The Sales Barn

It has been a while since I posted an excerpt from a Gor novel. So here is a chunk of Chapter 9 of Dancer of Gor, in which the former librarian Doreen Williamson finds herself sold for the first time, from a sales block at auction!

A man opened the gate and motioned me out, still on all fours, onto a small wooden platform. I could smell sweat, and hear voices, excited voices. One voice seemed predominant among them.

He knelt me back and put manacles on my wrists, joined by about a foot of chain.

I knelt there, the chain across my thighs.

The gate was closed behind me. I saw another girl. I did not know her, now behind the gate. She must wait.

Suddenly the nature of the calls and responses from the crowd became clear to me. There were calls for bids, and there were bids, literally bids, and something was being sold.

I inched forward, to see better. I could see the forward edge of a large, rounded block, about five feet high, set back on the dirt, a few feet within the railing. A double chain seemed to be extending upward, toward it, on a pulley system. I moved forward on my knees, nearer the wooden wall in front of it. I saw Gloria there, on that rounded, raised surface, standing, her wrists over her head, in manacles much like mine. The chain at her manacles extended upward in an inverted "V." It was about two feet in length. The higher hook on the chain had been placed over one strand of the double chain overhead. About Gloria a man walked, with a whip.

I looked back, trembling, at the girl still on all fours in the shoot. Her face was frightened, behind the slats of the gate.

The man who was near me took a short length of chain. It had a hook at each end. It was about two feet in length. He put one end about the chain on my manacles, and held the other.

I suddenly almost cried out with fear. From my left, from the rounded, wooden surface, there had come the snap of a whip. I heard the movement of a chain overhead. I saw Gloria being drawn from the surface by the manacles, doubtless, by means of them, to be lowered to the ground on the other side.

The man then slung his end of my short chain, that whose lower hook was about the chain on my manacles, over the chain extending upwards.

Gloria had been sold!

The chain moved a little, and my wrists were pulled upward.

"No!" I cried, in English. "No, please!"

Then I felt the manacles drawn upward and my arms extended. I was pulled to my left and then, suddenly, my feet were off the platform and I was swinging inches over the dirt. The sides of the manacles cut into my wrists. I was then being lifted up, toward the surface of the block. The gate beneath me, and behind me, was opened. The other girl was now doubtless being brought to the platform, behind the low wall, out of the sight of most of the crowd, and another was moving to the gate. I saw, now, being lifted, that there were tiers behind the standing area, extending back and toward the back of the building. On them, though I could not see them well, there seemed to be many men, sitting. I could not see any females. The only females in the building, I supposed, might be females such as myself, naked females, up for vending. There must have been some four or five hundred men in the building, in the tiers alone, not counting those crowded by the low railing. As I was lifted I could see the semicircular nature of the dirt flooring. Doubtless, the large platform removed, tarsks would be sold here. It was a lofty, raftered building. I put my head up. I saw the chain moving. I saw more rafters, too, high above me, almost lost in the darkness under the roof. It was a barnlike building. My wrists hurt. I was then suspended above the platform. The men were looking at me. It was a sales barn. Then the chain slacked a little and my feet touched the surface of the platform. I stood, it seemed, in a half inch or so of sawdust. My wrists were still held high over my head. I heard the crack of the whip and I jerked, frightened, in the manacles. Some of the men laughed. The whip had not touched me. My response though, I think, aside from being startled, had informed the men that I was not totally unfamiliar with the whip. Indeed, though I had felt it very seldom, I had felt it. Indeed, the first sensation that I had been aware of on this world had been the stroke of Teibar’s whip, awakening his "modern woman" to her new reality. He had struck me three times. I had never forgotten the feel of those informative, salutatory blows, bidding me welcome to my bondage.

The fellow put his left hand on my breast, holding it still, reading it. Then he nodded to another fellow, behind me and to my left, on the platform.

"Lot 89," called that fellow.

Various men at the rail and in the tiers rustled papers, or glanced at notes, held in their hands. I gathered that many of them might be the sort of men who would buy more than one woman. That frightened me.

