Scribblings of a Danish Englishman

The Real Thing Strange

2006-10-24T07:51:00.000-07:00

The sound of the truck’s engine was completely drowned out by the roar and scream of the three jets overhead. He poked his head out of the open back, his eyes widening. When he pulled it back in, he noticed that none of the men he was riding with had even blinked. They just carried on staring either blankly ahead of them or taking apart and reassembling their rifles without even looking at them. They said this country did things like that to you.

He didn’t have a rifle to dismantle. All he had was a standard issue helmet (he also noticed he was the only passenger in the truck who had done the strap up), a uniform with a ‘Civilian’ armband on, and a tired Leica M3. The camera was worn, and battered, just like everything else in the truck, including the vehicle itself. Someone shouted for everyone to get out – a Sergeant, he noted from the stripes on his arm and helmet. He awkwardly jumped out of the back of the slow moving truck, which was now coming to a stop. The jets were heading back toward them now, three eagle-like spots on the horizon, growing bigger and bigger.

He always swore he could make out the shapes dropping from the planes as they passed the small village and apparent enemy encampment he had been on his way to photograph. The lead jet in the formation dropped his a fraction earlier than the others, so they all hit the ground at the same time. Light travels faster than sound, so he saw the huge sheets of flame ignite before he heard the roar, not unlike that of the jets as they passed over once more a second later. The flames were like blankets, tearing through the flimsy huts and scorching their way down as they laid themselves on the ground. And all the while he stood, paralysed by awe and horror, his camera hanging loose and forgotten around his neck.

It was a good three or four minutes before he could begin to make out the screams of the townspeople. The noise of the aircraft and the napalm igniting had drowned them out, and many of them had been killed too quickly to scream. But now, drifting towards him from about four hundred metres away, he could hear them. Horrid, piercing screams, screams of pain, screams of terror, screams of anguish for lost friends. The men around him, most of whom still showed that same blankness from when the jets passed over, stood awkwardly, looking at the ground. He guessed it would be their sorry job to walk into the town after it stopped burning and claim it ‘captured’. He was reminded of the camera around his neck. He raised it halfway up to his eye, then stopped. What was there to photograph? Nothing could capture the horrors he had just witnessed, nothing short of photographing the events themselves – and he had simply stood, powerless to react, throughout them.

Then he saw them. There was a group of them, all running, some of them still screaming. He heard a shot, and saw one of them fall to the ground. He turned and saw one of the men around him, his rifle raised to his shoulder, taking aim at another.

‘Leave ’em alone, you bastard!’ someone shouted half-heartedly, ‘What’re they gonna do to you?’

He saw the solder reluctantly bring his weapon back down, then turned his head back to the remaining running figures. They were closer now, less than a hundred metres away. They were naked, their clothes and a lot of their skin burnt off. Among them were two little girls. One could not have been older than his daughter. His eyes widened, and his hands gripped the sides of his Leica. No. They were naked. To photograph them would be disgusting, degrading, robbing them of their dignity. But all this, the horror, the burning, the screams – the world needed to know.

Not knowing what else to do, he raised the camera to his eye, aimed it at the girls, and pressed the shutter.

So I'm downloading OpenOffice

2006-10-15T22:25:00.000-07:00

And I think 'hey, wait a minute, I have a blog!'.
Then I'm all like 'whoa, I need to update that thing.'
Then I'm like 'why the hell am I talking like this?'

So yeah. Hello. Been a long time, I know. You may have noticed I've changed the title yet again, as Delirious was, frankly, a bit shit. I think this one, as suggested by someone who I cannot remember right now, will stay.

So, what have I been up to? Well, since the last time I updated, which was during the uproar over someone drawing a picture of someone that some other people decided should not be drawn, I've been in a production of Oliver, taken stupidly hard exams and done far better than I deserved to, pondered the emptiness of life, started shaving (fuck yeah), had to deal with all manner of emotional outbursts and complications from those around me, and spent far too much time indoors.

Frankly I can't be bothered to go through everything in detail, so instead I'll cut to the chase - I'm going to turn this blog into a writings holding thingimibob. Yup, I know I was awful at keeping up the regular posting of interesting stuff in my life (there's a reason for that, folks) so instead I'm going to attempt to write something, be it an article, a short story, a poem, hell even an essay that I'm particularly proud of, each week, and upload it here.

