Freakspotting

Choose Life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family. Choose a fucking big television, choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players and electrical tin openers. Choose good health, low cholesterol, and dental insurance. Choose fixed interest mortgage repayments. Choose a starter home. Choose your friends. Choose leisurewear and matching luggage. Choose a three-piece suit on hire purchase in a range of fucking fabrics. Choose DIY and wondering who the fuck you are on Sunday morning. Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing, spirit-crushing game shows, stuffing fucking junk food into your mouth. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pissing your last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, fucked up brats you spawned to replace yourselves. Choose your future. Choose life... But why would they want to do a thing like that? They chose not to choose life. They chose somethin' else. And the reasons? There are no reasons. Who needs reasons when you've got Cosplay?

Yes, Cosplay, the biggest threat to the country since Hitler and his sharply dressed army. But, unlike the Nazis, this lot know nothing of discipline. In fact a good dose of National Service would sort them out. If you have no idea what I am talking about, let me explain. Cosplay is the attempt by people with nothing to wake up for in the morning to dress up as their favourite characters out of comics or TV series. It probably all began with Trekkies dressing up like General Kirk or Doctor Spock, but has gotten all out of control with people dressing up as minor characters in the Legend of Zilda or E.T. The Extra Testicle. It gives them a sense of being, a belonging in a world that hates them. They gather together and perform strange little rituals, usually at comic conventions. Which is where I gazed into the face of madness. I was attending Thought Bubble, 'an annual celebration of sequential art in all its forms' (LOL. Just call them comics!) Ninjasaurus Rex had brought it to my attention and he was desperate to get to a Japanese restaurant in Leeds again, so this seemed like a perfect opportunity to kill two birds with one stone. If only we'd killed one hundred Cosplayers with the same stone we would have come home happy men.

I arrived at the plaza between the Royal Armouries and the new Savile Building and gazed on what looked like a scene from the Fourth Circle of Hell. The avaricious with their cossetted material possessions danced about to the tuneless horns of Mars. Dressed as Manga characters. I panicked and telephoned Ninjasaurus who had been struck immobile by the scene of human degradation. Seeking comfort in numbers we banded together quickly and watched one anothers backs like hawks. Our fear was soon dissipated by the sight of the very chair SIR JIMMY SAVILE sat in:

Not only his Chair, but his car as well!! This was a man who was living the dream!

This was without doubt the best thing we saw all day and was well worth the ten pounds admission fee alone, but was nothing to do with the Comic Con. Which, frankly, was just loads and loads and loads of comics for sale. But then, what else did I expect it to be? Ninjasaurus saw some of his friends from the dark world of comic publishing and I bumped into the Big O, who rather kindly gave us a free comic each!

Cheers big man!!

Outside, the swirling mass of madness was gathering it's momentum and here are a few pictures to illustrate just what we saw. I beg you, gentle reader, do not allow your eyes to linger too long on these images...

Aren't you a little shit to be a Stormtrooper?

I wanted a photo, not a pose...

Electra's arse and Mario and Luigi. The mind boggles...

Is that a lightsaber or a lipstick?

Wrap up warm, love...

Interviewer: So what is missing in your life?

We retreated into the Armouries to look at real weapons, rather than over sized foam hammers and realised that we had a vantage point over the assembled freaks. After a few minutes of playing 'spot the tard' we both said in unison 'I wish I had a rifle.'

Sargent, three rounds rapid!

I was going to run up to him shouting 'Help! Help! Judge, I've just been raped in the Armouries toilets!' to see if he'd help, but I bottled it at the last minute. 

We finished the afternoon off by a visit to this authentic U-Boat which had surfaced in the docks.

It was captained by this fellow:

 

Cunts Dined With Me

Regular readers may remember that before Christ's Mass I had the fortune to become ensconced within a tribe of Great Apes. I spent a long time studying the behaviour of these unfortunate creatures and was able to contribute to science with my findings. Fortune favoured the brave once again last night as the creatures were released into human society and I was able to provide them with lodgings for the evening. Knowing their dietary habits already (ie Thursday being 'Curry Night'), I provided a mouth watering curry avec poppadoms. It was a brave step, allowing these beasts into my house, so I brought along a companion, Moogdroog, who was to serve as official war artist. I wasn't sure if the creatures were sufficiently house trained, but science calls and I bade them welcome.

'You may release the chains, the beast is placated with Becks'

Once over the threshold the patriarch ('Tim') began making his presence known by waving his horse's head handled cane around the place willy nilly. The matriarch ('Cath') bemoaned the decor and inspected the contents of my fridge. After placating both with bottles of beer I drove them into the front room after a quick tour around the West Wing and guest bedrooms. I fed the pair and they seemed to like the fare, although 'Tim' displayed his usual distaste for vegetables by leaving red pepper lumps on his plate. Moogdroog finally turned up after 'Tim' had eaten all the food in the house, leaving her with nothing. Thankfully she had already planned ahead and feasted on chips and wine. Then the evenings entertainment got underway.

You will have someone's eye out with that... Too late!

