bidding of a pseudonymous politician who doesn’t have enough belief in his reactionary, eye-swivellingly lunatic pronouncements to publish them under his own name.

Thank you for forwarding me on the link to his blog. It doesn’t work. It doesn’t matter. I’ve found out enough through the perfunctory Googlege that is all this material deserves to realise that the man is either a comedy genius or a raving nutbag. And we all know how close the line between the two can be.

Yours, not knowing whether to laugh or cry,

Rob Wickings.

(This is what I get for putting The Ugly Truth on Britblog. To think, I used to pine for readers.

(We return to the amusing veg and comic book references tomorrow.

eyethangyew.))

The Birthday That Cannot Be Named

Well, that snuck up on me.

I’m trying to be positive about the whole experience. A bacon sarnie, a cappuchino and R.E.M. saw me right this morning, and I now have a manifesto for my manhood.
ahem

“I’m breaking through
I’m bending spoons
I’m keeping flowers in full bloom
I’m looking for answers from the great beyond…”

thank you.

However, I am still prone to the odd moodswing.

Blogging from an armchair


Things are moving rapidly towards The Birthday That Must Not Be Named, and as the big treat for a big boy, please enjoy the sight of me giving the love to my new MacBook.
Wireless has been set up as part of the deal. Thus, TLC and I are now sat next to each other in the front room, on seperate laptops, not talking to each other.
I sent her a flattering PM earlier that raised a smile, though.