And if you're lucky, I might tack on an update on how I am.

PS: Science coursework is Satan's way of reminding us that no matter how good we are in life, infinite piles of potato chunks and sugar solution await us in hell.

'Those Cartoons'

2006-02-07T08:34:00.000-08:00

As some of you may well know, I am Danish.

My mother is Danish and I have a Danish passport. Now, I heard about this godawful mess months before the rest of the world did, thanks to my mum mentioning it over dinner very casually. Never would I have guessed that in under three months 6 people would have been killed and embassies worldwide would be burning.

Now, I'm not saying that these cartoons should have been published. But the nutters who are burning down buildings and protesting against freedom of speech need to CALM THE FUCK DOWN. Denmark is a very very naive country when it comes to international relations and cultures - it has never had high immigration until now, and has never had any empires or colonies. I genuinely believe that Jylland's Posten were unaware of the offense they would cause. Of course, they aren't stupid, they knew it would be controversial, but controversy is a good things these days, right? Wrong, it seems, when Islam is concerned.

My mother works in a primary school as a classroom assistant. The class she helps with has a number of Muslims. She said to me today that she is worried about what could happen if these children tell their parents that she is Danish. Now, this is obviously alarmist, and she knows it, but if a reasonable ordinary women cannot help but have these thoughts, WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH THE WORLD?

Another thing - Freedom of Speech means I can say something which offends you as long as it does not incite others to attack you with intent. Freedom of Speech also means you have the right to state your offence. So, a little aside to the people currently outside the Danish Embassy with 'FREEDOM OF SPEECH GO TO HELL' on their placards - you're digging your own graves.

Freedom of Speech goes both ways. In order to have such great journalism as The Guardian, or the Washington Post revealing Presidential corruption, we must put up with The Sun announcing that Gary Glitter and Michael Jackson must die immediately purely because someone, somewhere said that they molested them. Innocent until proven guilty, folks, not the other way around.

So yes, if you asked me if I supported the Danes in this case, I would say yes. I acknolwedge that it was foolish and misguided to publish the cartoons, but they had the right to do it, and if anyone takes away that right, we'll have the BNP in Number 10 before the decade is out.

This has been a Scribblings of a Delirious Englishman rant. Thank you.

The End of the World (sans retarded Californians)

2006-01-21T14:09:00.000-08:00

Yup, Soade is proud to present Tom Black's take on the end of the world.

Apparently, according to the guy who came up with Gaia (Professor Lovelock), we're all screwed. Yup. Global Warming is now UNSTOPPABLE. Basically, it has gone too far, and there is nothing we can do to stop it.

Allow me to demonstrate:

Global Warming

Us

So, anyway: I can predict that Global Warming's proverbial figure of Godzilla will consume the bunny that is civilization in approzimately 30 years. But how will things happen? Well, I suppose at the end, every stand up comedian will be fighting for the honour of being the Last Ever Stand Up Comedian to Make a Joke Out of Anything, and more specifically The Funniest Comedian who Laughed at the End of the World.

I see Peter Kay sweating profusely in a bingo hall in Brighton, telling the world how 'Oh, me mam hates the end of the world. She says the whole deconstruction of humanity and civilization in itself is almost as bad as a biscuit falling in yer brew! Oh, and the ice caps melting, what's all that about?' I see Billy Connolly going on stage in Edinburgh and simply shouting 'SHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIT!' in his soothing scotch tones. And I see Jimmy Carr on Channel 4's 'Top 100 Apocolypses' being interupted by someone in the audience standing up and saying 'Since nothing matters anymore, you're not funny, Jimmy. Your jokes are rubbish, your eyes are too far apart, and I've been having sex with your wife for the last 12 years.'

But what will the Heads of State say? I can imagine King William III (bless him) standing up in the UN (it's changed a lot since 2006) and walking over to the Head of Robert Mugabe (which is in a jar) and smashing it in with his sceptre. Then the genetically re-animated body of Princess Diana will leap onto President Condoleeza Rice's head and crush her skull with a single crushing movement from her jaws. Now THAT'S international diplomacy.

Meanwhile, the common man will be screaming. Yup, the Chavs of today who have grown up to be the dole scum of the 21st century will realise that their worthless, pitiful lives are coming to an end, and as the first people start to melt into small blobs of flesh resembling chocolate fondant, their burberry caps concentrating the sun's rays considerably, there will be a chorus of screams. Yup, looks like Tesco ran out of Bacardi Breezers again.

