Call This A Cycle Lane?

Bikesy has been at it again.  Not painting back in the wonderful and tragically removed Old Shoreham Road cycle lanes this time. The bits in the single motoring lane parts that is, that should f*cking well still be there no matter what your opinion. No, this time they have ventured to the more refined vistas of Portland Road, so cultured is it that über-cool Bess Atwell even mentioned it in a pop number (Co-op). Sadly, this road has become infamous of late due to being somewhat sub-optimal for pedestrians and cyclists. The 35 side roads are probably mostly to blame (yes, I have counted them), although motor vehicle parking (both legal and illegal) and rather a lot of speeding motorists doesn’t help.  Pesky residents on bikes keep getting knocked over (tsk tsk, they should get more hi-viz).  The situation got so bad that for a while it had not one, but two petitions begging councillors to take action.  However, the folk who council (is that a thing) around these parts aren’t too bothered to go out of their way for residents who cycle, or anyone wheeling really; like children on scooters, disabled folk on mobility vehicles, you name it, they won’t touch it with a 12-foot barge pole (metric barge poles are available). No, they are far too busy bending over backwards for the much-beleaguered motorist.  Indeed, so unenamoured of the non-fossil-fuel-powered types are they that when a local school asked for action on road pollution, rather than taking steps to slow or remove traffic from the vicinity, they did absolutely squat-a-rooney.  Or perhaps even less than that.  In the end it was left to the parents at the school to, wait for it, crowdfund a hedge to at least try and mitigate things a bit.  Your blogger was moved to email our MP, a certain Peter Kyle, to express my outrage but an assistant replied to tell me: it was a crying shame, but he’d not be doing anything either. Plus ça change Rodney?

Well now ignoring the stunting of kid’s lungs is one thing, but facing the brace of petitions to do something, nay any-damn-thing about road safety, the councillors in question finally realised that perhaps [the votes of] locals mattered more than people driving through.  At least, that’s my best guess.  So, it was deemed that action would be taken!  However, rather than one of those cheeky proven solutions, like, oh I don’t know, off the top of my head… protected cycle lanes, they went for something a little more outré.  No, in a gushing fit of, “we know how to bring both sides together” in a one-horse race, they came up with a plan that was somewhat more subtle. The, let’s kindly call it, compromise plan, involved planting some trees, putting in a few Sheffield stands and narrowing four or so of the many (35 exactly FFS!) side roads to slow ingress and egress of the almighty driving community.  This last bit was, at least, a good idea, if a little short of the gold standard.  Still all this favoured the horticulturalist (mildly), pedestrian (a little) and the stationary cyclist without a shed (a smidge) but not much for yer actual moving bicyclists.  Something else was required, so what they came up with was a series of white painted lines (to mark where the doors of cars might open by the acres of car storage) and a few bicycle stencils IN THE MIDDLE OF THE ROAD.  Well, I say in the middle, but I actually mean, offset to the left (like the steering wheel of a K-reg Vauxhall Calibra, trust me on that one).  Sort of saying, why not ride here oh bewheeled denizens of Hove?  Well, sure I can, but that’s not really going to protect me from anything very much is it?  Said cycling “measures” didn’t even run the whole length of Portland Road as they rather petered out in the vicinity of the deadliest junction of all – Olive Road (the only place to cross the railway in the whole length of Portland Road, look it up) and neighbouring trading estate. I was rather nonplussed by this solution I have to say.  And it seemed that Bikesy, or another guerrilla artist, god knows Hove has enough of them, agreed with me, as word got round (well I saw on Twitter) that someone has cunningly added some graffiti to the paintwork.  

It took me a couple of goes, but I eventually located the artwork.  Painted by the bicycle symbols in the road, heading west, were the words: Call. This. A. Then they cunningly used the representation of the bicycle as a cipher for, well, a bicycle. Lane.  Call this a cycle lane?  Well, no, I don’t think I can call it that.  I call it some white paint applied in a fairly arbitrary fashion.  It won’t slow the motor traffic nor will it remove it. No, as always with advisory painted stuff, rather than sorting the issue once and for all, it’s mostly just bemused people, cyclists and motorists alike. And to think we paid for this nonsense. I suspect it will have the opposite effect of what was intended.  Which is to say that locals who cycle won’t be voting for the councillors who approved this crap.  If you want to protect cyclists build a damn (protected) cycle lane, stop illegal and dangerous parking, close the rat runs, put in a 20mph speed limit and then enforce the hell out of it.  If you want to protect kid’s lungs from pollution then remove parking near schools, close roads at school times and enforce anti-idling laws. I mean shrubbery is nice and all, but it’s not going to save anyone’s life.

Anyway, I made a TikTok about it like the cool kids and put it on Twitter, you can watch it here.

In the Car Club

The final straw was probably when it grew mould.  On the inside.  It was time to get rid of my car again.  

I’d actually had a quite longish period of no car ownership back from about 2003ish until about 2010, relying on a partner’s car or my dad’s when I really needed one.  But in 2009 I was back in a rock band again and it’s hard to cart amps and drums and so on without a car, so I had to re-enter the motoring world.  Not having a lot of spare cash, I plumped for a slightly knackered Skoda Octavia 2.0TDI that at least had pretty decent space and mpg.  This car, whilst perfectly adequate, turned out to have a battery drain issue that meant it often wouldn’t start if left for a day or two.  A temporary solution of disconnecting the battery every night wasn’t going to cut it forever, so I flogged it to some Romanians for £400 and raided my savings to get something better.  

I have to admit wasn’t particularly enjoying the experience of being a car owner at this point, so I thought I should at least try and get a car that I’d enjoy driving.  One of the few cars that had fulfilled this criteria from my company hire car days was a BMW 316i, the old boxy ones, E or F reg if I remember correctly.  We weren’t actually allowed to get them as hire cars, but a friend of mine (Arif) had stumbled on a loophole.  When the cars we were allowed to get (Vauxhall Cavalier type bland nonsense) were unavailable, the hire company would upgrade us.  So my friend had ended up with a BMW this way one time.  When he phoned up to book the next one the agent asked him “What did you have last time?” and innocently he said it was the Beemer and that’s what he got again.  So began a rather fun time when I got to drive a couple of the aforementioned BMW 316s, a Golf GTI and an Escort XR3i.  The BMW wasn’t even a “sports” model, but it was, by far the nicest of the lot.  In my opinion car design pretty much peaked in this period (late 90s I guess) nothing has ever come close for me since.  I actually ended up owning a Ford Escort 1.6GL, an utterly lethal tin can of a car, capable of 0-60 in less than 10 seconds.  This was followed by a Vauxhall Calibra 2.0i 8v in pearlescent paint, that I stuck 5-point alloys on, a car I drove at over 120mph on my first test drive!  My final car in this period of ownership was actually another BMW – this time an ex-company car 316i Compact.  A solid car, but nothing to write home about.  No, it was always the memory of that first 316i that kept coming back.  At the time what I would have really liked was an M3, but that was always beyond my means.  So when I found a listing for a BMW 320i M-Sport Touring (estate to you and me) it ticked enough boxes, so I went for it.

The car itself was an 06 plate and, whilst it went round corners in a pleasing way, it had a habit of letting me down.  I went through a top hose, a valvetronic unit and a host of other bits and bobs.  The earlier cars I’d had were all, pretty much, self-maintainable.  The Escort had had the lot. With the help of my friend Mark, I’d changed the front brake disks and pads, spark plugs, starter motor and alternator. We’d put in a new set of Blaupunkt speakers, a couple of pull-out radios (they were easy to nick, just smash the rear quarter light and let yourself in) and a couple of aerials (the auto extending ones tended to snap if you leant on them, the final one was a woven steel example).  In my first car, a Ford Fiesta L (950cc engine) I’d even made a head gasket out of a cereal packet, with my dad’s help.  But these later models were harder, and more expensive, to look after.  Luckily, I had a BMW garage - with a spares department - nearby when we moved to Hove, and eBay was now a thing, so I did what I could, but still it ate money.  Then COVID struck and the thing ended up parked on the drive for months on end.  The battery went flat, but that was no biggie as I had a booster battery and smart-charger from my Skoda days. It also developed an issue where it wouldn’t open on the button in the key, so you had to use the real key and set the alarm off every time you opened it. This was starting to get annoying.  But when it grew mould on the inside (I guess it had developed condensation when the sun was on it, that then led to the right conditions for mould to grow) I knew it’s number was up, that was also when I thought it was time to look again at whether I actually needed a car at all, our band days having come to an end with the advent of our family.

