Mad Dogs and Englishmen

Something I always take a certain amount of perverse pride in, is that while other fanfic writers' shameful beginnings usually entail bad spelling, Mary Sues and shite plots, mine involved actually being banned from ff.net.

Which sounds cooler than it actually was. Actually, I was banned for plagarising someone else's story (which has since vanished from the 'net, but then it was ten years ago). I won't go into detail, it was kinda shitty, but I didn't know The Rules of the Internet and to be honest, the resulting story is still not horrible enough for me to be too ashamed of it. I dropped that account, started a new one under the cool goth name of Skull Bearer, and the rest is history.

Only things have a tendancy come around again, and now I've been plagarised. Seriously, someone was so bereft of creative spark they basically nicked Of Needles and re-wrote the first chapter. Badly. Like, really badly. So badly I wanted to claw my eyes out because dead god it was crap. So bad I'm not posting a link here, because I don't want one of you innocent grasshoppers going in and seeing what cannot be unseen.

So I reported it to ff.net and told the author to please take it down, because I've been here before, and I know how embarrasing it'll be for them ten years down the line.

You know, I'd always thought I'd have to wait until I was, y'know, published, for this kinda stuff to happen. Huh.

(next Needle installment tentatively titled Love and War, like I hadn't ripped off enough song titles already)

So in response to my previous query about whether I should trust the 'docs for life' offer. Life came over and rendered it completely moot when I spotted THE MOST GORGEOUS PAIR OF BOOTS at a market today.

These be they (not my photo)



Love. At. First. Sight. And they were size 6. I am a 7.

*rips self to pieces*

So after stitching myself back together and asking the opinion of a nearby leatherworking specialist (I go to awesome markets), I decided that if I didn't buy the damn things and try and make them fit (the boots might be second hand but they are brand new, and the leather is pure solid wonderful) I would never forgive myself.

It's not a lost cause, the length is good and I can get my foot in, it's just the width. So yeah, I've got a fighting chance with them. The leather is amazing, it's better than any of my boots, and even my coat. The soles are good, doc made, and looks like they've never been worn. And unlike every other pair of boots I have, they don't take ten hours to put on.

Please oh please may this work or I will be very miserable. Particularly since I've realised they don't seem to be sold any more, and while this means I could probably get three times what they cost by putting them on ebay, I waaaaant them.

Never happened. Wah-wah wah. Surprise surprise. Anyway. I was too busy preparing for the militiary vehicle show at the Secret Nuclear Bunker today, and had a marvellous time. It's like the War and Peace Show only with less nazis, crowds and high prices. And tanks, but they had some nice armoured cars, a Soviet personel carrier and a bunch of people who built a panzer 3 almost from scratch (it had a 60's Brit tank undercarriage, but hey, it looked great).

It was hot and I hadn't slept much, but I felt better after I went into the loos and poured a pint of water over myself. People were sellign everything, and I mean everything military related. We saw a couple of German anti-aircraft guns for sale (A cool £1,000 and fuck me if I wasn't tempted), uniforms of every kind, knives, a 1907 bayonet Paramour had to practically pry out of my hands (£65 but dear god a work of art), and all kinds of activities.

I even finally managed to find a pair of officer's boots (proving forever my hunch that you only find stuff when you're not bothering to look) for £20, and I managed to baragin the guy down to £18 because they looked a bit grotty (in fact they had been bulled something like ten years ago so the laquered polish had cracked. The leather looks fine). Then there were the soviet binoculars which had both me and paramour drooling over them. I had tried all the binoculars I had seen in the show, and these were the best by miles. Sharp focus, easy to use, great weight, and coming in little leather satchels modeled on those used by the SS (the guy who sold it to us said if I wanted to make back the money I spent on them, I could flog the case to the German reinactors. I suspect the binoculars are worth about three times as much as we spent on them). There were two, so it was like they were just waiting for us to come alone.
At the same guy's store I also managed to find a set of books I'd been looking for for ages. A set of leather-bound books full fo photos about the third reich. The guy asked for six pounds for them. Not six each, six for all three. Very chuffed.
Also got my dad a t-shirt I was meaning to find for him ages ago:


My dad loves that film.

So we finally got back to the car around the time the rapture was supposed to happen, and I went 'shit, we're missing Dr Who!'

Anyway, for the best response on the rapture today:

*produces squeak that only dogs can hear*

I got in :DDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD

Not much to say otherwise. I have most of the money needed, and certainly what I need for the first year. I'm going to make more trips to the Weiner Library to make some effort to get through the book list (which is mammoth). But at the moment, everything's just :DDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD

I saw this article in the Metro today, and my jaw just dropped.
Now, you all know I'm not a massive fan of religion. In fact, I'm not a fan at all, but this goes beyond even what I find acceptable and goes straight into 'oh wait, hang on now'.
It might be because I've got some pagan friends, and can imagine what their reactions would be at having their religion described as that practised in The Wicker Man. I mean, I love that film, but saying that it's an accurate description of modern pagans is like saying Jude Suss is an accurate portrayl of Jews.