Anyway, time for me to wrap up.

Us in 2036

I'm gone.

2005-12-21T08:37:00.000-08:00

So long folks, for I must now trek off to Denmark for Christmas. 'twas a lengthy saga, actually.

Waaay back in September, my mum (Danish) asked if I wanted to go to Denmark for Christmas. I murmured in a way which could be concieved as affirmatively, so she bought tickets for both Christmas and half term. (wtf?)

I grudgingly went to Denmark at half-term, and it was bit pants to be honest. I felt as if my mum had just dumped me on my Danish relatives, as they didn't ever really 'do' anything with me - which was perfectly acceptable, as it was the middle of the school term for them, so they were already busy.

Anyway, several times I had second thoughts about the Christmas visit. Whenever I said this to my mum she just said 'that's tough, then'. This pissed me off a bit, as this wasn't just about Christmas in Denmark, it was about me having the right to make my own decisions.

After much consultation with my dad, my gran, my ex (can't thank you enough, Jess), a few mates and finally my mum herself, it was finally arranged that I would go for Christmas but come back a lot earlier, ie Boxing Day, so as not to waste 4 or 5 days sitting around doing very little, which is what happened last time (half term).

So, yeah. I'll give you a little update from Denmark, as per usual, and, er, yeah.

So long!

PS: FUCK I didn't get Milsom a present. Shit. And now he knows. Double fuck. Think, Tom, think...

I'm back.

2005-12-18T14:00:00.000-08:00

Not that I ever went anywhere, I just neglected this poor blog o' mine until it was half-starved of wit and wisdom. Poor lickle bloggy. I'm back now.

So, what's happened since I last wrote? Well, I've been:

On stage
Dumped
Terrified of fear itself
Not reading enough
Not writing enough
Auditioning for Oliver Twist
Getting a part in aforementioned production
Getting pretty good grades
Contemplating suicide (for about two minutes, don't worry, fans)
Realising what a sad life I have
Bemoaning above fact
Pulling myself together and finally updating this bastard of a blog

So that's it, really. I'll try and make the next update more anecdote and fun-filled. But at the moment I am fucking tired.

Embankment (the tate thing)

2005-10-28T09:11:00.000-07:00

It's a bit crap, to be honest.

I'll start with the good points, as I am in a reasonably good mood. It's like a maze. A big, freaking maze. You're overcome with the size of it. You see mountains of white blocks, and keep expecting a polar bear to wander past. It's big.

That's about it for the good points. It's too small, for one thing. It only takes up half of the turbine hall, leaving the rest for chavs and Trishes to have picnics on. And the 'meaning behind the art' is absolute bullshit. As the chap I went to see it with said 'it feels like she made it and then tacked on a meaning afterwards'. It claims that this big construction made out of the insides of empty boxes is in some way representative of the cold, empty wasted space we see each day.

What. The. Fuck.

Franz Ferdinand: You Could Have it So Much Better

2005-10-21T11:38:00.000-07:00

Remember when this blog started I promised you opinions of some sort? Well, here you go. A nice review of Franz Ferdinand's latest album, in all its indie glory.

An intro of the quality we've come to expect from FF hurls us into 'The Fallen', the opening track. The song is of a high quality, with FF's usual lyrical quality and a good use of rhythm. And of course, the usual scornful tone is in the voice.

A nod to 'Michael' on the original FF album comes next, with a song filled with references to man on man fellatio. Good stuff. However, 'Do You Want To' couldn't be more different to 'Michael', with its comparatively slow rhythm and jolly tune. A good track.

Track 3, my personal favourite, is 'This Boy'. The use of a completely different style of music for the chorus, and a beautiful intro, make this a 10/10 song.

'Walk Away', the next track, is perhaps a little disappointing. While still of a good quality, its slow pace makes it unsuitable for placing after the fast paced 'This Boy'. It also sounds a bit like a Bob Dylan song.

After that, we return to two minutes of classic FF insanity with 'Evil and a Heathen'. A veritable blitzkrieg of sound, this is FF at its highly unstable peak.

'You're the Reason I'm Leaving' is a medium-paced, generic FF song. Nothing too special, it didn't set me on fire like some other tracks.

