The Weekly Poll

Well, I'm very disappointed to see that I have only three results from the polls. You should all be scolded most severely and maliciously disemboweled.

I will post another poll, and I expect more responses this time. Can each viewer please just cast a vote? It would make a world of difference.

The results for this week's poll (which should really be discounted) are as follows:

• Two who find them useful.
• None who don't really have an opinion, ie sometimes find them useful, sometimes don't.
• One who doesn't find them useful, ever.

This clearly shows that no-one could be bothered to take part in our weekly poll this time around.

*            *            *

Next week, the poll will be following the theme of 'Have you got Facebook?' I wish to know, because I am aware that many of you will have Facebook, but I'm not actually sure how many, as in a percentage amount. The more people answer the question, the more accurate results I can have.
   Professor out.

The Fades, Episode Three - An Episode Review

So, another episode of The Fades has aired, which means that it's time for another episode review.

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Paul and his mouthy pal Mac are back again for the third week running, this time seeing Mac have a very bad, lonely birthday where no-one actually remembers it or gives him any presents. Besides this, Paul is getting on well with Jay, but also glues his sister's mouth shut using his 'super powers', as Mac calls them. Funny, scary and a little bit strange too. Except just about nothing comes of it. Bummer.

So Helen is needing to make the ascension soon, which means she and Neil have to work fast before she passes on. With her guidance, Neil calls all the other Angelics (yes, that's the name given to the group of freaks with powers that combat Fades) to him, and they set about making a plan. Paul is now generally accepted to be one of them, and impresses them all by healing spectacular wounds inflicted on Neil.

While all this is happening, our old favourite Mr Psycho Zombie Fade has gone into a pupal stage in some dingy sewer somewhere. What he's turning into I myself don't know, but when he emerges it's not going to be good...

*            *            *

Well, what I can say about this ep. is that the Fades themselves play a much smaller role, at least for the most part. They're still there, but they haven't killed anyone in a while and seem to not care too much if they're caught by, say, the Angelics. I'm not hinting at anything to do with the episode here. (Hint, hint.) Instead, this one is focussing on exploring the character's personality. For example, we see Mac not making a joke for the first time. That is unusual. The world really must be coming to an end, or someone has forgotten that it's his birthday.

This episode is about friendship, not monsters. Paul and Jay's relationship progresses, and his friendship with Paul gets better via three cans of shaving foam and a couple of balloons.

And then Paul gets killed, right at the end. But that's no big deal.

I think I'll give this episode a six-point-nine (6.9) on my metre of super-osity. It's got some good story, but there's not quite enough of the Fades themselves and there's too much sex. I don't think there should be much of that sort of thing in a BBC program.

You can watch episode three of The Fades by following this link: http://www.bbc.co.uk/iplayer/episode/b015j0ng/The_Fades_Episode_3/

That's all for now, folks. Check the news, as things are happening quickly and there's more stuff going up every couple of days usually.

Seeing as things are all fine and chaqua with you all, I'm out. See you in a week or so.

Sayings of the Week - Sleep

Yes folks, the Sayings of the Week section of the blog is opening up for business! As the name implies, each week a series of short sayings, quotes and quips specially chosen by our three authors will be released. Most weeks, these sayings will follow a theme, and there'll be three of them. This week, I'm starting out with the theme of sleep.

It seems only logical to do something on sleep, seeing as we spend a huge percentage of our lives asleep. So here you are: A trio of sayings, for your eyes and everyone else's too.

1. Sleep is like death, but without the long-term commitment.

2. Early to bed and early to rise, and you meet very few prominent people.

3. An hour in the morning is worth three in the afternoon. That's why people sleep in, not go to bed early.

'Scuse me, ladies.

No offense to any actual ladies here.

Today is not actually today. I am not in this time. I said this yesterday. You weren't there. You aren't even here now. I am in my dormitory, which is better than yours. In fact, if I had the worst dormitory, and you had the best, mine would still be better. Just because of me. Well, I say just, I mean completely.

Anyweasel, today (tomorrow) I thought I would give you a few words on picnic hamper knitting. Those words are as follows: picnic, wool, knit and hamper.

I hope these words help you knit some hampers. Anywosking, I think I might leave now. Sorry for the short post. But by the time you read this I will be gone.

Haha.

Goodbye My Little Rebels

Yes. Tomorrow I shall be flying out to Belgium on a school trip but you'll all keep the rebellion up, won't you?


So here's the really exciting part. Professor Pisces has asked me to write a little diary when I'm abroad so you guys can have the WWI history trip experience. What a lovely fellow.

But that's not what this blog is going to be about. Today I shall be writing about gratitude.

Just this morning, I went onto the rather popular Facebook to discover that one of my good friends had asked people if we should get our lovely teachers who are taking us to Belgium some presents as a sort of thank you to them.

You know the response it got? It was: "Not for Ms.                , cos shes a b*****!!!" This was from a girl who we shall call Cow Mcphersonen. (To the Professer: For that little quote, it was honestly like that. She couldn't even spell that one word right.)