In many ways I was already living the car-free life.  I’d started cycling before lockdown and had finally treated myself to a decent urban bike – a Raleigh Pioneer.  All my shopping was done on foot, trips out were by train and bus and we only really used the car for visiting family, trips to National Trust type things and holidays to the west country.  Would it make sense to ditch the car and go down the club car route?

I have to admit I was nervous to do it.  There was an Enterprise Car Club car two streets away, so it wouldn’t be much effort to get it. There was only one way to figure this out – set up a spreadsheet. Part of the process was understanding how much my (by now running pretty well) Beemer was worth.  I logged on to one of those websites that promises to buy any car and got a value of about a grand (it had been 6k when I bought it) which was probably pretty fair.  Somewhat suspiciously the very next day a guy knocked on my door asking if I was thinking of selling my car.  Well since I was, we came to an agreement and my car was gone later that day for a tenth of what I paid for it in cash. 

The spreadsheet was somewhat inconclusive, so I’d first tried the local car hire company.  The car we ended up with was a dented, low spec, tin can which didn’t really inspire confidence.  So that was out.  I consulted the spreadsheet again, this time realising that, although I had good figures from the cost of owning, servicing and maintaining my previous car, I’d forgotten to factor in the price of petrol.  This is included in the hire cost of a Car Club vehicle (there is a card in the glove box for you to use) and now the numbers looked pretty good.  

So, I took the plunge and joined the locally available Car Club (Enterprise) – that was 10 months ago.  In that time we’ve had a good experience.  We’ve mostly used Astra SRi Estates.  Modern cars that we, possibly, could just afford, but we’d have all the expense of looking after them.  There are also smaller hybrids, people carriers and even vans that I can borrow by the hour or day in walking or cycling distance of the house.  We’ve not yet done a holiday with one, but we’ve done all the other journeys that we’d make in a year and they’ve all been low hassle.  There were some teething troubles – getting my head around the process, understanding how to operate and start some of the cars and, worst one of the lot, people parking in the designated car club parking space (please don’t do this, a) you’ll get a ticket, b) you are literally blocking a space used by dozens of local people, do you really want a bunch of extra cars parking in your road?!).  But I’m there now.  I actually quite look forward to taking one of the cars, they are usually clean, always well maintained, and the feeling when you park it up (and take pictures all around to prove you didn’t damage it) and IT’S NO LONGER YOUR PROBLEM is just the best.

I’ve yet to crunch the numbers properly, as I’m not yet at a year of membership, but to make sure I had accurate figures to work with I calculated my annual cost of petrol in my old car.  This turned out to be more than I think the total cost of my hires this year will be!  So I’m looking at a saving of about £2,000 this year!  Quite remarkable.  With the cost of petrol rising, I knew it was probably time to move on a car which could only do about 36mpg max (I really didn’t want a worthless stranded asset), but I hadn’t expected the savings to be this big.  I can afford to take the car for a full week’s holiday (when I’ll rarely use it) and still be saving money.  Although, one of the huge benefits is that I’d can get a quote for doing this and compare it to all the public transport alternatives.  The real cost of our travel is now comparable like-for-like, we have no embedded costs (as those who lease a car do) we can judge each individual trip on its merits, and pick the cheapest (and best) option for us. 

This method of shared ownership really is the present and the future.  I doubt we’ll look back, although now we have two kids we’ll have to see. Fortunately, our eldest prefers the train, bus and being on the back of my bike, way ahead of being strapped into a car.  So we’ll see.  One other unforeseen bonus is that we can now rent out our drive (we make about £80 - £90 a year so far).  With a CPZ likely to be introduce in our area soon, this should prove increasingly lucrative.

I’ll post again when I have the full year’s figures.  In the meantime, if you have any questions about any of this, please do ask.  The future is a world with much lower private car ownership.  For me it’s the dream, for everyone else it will mean quieter streets with fewer cars on them.  Win, win surely.

Big War Movie Themes - 4) Battle of Britain (1969)

Theme tune: Battle of Britain Theme by Ron Goodwin a wonderful soaring number (as you'd expect) however the scoring of the film was not without controversy.

Year: 1969

Director: Guy Hamilton

Length: 2h13m

Format: DVD bought off eBay for £1.71 without a case

Synopsis: Well it's the Battle of Britain isn't it.  So basically plucky Brits (erm with the help of Australian, West Indian, Belgium, Canadian, Czech, French, Irish, New Zealand, Rhodesian, Polish, South African, US and other commonwealth pilots, amongst others.  To be fair the film makes a big point of listing all the non-Brit pilots at the end of the film, which is a poignant moment) take on the Germans and (SPOILER ALERT) just about manage to cling on, thus avoiding the invasion of the British mainland in 1940  The film focusses on the people but also gives very strong cameos to the equipment (Hurricanes, Spitfires and radar).

For more go here

Historical Accuracy: Well as far as the accuracy of the planes, dogfights etc not bad at all, as you'd expect.  Much effort was made to locate period compatible fighters and bombers and the aerial photography is simply stunning.  The city bombing sequences are less realistic, but presumably a lot more difficult in 1969.  Notable accuracies are the French speaking French and the long waits, with mounting tension, between sorties.  The film used a mixture of real pilots, established and up and coming actors (witness a very young Ian McShane who still manages to look older than anyone else) which seems to work pretty well if it's a little wooden at time.  The panic of trying to get planes airborne as bombs are literally falling in the background is palpable and done well.  They didn't flinch from showing the dead and the effect of this on others either.

The treatment of women is mixed.  They are shown doing incredibly important jobs, but somehow also managed to throw in a few cliches and a scene of Susannah York in her stockings.

Is it a good film?: Flippin' heck it certainly is.  The flying scenes get a bit repetitive after a while to the modern eye, but that was the nature of it and can't really be criticised.   The aerial photography combined with the mundanity of ground life and the permanent scarring of those that managed to survive being shot or bombed gives it a good balance.  Perhaps compared with the modern benchmark of Saving Private Ryan et al, we are spared the very worst of what war is like, but nonetheless I think they did an amazing job at the time.  Okay it's also a propaganda piece, but considering that the Vietnam war was in full flight at the time it doesn't shy away from the war is hell theme.  The final flight of the "few" to stirring music is the complete antithesis of the music over black screen of Lawrence of Arabia, but it sends shivers down the spine nonetheless.  Of all the films I've watched in this series so far, this is the one that I would happily put on again now.

Overall: 8/10

Up next: THE LONGEST DAY (1962)

Big War Movie Themes - 3) The Guns Of Navarone (1961)

Theme tune: The Guns Of Navarone by Dimitri Tiomkin. Also features a number of traditional Greek tunes arranged my Tiomkin.

Year: 1961

Director: J. Lee Thompson

Length: 2h30m

Format: DVD bought off eBay for £2.20

Synopsis: In order to allow the evacuation of 2000 allied troops a mis-matched group of commandos (played by Gregory Peck, Anthonys Quinn & Quayle and David Niven amongst others) are sent to destroy a pair of German super guns on a (fictional) Greek Island.  It's based on the book of the same name by Alistair MacLean (1957).

For more go here

Historical Accuracy: Well it's a fictional story, so in a way this is not that important. However, since it's set in the 2nd World War some degree of accuracy is required.  Although they get most of the weapons right (a relief for me) they had a complete fail with the tanks and trucks (one of which is clearly marked "Dodge").  Also, a modern film would consult real soldiers for key scenes and there's none of that going on here, with artillery and tanks simply lined up along the coast at one point supposed waiting for an invasion.  Completely unforgivable, for me, is the scene when a soldier is using a metal detector to look for explosives, swinging it over metal rails without a beep!