'Eleanor Put Your Boots Back On' sounds like a Beatles song. It's a nice, safe tune, with harmless lyrics. Oddly, it seems to fit the album. If you like the Beatles.

'Well That was Easy' is another fast paced FF classic, with good harmonies and use of different rhythms. A sort of romantic 'Jaquelin'.

Another slightly crazy song is next, 'What You Meant', using different rhythms once again and slightly mysterious lyrics. It sounds a bit like a late-era Beatles song, with a splash of Oasis here and there.

After that, we get 'I'm Your Villain', which has another fantastic intro. The song goes on to include fast paced beats, slow drum beats, and a classic FF tour de force is born. With a hint of the house of Kaiser, however.

The title track of the album, 'You Could Have it So Much Better', uses FF's classic scornful lyrics and guitar skills to a devastating effect. The lead singer manages to convey a feeling of hatred through his voice, which is an impressive achievement. And you really will want to 'Get up'.

'Fade Together' opens with a slow introduction, and continues in a soft vein. A little soppy for my tastes, but it's a fairly good song if you like that kind of thing.

The final track, 'Outsiders' is mysterious, not least because of its name. Echoey voices, dark tones and odd instruments make this a good piece of music to listen to while high. Not that I'd know about that, of course.

Overall, Franz Ferdinand's latest offering is an impressive piece of work, but is not without its blemishes. But that may be a matter of taste.

DISCLAIMER: The views expressed above are mine alone, and are therefore liable to be as biased as I want them to be. If you disagree, you're entitled to your opinion as I am. If you want to complain, fuck off.

Dear Mr Advertiser

2005-10-19T14:39:00.000-07:00

Dear Mr Advertiser

You thought it would be funny
To advertise on my blog
By posting all your crap
In my little comments log
But what you do not know
Is that I can play games too
And if you do that ever again
I'm going to kill you.

Yours et cetera,

The Tom

Many Personalities

2005-10-18T13:34:00.000-07:00

(Just a quick note - hullo chaps, sorry about the long delay. Lots of stuff has happened in my life.)

It could be said that I am a man of many personalities. It could also be said I'm a fucking retard with no life who sits in his bedroom all day staring at screen as his spine degenerates into a slump of eternal slump-ness. (you know who you are, Greg)

But I digress. Some people know me as Tom, the insulting, quirky chap who makes fun of acne and bars no holds. Others know me as Tom, that loser who we all think is gay because we're arrogant shits who don't realise that we will grow up to be either very rich and desperately unhappy, or poorer than a piece of lint on Satan's groin. To others I am Tom, the mildly cool but hopelessly arrogant young chap who wants to be like them in every way bar their hairstyles. To others I am Meadow, writer extraordinaire. To some others I am Meadow, the n00b hating PC Gamer. And to others I am Tom. Who?

So, in some ways, it could be said I am in fact about seven different people in the same skin.

Oh, and I just implied that my friend's dad tossed off with his computer.

On voice chat.

While his dad was behind him.

I rock!

PS: I'm changing the name to Scribblings of a Delirious Englishman. Depressed sounds too Emo-y, and hey, this isn't a LiveJournal.

Hello and Goodbye

2005-08-05T09:05:00.000-07:00

Hello.

Goodbye.

Right, today's post will bring you up to date with my exciting life. Or not. I've spent most of the last week at my mum's house, which has been alright. The best part, however, was making a short film with a friend of mine, which I will attempt to upload later on. Those of you who know me may well have seen it already.

Also, Denmark and Canada are trying to have a Falklands War II. Sort of. http://www.cbc.ca/story/world/national/2005/08/04/hans-island-050804.html Interesting. Veeery interesting.

While we're talking about war, thie Iran business is getting a little disturbing - we're in the middle of a Middle Eastern Vietnam, and now here we are making noises about kicking some more 'evil arabic butt' because they're threatening to use nuclear power again. True, there are actual grounds for an invasion this time - we know for certain they *could* make nuclear weaponry, but that's not to say we shouldn't be worried. It means we should be SHITTING OURSELVES.

In other news, President Bush was sent a copy of the Dandy - police are on the lookout for this dangerous madman who wishes to make him laugh so much he will die.

(I'm not kidding)

Camp Heath, woo!

2005-07-23T14:42:00.000-07:00

Got back from a YHA Do It 4 Real 'Performing Arts' Camp yesterday. Despite the overly naff name, it was surprisingly good. I got to wear a dress, at least.