Now I don't know about you, but I think that is a little ungrateful. This woman that Little Miss Cow had just badmouthed was the reason we were getting to go on this trip in the first place.

I myself found myself a little bit shocked and my hatred for Little Miss Cow grew at quite an enormous rate. I've had to hide it in Loch Ness so as not to draw attention to myself. But I began to realise that not many people of my age seem to look past the fact that teachers are human too. In my opinion, I would die a little inside if people didn't thank me for working my ass off so they could go somewhere nice. And yes they can be mean but hell, I'm a little sadistic brat but believe me people, I am human.

Anyway, I've got to end this for now as I have only just realised I have to get ready. Goodbye my little rebels, and  Happy Holidays wherever you are. But I don't care. I'm in Belgium.

The Fades, Episode Two - An Episode Review

I know, this is a little late in coming, as Episode 3 has already aired. But I can't review the next episode with a clear conscience without reviewing its predecessor first. That's the way I roll. Deal with it.

*            *            *

In this episode, things are heating up - and getting better. We get back to Paul, who has basically been recruited by the strange 'ghostbuster' Neil to combat the forces of The Fades, the restless, vengeful spirits of the dead. The Fades have evolved further, now being a troupe of at least half a dozen psychopathic zombie fools with a taste for human flesh. There, that's a spoiler for you.

The story is progressing fast. People are getting killed for as-yet only half-known reasons, The Fades are growing stronger and Paul's beginning to realise that he's 'got a destiny, and I'm sorry, but that's important'. In the previous episode, a female Fade seemed to be popping up fairly often. Needless to say, she reappears in this one. I can tell you that she's not good news. That's as much as I'm willing to say.

Paul and Neil travel to Neil's old home to see a very, very old Fade named Eric (don't fret - he's a good one). Somehow, Eric tells Paul something - not sure what. Then he runs off. Paul, not the Fade.

Paul later discovers that he has amazing powers, like those exhibited by Helen in the first episode. He can heal people. And kill crows with lights in his hands. But we don't know anything about that yet.
It appears that the Fades are amassing a small army to take out more humans and bring in more Fades, who will kill more humans, etc, etc. The plot thickens, the death-count mounts and the questions just get bigger: What do the Fades want? What's happening to Paul? And why does Neil seem so shady about that girl Natalie?

*            *            *

The whole series has just taken a big step forwards. This is much better than the first episode, answering a few questions but asking more. The whole plot is making a little more sense, though not much. Yet somehow, things are seeming like more's happened.
 
Whereas the first episode focussed on opening the series, this part actually has a problem at the heart of it: Can Paul leave his family and friends behind in order to join forces with Neil and use his powers to combat the Fades? This makes it a lot stronger than the first, with a motive to keep watching, which the first lacked. I don't think you could watch this one without seeing the first though. Some things are like that, eg Eastenders (which I do NOT watch), however some just aren't, like Star Trek. With a shorter series like this (just six episodes), I feel it is important to have this linking effect while keeping each section of the story seperate from the rest. You get me?

I'm going to give this episode a solid seven. It's got a good story, the plot advances fairly well and there's no letting us forget the zombies that are running amok. The only thing it's a little lacking in is those crows dying all over the place. I'm sorry; I'm not a cruel person, but those birds falling from the sky crack me up something terrible.

Watch it at this address: http://www.bbc.co.uk/iplayer/episode/b015d8ld/The_Fades_Episode_2/

Why I Now Hate Date-Telling Chronometers

It's the Professor again, this time rambling about the lack of functionality that my watch now has. What can I say? I like to ramble.

On Sunday I realised, to my embarassment, that my watch hasn't been telling the correct date since the turn of the month. (Hope you all changed your calendars.) After fiddling with the dratted thing for five minutes, I finally decided to look in the manual for guidance. Surprise! The manual didn't tell me anything remotely useful, except for one thing. I'll tell you that later. It explains why the manual couldn't tell me anything. But, for now, I shall tell you about the problem.

My watch is, on the whole, a good one. It's a Sekonda Men's Multi-Dial Watch, which I bought for twenty-five quid from Argos. A budget watch, but a good one at that. Plus it looks more expensive than it is.

Here it is for you.

The Sekonda Men's Multi Dial Watch.

So, I've got this exact watch. It has the usual two hands for hours and minutes, plus a dial for seconds, a dial for the date and a dial for the day. It sounds great, but there are, as with everything, catches.

The date dial constitutes a large part of the problem. The dial shows thirty-one days in each month and, as anyone could tell you, there are not always thirty-one days in a month. This is not where the problem arises.

The actual problem lies with the day dial, except that there's not a problem with the day dial. Bear with me, people. There is nothing wrong with the day dial. There is also nothing particularly wrong with the date dial, assuming you're alright with twisting the adjustor on the side for a while every month. The problem is that both of these things have been placed on the same model of watch, while both having the same control.