Anthony Quinn pops up again playing another swarthy foreigner, although I note this film preceded Lawrence so perhaps this is what got him that role.  Actually it's interesting watching the films in this order that certain actors pop up more than once (Alec Guinness in Kwai and Lawrence, Anthonys Quinn & Quayle (playing another english officer, so again perhaps it swung him a role in Lawrence) in Lawrence and Navarone).  The languages spoken are all authentic though, with no subtitles, which works well for me. - 6/10

Is it a good film?: It's a pretty good watch, but it perhaps lacks the true "epic blockbuster" feel of Kwai or Lawrence.  It feels more like a solid 60s adventure picture, but perhaps that's fine.  It starts with quite a jarring sequence of real newsreel footage and a voiceover, which is very much not something you'd see in a true classic.  Some say it's the best of the Alistair MacLean adaptions, but I'll reserve judgement until I've watched Where Eagles Dare again.

The action sequences are key to this kind of film and they are a mixed bag.  The scenes in the boat are pretty good (and interestingly played out with just sound FX - no music, which is something modern films could learn from), but the final battle scenes are a bit TV movie compared with the current hyper-realism.  They just about get away with it, and for the 60s it was probably state-of-the-art.  Nice to see the women in the film portrayed in fighting roles and also being more flawed than is usually allowed.

PS The Extras on the DVD made for interesting watching, partly as it made it clear the actors chose the director, not other way around, and also for the way the whole island of Crete turned out to watch the filming.

Overall: 6/10

Up next: BATTLE OF BRITAIN (1969)

The Very Best Of The Light Programme

The Albion Radiophonic Corporation is, reasonably, proud to present the Best of The Light Programme 1898. When we say "Best of" we mean "most tolerated" and by "most tolerated" we mean "received the least complaints".   If you've not listened yet to any episodes of the ARC Light Programme then this is a great place to start, or at the very least it's "a" place to start.  You could, naturally enough, start with the first episode and work your way up, but hey, we're not ones for expecting anyone to act in a conventional way.  Heaven forbid.

Now this particular compilation from the first season contains a letter from Mrs. Twomble, folk songs collated by Dame Dilemna-Spaniels, Lady Boudicca & Lord Hercules of Cheam doing something or other and Mayor Flange of Treacle Dripping.  Quite how we managed to attract such and eclectic bunch of contributors is anyone's guess. 

All the music has been specially composed by Charlotte Savigar and the New Albion Synthetic Orchestra.  Apparently the style is what one might refer to as "steampunk" whatever that is.

To contact the team who put the show together send a SAE to letters@talesofnewalbion.com

Otherwise click here for The Very Best Of Tales Of New Albion

Big War Movie Themes - 2) Lawrence Of Arabia (1962)

Theme tune: Theme from Lawrence of Arabia by Maurice Jarre (who also wrote the score for Dr. Zhivago) - the soundtrack won an Oscar.  One of the most interesting features of the film is that there are no images over the opening music of both halves of the film, just a black screen for 5 minutes.  This must have been particularly evocative in the movie theatre.

Year: 1962

Director: David Lean

Length: 3h38m

Format: DVD bought off eBay for 99p

Synopsis: An Englishman with vivid blue eyes  (Peter O'Toole) goes out into the desert more or less against his will and ends up leading the Arab revolt against the Turks (and others).

For more go here

Historical Accuracy: It's a bit of a mixed bag, the first half being more accurate, it seems, than the second.  Various scenes and characters have been conflated, and some of it was just made up.  Overall the Arabs don't seem to come out of it too well.  It also gives the impression that TE Lawrence led the Arab Revolt practically singlehanded, but this was not the case.  The overwhelming impression is that the Bedouin tribes made up the bulk of his army, but in fact it was regular soldier.  Again it's about a 5/10.

Is it a good film?: Well yes certainly it is, especially the first half where the desert is the real star (I'd be surprised if it wasn't a big influence on Star Wars) although it must have been hell to film there.  Quite how they got the camels to do all the things they did, is a feat in itself.  Again they shoe-horned in various americans to ensure it got good coverage in the States, and surely they could have found someone more suitable than Alec Guinness to play Prince Faisal?  Despite all the noted actors, it's actually Omar Sharif who steals pretty much every scene, and as an Egyptian is the most authentic character of the lot.  The only women in the film are dead ones.  It definitely loses it's way in the second half (there is a proper interval, thank goodness) with some bizarre homoerotic / messianic type scenes when Lawrence is captured by the Turks.  It's not a very strong ending to an epic film in my opinion.

Overall: 6.5/10

Up next: THE GUNS OF NAVARONE (1961)

Big War Movie Themes - 1) The Bridge On The River Kwai (1957)

Theme tune: Colonel Bogey (K.J. Alford) and the River Kwai March (Arnold) - the former was a marching tune known to soldiers in WWII.  It is particularly haunting when first heard as the POWs march proudly into the Japanese camp.

Year: 1957

Director: David Lean

Length: 2h35m

Format: DVD bought off eBay for £1

Synopsis: A group of WWII prisoners of war are forced to built a railway bridge over the River Kwai by the Japanese.  The Colonel in charge of the british prisoners (Alec Guiness) stubbornly refuses to allow officers to work alongside the enlisted men when demanded to by Colonel Saito (Sessue Hayakawa).  When the bridge falls behind schedule he takes it on as a matter of pride to build the bridge properly.  In the end a commando raid destroys the bridge and at that point the colonel questions what he's done.

Read more here

Historical Accuracy: Probably about a 5 out of 10, from what I've read about it.  My own personal bugbear was that all the Japanese were armed with allied weapons.  Despite the treatment of the prisoners being very bad, it seems that is was short of what really happened.  One good thing is that the Japanese all speak Japanese and are not subtitled.  In terms of it's representation of WWII I would say that the first third is the best (where the prisoners are at the camp and the battle of wills between the two colonels takes place) and it gets weaker after that.  The weird section where the two colonels leave the bridge without any other soldiers and attempt to prevent the bridge being blown up is odd to say the least, however it does work within the scope of the plot and the two people driven by principle into acts that are not what we would consider to be right. 

The representation of women in the film leaves a lot to be desired, but I think it does come across that they were equally brave and served at great cost to themselves during the war.

Is it a good film?: Yes it is.  It was a very entertaining watch and despite bogging down in the middle third (where a shoehorned american character (William Holden) tries to get out of being part of the commando raid) it rolls along pretty well.  I certainly enjoyed watching it and would recommend it to anyone looking for a good film. 

Overall: 7/10

Up next: LAWRENCE OF ARABIA (1962)

Big War Movie Themes - Geoff Love & his Orchestra

We spent many hours in the car when we were kids and in those days we would listen to music on cassette tape to while away the hours, since there was not much else apart from iSpy books to keep us amused.  In heavy rotation were the entire Sky catalogue and the occasional Christmas present (the embarrassment of listening to Adam and the Ants - S.E.X. - it's on the B-side of Prince Charming -  with my parents both in the car sticks with me).  But one of our favourites, and indeed very popular at the time, was Geoff Love and his Orchestra playing the Big War Movie Themes (1971).  These were all haunting and evocative pieces of classical music and many of them are indelibly written into my memory banks.  Recently I decided that I wanted to hear those specific versions again and bought the album on vinyl (after all, who has a cassette player these days) and sure enough it's still a great listen.

It struck me though, that although I had seen a good number of the films featured, that I hadn't seen them all.  Also, I wondered how well these classic movies stand up when watched with modern eyes some 48 years later.  So I've decided to watch all 12 movies in the order they appear on the album (see the second photograph below) and rate the movie along with it's historical accuracy and depiction of conflict.  With modern offerings like Saving Private Ryan, Letters from Iwo Jima, Band of Brothers and Fury the benchmark for modern war films, it will be very interesting to see how they stand up.

If you want to play along with me then I'll post the next film at the bottom of the review post.  For fun I'll also be noting how much it cost me to get the movie (if I don't have it already) and what medium I watched it on.  I'll be very interested in your own memories and review.

Right - so here we go, first up:

THE BRIDGE ON THE RIVER KWAI (1957)

Tales Of New Albion - Halloween Special

I've always been a big admirer of The Simpsons and had been looking for an excuse to shamelessly steal their format for my Podcast.  The opportunity finally came along in August of last year.  I'd been looking for other writers to contribute items such as the "Thought For The Day" section or other parts of the show, and mentioned this to Peter Gardiner - a prolific writer that I'd worked with in the Brighton Theatre of the Air group.  His style is very Black Mirror / Tales of the Unexpected and he likes to dabble in dark sci-fi and off-beat humour - as can be heard in his own series of podcasts - Whisper Through The Static - for 2Bit Productions.  If you would like to hear my voice on his productions then check out Unmoored and Late To The Party - see if you can spot me. 