To anyone who was there - (Elleese, Jess, Joella, Jed, Luke, Tom, Charlie, Helen... did I leave anyone out?) - CHIN!

Please forgive the private joke.

My mum had her gallstones op on Monday - she's fine, but has four weird puffy white plaster things on her stomach. Damn you keyhole surgery, damn you and your poking rods!

Oh, and I apparently have to write a 600 word essay on where I see my future going before I enter the 'middle school' (Years 10-11) at my delightful school. Hopes for exams, etc. As a classmate of mine put it - 'I'm just gonna write: "I want to do really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really well in my A-levels."'

Finally, something hilarious, courtesy of pointlesswasteoftime.com:

This man is a bastard.

2005-07-08T12:48:00.000-07:00

World's biggest tosser.

What can I say?

2005-07-08T12:31:00.000-07:00

London has come under attack. Al Quaeda operatives (NOT G8 ANARCHISTS OR FRENCH PATRIOTS, YOU FUCKING MORONS) have detonated explosives around the capital city of Great Britain.

Now we know how it feels - America's post-9/11 fear has struck Britain. I shudder to think what will come out of it. Above all, everyone is surprised.

But we shouldn't be - after 9/11, we were all waiting. Weeks, months, years passed. Our visions of Parliament crumbling under a 747 were slowly replaced with those of Olympic Glory and Bob Geldof. Our involvement in the Middle East was not forgotten, and we would pay.

And now we have.

(I am safe, as are those I love)

Birthday Reminder for EVERY PERSON YOU HAVE EVER MET

2005-06-16T14:24:00.000-07:00

My Hotmail account is currently unusable due to FUCKING BIRTHDAY REMINDERS.

'please tell me your birthday so i don't fotget it with my 1337 tool on teh intarweb, lLOL!!!!'

How about I don't? Or how about I shove your head into a Toilet, and send you a flushing reminder every EIGHT SECONDS? Or I could just surrender to the sweet, sweet call of death that lies just outside my window in the soft drop below.

But no. I want to see how badly I screwed up my exams before I end the pittance that is my existence. I've got a fucking pink lump on my eye which is slowly sapping my strength, and the only cure is rubbing GOLD (YAY) or COLD TEA (...) on it. Whoopee shit.

Ah well. Hope you enjoyed laughing at my pain, you self centred fags.

Muggings, Feet, Camps and RAGE

2005-06-06T18:01:00.000-07:00

As today's wondrous title suggests, I got mugged a fortnight ago. Bloody chavs surrounded Phil and I on the train and proceeded to prod our pockets and demand money.

But the joke was on them - neither of us had ANYTHING of value on our persons at all. This resulted in a very frustrated ober-Chav hitting me and shouting 'WHERE'S YER CASH?!!?!?!' rather loudly. He took my travelcard in the end, but can't use it as he didn't bother to nick my photocard.

Incidentally, there were three other people in the carriage - none of them did anything at all to help us. Oh, yes, the people of Britain are always willing to step in and aid their fellow commuters.

Anyhow, went on camp t'other day, ended up wrenching both my feet to bits - twisted both ankles and my left knee now gives way at regular intervals.

Also went to see Star Wars Episode III: Revenge of the RAGE. Good God - marginally better than the first two, but the acting really was sub par. Anakin and Padme's conversation sequences were terrible, and a friend of mine made an excellent observation when he said that everything Anakin said throughout the film should have been followed by 'Oh, I'm so full of anger and RAGE!'

Yoda, however, rocks.

Two and a half stars.

Gastritis sucks.

2005-05-19T02:41:00.000-07:00

Had Fajitas Sunday night.
Had the runs in the morning.
Had pains in the lining of my stomach throughout the week.
Woke up this morning feeling like I was going to throw up (I didn't, though).
Went to Doctor avec ma Mere.
I have gastritis.

Whoopee doo, for one week I must now drink a toothpasty substance half an hour before I eat anything. Plus I'm off fatty and spicy foods.

The Scribblings just got a whole lot more depressed...

I return from the land of pastry...

2005-05-09T12:50:00.000-07:00

...yes, after a mere 56 hours in the blessed place, I have returned from Denmark.