You will notice when you look at the watch pictured above that there is a solitary knob on the side with which to adjust the time. The idea is that you can use just one thing to control what your watch says. Unfortunately, it doesn't work.

You can adjust the time fine, it's when you come to the days and the date that it gets frustratingly complex and nigh-on impossible to fix anything.

Let's say it's the end of September, ie the thirtieth. It's a Tuesday (And I know it wasn't this year. I just don't care.). Now, the next day, you wake up, look at your watch and realise with a sigh that it reads the thirty-first of whatever month it is. So you prime the thing and turn the dial forwards one day and tick - the date dial's set. But wait! the day dial has leapt forwards with it. So, despite it being a Wednesday, your watch declares it to be Thursday.

What's even more annoying is that it's on a twenty-four hour turnover. Every day it changes. But the watch is analogue, so doesn't show whether it's AM or PM. Which means that you're scuppered if you accidentally go twelve hours ahead.

Therefore, you now have a watch that can either tell the right date or the right day, unless you wish to turn the dial heavens-knows-how-many times to get it to the right date, time and day. I can tell you now, you'd have to twist it a fair number of times. And no, I won't work it out for you. I've got better things to do, believe it or not.

So, back to the story. I realised, in the morning, that my watch was a day behind the date but fine in days of the week terms. Get me?

The manual said nothing. In fact, it actually didn't say a thing about my watch in the entire manual. It became clear to me that Sekonda decided to be lazy and not publish a manual for each model of watch they made, but instead bung the information from several other models into one pocket-sized slip of paper and hope that no-one would ever need it. Idiots. They had instructions in that thing for literally every other watch that they could possibly have made in the Men's Watch series, but left out the crucial instructions for mine. Is this some mad marketing scheme? Collect the other watches in this series and you'll get the manual for the first one you bought with another, different model? No thanks.

Thoroughly depressed at the thoughtlessness of Sekonda and infuriated by the obvious design flaw in my watch, I looked back at my watch to see if it had fixed itself.

Miraculously, it had. The date was now reading correctly, with the right date and day and everything. So in true Professor fashion, I screwed it up.

I decided to show it to a friend, so twiddled the knob and moved the hands past twelve o'clock. To my amazement, the other dials shifted forwards one day respectively. I turned the dial the other way, but it wouldn't go backwards. The stupid creature would only move forwards.

"What is wrong with this crazy contraption of a clock?" I cried exasperatedly.

The friend eyed me with careful consideration and, with utter sincerity, she remarked:

"Well, it's been on your arm. What do you expect?"

That was the hammer that smashed my sanity.

*            *            *

I did eventually fix the dratted thing, with difficulty. I basically stopped the watch and waited until the next day and then restarted it. Now it only tells the right date for twelve hours each day, and I can guess why. It's twelve hours out of sync with the world.

All this trouble because Sekonda made the date dial have a twenty-four hour turnover for an analogue clock. It just had to get stuck in the wrong half of the day, didn't it? Just my luck.

And THAT, ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, is why I no longer have a great love of wristwatches with date and day dials.

This is an irate Professor warning Sekonda that they're going to be receiving a very angry, detailed letter expressing my lack of love for their product. Do you think they'll refund me my time?

Professor Pisces, signing out.

Eggs.

It might be me again. How would you know? The internet is a dangerous place. I could be me, or I could actually be a really greasy old crisp. You can never tell.

Anywasp, I might actually have something to say this time. Perhaps not. Even if i did have something to say, would I tell you? And even if I told you, would you listen? Remember, this is the internet. I'm not me.

Right now, with very little say, I think I will teach you how to makes scrambled eggs.

Wash yer hands. You need to unless you enjoy eating cow udder grease or whatever the hands of peasants come in contact with.

Find some eggs. Chicken eggs. Not human eggs, please...

Now you have some eggs, throw them at someone you don't like. Then get some more eggs. Alternatively, skip this step and be known as a silly billy for the next forty-six minutes.

Crack the eggs on the side of the bowl. Don't let the insides fall in. Use them as shampoo.

And that is how you make shampoo from scratch. Which may or may not be what you were expecting. Now my peasant-o-meter is blinking, so I should probably leave now.

Goodbye.
   P.S. Please don't use egg as shampoo. It's bad enough you use pig fat as soap.

The Departure of the News

Its is my solemn duty to inform you all that the news posts on the main blog are to be discontinued. However, they shall not be totally discontinued, as sometimes more important bulletins, etc, will appear on the main blog. So keep checking the news; It's good for you.

Interrupting Myself

I thought I'd try something new today: A discussion. Read on and you'll see what this 'discussion' malarkey is. Or I could just tell you. Which I will.

Whenever I feel like it, I'll write up a slightly nonsensical fictional discussion between two or more people or things. Because I can.

And here's the first, experimental post. Comments, please.

*         *         *

It is a common misconception that I am mad. I am here to tell you that I am not mad. I am so NOT mad that I go through sane and out the other side. Therefore, if I talk to myself then it is a mark of having too much sanity, or my past or future self has come along to have a word or two with me. It's most likely the latter, usually. As it is in this case.

