Under Mars' Red Sky

Fucking London!

I went to London this weekend to this year's I'll Be Your Mirror featuring Melvins, Sleep, Wolves in the Throne Room and SLAYER. This was the only line-up that would be able to draw me to that rat infested sewer dump of a city that is our illustrious capital. Thankfully we didn't have to go very far beyond the ring of steel that is the M25 as we were going to the Alexandra Palace. Nathan and I had booked into a pub for the night and young David had booked himself into an apartment somewhere down the road. We stopped off at Trowell Services to indulge ourselves in unbelievably overpriced sandwiches and coffee. At the same time young David called the people who ran the apartments to let them know he'd be there in a few hours and we began the final leg of the journey. This is where London started playing its part in the great farce. First thing was that the hotel Nathan had booked had advertised on-street parking so we pulled up outside, only to be told by the landlord that we should move the car as the parking attendants are particularly pro-active round there. But also, to park elsewhere we had to buy a parking ticket which was not mentioned in the advert. In London for two minutes and already we were haemorrhaging money. Fucking London!

This was not the only thing, after parking the car we were led up to the room, through labyrinthine corridors and up rickety stairs we eventually ended in front of the Thelemic Room 23. It was past four o'clock in the afternoon and the room still hadn't been cleaned. A pile of rubbish was in the corner, shit was in the toilet and the beds were unmade. Fucking London!

At least all we needed to do was get changed and go out to meet Dave who had wandered off to find his lodgings. Funny story this. Dave had called the people who owned his lodgings, as you will recall, three hours or so previously to let them know he was arriving. We bumped into him half way up the road looking despondent. He'd found the office he was supposed to be picking his keys up from only to see that it had been closed for some time. Post was hanging out of the letterbox and the place was boarded up. Ringing the office again he was asked if he would like to go to another property in Camden. No apologies for not letting him know before he arrived that the place had closed down. Having no idea where Camden was, we decided that he could sleep in our room. At least his presence would keep Nathan's wandering hands off me. Anyway, the gig was fucking brilliant, even though a hot-dog set me back £5. Fucking London!

 FUCKING SLAYER!!!!!!!

Final insult was the advertised full English breakfast turned out to be an individual box of Coco-Pops. Fucking London! To finish off the musical weekend, it was Eurovision weekend, Sweden won, but the better acts included the Singing Russian Babushkas, Jedward's Golden Shower and Gary Oldman as Dracula singing for Albania. I spent the night at Lauren's squawking racist abuse at the TV until it was all over for another year. Not the best contest I've seen, but still the musical highlight of the year.

The Pity of War

As I have been working out in France and Belgium for the past nine years I thought it might be a good idea to show my parents what I have been doing and the work that No-Man's-Land have achieved over the years. But before I could go anywhere, I called up to Mr Main who was frothing at the mouth about the new bass he had swapped some of Pedals for. I have to admit it's pretty fucking cool as it was sent from the bassist from Fu Manchu. We also discussed the slight possibility of getting back stage at the upcoming Slayer gig. Watch this space...

As part of the trip out to the Somme, we stopped off in Cambridge for a look about and the worst lunch I've had for a long time. The next stop was a hotel in Folkstone close to the Channel Tunnel. We realised why Folkstone is called Old Folkstone for a good reason when confronted with the instructions for summoning assistance in the hotel:

And to help those forgetful enough to leave their windows open:

My room would not have been out of place on the set of Barton Fink and I half expected John Goodman to come bursting through the door surrounded by fire during the night. The following morning's tunnel crossing was no problem, as usual, and we found ourselves at Vimy Ridge. I did some work here a long time ago, but we weren't able to access the site as it was on private land and had to content ourselves with looking at the imposing memorial. You'd think the Canadians won the bloody war, given the size of it.

A quick history lesson for the folks and then a trip into Arras and the Brussel's Cafe for lunch. As usual, it was cheap and cheerful. We called into the Town Hall to see the underground tunnels (Boves) under the hall itself and met Arras' giants. They were pretty quiet, but I suppose it was the end of a Bank Holiday, so they may have been a bit tired by then:

The Boves under the Town Hall had an exhibition based on the gardens of the Palace of Versailles. The results were staggering:

Les Jardin des Boves

 

Versailles

We were really lucky to catch this show. Pushing on we arrived at Ocean Villas, our home for the next few days. My folks were to meet the legend that is Avril Williams, who as ever was a convivial host. The following morning was trip up to the Ulster Tour and Thiepval Woods.

Carol had arranged for Teddy and Phoebe to give us the keys to the new gate so I could do a private tour.

Apparently as we were going into the woods, we were spotted by a battlefield guide and word spread quickly back to the Tower. At least they are vigilant about intruders going into the woods. Interfering bastards. A trip up to the Thiepval Memorial was on the agenda next:

This was followed by a look in at the Glory Hole where Peter Barton was running an excavation there. I was introduced to Peter, who shook my hand and told me he'd heard of me. I have absolutely no idea how. The excavations looked interesting but we didn't get a chance to go down the tunnels as structural engineers were working down them making them safe. Following this we called in at Lochnagar crater.