My Cousin's confirmation was positively thrilling. The lad (quite a cool young chap) dressed very smartly, and I half expected him to deal some light recreational drugs to his grandparents by the end of the day.

After I gave a speech (in Danish), I was congratulated and told it was very brave of me. Meh. I only did it because I thought everyone else would, I felt a right plum when I was the only person my age doing it... but hey, the food was free.

When we got back to my cousin's house, I had a crack at weedling out the Spyware from his PC. I (or rather Spybot - Search and Destroy) found 103 different instances.

ONE HUNDRED AND THREE.

PEOPLE, STOP USING INTERNET EXPLORER! GET FIREFOX, FOR CHRIST'S SAKE!

This has been a public service announcement from The Tom.

Yes, I am still alive.

2005-04-26T11:57:00.000-07:00

*body jolts wildly*

Terribly sorry for not updating this in such a long time, but I do have some good gubbins to discuss now.

First up: The NHS. Oh, wonderful. It gets 50% of taxpayers' money and STILL can't sort itself out. The Doctors and Nurses - no objection, sure, they might be bitchy, but they're doing their best. The administrators - death by fire, please.

What brings on this rampant loathing of our health service? Well, my dear Mother has developed the unfortunate condition known as gallstones. Three times to date has she been in hospital, and still she must wait 6 months for an operation to break up the excruciatingly painful little bastard gallstones. (unless she is a 'priority patient' - she then must 'only' wait 2-3 months)

In other news, suppositories are not suitable discussion at the dinner table. I found that out the hard way a mere few days ago.

Secondly, I have adopted my pal Phil. It's incredible what you can do with a fake ID and an internet connection these days. We're going to have some good times together, me and my good old son. He's grown up so fast, 13 already! He likes his old dad really, he's just a bit nervy. I'm hoping to take him to play footy in the park as soon as his actual parents lift the restraining order they put on me...

Finally, the election's on May the 5th. Oh, nice one, Tony. You put the election on the day after I fly out to my cousin's confirmation in Denmark! Now I have to wait FIVE YEARS to stay up late with a bag of nachos and lots of caffeine and watch the results roll in, and see if I'm doomed to another five years of Richard 'famerly' Ottaway. (local Tory... to be fair, he's not too bad, but he's still Tory with Tory values)

But hey, it's not like there's any argument - Labour will win. Tony Blair could publically announce that he personally tore out Princess Diana's heart and gorged upon it in front of her pot smoking son on live television, and he would still get back in. Then again, if you ask me (no one does, but seeing as this is a one way post, there's no way you can not ask me... did that make sense?) old Tony'll resign within about a year and let good ole' Gordon take the ropes. He'll whip the country into shape.

*cough*

*takes Benelin*

*is sick*

Gordon Brown vs Tony Blair

2005-01-08T13:44:00.000-08:00

In the Red Corner, fighting tonight to claim the grand title, we have Gordon Brown!
And in the Blue Corner, fighting to retain his world championship title, Tony Blair!

And the bell rings! It's Blair at the start, with a controversial right wing policy! Oh, he hammers it home! Is Brown out? No! He's back on his feet again, launching a volley of powerful attacks on the champion's policies! What's this? Blair's falling back! He's... he's... oh, Brown isn't stopping! He's publishing a violently critical report of Labour policy in the Guardian! What's this? How children should feature more strongly, nay, in the CENTRE of Labour policy?

Oh! Blair's out for the count, for sure... no, what's this? WHAT'S THIS?

Happy New Year!

2005-01-02T05:20:00.000-08:00

Happy New Year chaps.

What have I been up to lately? Mainly playing Call of Duty: Finest Hour until my eyes bleed, and then playing GoldenEye: Rogue Agent (game companies these days seem to like colons) multiplayer until they rupture. My mother also fell over the other day, though she seems to be doing okay now.

I cannot stay for long, so I will finish now with this promise - I will update this blog as often as I can, as I have been neglecting it lately. If something interesting happens in my life, my dear readers will be the first to know.

Adieu.

Merry Christmas!

2004-12-24T05:42:00.000-08:00

My dear reader, I must apologise for the lack of updates recently. My life has been a total mess, with many, many things going on.

Anyhow, on Wednesday I went to Gatwick airport to pick up my grandmother (she's Danish, don'chaknow). Starting to regret it. I cannot seem to do anything right (then again, she was the one who spent ten minutes watching the menu sequence on the DVD she was watching without realising it was not the film itself).