*            *            *

The following is a discussion between Pisces 1 and Pisces 2, two versions of the Professor existing in the same room at exactly the same moment in time. Unless you are strange and have a very rare, dangerous and eccentric anti-thermal energy powered time machine with a built-in paradox-sustaining bubble complex, do not try this at home.

Pisces 1.  Oh, hello I.
Pisces 2.  Hello me, don't you mean, Pisces?
Pisces 1.  Yes, of course. That is the grammatically correct manner-
Pisces 2.   -of speaking.
Pisces 1.   Don't do-
Pisces 2.   -that? Surely you mean-
Pisces 1.   -this.
Pisces 2.   Ok. I'll stop-
Pisces 1.   -if you stop.
Pisces 2.   This is starting to freak-
Pisces 1.   -me out. Exactly when-
Pisces 2.   -are we? Ok, actually-
Pisces 1.   -stop now.
Pisces 2.   I hate-
Pisces 1.   -myself sometimes.
Pisces 2.   Aaargh!
Pisces 1.   Aaargh!
Pisces 2.   Aaa-
Pisces 1.   -rgh!

Coming Soon to a Kettle Located in Cyberspace...

Just to let you know, their are certain changes occurring here and around the blog over the next while. These changes are detailed below.

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We may or may not be gaining another author in days to come. I have nothing more to say on this matter; just thought you'd all love to know.

I'll also be introducing a new kind of post soon, the type that can just be written within the space of several seconds. It'll be a 'quote/saying of the week/day/(insert timeframe here)' sort of thing. Haven't really decided yet. Anyhow, be on the lookout for it anyway. If it's not going ahead, I'll update you.

The 'News' page is now up and running, and I will try to update it as often as is possible. Check it often if you just want a quick update on things that are going on, as I will probably no longer be keeping up writing these news bulletins, as I have other fish to fry. So check there. I don't want to be getting emails asking what's going on with the news, because there's now a whole page devoted to it. Although I might keep going with these little bulletins, they seem to get some views.

*            *            *

That's all for now, people! Keep checking back for more, etc etc. May not be posting so much over the next couple of weeks due to holidays and limited access to the internet.

Until then, au revoir.

The Correlation Between the Disappearance of Chocolate Oranges and the Kidnappings of Soft Toys

It was several years ago now that I was given a Terry's Chocolate Orange by a certain nondescript amateur writer as a birthday present. I accepted the tasty treat, and took it home to devour when the next full moon appeared.

I very carefully placed the blue and orange box in the kitchen cupboard, and walked away.

I was mighty confused when I came back at the next full moon to find that there was no longer a Chocolate Orange in my cupboard. Therefore I decided to ask around, like the members of the Scooby Doo gang, except better. Because I'm real, and I don't have glasses to lose.

I started by asking myself, because as you most likely know by now, I like to travel back in time and cross my own time stream. This is of course very dangerous, but I like to take risks. Up til now, nothing untowards has occurred. So I will continue until a pinhole wormhole swallows me and the rest of existence. Because I'm great that way.

It turns out that a certain future version of me knew what had happened, but didn't want to ruin the surprise. I didn't argue, because of course arguing with yourself is a sign of madness. So I took my word for it. If you can't trust yourself, then who can you trust? Not yourself is the answer. But I digress.

It was several days before I found out the answer to my question. It was, as with most things, found out over the dinner table. Which begs the question: Why do people say 'If only these old walls could talk'? Surely you'd learn more from a table. I have a valid point. Possibly. Again, I digress.

I was casually eating my dinner when a certain someone sitting to the side of me remarked, "Zippy got kidnapped yesterday."

This struck me as strange. The only reference to an entity of the name 'Zippy' that I could find in my formidable encyclopedia-like mind was that of a very strange orange creature from the TV show 'Rainbow', which is by now several decades old, I think. So, in true Professor fashion, I asked the question that was hanging over us all: "Zippy?"

The certain someone guffawed in their way, and answered, "Oh yeah. You don't know about Zippy, do you?"

"Obviously not," I answered impatiently. If there's one thing I hate more than anything else, it's people who drag things out.

"I was given a soft toy Zippy a while back," he explained. "As a joke, you understand. Just a work thing, he sits on my desk and stares at me. I zip his mouth shut when I bore of his gaping."

I tapped my foot impatiently under the table, despite knowing that he couldn't see this. "Elaborate."

"Well, Zippy was kidnapped the other day, and the kidnapper left a ransom note."

"And...?"
"They were asking for a chocolate orange."

My eyes narrowed. I could see where this was going. "Continue."

"Well, I came home, had a rummage around in the cupboard and out I came with a Terry's Chocolate Orange in one hand. So I took that in, left it on my desk, went away for a minute, and returned to see Zippy back where he was supposed to be, but with rubber bands round his wrists and ankles."

I waited several seconds until a forkful of spaghetti was on its way to his mouth before saying, in a quiet voice full of dark menace, "That was my Chocolate Orange."

