Sometimes you just can’t help yourself. You know it’s wrong. You know it’s bad for you. But somehow the wrongness becomes part of the attraction. The habit grows claws, and digs in hard. And gods help me, I think it’s happening now.
American Horror Story is one of those shows that I’m just not going to be able to stay away from.
As you may know, I contribute regularly to the United Kingdom Zombie Defence League, a group and website dedicated to keeping YOU safe when the inevitable undead apocalypse strikes.
Currently, I write a weekly column called The Thing About Zombies, where I explore the many reasons that the zombie taps into both ancient and modern anxieties. I’m reposting the most recent one, where I talk about zombies and our fear of infection. If you enjoy it, please check out the rest of my posts on the UKZDL. I have my own section, you know…
It’s safe to say that I have an on-going and long-lasting love affair with the humble burger. There’s something about the simple mince patty that just works for me on a deep and primal level, far more than a steak would. When I first started working in London, a weekly treat would be a visit to Wimpy for a quarter-pounder meal – still a flavour of childhood, and increasingly difficult to find. The now sadly defunct southwest American chain Santa Fe used to serve theirs in a tortilla that had been seared shut. I still do this at home on occasion when I can’t be bothered with the big bready hit of a bun. Sealed in a light edible package with salsa, guacamole and a good strong cheese, it’s an enduring pleasure.
These days, I have become more enamoured of the French way with a burger – the steak hache. It’s basically a burger without the bells and whistles, so the meat becomes the star. That means, of course, that any old rubbish won’t do. Last night, I had steak mince left over from the cottage pie I’d made earlier in the week. A light went on. For a burger fan, it seems almost shameful to note that I have never made one from scratch. It was time to stretch my culinary boundaries.
“It is double pleasure to deceive the deceiver.”
Niccolo Macchiavelli
Continue reading Deceive The Deceiver: X&HT Saw The Ides Of March
Sometimes you just have to take the opportunities that are offered to you. Thus, I found myself escorting TLC and MadamWDW to the Sheldonian Theatre in Oxford, to hear Lord Rees of Ludlow deliver the annual Romanes Lecture. I am, apparently, cultured.
A little something to bear in mind next time TLC and I have a bite to eat with that damned elusive docoBanksy. German food co-op The Deli Garage has come up with an edible food spray that could add an extra blingy touch to the Christmas dinner. Currently available in gold, silver, red and blue, the manufacturers claim that the colour is both odour-free and tasteless. Which is a bit of a shame. I kinda like the idea of spray-on barbeque flavour in a hot-rod red.
Flavoured spray could also add a whole new dimension to the graffiti shenanigans at Leake Street. Your line and fill might be a bit suspect, but boy does your piece taste good. Why cover up a rival’s graf when you can just lick it off? King Robbo: tastes like chicken. I know you can get spray cheeses and oils already. It wouldn’t take much to make my little dream come true.
It would certainly put a whole different spin on the idea of pepper spray…
One of the big disappointments of this year’s FrightFest was the not-very-long-awaited-at-all-actually sequel/companion piece to Robin Hardy’s 1973 pagan shocker The Wicker Man. Hardy had warned the audience not to expect a typical horror film. This is a risky strategy in front of a FrightFest crowd, and when they were confronted with a broadly satirical take on the subject of religion, sacrifice and pagan belief, they reacted as you might expect. Too broad to be either funny or scary, the best you could say about it was at least Nicolas Cage or bees didn’t make an appearance.
Continue reading Church Of The Poison Mind: X&HT Read The Wicker Tree
I’m with the ghosties and ghoulies and two-headed beasties and things that go bump in the night when it comes to Halloween. They stay out of the way every October 31st to let the foolish mortals muck around with pumpkins and sexy witch outfits.
I’m sure it’s just that I find any kind of commercially-driven mass hysteria (assorted parent’s days, any number of quasi-religious holidays, royal weddings etc) deeply tiresome, but for some reason Halloween really grinds my gears. The prospect of having to buy Haribo and then give it away to a bunch of kids in sheets or cheap masks seems to be against nature to me. Somehow, I feel that my passions are devalued. It’s like a ghost dies every time a trick-or-treater eggs a house.
The element of coercion involved also honks me off. If I don’t give you sugar you’ll vandalise my gaff? How intriguing. First up, Fat Casper, the last thing you need is more sweeties. Second of all, give me a minute while I switch on the hose.
That being said, our road, despite it’s name, is generally quiet on All Hallow’s Eve. Maybe the cemetery at the end has something to do with it. It’s nothing to do with the road being creepy. I think it has more to do with respect. After all, let’s face it, Halloween is not the most dignified of festivities. I refer you back to the sexy pumpkin.
In fact, Halloween seems to be the one time of the year when I really go off the idea of horror. It never lasts, and by the first of November I’m back to my happy evil self again. And as I’m not doing Nanowrimo this year, I can really concentrate on getting some scary stuff written. Kinda looking forward to that.
However, if you really must do something scary tomorrow, can I recommend the brilliant Trick ‘R’ Treat, a seriously under-rated gem of an anthology horror? It’s available to stream from Lovefilm, and I can’t think of a better movie for the season.
I, meanwhile, will be keeping a low profile. Go ahead, amateurs, have your fun. On Tusday, the professionals get back to doing what we do best.
No, I meant BOO, not… oh, never mind.
In the spring of 1993, I noticed a rough scaly patch developing behind one of my ears. At the time, I didn’t worry too much about it, thinking it was something to do with my glasses chafing.
The patch was soon joined by another in the folds of my other ear and slowly they began to spread upwards and round, into my scalp and across my brows. Alarmed, I went to the doctors for a chat.
It’s been funny old weather for the past week. Thin bands of rain clouds shooting across the country, dousing us in a downpour while a low sun bathes us in light.
Which makes for top rainbow weather, of course, and a doozy arched over the back garden earlier this week. Not a double, sadly, but I think a full ‘bow is just about as good.
EXCUSES AND HALF TRUTHS 