Anyway, he seemed a perfect fit for a contribution and I was excited to receive a whole story to feature on the show.  Reading through it soon became clear that it fell more towards the Horror genre than my usual adventure Steampunk style, but that got me thinking.  It was time for a The Simpsons style "Halloween Special"!

These shows are amongst my favourites as then tend to be a collection of short sketches where all the usual rules (such as they are) are thrown out the window.  Absolutely anything is possible as long as it has a scary payoff and this let my mind run free and come up with something a little more frightening than usual.

So have a listen and see what you think.  You don't really need to know anything else about the podcast or Tales Of New Albion as this episode is very much a stand alone episode.  However, you might want to listen to the start of the previous few episodes to see what the "Listeners Telephone In" section is usually all about, or not.

Whatever you do, I hope you enjoy Peter's story, which will also feature in one of his podcasts soon.  And don't go having nightmares...


...although you can if want:

Hear the Tales Of New Albion Halloween Special

Judge Dredd - The Itch

I've always been a big 2000AD fan, in particular Rogue Trooper and Judge Dredd.  The audience at the recent Alan Reed gigs might have seen me sporting a Judge Dredd t-shirt.  In an effort to get back into writing fiction, I recently entered a competition to write a Dark Judges themed short story.  It didn't get anywhere, so here it is for general consumption.  All characters are obviously copyright to 2000AD and their publishers, it's just a bit of a fan story... enjoy.


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It started as an itch.  Right at the back of her skull, but somehow under the skin not on it: inside her head.  Just enough of a nagging doubt, an aching thought.  Just enough to keep her awake the last two nights wondering what it meant.  So she sits with her legs up on an adjacent chair, Lawgiver and helmet on the console beside her.  It’s 0300 – Psi-division control room is deserted apart from this one figure plugged into the PSU feeds flicking through the surveillance cams – an eerie light flickering across her face.  Now green, now orange, now red; casting weird almost ghoul-like shadows over the vacant chairs and blank screens around her.

Anderson was a Psi-judge and to a Psi-judge itches meant something.  Something scratching away at her, awakening, trying to get her attention perhaps?
She continued to flick through the cams, not knowing what she was looking for, not really sure why she was looking.  The pedways and over-passes were mostly quiet, well as quiet as Mega-City One ever was.  A light, dirty rain was splashing off every worn zipstrip, every pockmarked flyover.  The weather kept the perps indoors, the juves in their beds; just the loons out tonight - that kinda night. 
‘You’re here somewhere,’ she mouthed, her finger still tapping the button to switch cameras.  ‘Whatever you are.’  She reached one gloved hand round to gently rub the back of her neck under locks of long blonde hair, still grimy from a day of riding the Boomways.  It was more like a dull ache now; rubbing didn’t seem to be helping, so she gave up and tapped her finger faster.  Blocks flicked by, some she knew and some she didn’t, just hoping that something, anything stood out.  And then it did, by not sticking out at all. 

She sat up in the chair and flicked back two screens to stare at a long shot picking out a low rise conapt – something had caught her minds-eye, but what?  She rubbed her tired eyelids and tried to re-focus on the steadily flickering image of a dark, rounded building, a few lights showing here and there.  But it all seemed too quiet, too unassuming, too untroubled.  Maybe trying just a bit too hard to be uninteresting.  She squinted at the cam label.
‘Ian Kilmister Block, never heard of ya,’ she muttered, flicking the joystick to zoom in just a little closer.  ‘So why are you bugging the hell out of me?’  The itch flared again, a slight stabbing pain that gnawed at at her brain.  She rubbed her head again. ‘Yeah, yeah, I feel you,’ she acknowledged.
She reached out stiffly and pressed a button on the control panel to call a tech, nothing happened.  She glared at it icily.  ‘Drokk it!’ she thumped it hard with the heel of her hand and it gave a plaintive ‘beep’ and glowed to show it was working now. She drummed her fingers on the console, waiting impatiently for the tech to pick up, what was keeping them?
‘Tech div - Conner here - what can I do you for?’ The voice was crackly but not as grumpy as techs usually were.  Must have caught him on a good night.
‘Conner - Anderson.  Be an angel and call up all the perp stats for Kilmister for the last…’ She thought a second for a suitable period, most blocks called in hundreds if not thousands of crimes an hour, best not go crazy. ’…12 hours?’
‘Sure, I’m on it.  Looking for anything in particular?’ The voice sounded positively perky, she glanced at the console again just to make sure she’d actually pinged the right department.
‘Nope, just a hunch.’  She could hear faint tapping through the speaker as the tech did her bidding.  The tapping stopped and she heard a small intake of breath.
‘Crapola - some hunch.  I’ve never seen this before,’ muttered Conner.
‘What you got?’ Anderson leaned forward so as to hear better.
‘Nothing,’ he breathed.  She could hear frantic typing again, checking his figures no doubt.
‘Say again?’
‘Nothing, nada, zip.  Nothing at all for the last 12 hours.’  The itch dug it’s claws in again but she was already moving, holstering her Lawgiver and grabbed her helmet.  ‘Switching to helmet mic, stay with me Conner.’

Out of the Psi-division, past a slightly dopy looking maintenance crew, boots echoing in the empty corridors.  Hit the ziplift: basement, Lawmaster garages.
‘You still with me Conner?’ she adjusted her helmet, not used to the weight – Psi-judges rarely used them.  She felt her stomach lurch as the lift began its descent.
‘Yeah, I’m here.  Running the records back, last reported crime was 2 days ago, it’s normal before that.’
‘By normal, I guess you mean barely better than chaos?’
‘Exactly.  What drew you to this block again?’
She rubbed the back of her neck once again, ‘Oh, just a itch I had to scratch.’  She reached the Lawmaster garage and strode towards her bike.  ‘Matter of interest, what was the last reported crime?’
‘One mo,’ more typing, barely audible.  ‘Ha, some juve’s cat reported missing.’
‘Missing cat?  Legal pet or illegal?’
‘Doesn’t say.’ Doesn’t matter anyway, thought Anderson, just another bad omen to go with the nagging doubts.  She gunned the Lawmaster into life, the howl of it’s engine filling the spacious garage, kicked it off it’s stand and rode up the ramp out into the grimy, wet Mega-City night.

We are not yet ready!

It was a moonless night, but it made not the slightest jot of difference in the Mega-City, it still glowed gaudily with neon and laser light.  Bars, eateries and pleasure domes stayed open all night plying the citizens with anything they craved.  And they craved just about everything going.  Even on this foul, drizzly night the city still buzzed and throbbed.  Anderson ignored it all, powering her Lawmaster down Judge’s Lanes, pedways, fly-overs.   No one much out tonight though; the rain was at best filthy, at worse highly radioactive.  It tended to put one off a midnight perambulation.  She strained her eyes through the rain and the spray, keeping half an eye on the nav-comp.  Kilmister block was not as far away as she had thought; she was somehow expecting it to be tucked away in some (relatively) quiet backwater sector, whereas in fact it lay almost directly in the centre of the city. 
As the city’s garish attractions flashed past her in a hazy cloud of spray, the itch began to change.  The throb grew tendrils and began to spread across the back of her skull; she had a full-blown headache coming on. 
 ‘Just what I need,’ she cursed to herself, ‘can this night get any more wretched?’  The nav-comp flashed her to pull off the Boomway, she leant the motorbike over and eased onto the offramp, and lo, her night got worse.  This Skedway had all its lights out; traffic seemed to be giving it a miss too.  She considered calling city-maintenance and giving them a piece of her mind, but they were probably all tucked up in their sweet little bunks.  She flicked her headlights onto full and ploughed on. 
Suddenly a dark figure lurched out of the gloom towards her.  Spitting oaths she felt herself start to lose the back wheel of the Lawmaster, scumy, oil saturated spray cascading in plumes all around her. She gunned the engine and the wheel squealed in protest on the nu-asphalt surface but somehow just managing to find some grip.  The bike levelled and she brought it to a juddering halt, killed the engine and dismounted into a firing crouch - Lawgiver already in her hand.   She glared back through the sleet to see her would be assailant.  But all she saw was a prone figure writhing in the puddles, a bottle of something, no doubt highly dodgy, in a faker-paper bag.  It was wailing something barely understandable, ‘They’re back, they’re back.’  Just some drunk stumbling around in the gloom, probably a futsie who just can’t bear it all sober any more.
‘Drokking frightened the life out of me,’ she growled to herself.  The relentless rain and now hammering headache were beginning to really get on her pectorals.  ‘I’ve really not got the mind space for this right now.’  She re-holstered her pistol and slung a drenched leg back over the bike seat.  She hit the start button and the engine fired and then spluttered rudely into silence.
‘What now, for grud’s sake!’ she tried to fire it up again, but this time nothing.  Warning lights lit up all over the rain-splattered dash.   ‘Exactly what I needed,’ she muttered with exasperation as she dismounted, turning back to the drunk who was by now delicately trying to regain his feet.
‘This is all your fault,’ she spat at him, as he continued his unsteady progress back to his feet. 
‘They’re back,’ he gurgled without making a lot of sense.
‘Scarper creep!’ she retorted and then turned and began to stomp along the Skedway towards the block, now just about visible in the gloom a couple of klicks away.  ‘Guess I’m walking then.  Control can you hear me?’ nothing but static from her helmet.  ‘Control?!’  Again nothing.  ‘Oh just perfect, a little bit of rain and everything goes to pieces, you wouldn’t think this was the 22nd Century’.  She realised that complaining was not really going to get her anywhere in hurry so she wiped her visor and began the soggy trek to Kilmister block.