The look on his face was priceless. Spaghettit halfway in his mouth, bolognese falling down his chin. After cleaning himself up, he mumbled a slight something.

"What was that?" I asked with polite menace. I like to sound menacing. It's scary for some. Others just laugh.

"Sorry," he muttered. "I'll get you a replacement."

"You do that," I told him. It was clear to him that this was non-negotiable as I chewed up the rest of my spaghetti.

*            *            *

To this day, I haven't actually been given back a Terry's Chocolate Orange. Every so often I subtly remind the thief of his debt to me, but he either ignores me, pretends not to have heard, interrupts me in the middle of talking or runs away.

The moral of this story is, never trust cupboards to keep your prized Terry's Chocolate Orange safe from members of the household who have a soft toy on their desk at work that gets kidnapped periodically. If that's too much for you, then just say to yourself, "Keep chocolate where I can keep an eye on it".

Family is like democracy: It's not that great, but it's better than the alternative.

And on that bombshell, I bid thee farewell.

New Members

Readers, I'd like to introduce you to the new author of this blog, Evil Mistress of Cliffhangers.

Not actually sure what she'll bring to the blog, but much has been promised thus far. I look forwards to hijacking her work. Oops, did I say hijack? I meant read, and maybe edit slightly.

Anyways, here is what she tried to post before I caught her, edited the post, copied it and deleted it.

Message begins.

*            *            *

I'm going to be quick because it seems no one has introduced me yet, so here I am.

My name is the Evil Mistress of Cliffhangers and you must all obey me now. It may be hard for you to accept me, what with the other two carzies here. If you do not cross me then I'm sure you'll become some of my best servants/friends. In that order.

And to the Professor, yes I know you said you needed to check my posts before they appear on the blog but this one was just a quick post with me introducing myself so it shouldn't be too hard to accept . Besides I have done all the editing already as you can see...
And this is the Professor saying that I can edit your posts to say whatever I want them to say whenever I want. Because I'm cool that way.
   And no, you hadn't done all the editing yourself. I did most of it.

*            *            *

Message ends.

I'm sure you'll join me in welcoming Evil to the blog. Personally, I look forwards to seeing what she can actually do, as I don't really know yet.

That is all for now. Maybe. Probably. But I'll be back later. Like a bad penny, me. I'm always turning up. But that's probably because of all the time travel.

Oh well, I may die now because I have crossed the Evil Mistress of Cliffhangers. If so, see you in the afterlife. If not, see you in the afterlife anyway, but don't worry, I'm not intending to depart anytime soon.

I bet it'll be the fault of a certain evil mop when I do depart...

The Tale of the Fake French Beans

Hello. Me again. At least I think I'm me. You can never be sure these days. Everyone is a liar. For now though, I will just assume I'm me.

For now I just thought I'd pop in and tell you a tale. A tale as old as the waves in someone with awkward hair, a tale as ancient as the very strange gunk in the shower plughole itself.

This tale is known amongst mortals as: 'The tale of the Fake French Beans.'

Once, many moons ago, the world we live in was the same as it was when this event happened. It wasn't that long ago. Around three weeks. Keep in mind this time is not relative and it will always be three weeks ago, no matter when you read it.

So, in this world, there was a peach that was not happy with life. So he killed himself. But there were also several baked beans. These beans were like every other, but they were glued to a piece of glass and sold as magic beans.

Most people are idiots, and all the 'magic' beans were sold within 42 seconds. They all went to live happy lives with their new families. The end.

The moral of this story is obviously that no matter what you do, you can count on the only one source of infinite power in the universe: stupidity. And from my perspective it appears you don't have any shortage of that resource. Perhaps you should wire your brain to a power generator and get people to ask you difficult questions.

Anywitch, I think that I might be catching peasanthood. I'm off to see a doctor about it.
   Goodbye.

Merlin - The Darkest Hour, Part One - An Episode Review

The BBC's fantasy series Merlin is back on our screens for the foreseeable future, starting with an incredible two-part episode, 'The Darkest Hour'.

In my opinion, this is possibly one of the best Merlin episodes yet. It is surprisingly dark, considering what it started out as - a light, cheery, let's-have-a-go-at-the-goblins sort of fantasy show - and has a brilliant new threat involved, the Duroch (is that how you spell it? Comments please). Unable to be killed because they're already dead, only deterred by flames, as cold as death itself, as formless as the shadows that cross your bedroom at night. They are literally chilling - watch the thing and you'll see why.

For me, it's been interesting to watch Merlin develop over the last three series from something actually not very good with absolutely terrible CGI at points and some even worse storylines at times into a fully-blown, front-page-of-the-weekend-TV-guide, event-of-the-week show that's chock-ful of magic, mystics, kings and creatures. It's become a hit with my household, now being that show that must be seen, on pain of death. Which is rather appropriate, considering the storyline of this first two-parter. Which brings me onto the next section of my review: the bit where I give you all a little taste of the plot.