Seriously Metro, wtf? It was on the front page too, I'm looking forward to seeing tomorrow's opinion's page.

I am a devoted reader of ursulav 's webcomic Digger, an excellent piece of work whose mammoth story arc is finally drawing to a close after many, many years. Unfortunately, in the latest strip, a very popular character died. There was massive outpourings of grief for the fallen character, and much reassurences that Ursula had doen a marvellous job.

Well, it was time for my Unpopular Fannish Opinion, because I thought that death was nothing but a cheap shot meant to get rid of a character who would have spoiled the story's happy ending had he lived. He was tragic character who could not have been 'fixed' through the story and his death felt like a cop-out, as predictable as people of colour dying in a disaster movie.

So I posted words to that effect, and braced myself for the seemingly inevitable flame-war as rabid fanpeeps slavishly defended a much beloved author.

Here are some of the responses I got:
( Cut for spoilers )

... and more to that effect. I realised at the point when my jaw hit the table that I've been hanging around crazy fucking arseholes way too much when finding sensible, informed debate comes off as such a shock, and making a perfectly legitimate criticism carries with it the expectation that you're going to start a flame war.

Incidentally, the story as a whole is bloody marvellous, which is why I feel this death lets it down by touching the realm of predictable cliche. Consider this praising by faint damnation and remember that everything I haven't mentioned (ie, everything else) is brilliant. The art is excellent, the story is meandering but coherent, the characters are entrancing and issues are handled with a light touch which is a delight to read.
Oh, and it's very funny. Between soothsayer slugs, a wisecracking wombat and a shadow demon which is constantly asking if it is a bird, water sapphire, rock, tree deer and various kinds of fish, it's anything but a predictable ride.

Addendum: It's my birthday on Sunday, I'll be 25, those of you who know me IRL (which is quite a lot of you, now I think about it) are all cordially invited. It'll probably be a food-and-drink jobby at one of my favourite restaurants (probably Souk in Covent Garden, but I'm willing to hear other suggestions), please comment or PM me (or phone if you have my number) if you'd like to come.

I was tiding my room the other day, and came across an old diary I had kept when I was 17-18. I had a read through it and thought:
1 - Heh, I'm trying really too hard to be cool  and awesome and unusual. I've mellowed a lot.
2 - I love myself for writing down the insanely bizarre dreams I had. Look at this gold:

"I had the weirdest dreams last night. In one mum, and bunch of people and I were hiking in a rainforest, I suddenly remembered I had no water with me and was wearing trainers. I went back to the scouting hut and met loads of old people and a white goblin that brought bad luck.
When I got back on the hike we went into a sodden and rotting field like those in Wales, I saw seven thin cows and one fat one  - lean times ahead.
We got out of the field and into a London house my brother appeared outside and changed first into a giant worm like the one in 'Flight of Dragons'. I went running inside to find weapons, I found matches and needles, then my mum appeared and opened a trapdoor in the cieling above our front door and took down a flamethrower and a chainsaw.She took the flamethrower and I took the saw. When we got out Axel (my brother) had turned into a troll. We killed him but then mum started to turn into a troll and I had to load game (?). The second time I tried I did it myself with the flamethrower. I killed Axel and woke up, the chainsaw noise had been the council trimming the trees."

I need to start keeping a dream diary, this is comedy gold.
3 - I will never, ever, ever forgive my school for having us study Gladstone and Disraeli for final year history, when every other school was doing German history 1933-45. Never. Ever. At all. I can't even let myself think of it for too long or I'd kill something. It would have been the one glowing light in a sea of very dark places, would have introduced me to my favourite subject 3 years early and would have meant I didn't fail history so spectacularly.
4- Wow, my life sucked. I mean sucked. Not simply emo 'I hate my life I'm gonna cut myself', but when I thought at the time I was okay and then I look at it now, read between the lines and realise how utterly miserable I was. Wow. It's just... Fuck man, no wonder it took less than a day with my aunt before having a nervous breakdown -- and that was five years later, when things had sort of improved. Jesus fuck. if I met teenage me again I'd grab her and fucking run until we were as far from that place as physically possible. It's hard to describe, but it was fucking poison.
I have a blow-by-blow account of the night my mum tried to off herself, and the next day when the police came around. Quite chilling, and some of the best writing in the book. It's heartbreaking where I mention that i can't understand why anyone would want to do commit suicide, as I love life.
Love life.
Me, with such a fucking shitting existance I still have trouble believing it. Loved life. Couldn't imagine anyone trying to kill themselves.
I need a hug.
What a poisonous shithole that was.

The most violent anarchist ever known against the most violent authoritarian government ever made. The prize? The minds of every living and yet to be born individual.
-V vs 1984
I love Alternatehistory.com. And not just for the naziwank. This is cut from purest diamond.

 
Yes, that is a dildo. Yes, those are minicopter wings. Yes this is the Kremlin. No, we don't know who it was, but they have become an internet god and people are building shrines to their awesomeness.