Not yet! Not yet! We need more time!

Anderson walked on towards the brooding block, her boots splashing through the streams of water cascading off the pedway.  Not far out she stopped, realising the block looked exactly as it had in the PSU feed.  Precisely the same lights still on, but not a soul visible anywhere.  Deserted, yet trying to look like it was occupied, trying to draw no attention to itself.  She glanced up the nearest (non-functioning) lighting pole half expecting to see the PSU’s cam right above her the view was so familiar.  There was no cam, but there was something tied to the pole flapping in the hammering rain.  Out of curiosity she reached up a hand and turned it to get a better look.   It seemed to be a little figure of a man made of plastic sticks and tie-wraps, hanging like some sort of amulet on the post.
‘What evil spirits are you here to ward off exactly?’ she mused and even as she did a shiver went down her spine.  Just the cold, she thought, nothing more.  Time to get out of the rain.  She released the figure and strode on.

Finally Ian Kilmister block loomed up in front of her, nearly half a klick high and glistening in the wet.  She drew her Lawgiver again and did a quick 360 as she walked out onto the broadway that surrounded the tower, straining her eyes to see out into the gloom.  With a sickening sense of realisation it struck her then, that there was no light for two klicks in all directions around her.  Beyond that the city glowed malevolently, utterly oblivious to this brooding black hole in its very heart.  She felt very alone, just her and whoever was in the sinister edifice before her.  Moving more swiftly now, holding her pistol in the ready position, she approached the main glass doors to the lobby.  They slid open obligingly and she stepped into a large lobby and finally out of the rain.
‘Control, you back with me yet?’ she enquired of her helmet mic, more in hope than expectation and sure enough no answer came.  ‘Suit yourself.’  She slid the helmet off and propped it on the concierge desk, still lit up with glowing comp-screens.  She shook her head, partly to shake the rain out of her unruly cascade of blonde hair and partly to try to shake out the fog in her mind.  But the headache had her in its clutches, grinding now like a migraine on mega-steroids.
‘What are you hiding?’ she called out, moving forward cautiously across the cheap nu-nylon carpeted floor towards the bank of elevators.  The question had been intended for the building, but uttering it she suddenly felt as if a veil had been lifted from her eyes.  The itch, the throb, the drokking mother of all headaches, it wasn’t trying to tell her something; it was trying to hide something.  Someone, or something was in her mind, blocking her memories, preventing her from realising what was right in front of her.
‘So I know you!’ she muttered semi-triumphantly, as a lift door slid open in front of her.  ‘Well I’m coming ready or not.’ She stepped into the lift and hit the only floor number that made any sense – thirteen.

Not ready!  But come anyway Anderssson.

The lift slid smoothly to a halt and Anderson stepped out onto more tacky plastic carpet on the long 13th floor of Kilmister block. The corridors were lit in eerie low light ahead and to both left and right, but starkly empty.  Nothing moved, her footsteps echoed damply on the floor - she was still dripping wet. 
‘Where are you then?’ she stepped forward, wondering which way to go next.  A movement dead ahead, she crouched and aimed, her finger trembling on the Lawgiver trigger.  A few metres away from her, walking as calmly as you like across the floor was a black cat.  She froze as the cat stopped midway and turned its head towards her.  Its eyes were dark and hollow: there were no eyeballs in the sockets.  It hissed at her viciously and as it did a foul stench of decay filled her nostrils and with alarm she realised that the headache had now shifted to a numbing pain down her back and into her arms, she was barely able to move.
A door creaked open next to the cat with an ominous grinding noise and the animal turned and darted into the apartment, in its place a long dark shadow stretched across the corridor as a figure moved towards the door.
‘Andersssson!’  The stench of rotting flesh was overpowering now, she couldn’t understand why she’d not noticed before.  But the headache was gone and her mind began to clear even as her body refused to move.  The wraith moved out of the door into the corridor, the black helmet with it’s dull metal grille, the sickly, bloody teeth, the decaying flesh: putrid and vile.
‘Have you missssed me, Anderssson?’ it hissed and the sound of its voice rattled down her spine.  Behind in the doorway she could make out more shapes following.
‘Judge Death!’ she had to force the words out, as she was unable to move without considerable effort.  Behind her the lift began to work again, more ghouls coming no doubt – surrounded.
‘You came too sssoon, our plansss are not yet ready!’ Howled the apparition gliding towards her as behind it a couple of decaying bodies stumbled blindly into the corridor.
‘My brothersss and sssissters have not yet been able to join me,’ his voice hammered inside her head like shrapnel grenade exploding.  ‘No matter, Anderssson, your body will be a ssuitable receptacle for one of them.’  He floated closer his hideous, clawed hand reaching out towards her heart. 
‘Drokk it all, I knew I should have just stayed in bed and taken a synthi-aspirin,’ she spat, mostly to herself.  She braced her inert body as best she could, all the awful memories of her first possession by the foul beast flooding back.
Without warning the doors of the lift slid open behind her and a hail of white-hot incendiary bullets flashed past her head and tore through the decaying body of the dark judge.  Flames ignited in its clothing and sparks showered in all directions as shells hit the corridor walls and detonated.  Without ceremony a rough hand grabbed her collar and hauled her backwards into the elevator capsule, dumping her on the floor.  Gazing up she found herself looking at a Lawgiver rapid-firing into the corridor, flame spitting from it’s muzzle, hot metal shell cases clattering down onto her and the floor.  She followed the firing arm back as another ungodly howl came from were the bullets were aimed: the crumpled blue uniform, the dented judge badge, the grizzled face and, well, that chin.
‘Judge Dredd,’ she burbled, finding that movement was slowly coming back to her body.  He ignored her and fired another burst whilst the elevator doors slid shut barely preventing a great fireball engulfing them.  At this moment the lift pinged and started moving downwards in an almost comical fashion given the bloody mayhem they had just witness.  ‘What brings you out this way?’
Judge Dredd shrugged, his Lawgiver still held ready, smoke wisping out from the barrel.
‘Just a hunch, y’know.  An itch I had to scratch,’ he growled checking her over quickly for injuries.  ‘How’s your night going?’  With that the whole lift shook violently and a great scream reverberated menacingly all around them;
‘ANDERSSSSON!!’
The lift light shattered and darkness engulfed them, but just as it did the doors hissed open and Dredd hauled her out into the light of lobby and onto her feet, dragging her towards his Lawmaster still revving in the middle of the lobby where he had abandoned it.
‘Oh, I’ve had better.’ 
They mounted Dredd’s Lawmaster and with a great arc of burnt rubber and smoke he swung it around and gunned it full-throttle at the plate glass doors, smashing straight through them and skidding barely in control into the teeming, ice-cold mega-city rain.
‘Control we have a major on-going incident, Ian Kilmister Block, all available units attend!’
‘What is the nature of the incident Dredd?’ replied the nonplussed controller as Dredd accelerated up onto the saturated Pedway through sheets of filthy standing water.
‘They’re back Control,’ he hissed.  ‘They’re back.’