A friend of mine phoned me yesterday, after telling me the day before that he was going Carol Singing. My mother had approved of the idea, but when he phoned me yesterday to tell me it was just to be the two of us banging on doors and singing at people until they gave us money to go away, I began to doubt she had been fully informed.

I wish you all a Merry Christmas, and here's to a slightly less Depressing New Year!

Ho, ho, ho.

PS: http://www.thesun.co.uk/article/0,,5-2004561168,,00.html The Chav problem must be stopped. A cull, perhaps?

Intelligent use of the internet...

2004-11-17T13:12:00.000-08:00

I am, as I type this, engaged in a conversation with a girl (I assume) I have never met, never heard of, and never wanted to contact. She is asking my age, name, and for pictures of me.

I am a depressingly ugly acne-riddled git! WHY ARE PEOPLE TAKING INTEREST IN ME?

Woe.

Elections and shit (there's a difference?)

2004-11-08T10:49:00.000-08:00

Whoopie-shit, looks like we've got another four years of Dubya. Well, at least somebody allows freedom of speech around here, because I have now allowed anyone to leave comments on my blog. Whoopie! (no shit)

To be honest, I can't say I'm surprised that Dubya won. He may be thicker than a McDonalds' till operative, but his stuff about 'I am fighting a war on terror, and I am a good leader' really was unbeatable by anything Kerry had to say. And when it came out that Kerry had 'issues' in 'nam... well, can you say 'nail in the coffin'?

If you need a good laugh, check out Pointless Waste of Time at http://www.pointlesswasteoftime.com

You might just piss yourself laughing.

OK, Firefly, you win.

2004-11-03T04:11:00.000-08:00

*rolls eyes* Seeing as Firefly is constipated with anticipation of my wondrous literature, here is an extract from Dead Man's Socks. The scene is set in the main character's cousin's bedroom. Enjoy.

David quickly walked over to the door and closed it. A mischievous grin played across his lips.

‘I’ve got some very interesting material in the bottom drawer of my desk, if you get where I’m coming from…’ he winked and mimed the playground caricature of someone smoking a spliff. I was a little taken aback – I knew he’d always been one of the ‘lads’, but I had never thought of him to be one to go this far. Even more shocking was the fact he’d managed to obtain cannabis from somewhere (or someone) in Little Harbery.

David walked over to the desk, and opened the bottom drawer. First, he took out a piece of cigarette rolling paper and laid it flat on the desk. He then took out a few very bright green leaves that were giving off a rather peculiar scent. I’d seen enough Crimewatch to know that this was proper stuff. David crumbled up the leaves with precision, and placed them in the centre of the paper. I watched with more than a passing interest. I had considered smoking cannabis myself on previous occasions, would now be the opportunity? Knowing David’s attitude, probably. He had by now finished rolling up the basic spliff and had pulled out a gold plated lighter which I was sure his parents were unaware of him owning. He winked, and lit the spliff.

At first, I saw little change in him after his first drag. Then I gradually saw his pupils widen, his mouth part slightly, and his head begin to nod slowly, a somewhat predatory grin descending on his features. When he offered the spliff to me, I felt I was ready. Taking the soft paper end in my mouth, I took a deep drag.

As with David, at first I felt nothing. Just a presence in my mouth. Then, slowly but agonisingly evidently, my throat began to feel very, very hot. I gave a muffled cough, and David motioned for me to blow some smoke out of my mouth, and then asked me to, I cannot quite remember his exact words, but I believe they were something like ‘Stop hogging the spliff, man…’ I obliged, and continued my attempt to wrestle with this invasion of my throat and lungs. Coughing wildly, I grabbed the edge of the bed for support, but suddenly the edge of the bed wasn’t there.

I found myself lying on the floor, staring straight at a strange damp patch on the ceiling (I later discovered this was semen). David seemed to find this amusing, and expressed this through raucous, high-pitched laughter. He offered me another drag as I sat up on the floor, and for a reason I have yet to determine, I took one. The burning was not quite as bad as before, and it was accompanied by a warm, stimulating feeling. I also felt an overwhelming urge to question my existence, and to ask David if he thought Hitler was alive and well and living in Derbyshire.