*            *            *

The start of the fourth series of Merlin, we return to Camelot to see the newly-turned-evil Morgana tearing the veil between the physical world and the Other World in two. Through the rift come the Duroch, the vengeful spirits of the dead. Now Merlin, Arthur and the new knights of Camelot must travel to the Isle of the Blessed in an attempt to close the rift.

Of course, as always, obstacles stand in there path, blah blah blah. They must overcome, blah blah blah. Will they succeed, blah blah blah. Not in this episode! Because it's a two parter. Which annoys me, and most likely anyone else watches programs like this.

*            *            *

For certain this is a brilliant episode. I hope that the BBC can deliver on it's ending, and of course, make the rest of the series live up to the formidable start that it's made.

Next week, I'll post a review of the next part, but until now, I leave you with a humble link for company.

Watch Merlin: Episode One: The Darkest Hour at this address: http://www.bbc.co.uk/iplayer/episode/p00kf3w5/Merlin_Series_4_The_Darkest_Hour_Part_1/

ScotRail? Try ScatRail Instead

As I'm sure many of you are aware, the Scottish public transports are not the best in the world, to put it lightly. For example, in Edinburgh they are trying, and failing spectacularly, to build a tram line. It's hopelessly over budget, causes chaos literally wherever it goes, and there's no end in sight.

The train system in Scotland is not half as bad as what the tram line seems to be, as it is not still being built and creating headaches for just about everyone in the Capital (everyone knows that Edinburgh is the Capital of Scotland, NOT Glasgow). However, there are times when it looks like the tram line is a better bet. Sit back, and let me tell you how...

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Once upon a time, not so very long ago, the Leuchars Airshow took place on the 10th of September 2011, so a little bit under a month in the past at the time of my writing this; let's say three weeks. There was a man who went to that Airshow, because he loved to watch the fighter jets roar past and do irreparable damage to his eardrums. He enjoyed his time at Leuchars, particularly the bit when a very expensive remote control model aircraft broke up in mid-air. He laughed when he saw this, as he knew that someone somewhere had just realised that their beautiful model Vampire had just spontaneously combusted, and that said person probably didn't have insurance. He saw this, and thought it good.

However, when the show was over, he decided to go home, because it is what normal people do on such days, or at least that is what he thought. He thought this, and thought it sensible.

So he walked all the way to the train station, and waited for his train to arrive. In the meantime, he read a book, ate a packet of sweets and laughed as a small child bit its mother's arm. He saw this, and thought it most hilarious.

Eventually, the train arrived, and the man boarded said train. He sat down next to the mother and the small child, who was by now asleep in its mother's lap. He saw this, and thought it fairly common.

The train travelled through the country, through tunnels and over bridges, until eventually it reached a very large train station where a large number of people got off. The man did not get off at this stop. He wished to travel further, so stayed in his seat and frowned at a group of youths who were playing loud music. They noticed him and decided that if they valued their lives then they should turn off the music, and possibly get off at the next stop. The man observed this, and thought that it was satisfactory.

Halfway through its journey to the next stop, a voice started speaking through the announcement system.

"Vee are sorry to announze zat ZcotRail is canzelling this train, az it iz behind zedju-elle. Zis train vill terminate at ze next station. Vee are zorry for any inconvenience cauzed, and hope you have a nize day."

He heard this, and thought it very annoying.

The man narrowed his eyes, readied his things for departure from the train, and stood by the door, ready to leave.

The train arrived, and everyone on it was unceremoniously dumped onto the platform. Most of them gathered their belongings and walked off, travelling towards the bridge to the other side of the station. The man was not among them. He saw them, and thought that he was bloody well going to speak to the train driver about this.

So it was that the train driver found himself faced by several angry people and one fairly calm man, who looked more dangerous than all the others put together.

"Would you mind telling me what the (blank) is going on?" asked the man. The train driver eyed him uneasily as the others fell silent.

"Vell, zir," stuttered the train man, "vee have to canzel zis train becauz it iz late."

"Late by how much?"

"Ten minutz."

There was a groan from the gathered crowd. "Ten minutes is hardly anything!" cried one.

The train driver ignored the person. "I zuj-est zat you all get taxziz home."

The man considered this, and thought that ScotRail was going to be getting a bill for a taxi the next day, with a very long, angry letter of complaint the next day.

It was as he thought this that the train driver snapped. "Ak-ju-all-ee, get back on ze train."

The man raised an eyebrow, but didn't argue. He, along with half a dozen others, got back into the train. The doors closed, and the wheels started to turn again.

The man looked out of the window back at the station, to see a large amount of tired people gawping at the train from the top of the bridge. The man saw this, and felt a twinge of guilt that was drowned by an urge to laugh.

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This is actually a true story. This happened, on a train from Leuchars to I'm-not-inclined-to-tell-you-where. I was on the train on which it happened. In fact, I was the man in the story.