Doctor What?

I realise I may be straying into controversial territory here, but I’ve been wondering recently about how much writer’s should be influenced by the consumers of their stories.  Let’s call them fans.  The reason for this musing has been the recent changes to characters in popular culture, for example Dr Who changing sex, Hermione Granger changing skin colour and, perhaps closer to my own heart, a myriad of revisions to the Star Wars universe caused by removing the creator from the creative process.  Not to mention various reboots, restylings and general appropriation of other loved stories and characters (I could mention Battlestar Galactica, Sherlock Holmes, Poirot but the list is considerable).

There have been howls of protest about all these things, but as both a fan and an author I can see it from both sides.  Certainly complaints that switching a alien character with two hearts that can regenerate at will from male to female is emasculating seems very wide of the mark.  After all there have been twelve white male doctors and one white female doctor so far, so even some sort of basic equality seems a lifetime away.  Other arguments that this is not really part of what is possible in this (entirely fictional) universe also don't work for me.  After all in the case of Dr Who there is certainly a precedent in the changing of the Master to Missy in 2014 (and presumably lots of other years throughout the whole of history), which I don't remember sparking so much rage, although I'm not really a huge Dr Who fan so perhaps I missed it.

The Hermione Granger (non) issue is even less of a worry to me, after all, as J K Rowling correctly pointed out, she never specified skin colour in the books and people do tend to project their own ideas on to things.  I often wonder whether people imagine all the characters in my own stories to be white, when I also don't specify this.  If I was ever lucky enough to have my books converted into some visual medium, I would be happy for actors of any origin to play any of the roles.  It matters not to me, but rather I would be more interested in the characteristics of how they were played rather than simply how they look.

And I suppose this is the answer to my musing, which is how good is the creative product, rather then the choices about ethnicity, height, weight, facial hair, gender etc... So is the new Dr Who any good?  There are arguments either way on this, but I have to admit I've watched every episode and, although perhaps I don't think it's hit the heights of some previous iterations (I actually really liked Paul McGann's interpretation, anything with K-9 and the original Dalek films) but I think I enjoyed them.  So even though the jury is still out it's a tentative thumbs up from me.  But then maybe I'm weird, I also liked John Malkovich's take on Poirot and the Battlestar Galactica re-boot.

Bottom line for me is that really it's the creator, writer or author's prerogative to do what they like with their characters and stories.  As much as fans may feel they know the fictional world that's been created, they all have their own ideas (and therefor prejudices). Everyone's synapses fire in different ways and only the writer's synapses can be right.  For better or worse.

In the meantime I would suggest that we all remember fiction is made-up, and just try and enjoy the ride.  If something isn't for you, then there is plenty of other stuff out there to enjoy.  Or you could write you own.  Did I mention that I have some stories you could try?  Go on, have a listen, and tell me how I should have done it.

We Are Traffic

Some trees, no cars.

We are traffic.

Have you ever stopped for a few moments to consider how the world around you would look if there were no cars? Try it now (well, not now, but in a few minutes after you have read this) – step out into your road and imagine that all the cars were gone. Perhaps you could let your imagination run riot and imagine each car replaced with a tree. Splashes of green where now there is garish metal, plastic, rubber and rust. Imagine a street were you can walk to the shops, or the bus down a pathway between shrubs, birds singing, children cycling and playing. It would be nice wouldn’t it?

But that’s not what we have. Instead we have more and more cars and a whole industry geared up to convincing us that we all need to own one, and drive it pointlessly around and around, because that’s cool, isn’t it? We need connectivity to our phones and wi-fi on tap, even though vehicles kill roughly 1,700 people every year in the UK (that's 1.25 million worldwide, equalling the total deaths from the First World War roughly every 15 years) and mobile phone usage in cars, vans and lorries is a big contributor to that.

Also, dunno if you’ve noticed this, but there is a lot of column inches (is that still a thing) being devoted to air pollution these days. Where does this blight on our, our children and old folks lives come from?

We are pollution.

And while we are thinking about it. When was the last time that driving a car was actually fun? Personally it was a long time ago, when I was young and foolish. The world feels different now, and even with all their much publicised problems, the train feels like much more pleasant option these days. You can read a book (is that still a thing) and go on Instagram without endangering everyone around you.

So what can be done? It seems to me that people are not keen to change their behaviour if it feels inconvenient to them in any way. Even though walking, cycling or taking public transport are either good for you, or good for the world, if you can just jump in your car to drive round the block, why would you give that up? Look at the plastic bag situation. For many years we’ve known that single use plastic bags were a blight on our world. Blowing around the countryside, strangling life and shredding into a billion invisible pieces that we now ingest with almost every mouthful. But did anyone change their behaviour until a tax was put on them? Well some did. In fact, I still mourn the fact that you used to get Tesco Clubcard points (other supermarket point based schemes are available) for every bag you re-used. Gone is the carrot, all hail the stick. And lo and behold bag usage is down to, oh you know just the odd 1.04 billion per year (it was 7.6 billion in 2014, but f**k me that still seems a lot). So I’m thinking that we need government to act if we are to have any chance with reducing pointless car journeys.

Here’s some thoughts then, let me know if you think any of these might tempt you out of your car and onto your feet.

1. Increased Council Charge for any households with more than one car registered to the household
2. Decreased Council Charge for any households with no cars registered there
3. Raise the age you can start driving to 18
4. Give free bicycles to 16 year olds
5. Hell, give a free bicycle to everyone who wants one, they are a couple of hundred quid each. Anyone know how much one car costs us in road repairs, infrastructure, pollution and hospital bills per year? 
6. Free bus passes to anyone who doesn’t own a car
7. Mandatory buy-back scheme for the worst polluters, turning the scrap metal into, well bicycles seems an obvious fit
8. Increase fuel duty
9. Re-introduce road tax charging it by the mile
10. Ban car adverts that show people driving pointlessly around and around unrealistically empty streets, or over the countryside (just see how many of these you notice now)
11. Hell, ban all car adverts

I could go on. I probably will. But even if all that seems unpalatable to you, at least remember one thing. This isn’t someone else’s problem. If you own a car (and I do, although I seldom use it these days), then this is your problem and one day our kids will ask us what we did about it.

We are traffic.

Steampunk Podcast - ARC Light Programme

Since writing stories, performing with prog rock bands and doing my day job are clearly not enough, I have begun serialising my stories into a podcast series.  Based around a fictional presenter (Theodore Pilkington-Rhubarb) and his hapless assistant (Mabel - surname not yet revealed), the podcast takes the form of an old-fashioned radio show in the style of the Goon Show or I'm Sorry I Haven't A Clue.  Each week I read part of my book (either a whole story or half of one, concluding the following week) plus new material that I write.  At the moment this is a collection of Listener's Letters, but soon I'm going to branch out into other silly ideas.

It's also a great showcase for the steampunk music of Charlotte Savigar - it works so well in this context and it's well worth getting the album if you like what you hear.  It's all good clean fun and suitable for listeners of any age.  If you love a bit of comedy / storytelling and enjoy a good podcast or audio book, then it's well worth checking out.

You can subscribe via iTunes or Overcast or just visit Soundcloud to hear the episodes.  It's on Stitcher too and TuneIn, but I don't know the links (okay I found the links, so you can click any of them now).  You can find it by searching for "Tales of New Albion".  Do let me know what you think!  There is a new episode coming every week.

Mind you, you can't please all the people all the time.  Have a read of this letter, I don't know, critics!

Conversation With An Imp

It was dusk as I wandered drowsily and stiff with the fatigues of the day out into my garden, a bag of mealworms clutched in my hand to feed my local hedgehogs. There was a simple science to doing this. Your common or garden Hedgehog’s diet overlaps with both birds and cats, so choosing something that cats are not too fond of is ideal. Mealworms fit this bill perfectly, however the local birds will happy eat those, so you have to wait to put them out until it is late enough to prevent the birds swooping and nabbing the lot. Hedgehogs are nocturnal, so you never see them in daylight unless they are unwell. Right now the warm evening light was a hazy shade of light orange, evocative and dreamlike.