At this point, I knew I was experiencing what I had read to be known as a ‘high’. David was still shrieking with laughter, and I felt another overwhelming urge to join in. I took another drag off the spliff, the burning slowly becoming unnoticed, or more likely, me getting more used to it, and the feeling of intense doubt about whether humans were indeed more intelligent than dolphins. A few more drags later, and my throat was probably red raw, but my intriguing conversation about whether Nietzche’s laws could be applied on today’s society, or any society for that matter, the bursts of philosophy from the hip only interrupted by drags on the spliff.

I wasn’t quite sure how, but I had managed to get up and sit on the bed next to David, who now had one arm around me. This was better than being drunk, and I liked it a lot. At least, I did until Chode pushed the door open to come in, sending smoke wafting into the hallway, and in turn setting off the smoke alarm.

David heard the loud beeps and started to laugh, then had the colour drain from his face when he realised what the noise was. I simply collapsed back on the bed, laughing insanely. David panicked, running around the room, yelling ‘Fuck, fuck, fuck!’

‘Fuck, fuck, fuck!’ he repeated, ‘They’re gonna kill me!’ he had slipped out of his Rasta accent now, the less exciting tones of the Midlands invading his larynx. I heard the scraping of several chairs on a polished faux-wood floor from the living room, and began to giggle.

As my father stood in the doorway of David’s bedroom, having assured the other concerned adults that he would deal with whatever situation was at hand, he would have seen his only son lying on a black-covered bed, smoke coming from his mouth with each maniacal chuckle that escaped it, and his youngest nephew bashing his head against the wall, whispering profanities to himself. All this was running to the shameless soundtrack of Eminem’s The Real Slim Shady. My father presumably observed all these factors, and slowly closed the door behind him.

‘Well, boys. It would seem you have been up to quite a bit,’ he said.

Hope you liked it, because it'll have to last some time. In case you're wondering, 'chode' is a cat.

'til next time I have something to say...

NaNoWriMo and Democracy

2004-11-01T05:00:00.000-08:00

Not that the above things are related, you understand. NaNoWriMo stands for National Novel Writing Month, which I am partaking in, even though I am not 'national' in the American sense of the word (I'm English. Well, legally I'm Danish as I have a Danish passport, but I was born in England, raised in England, and I'll probably die in England. So I'm English.) You can visit their website at http://www.nanowrimo.org/

Another thing: The American voting system is interesting. I mean, over here it's just this: the people vote for who they want to run their constituency, and the party who has the most people running consituencies wins. Across the pond you've got like eight hundred and forty seven different sets of people voting, not to mention the states... aye aye aye.

And here is one last side note: This site is pronounced to rhyme with 'mode' or 'chode'. It is NOT pronounced 'sow-add-ee'! Thank you.

My mother is ok now, though a little distraught.

New Email and Socks

2004-10-19T10:38:00.000-07:00

I have a new email address to be contacted at. Please send any comments, queries or disagreements to tomblack1990@gmail.com - w00t.

I have started work on a story called 'Dead Man's Socks'. I may post a taster or two in the near future. Do not fear, this blog will also feature political opinions, but at the moment I'm too tired to list any.

My mother was ill today.

I just thought I'd update you, kind reader

2004-10-14T06:06:00.000-07:00

As some of you may be aware, my parents have been going through a rough time. Well, quite a rough time indeed. Imagine driving over the battlefield of the Somme in 1916 on the second day in a car with no brakes and no suspension, and you might get an idea of how rough it has been.

Anyhoo, my mother moved out last weekend. I suppose it is for the best. My friends have been very supportive, both online and offline. I have been working on a series of short stories for a competition at my school, and if you are particularly lucky (and beg me through email) I might just post one of them. Bwahahaha.

If you have anything to say, feel free to email me at tomblack1990@hotmail.com (invites to Gmail are also appreciated)

'til next time I have something to say...

Adieu.

Welcome to my Dwelling...

2004-09-25T01:01:00.000-07:00

Welcome to SOADE, friend.

A description of SOADE:

SOADE
s-oa-d
abbrev.
1. The journal of a young man from England who has a depressing outlook on life
2. Small village in Cornwall where there are only two different surnames in an eight mile radius

Now we have that out of the way, let me be the first to welcome you to my humble abode. I know, it isn't much, but hopefully my charming wit and extensive writing ability will satisfy your every need. OK, that was almost pathetically pompous, but hey.

As they say in Essex...

Watch this space.