I was, quite frankly, appalled when I learnt that the train was being cancelled just because it was ten minutes behind schedule. The other thing that annoyed me was that they could have told us while we were in the previous, much larger station, from where we could have caught a different train heading to the same place. The fact that ScotRail had decided to dump us in what was effectively the middle of nowhere vexed me beyond human understanding. Many that night had to grab a taxi home, and pay for it.

Then the situation became even more confusing. For reasons unknown, the train driver decided to put the train back on the tracks. As it was, most of the people had left by then and were halfway across the bridge as the train left the station. I can only imagine the anger and utter despair felt by some of those people. I am ashamed to say it, but I chuckle at the memory. My heart goes out to those poor souls, it really does, but I can't help but find it funny. Not the fact that they were all left behind, no, that's not funny at all. No sarcasm intended. It's the fact that the ScotRail folks couldn't make up their minds as to what to do when faced with a ten minute delay. Seriously, folks. Ten minutes. It's a pittance, isn't it? So what do they do? Cancel the train and strand  a trainload of people.

It was only through stubborness that myself and a handful of people got the train moving again. To celebrate my small victory over the oppressors that are ScotRail, I helped myself to a seat in the first-class cabin and allowed myself a smile that I usually only bring out of its cage when I've made an earth-shattering breakthrough or won a particularly harrowing game of chess.

What happened there is a testament to ScotRail's incapacity to work around minor issues. It makes you wonder though, doesn't it? If they can't work around a slight delay, then what do they do when a train derails?

On a sidenote, I just have to tell you how ironic it was that it was just after almost everybody had left that the train started up again. All the folks who hadn't stayed behind were the meek; those who could accept their predicament and would travel along the path of least resistance. The people who were unwilling to accept their fate stood their ground, and result! We got where we wanted to go much faster than the others.

The meek may inherit the Earth, but the stubborn can get first-class seats for free.

The Fades, Episode One - An Episode Review

See, I told you it would literally be one minute.

The first in a series of reviews today following the BBC drama 'The Fades'. Enjoy!

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First off, let's look at the plot.

The Fades is a supernatural fantasy horror in which a seventeen year old boy, Paul, who has the ability to see the souls of the dead. The story begins in a disused shopping mall, where Paul and his smart-alec friend Mac are looking for props for a horror film. When he wanders away from Mac, Paul is told to run by a man with a gun. Ignoring the gunman, Paul follows him, and sees him fighting with a creature of some description.

Turns out that the gunman is one of a select group of 'ghostbusters' who can see the souls of the dead. The gunman, whose name is Neil, guesses that Paul is in fact one of the few who can see what he and the rest of the team call 'The Fades'. He follows Paul, and begins to pull him into his world.

As this is going on, a group of Fades are beginning to do some very strange things. Unable to interact with the physical world normally, this lot can actually touch things, and more importantly, move them. One in particular seems prone to killing people, which isn't very nice.

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This drama is a very strange thing. It lives up to being a fantasy horror, despite not being terribly scary. The idea is a fairly good one: After death, souls can either ascend or stay put. Those that can't ascend and stay put are stuck forever, and they turn into fairly grumpy ghosts, with good reason. The writer obviously has a suitably bleak outlook on the afterlife. I find myself being grateful that this TV programme is only fiction. I hope.

Despite being a horror, it has a fair amount of comedy in it. Paul's friend Mac is quite the mouthy one, always quoting films and characters from games. There are several scenes in the episode which have comedy value, such as when Mac is trying to annoy Paul with the old 'She loves you, she loves you not' trick with a packet of crisps. Paul gets annoyed (understandably so), and duly gets rid of the remaining crisps. Mac rolls his eyes, waits until Paul's out of sight, then pulls out another packet of crisps.

Aside from this, there are other comical moments, some of them not intended to be comical at all. Like when crows keep dying and falling out the sky when Paul walks past. I still don't know what that's all about.

The only particularly scary thing about this show are The Fades themselves. One in particular, whom I shall refer to as Mr Psycho Zombie Fade, or Zombie for short. Zombie likes to go around killing people for no apparent reason, or running jerkily through the woods at night while making strange gurgling sounds and making spasmodic arm movements. (A lot like Matt, to be honest.) Along with this, Mr Psycho really needs to get some cosmetic treatment. And buy himself some new clothes. And brush his teeth and get some sleep. He really doesn't look too pretty. Still, he's a good evil creature for now. He shall suffice.

The things that I have against this programme comes to a list. Firstly, there's so much swearing that you might as well be in Glasgow, secondly, there's too much innuendo and all that. I'm not even going to elaborate on that, and don't send me emails using the address on the 'About the Kettle' page asking about it or I'll send The Human Beetroot out to gobble you up, or shout at you. He'll probably call you peasants. But I digress.

The programme is, all in all, fairly good. I'm not going to go out and buy it when it comes out on DVD, but I'll see it through to the end. I'll give it a five and a half out of ten on my super-ness meter.

Watch it at: http://www.bbc.co.uk/iplayer/episode/b0151prg/The_Fades_Episode_1/
   It won't last long, so watch it while you can.