With a small start I realised that standing at the bottom of my lawn in the little hollow near the bush where the fox liked to snooze was a curious looking child, or perhaps a midget as its face was noticeably older looking that its size would imply. Not dissimilar to how the infant Jesus is often portrayed with oddly mature features. It was about four feet tall and dressed plainly in white or very pale blue, its curiously androgynous features were friendly and it had a pleasant, calming smile as though it was delighted to see me. Nevertheless it chilled me rigid and a shiver pierced me through. It raised a hand slightly in a manner perhaps intended to relax me.
‘Please do not be afraid, we will not harm you.’ It spoke in a curiously adult voice, neither distinctly male nor female sounding, but sympathetic and mild. Not for the last time I was inclined to believe it. ‘Can I help you?’ I asked, trying to be calm although my throat was very dry and the words did not come without gruffness attached.
‘No,’ replied the imp with the merest of shrugs. ‘Perhaps we help you.’ It was a statement rather than a question. I swallowed and shook my head slightly to see if that helped in any way. The light continued its lazy drift through the oranges towards burnt ochre. I found myself curious that it had said “we”.
‘How many of you are there?’ I rasped dryly, flicking my eyes around nervously to see if there was more of its kind lurking nearby.
‘Difficult to say,’ it replied in a tone that seemed to imply that it would be hard to explain, rather than it being uncertain on the numbers. It was still slightly creepy though; if it had intoned, “We are legion” in the voice of the devil, I would have been no more perturbed.
‘Are you from round here?’ the question sounded daft even as I formed it.
‘Difficult to say,’ it intoned soothingly again, ‘we have been here before.’
Something felt very strange suddenly, perhaps it was the light. It was darker, but still eerily lit in ruddy tones creeping towards crimson. The clothing of the creature, for I dared not consider it human now, seemed more brilliantly white than before. This brought something to mind and without really considering it I blurted,
‘Are you an angel?’ The creature grinned broadly at this as though amused by the thought, however it shook its head subtly in a way that did not imply anything other than a simple denial.
‘No,’ it replied kindly. However it pre-empted further questions with an expanded explanation this time. ‘What we are is difficult to say. We can tell you what you are.’ The weighting on these words gave me the distinct impression that it didn’t mean me personally, but something much wider, more encompassing. I gulped but could not muster any words at this point as I was distinctly freaking right out (without any difficulty). ‘You are Selfish.’ It continued, still with a simple disarming smile and happy tone to its voice as though discussing a much-cherished pet. Fair enough, I thought but again could not muster any words at this point. The benevolent imp continued to smile pleasantly and its eyebrows lifted just a millimetre or two as if wondering if I had further questions. I did not know what to think. Somehow my lips found shapes and air left my heaving lungs.
‘Why are you here?’ I seemed to have asked, although I was not sure if I had actually spoken out loud. I was suddenly aware of my heart hammering somewhere amongst the veins in my neck.
‘To visit you,’ stated the imp, but again it seemed to imply that the visit was not to me personally. ‘To study and see if we can change.’ I gulped hard, not really following what it was saying. ‘Your planet will continue to revolve,’ it added, but my brain was now spinning sufficiently all on its own. A shudder of dizziness washed over me and wondered if I might faint. ‘We have been here before,’ it repeated, ‘we were selfish.’ This last addendum seemed to suggest that the selfish could overcome their inwardly greedy ways. Why was it speaking to me though, on this warm, sleepy evening that now ebbed inexorably into night? ‘To not be selfish, you must do something that does not benefit yourself,’ spoke the smiling face as though it had read my thoughts, could it read my thoughts? Was it even real?
‘How?’ I croaked in my pitchy head voice.
‘You feed the hedgehogs,’ it replied soothingly in a way that was neither fully instruction nor fully statement.
‘Feed the hedgehogs,’ I mouthed parrot fashion. I could not fathom the implications of the sentence. ‘Literally or metaphorically?’ I worded, astonished at my sudden evolution into some sort of philosophy professor.
‘It is difficult to say, but you should know.’ My head felt clamped now, the whole unreality of this discourse was clanging like a bell in my ears. ‘Hedgehogs are not aware that they are endangered.’ There was a rustling sound from the bushes and a snuffling that did not dissipate. I held still, I knew that hedgehogs have poor eyesight, but would depart pronto if they heard me move. ‘Life is fragile,’ said a gentle voice from somewhere.
‘Life is lumpy,’ I replied, there was the slightest of slight chuckles.
‘This will be hard for you to recall, you do not believe’.
‘You mean no one will believe me, or I will not remember?’ I do not know if I thought this or spoke it acoustically, since neither my garden nor my inner monologue has an echo. 

The sky was dark now, the soft amber glow from the garden lights was the only faint illumination. I could hear the hedgehogs snuffling in the shrubbery and found some residual energy to quietly move and place their food on the ground in the usual spots. I felt like something profound had happened, but I could not tell if it had really taken place or I had imagined it. I was not sure what the difference would be. Sometimes I am awoken suddenly at night by the sound of my doorbell, but no one is at the door; it felt like that.
 ‘I wonder if the hedgehogs will survive our selfishness?’ It was night, and I was talking to myself.

Tales Of New Albion - it's here!

So after three and a half years of writing (not constantly mind, just every now and then) about a dozen live readings and two exhausting days of proof-reading (I didn't do a very good job) - my first book is actually available for all to buy and read.  It's a collection of ten Steampunk short stories that may, or may not, be connected in some way - and you can get it as both a Kindle download or a mighty 221 page paperback (with big print and a cover illustration by Frog Morris).  I'll do some "thank you"s below, but without further ado here are the links you need:

Buy Now On Amazon (please, please leave me a review!)

Tales Of New Albion Website (for joining the mailing list to hear about readings and follow-up publications).

It's been quite an emotional journey in some ways and none of this would have happened without the following wonderful people, in no particular order:

Carolyn Whitlock - who shared her writing with me and encouraged me to get back to using my imagination with her own sci-fi stories and ideas.

Ben Henderson - I'd never heard of Steampunk until I met Ben, the next thing I know I'm dreaming a complete Steampunk short story in my sleep (the first one in the book).  Foolishly he agreed to let me read it at one of his splendid Steampunk Convivials and then I realised I actually had better write something!

Frog Morris and his lovely wife Victoria - for being encouraging friends, keeping me creative and (in Frog's case) doing the wonderful cover illustration.  I owe you so much guys!

Catherine Paver - for actually laughing at my wordplay jokes and encouraging me to keep going.

Darren Gooding - for support at all stages (especially when reading to just one person) and planting the seeds of the final chapter in my head when he said that I should include the homeguard in some way.

Emma King - for so much support and love, more laughter and actually helping me realise I could be an author.

Peter / Otis Manousakos - for taking my writing seriously and actually doing some proof-reading for me, plus loud conversations over coffee that I miss.

Lynda Savigar - my dear mum-in-law, who encouraged me at every turn and chased me up for copies of the stories.  The cats are her fault too!

Maura Sutton, Tom Clements, Brian Hurrell, Rev. Fruitbat, Jude Cowan Montague, Tim Barlow, Chris Simonite, Steve Jones and everyone else who requested copies of the story and gave me encouragement along the way.  Sorry if I've forgotten anyone... do remind me!!

To the Puffin Club for commending one of my stories many years ago. I re-wrote it (for the third time) as episode II of this collection.

Penultimately to all the lovely Steampunk folk who listened, commented, laughed, applauded and maybe even shed a tear during my readings.  You are all lovely.

Finally to my partner, inspiration and muse - Charlie Savigar - without who's relentless encouragement and chiding to write I might well have given up.  I owe you a lot, thank you for being there.

1968 - 1973

In the aftermath of the referendum I have been told by more than one person that they have an advantage over younger voters in that they can "Remember a time before the EU".  Well it only occurred to me the other day that I too can remember a time before the EU (or us joining the EEC to be technically correct).  So just for the record here is the pre-EEC (and early EEC) Britain that I remember.