By the time we had a cup of coffee it was time to head back for dinner. A busy and successful day!

The morning brought a short walk over to the Beaumont-Hamel Newfoundland Memorial Park, we had a chuckle at the 'danger tree' and I explained to the folks that the trenches they were looking at were probably from 1918 rather than 1916. Also, as we were standing at the Caribu monument waiting for our turn to take in the view I was earwigging a tour operator pontificating about his travels up and down the battlefields of France. His story involved taking his six year old son down to Verdun and allowing the lad to, not only, pick up potentially dangerous explosives, but ferret about for human remains. I'm not sure if he was an approved tour guide or was doing it out of the back of his beat up transit van. I assumed the latter.

The Caribu

We walked over the hill to the Hawthorne Ridge were we bumped into the two bikers that were over at Avril's the night before for dinner. Nice guys, but they were from Lancashire, so I refused to speak to them, or even acknowledge their existence. In fact, we saw their bikes at the bottom of the hill and I put sand in their petrol tanks. That'll show them.

Fucked

I showed my folks the highlights of my favourite part of the Somme and explained what had happened there through the medium of printed period photos from the Battle of the Somme film.

The Lancashire Fusiliers at the Sunken Lane:


Hawthorne Ridge mine explosion:



The next stop was the large cemetery on the Pozieres Road, with a glass of beer at Le Tommy Cafe. We had stopped here in order to see the 'museum' that Dominic has in the back garden. I've seen it before and it is certainly a sight to behold, but for all the wrong reasons. He seemed to have recently built a breeze block wall around his garden and was now charging five Euro to go and see the original First War uniforms rotting away in the rain. So we declined this offer and had a quick run out to Delville Wood to see the last surviving tree then back to Avril's for dinner.

As with all holidays the end comes around very quickly and Friday brought us the sights of Mailly-Maillet Church:

Then a drive over to Serre Road Cemetery number 2 to see the grave of the British soldier I helped excavate back in 2003:

Down the road I showed my parents the No-Man's-Land memorial erected for Albert Thieleke, Jakob Hones and the Unknown British soldier all found within metres of one another in 2003.

After having a look at the Sheffield Pals Battalion memorial and the Sheffield memorial park, we drove out to Fricourt German cemetery and called in at the Games Workshop designed 38th (Welsh) Memorial at Mametz Wood.

 Sheffield Pals Battalion Memorial, Serre

The Red Baron's plot at Fricourt German Cemetery. He was later moved back to the Richthofen family plot in Germany

My Dragon has 30 hit points and a strength of 14. You need to roll over 16 to hit it on a D20...

A quick call in at the Butte De Warlencourt was required as I had never stopped off there in all the years I have been going to the Somme.

The final night was marked by my father nearly coming to blows with a dumb Daily Mail reading bloke who was also in residence at Avril's that evening. I was talking to him after my mother dragged my father away to bed to diffuse the situation. He was very apologetic and I put him straight on a few of his misunderstandings of the First World War. In all, we had a great time, even if I did spend the entire time making everything up as I know fuck all about the First World War. I told them the British attacked on the Somme whilst riding elephants, that's why they lost so many men, as the targets were so big. And the entire British population was wiped out on the 1st of July 1916. Or summat like that.

BANG!!!

I went to see Avengers Assemble last night with Nathan. I'd tell you more about Film Club, but the first rule of Film Club is 'There is no Film Club'. Or something like that. Anyway, he sat through it with a grin on his face like the idiot he is, except when he told some other popcorn munching idiots next to us to stop talking. Then he went back to grinning. I enjoyed it a lot more than that last pile of trash Joss Whedon wiped on the screen and here my favourite bits of it:

 

There you go. A review as deep as the film itself. Now, I'm off to France on Tuesday to show my folks what I have been doing out there for the past ten years so I won't be replying to any texts or emails, since the free texting/internet bundle that I have only applies to Orange in Britain even though it's the same fucking company in France and they see fit to charge me about forty times the normal price.

Does a Cabin Shit in the Woods When No One is Around to See?

I have been going running for the last week, it's the first time I've done it since I lived in Dublin. I lived next to a park then so it was easier to do, as I have spent a career on my knees, running on roads is a bit dodgy for them. But needs must and I have been running around the streets of York, so if you see me running past you, red faced, clutching a MP3 player and sweating like the proverbial pig, then you know why. I'm not being chased by the Police. Not yet anyway.

RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!! THE MARTIANS ARE COMING!!

As part of my get fit drive I have decided to go vegetarian. I am going to drive out all the toxins of my body and return it to it's temple like status when I was born. So to help you with getting fit I am going to provide some recipes for the vegetarian meals I have been preparing. I was always scared of vegetables but have found that they are a diverse and versatile food group, so I am educating you lucky readers with my discoveries.