Reviews in the News

Yes, I rhymed in a title. Is that prohibited? No. Is it frowned upon? Maybe. Do I care? No.

So, to business. I just wanted to explain to you all how I'll be rating things in reviews to come.

When I look at films, books, TV programmes etc, I like to rate them in my head. Using a scale of one to ten, I place them very carefully on this scale. Allow me to explain what the numbers mean. I warn you, I don't exactly use a very precise scale at some points.

• Between zero and one: Would like to see everyone involved with the offending article lined up and shot. Every existing copy of the article in question is destroyed.
• Between one and three: Never wish to see or hear of it again. May have several people involved shot, and most copies of the thing will be destroyed, if at all possible.
• Four: Don't really want to see it again, but won't have a fit and cause it to spontaneously combust if I see it in a store somewhere.
• Five: Don't mind it, but wouldn't be heartbroken if I never saw it again though.
• Six: Fairly good, but wouldn't really want to own it.
• Seven: Nicely done. You have won a cake! I would like to see/hear/read the thing again, but not excessively. Wouldn't mind owning, but probably wouldn't buy for myself. Anything above this point, I would recommend to others.
• Eight: Great! Would buy if I had money to spare, most likely. Well worth having.
• Nine: Fantastic! Everyone involved should be awarded a sticker. Almost certainly a must-have; would probably buy for self.
• Ten: Excellent! Drinks all around. One of my favourites of all time; will buy a copy for myself if possible. Excessive exposure imminent. A must-have, at least for me. Will pressgang others into reading/seeing/hearing whatever it is.

This system is already being put into use, as will be seen in the next post.

Hope this is useful, now I shall leave you all to your lives for exactly one minute.

Hello Peasants.

Hello, dear peasants. I decided that I would start the day by knitting a commemorative picnic hamper. I like to knit picnic hampers.
   Today I thought that humans could take over the earth since we have legs, which gives us an advantage over most marine animals. However, I realised that dolphins have already probably developed giant mechs of doom.
   Perhaps it would be best to start on a good note. Fortunately for me, peasants are fairly unintelligent and I can probably get away with posting any drivel my mind squirts out.
   By the way, my mind does actually squirt. I have a pump on the side of my head that leaks various houshold appliances. Usually toasters. That's how I make a living; I sell toasters.
   Sometimes I feel as if I may be insulting some of the more disgusting peasants, but then I remember, I am better than you. It doesn't matter what I say to you, so long as it is directed at YOU. So I can insult you whenever I like.
   You suck.
   Now that we have that out of the way, I decided that I should rename you all to George, so that I can address you without being overly specific. This way I can insult the maximum amount of peasants AND make the largest amount of people happy. Utilitarianism. I care for everyones needs.
   As you peasants already probably know, large purple root vegetables don't exist. Don't tell anyone about the beetroot.
   Finally, as I dislike you all so much, I shall leave you. Not forever. I'm not that mean. Peasants.
   Goodbye.
   P.S. I actually am that mean. Which is why my leave isn't permanent. Buhahaha. Heheh. Heh...

Adding More Water...

Hello, dear viewers! I am the bearer of interesting news! I'm not sure if it's good or bad yet, but hey! That's life. Time will tell. Or at least, it'll tell me, 'cause I have a time machine. And everyone knows that time is friends with he who owns a machine that controls it.

It's is my duty to alert you to the fact that we have a NEW CONTRIBUTOR, The Human Beetroot. Actually, his name is Matt, and he is here to stay. For how long I can't say, but he's here for now and that's what matters.

A good friend of mine, Matt will give you fantasticly strange posts that will delve into the very hearts of matters that will actually never face our society. Ever. I know, because I have a time machine. Want proof? Go and ask the scientists over at CERN.

Anyhow, it is my pleasure to introduce Matt, otherwise known as The Really, Really Strange One! Below is his introductory statement. Read it if you dare... and don't say I didn't warn you.

Message begins. All text beyond this point is property of Matt, but not Matt alone.

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Eskimau.

Now that I have that out of the way, I would like to introduce you to me. Because you aren't meant to start sentences with because. But, I am above grammar. I don't even need to use full stops. However, as I am a nice person, I shall respect the needs of you lowly grammaskis.
Now, if you know me, you'll know that I like to knit picnic hampers. If you don't... then you're missing out and should probably kill yourself.
I was lying. Not about everything, I meant about killing yourself. Please don't. If you've already gone and done it then, well, there isn't much I can do about that except laugh.
Now then, with all the introductory garbage out of the way, I can finally get on to the best bit. Me leaving.
I don't mean it as if I am a bad person and you should rejoice, I mean that I don't like prolonged contact with peasants. Which is a class that happens to include you.
Goodbye.

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Message ends. And there you have it folks! It's the beginning of a very strange time at the Kettle. (I did warn you... we don't call him 'The Really, Really Strange One' for nothing...)

Ladys and gentlemen, boys and girls, cats and dogs, I give you... Matt!