Despite being exceptionally well educated (6 A-Levels, degree & PhD) my dad had to travel to the north of England, away from his family (who mostly still live in Bournemouth) and my mum's family (still mostly in Kent) in the south to find work.  This is the reason why in the twilight of 1968 I was born in Cheshire, many miles away from the rest of our clan, and spent a big chunk of my childhood there or in Liverpool.  This is something that has dogged me for my whole life and makes it very hard to answer the random question "Where are you from?"  My brother was also born in Cheshire, but to add even further symbolism he was born IN A BLACKOUT!

We were relatively poor (compared with today) through most of my childhood, many early Christmases we had homemade toys rather than shop bought gifts.  Now don't get me wrong, we were very happy kids and a bit of homemade creativity goes a very long way.  But how lucky are we now that we can choose to make a homemade gift for our children rather than having no option?  Those that know me well will be aware that the lack of a Millennium Falcon plastic toy has haunted me my whole life.  Of course that was a little bit later on by which time our joining the EEC had begun to pick up Britain's sagging economy that was struggling to move on from it's industrial roots.  Britain was a country with many economic migrants, but they were mostly British people with no choice but to move around the country (or, after we joined the EEC, abroad to the resurgent economies of Germany and Spain) to find work and support their families.  I've mentioned Auf Wiedersehen Pet before, so will refrain from banging on, but there seems to be a collective failure of memory that this was the situation, and how the EEC helped improve it.

Eventually the recovering economy brought relocation after relocation for us as first dad and then mum moved to get work closer to the capital.  My own friends were left far behind in a world where no email or social media meant it was harder than now to stay in touch.  I did used to write long letters to my best friend in Liverpool, but then he moved also for work and we began to drift apart.  Those of you lucky enough to have stayed in one area your whole life should remember that these days we can choose to move if we wish but, recently anyway, low unemployment has meant it's possible to find jobs without forced relocation.  Being close to your family and friends is something to be treasured.

So the pre-EU Britain that I remember is one of economic migration, (relative) poverty, strikes and blackouts.  A time when the scapegoats for much of this was the Irish and the blacks rather than eastern europeans and muslims, plus ça change as they probably don't say that much on the continent.  Not sure which bit of this is supposed to make me look forward to post EU life, but there you go.  Perhaps I'm missing the point and they are thinking fondly of the austerity of the 1950s and 1960s or the joyous time that was Europe in the 1930s and 1940s?!

It's my honest opinion that it is successive UK government's fault that the economic benefits of EEC membership where not shared more fairly around the country.  We are now a post-Industrial nation, and there seems to be precious little plan as to how we adapt to this changing world.  I'm sure there are people with some great ideas, but (and feel free to tell me I'm a numpty) a return to the 1970s surely isn't one of them.

POSTSCRIPT: I found the letter in the picture above in my dad's new garage in Chesham, a simple reminder that times were very hard before and just as the UK joined the EEC.

Who's Listening?

One vote - no voice

I learnt something very interesting about the UK from the referendum this week.  I learnt that there are areas of the UK (in the northeast and Wales to name but 2) that are so poor that they qualify for EU grants and subsidies on this basis.  I also learnt that these areas voted most solidly to leave the EU?  So how did this happen?  How have successive UK governments failed these regions so completely that the EU had to intervene at all?  This is a damning inditement for those we have elected to lead us - the people that we voted for.

There are many reasons for why the poorest parts of the UK voted to leave, but the single biggest one of these is that they don't feel they have a voice in politics.  Due to our archaic 1st past the post system, this is the first time in 3 generations that a vote in Sunderland has counted the same as a vote in the City Of London.  Finally they had a voice that carried equal weight and we all need to listen.

We need change now in the UK before it is too late, voices must be heard equally whichever part of the UK they were born in.

We need proportional representation now!

We need a fully elected second legislative chamber now!

We need some real democracy so that the stranglehold of vested interests is broken forever and all the regions have a say in how we move forward.

When 1.9 million people (4% of the electorate - they should have had about 26 MPs) who voted Ukip only have one MP - something is badly wrong.

I also think that the environment has been sadly omitted from all politics for some bizarre reason, but PR would help with that too (1 million votes for the Greens = 1 MP, should be more like 12).

This is what the EU Referendum screams at me, the question is...

...is anyone listening?

So About This Democracy Thing

Gotta love Brighton :)

I've heard some very interesting ideas about what the UK will be like if we vote to leave the EU tomorrow.  These seem to include pretty much everything that is on people's wish-list for a fairer society including: nationalisation and a super tax on the rich.  Folk who are on the left of the political spectrum seem to think that this referendum is a kind of super general election, that will make us all happier, less "restricted: and better off.  I'm really struggling to get my head around why people think this, so perhaps it's worth just going over a bit about how democracy works in this country.

Post EU we will continue to elect the UK government with our first-past-the-post system - which appoints the Members of Parliament to The House Of Commons.  This system (as I've mentioned before, and I've not been contradicted on this yet) favours the incumbent government, since they can change boundaries as they see fit.  This means currently we are looking at a majority Conservative government or a coalition of some sort.  I favour coalition, but it means trading off manifesto issues and tends to end up with lowest common denominator politics rather than great social strides, so I'll leave that to someone better qualified to explain.

Don't forget that our second legislative chamber is The House Of Lords, which is entirely unelected, so again favours the incumbent government since it appoints them.  That's right folks, we can't name them, didn't elect them and can't kick them out!

I think it's most likely that Cameron will resign following a Brexit, emboldened by their win the right wing of the Conservatives and Ukip members (who will go back to being Conservative) will demand a pro-Brexit leader to take them through the negotiations, stating that it's "the will of the British people".  This is likely to be Boris Johnson and please don't let anyone underestimate him, he's a very popular politician who will say pretty much anything to be PM - so he has the best chance (The irony that he will then be an UNELECTED leader of our country, hasn't escaped me).  There are still four years left on the term of the current government so that will cover the EU exit negotiations with a bit to spare.  Since nothing much will change in that time and anything that goes wrong Boris can handily blame on the pesky "faceless bureaucrats" (thank you Ukip for that lazy and derogatory term) in the EU I believe he will get another term of 5 years (that's up until 2025).

So how do we know what a post-EU Conservative government will do in the next ten or so years?  That's very easy, you look at their manifesto.  They will carry on with their own ideas, with renewed vigour since we are now free from "pesky EU interference".  In essence this will mean, for the time being, austerity.  This is basically cuts to services, including schools, policing, benefits and healthcare.  When possible they will endeavour to cut taxes for the rich and the middle classes, in the false belief that this benefits everyone - it doesn't, it benefits those who pay most tax, i.e. the rich and the upper middle classes.

The earliest that the Conservatives can make any changes to their manifesto will be in 2020, roughly the time that EU subsidies run out (the promise to keep them until 2020 is EU policy, they are promising what will happen anyway!).  Will increased subsidies for the poorer parts of the UK (notably Wales and the North-East) be added to their manifesto?  Perhaps, but I don't think so, I think that in the unlikely event that there is spare money it will go in tax cuts.  Austerity is likely to still be running (it's currently due to run until at least 2018) or, perhaps, being reduced (it could also increase if the economy sinks, but let's not get too depressed here), but this won't help the poorest regions quickly.   The same goes for farming subsidies: the EU is one of the few organisations in the world rich enough to pay farmers to manage their land as countryside even if they can't make a profit from it through farming.  I don't recall seeing set-aside subsidies on the Conservative party manifesto, but perhaps they'll add it in my 2020?  In the meantime once these subsidies are withdrawn farmers will have no choice but to sell off unprofitable parts of their farms.  What happens to it after then is up to whoever buys it.

I could go on here, but actually I will just re-iterate that in order to understand what post-Brexit UK will look like you need to read the major party manifestos.  This is NOT a General Election, you are NOT choosing who is in power tomorrow (it's the Conservative party) - you are only voting to remove what the EU gives us and for that I hope you will take a few minutes to read my previous Blog on this very subject.

A vote for real democracy is a vote FOR our continued membership of the EU - if you don't believe me, then please research how democracy really works in the European Union.  Oh, and if you don't know the name of your MEP - then effing well find out!  You can vote for them and you can lobby them for change.

PS For more about how EU subsidies are decided and who in the UK receives them, then this is worth a couple of minutes of your time.

PPS Dorian Lynskey has expressed this even more eloquently here.