I discovered that there is only one thing the West Yorkshire great apes appreciate and that is rudimentary beat combos such as Black Lace. It reminds them of the Working Man's Clubs of their homeland. They are also partial to the tribal sounds of Rusty Lee. Her 'Invitation to Party' certainly got the dance floor moving. Realising I was onto a winner I tried out Geoff Love's Big Disco Sound Close Encounters Of The Third Kind. This had 'Tim' whooping for joy during the Star Wars cantina band section.

Tranquilise the Beasts!

The evening drew to a close and the zoo bus arrived to whisk them off back to their pen in the wilds of Huntington. In their time in my house, they had consumed 15 crates of Becks lager, 25 bottles of white wine, 18 bottles of Red wine and 16 bottles of Tesco's finest Cava. I fought the hangover by staying in bed this morning. I was to have a bed delivered from Ikea, but had misread the order and the thing was being dropped off NEXT Friday... So with my tail between my legs I went to work for the afternoon, missing chip day by a whisker.

What day is the recycling?

I started teaching this week as well. I battered my students with four years of war compressed into two hours. They were glassy eyed, dumbstruck and tearful by the end. Job well done I think.

The Lair of the White Worm

Over the preceding weeks I have infiltrated a family grouping of primates who call York their territory. Like Jane Goodall and the chimpanzees at Gombe after gaining the trust of the group I have been allowed unprecedented access to their daily rituals and have made several observations that will only help to advance scientific knowledge. It took many days of offerings to the group in order to secure my standing as part of their social order. Mostly my activities consisted of clearing the rudimentary implements they were using to eat with after meal times. A few times I had to wrestle these out of the control of the patriarch of the group whom I came to name 'Tim'. This led to a couple of unpleasant scenes but learning quickly not to back down or show fear, or indeed, one's back, I demonstrated my willingness to blend into the group hierarchy. I also made an input to the rudimentary system of barter that the group employed. This consisted of several sheets of paper with a nominal monetary fee written on them. Their lack of understanding of modern finances helped in giving gravitas to this offering.

In my tribe we call this 'money'

My observations, there in the depths of the lost valley of Huntington, broke the group into two distinct sub-stratas. There was the patriarch, 'Tim' whom I have already mentioned, and the matriarch, whom I came to call 'Cath'. The tribe used no names when I arrived and these monikers were taken from my faithful hunting dogs I had left back at home. There were many resemblances between the great apes and my dogs, not just physical, either. I noticed as the weeks wore on that the patriarch liked to believe he was in charge of the territory. He would strut around the group's territorial boundaries, pounding his chest and claiming to be the best at everything. This behaviour was quickly cowed upon the arrival home of the matriarch. It was she that did the lion's share of the hunting, literally bringing home the bacon whilst the patriarch sat contemplating his navel. The matriarch was definitely the dominant of the group despite the patriarch's protestations and displays of vulgar power. The patriarch's behaviour is placated by the use of food. There are days dominated by various meal types, as they have no calenders of their own Tuesday is known as 'burger day', Thursday has become 'curry night'. The patriarch knows what to expect on these days and is greatly upset if anything happens to change this routine. These observations scratch little of the group's dynamics and further investigation is warranted to reveal more of the secrets of the group.

Is it sea bass night?

On Thursday Wincey's kid was ill so he took the day off. On the site a revolution occurred. We cleaned the cabin. It was a cultural revolution, literally sweeping out the old to bring in the new. Despite Wincey reneging on allowing us to clean it when he was around we took the initiative and spent the first forty five minutes of the day getting it to a state that was fit for human habitation. Previously the place had been caked in mud and crisp wrappers. The only area I had to eat my lunch from was a triangle of table that was no bigger than an envelope surrounded by rotting wooden artefacts yet to be removed to the laboratory facilities. Even this table was caked in two inches of mud. It is a wonder that none of us had yet caught cholera or at the very least dysentery. After we cleared all the unnecessary tools and equipment and placed them in the large lock up next door, we were able to reach our seats without having to step over shovels, mattock and hoes. The cabin suddenly seemed to take on massive dimensions, we hadn't seen the back wall for years. I could sit on my chair without having to put my knees on my neighbour's lap. The light and space really put the zap on our collective heads.

Hello! Hello! Is anyone else in here?

I travelled down to Birmingham last night to go to the middle day of the Supersonic Festival along with Rhys, Dave and Linzi. The reason we'd all paid £35 for a day ticket? Godflesh were playing again. No doubt you'll remember I saw them in France at Hellfest. Well, despite that being their 'only European date' they decided that the money was enough of a draw and played their hometown of Brum. Of the other bands playing that night I'd only heard of Melt Banana before. Best by far was the psychedelic group Gnod. They were like Neu! and Amon Duul II high on a lethal combination of crack, steroids and PCP fighting in a disused multi story car park. There was an Italian band called Ovo who were 'interesting', Stinky Wizzleteat who were 'shit' and Melt Banana who were 'bat shit crazy Japs'. But how were Godflesh? Fucking amazing. Unlike at France where they took twenty minutes of their set to tune up, they got straight down played some of their best songs, including Like Rats, Christbait Rising, Streetcleaner, Tiny Tears, Avalanche Master Song, Weak Flesh, Spite, Crush My Soul and Slateman. I great night despite Dave and Linzi getting into two different fights and taking two and a half hours to get home having got lost on the M6.