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:

 

This day anything goes, burning bodies hanging from poles, I remember Halloween

I went back to work at Nostell Priory on Friday, Nick had called on Tuesday to ask if I could give a hand for the next couple of weeks. Although I am in the middle of setting up a business, a little extra money never hurts so I agreed but said I couldn't start until Friday. I was asked back because on the site the developers have lost all sense of reality and decided to they would be laying soak-aways and pavements outside of the already agreed footprint of the car park. The ground workers have moved in and begun construction of the car park site. Obviously these new areas are archaeologically sensitive areas and we need to be there not only to watch the machines but to excavate and record anything that comes up. When I left, it was a pastoral idyll, a sweeping view over cow littered fields. Majestic trees reaching towards the clear blue skies. A lush greenery rarely seen on archaeological sites. It felt good to be there, it was a tonic for the heart and mind. Detox for the soul.

How I left Nostell...

The site now resembles Isengard after the Orks move in. The site is being run over by massive 360 Earthmovers, Bulldozers and dumper trucks. It like being in the centre of some horrific future war where the Robots have risen against their human masters and built killing machines capable of destruction on an industrial level. We are the lowly human resistance cowering in our final 20m grid square, each moment could be our last as the War Droids move in.

How I returned to Nostell...

Friday night was my Cousin Sara and Shaun's Wedding reception. They'd got married in Jamaica a couple of weeks ago. I didn't go as I couldn't afford it, so it would have been churlish of me to miss the reception, even though I was on the guest list for the Cannibal Corpse gig at the Corporation that night (not that I'm bitter). In the event it was a great night, Sara was suitably pissed from the start, everyone was dressed in their wedding best and most of the party goers were up dancing to the tunes belted out by the fat Rod Stewart Lookalike DJ. It was a good chance to catch up with the family something I rarely get a chance to do as I get older. There was even the obligatory karaoke, with Rotherham's Boots the Chemist workers caterwauling to It's Raining Men.

No one butchers disco tunes like Rotherhamites!

The Evil Doktor Herr Clay had also asked me to go over to York to celebrate Halloween at a student party on the Saturday night. It was also to meet the woman he's been keeping in his Austrian dungeon for the past 23 years. Her name is Anna and she seems to have developed Stockholme Syndrome, as she was quite attached to the Evil Nazi Scientist. It was all set, Dr Clay was to come to Rotherham and pick me up on the way past. Twenty minutes before he was to pick me up I get the following text message: Change of plan bitch, I'm coming up to York by train. You OK to drive up? Sorry for the mix up, but don't pretend you're surprised... As ever; the best laid plans of Mice and John... Put John Clay into the mix of any scenario and the whole thing goes to rat shit as soon as you can say 'cake and arse party'. You'd think that someone who has spent so long in Germany perfecting diabolical machinations against humanity would have picked up some of that world famous Teutonic rigidity for organisation... I duly drove to York and met Herr Doktor Clay and his captive Anna, we then spent the next few hours running around getting various pieces for our costumes. The three of us went over to Aleisha's where were saying for the night, I smeared curry and then fake blood all over her walls and we set off to the party. It was a great bash, there were far more people there I knew than I excepted, the music was loud and booze was free, 99% of the punters had some costume on. I thought the best ones where the two short lads who came as hobbits.

This photo ably demonstrates Clay's cop-out costume (Crime scene) overshadowed by the lengths some people go to make a real effort...

And what did I go as? Well, I carried a toolbag filled with hammers, wore a fake beard and a blood splattered shirt. I accessorised with a bling necklace and three fingered dollar sign ring. Can you guess? I was Peter Sutcliffe, the Yorkshire Rapper...