Cheese and Onion Delight
Serves one
Preparation time less than two minutes
Ingredients:
Two slices bread (Brown or White)
One Packet Cheese and Onion Crisps
Butter or similar working class margarine spreadable substance
Method:
Open Packet of Crisps, put to one side to allow to breathe.
Spread Butter/Margarine on both slices of bread.
Lay crisps over one slice of bread.
Bring other slice of bread over the top of first slice.
Crush down with hand until top slice is flat.
Serve immediately.

Beef and Onion Delight
Serves one
Preparation time less than two minutes
Ingredients:
Two slices bread (Brown or White)
One Packet Beef and Onion Crisps (Make sure they have the 'V' symbol, if not, make the meal without them)
Butter or similar working class margarine spreadable substance
Method:
Open Packet of Crisps, put to one side to allow to breathe.
Spread Butter/Margarine on both slices of bread.
Lay crisps over one slice of bread.
Bring other slice of bread over the top of first slice.
Crush down with hand until top slice is flat.
Serve immediately.

So there you go, vegetables are your friend. Have five of those a day and you'll be as fit as me.

What a friend we have in vegetables

I went to see Cabin in the Woods the other day with Nathan. I went on He-Who-Cannot-Be-Named's recommendation. He told me he'd have given it 3. I asked him  out of what and he answered 1,000,000. My dad had also said it was the worst film since Avatard, which I thought was a bit harsh as I would genuinely rather have paving slabs dropped on my feet than sit through that pile of shit again. Strangely enough it had got really good reviews universally, so I thought they both were trying to be cool.  I have to agree with He-Who-Cannot-Be-Named's score though, even though I think he was being generous.I really cannot be bothered to break it down why it is shit, but I think ultimately it comes down to the fact that it was so self-satisfactorily smug. It was as though it was giving you cheeky little winks and nudges all the way through (ey, ey, see what I did there? Ey?)  and that just annoyed me. Cabin in the Woods? Shit in the Woods more like. Nathan liked it, but then he would, he's an idiot.

Oh! There's a massive twist at the end that you see coming before you've even walked into the theatre!

Nerdism Squared

He-Who-Cannot-Be-Named was whining about seeing more photos from the Stormtroopers, so here they are some behind the scenes shots:

Band of Mothers

I was in a junk shop the other day and came across a US Serviceman's diary from the Second World War. Here is an extract:

'May '45, back in the Sherman; Howlin' Nancy. Been a few months since I was back in control of this baby, ever since that last 'disturbance'. We had that big heartless bastard from Upstate New York Rodriguez on the gear sticks, Chester Beaty on the radio; Brooklyn born, Brooklyn raised. The only one not from Eastside was Jimmy Spoons on the .50cal and big Bertha. Little Jimmy comes from Shithole, Idaho. The boy had never seen anythin' bigger than his barn, so the buildin's of Paris put the zap right on that little son-of-a-bitch's head.

We was in Southern Austria and we was on point. God-damn Helluva place to be, what with the war windin' down and all. Top Brass knew o' reports of some secret Nazi trainin' camp in the area and we had been told to find and destroy 'em. Always at the shitty end of the stick, me and the boys in Howlin' Nancy.

The shit kicks off early one mornin' as we were approachin' Wüsterbürsterbürg or some other damn Kraut shithole. All Kraut names sound the god-damn same to me. We hear a rattlin' against the side of Nancy and guess we are takin' fire from a Hitler's Saw. Why they are firing 7.92mm at a fucken tank? Fucken dumb Nazis.

Jimmy sees it first, at the end of the main square, the friggin' trainin' camp! It's fenced off and we can see the concreted trainin' ground out front where dem poor Nazi bastards practice their goosesteppin'. A big sign over the entrance says Grundschule, Rodriguez has a bit of German picked up from them whores in Innsbruck and he assures me it says 'Nazi Training Camp'. It's what we was lookin' for so I order the first rounds to be loaded up. Jimmy is a s quick as ever; bang, bang, bang! In seconds we get the roof blazin' with incendiary, then turn the attention to the windows. Dust and shit is flyin' everywhere, we're makin' a real mess o' the place when the Nazi bastards wake up and start pouring out o' the front door. 

All uniformed and obviously out for our blood, they come screamin' at us like fuken' devils, I tell ya. Jimmy gets on the bow .50cal and I jump up on the cupola cannon. I'm shootin' and shootin', so is Jimmy. We musta cleared off three thousand rounds at least. The smoke clears and they ain't no sound comin' from any of the Krauts so we clear out of the God-damn place as fast as the Nancy'll take us. 

 
We were all hauled over the fucken' coals on that one.The rattlin' wasn't from no Kraut machine-gun, it was a busted exhaust on the Nance. Well, anyone can make that fucken' mistake. Mind you, that wasn't the worst of the whole story. We though that the Nazis looked a little young, but by that stage them fucken' crazy bastards were throwin' anyone into the fight. What did we know? We was just some dumb boys in a tank. Anyway, turns out none of them girls was older than eight or nine years old.'