I listened to the fellow behind us, scarcely understanding him. It was called to the attention of the buyers that I was another Earth female. I was characterized as being intelligent, and as having, for my time on Gor, attained some skill in comprehending the language. I would be capable, I heard, of understanding most simple commands put to me. I myself thought my grasp of Gorean far exceeded such a minimal level but perhaps they wished to be conservative in their claims on my behalf, if only to protect themselves against the possible complaints of dissatisfied customers. Too, they probably weren’t certain, really, how good my Gorean was. I had been here only since yesterday morning. I then heard my height and weight, in Gorean measurements, thirty and a quarter Gorean stone and fifty-one horts, or approximately, in Earth measurements, one hundred and twenty-one pounds and five foot three and three quarters inches, and a large number of my other measurements being similarly, recounted. These would be my "block measurements," those which were mine as of now, on the date of my sale. Some masters will hold a girl to her block measurements, by the whip if necessary. Others will insist on their improvement, under the penalties of a similar discipline, in one direction or another, depending on their own preferences. Other masters are quite lenient, or tolerant, at least within certain limits, pertaining to such measurements. Clothing sizes were not given, as there is little concern on Gor with a slave’s exact sizes in such matters. Most Gorean garments for female slaves are either loose fitting, and drape, or they are pulled tight, sometimes strapped or tied about her, to reveal her. If it is of interest, however, and we are speaking of fixed-ring sizes, I would take a number-two wrist ring and a number-two ankle ring. My collar size is eleven horts. These are average sizes. Gloria, for example, would have taken larger sizes. Men’s sizes, those of male slaves, incidentally, though the numbers are similar, are on a different scale. The buyers were also informed that I was "glana," or a virgin. The correlated term is "metaglana," used to designate the state to which the glana state looks forward, or that which it is regarded as anticipating. Though the word was not used of me I was also ‘profalarina’, which term designates the state proceeding, and anticipating, that of "falarina," the state Goreans seem to think of as that of being a full women, or, at least, as those of Earth might think of it, one who certainly is no longer a virgin.
In both terms, ‘glana’ and ‘profalarina’, incidentally, it seems that the states they designate are regarded as immature or transitory, those of ‘metaglana" or "falarina." Among slaves, not free women, those things are sometimes spoken of along the lines as to whether or not a girl has been "opened" for the uses of men. Other common terms, not generally of slaves, are ‘white silk’ and ‘red silk’, for girls, who have not yet been opened, or have been opened, for the uses of men, respectively.

I suddenly wondered, wildly, my hands held high, held fast in the manacles, if Teibar, my Teibar, might be out there somewhere among those men, perhaps high in the tiers, in the darkness, waiting to bid on me! Then I realized how foolish that would be. He could have bought me at the house, at a discount, if he had wanted me, not waiting, not following me for great distances, not almost certainly paying more in an open market, not risking losing me to a higher bidder in a place such as Market of Semris. No, Teibar would not be here. It was I, who was here, alone.

I heard myself characterized as being "semitrained." Was that all my training in the house counted for, I wondered, rising so early, retiring so late, the busy days, the long lessons, their frequency, variety and intensiveness, administered to us morning, noon and night? I then wondered if this, like the claims made with respect to my Gorean, were intended to be precautionary, or conservative, perhaps to avoid possible subsequent difficulties with disappointed buyers. But this time I did not think so. I had some inkling, by now, given my training in the house, of the sorts of things which could be involved in "training," many of which we had not even had time to touch upon. I was sure that given the possibilities of slave service I was still very naïve and backward, still muchly uninformed. Indeed, I suspected that there would always be more to learn about service and love, that such things were fathomless and limitless, and, thus, in a sense, the notion of being ""fully trained," or knowing all there was to know, was in actuality less of a practical goal than a lovely ideal, one which might perhaps be approached ever more closely, but would never be, and perhaps should never be, fully attained. Let the girl revel in her growth, and not fear that one day there will be more to learn, nowhere else to go. There are no summits on the heights of love. Ulrick, however, had assured me in the house, once, that I had talent. I hoped so. Such, among the imperious masters of this world, might improve my chances for survival. I did have a live body, some understanding of my womanhood, and a desire to please men. I looked down into some of the faces below me, behind the railing, across the dirt, across the tarsk run. I had better be pleasing to such men, I thought, shuddering. Then I moaned to myself. Teibar was not here. I was alone. What was I doing here? Why was I brought here, to this world? My wrists hurt, held up so high in the steel. Were the men not being cruel to me? Could they not see I was naked, and helpless?

"Category," I heard, "-Pleasure Slave."

When I heard this categorization, so matter-of-factly given, concluding the fellow’s recounting of attributes and features, measurements and such, I was suddenly, inordinately, startled. I had known, of course, I was not a house slave, or a tower slave, for I was not permitted to kneel in fashions appropriate to those varieties of slave. Too, I had understood, of course, that many of the things I was taught seemed to have direct application to the pleasing of masters, and even profoundly sensuously so, but I had not, until now, heard that exact simple, direct expression. We had never been told, in so many words, that that was the sort of slave we were. Perhaps the Gorean girls had understood, clearly enough, but I do not think we girls of Earth had, at least not is so direct a way, not in the way, certainly, which seemed to be summarized so clearly and succinctly by that one expression. Ulrick had not even told me the sort of slave I was. He had laughed, and informed me that I would learn from men. Now, it seemed, on the sales block, I had done so. I threw back my head, and moaned. The chain overhead tightened and I was pulled up a little more, so that only my toes were on the block.

The auctioneer lifted his whip, cracked it, and called for the first bid.

My wrists hurt. He was calling for a bid on an illiterate barbarian. I realized, suddenly, that that was I.

I was an educated, civilized, refined woman on my own world. Here I was an illiterate barbarian!

I heard someone call out from the floor. I realized, suddenly, I had been bid upon. I was being sold! Too, he was not bidding on part of me, say, on my body. He was bidding in the Gorean fashion on all of me, on the whole slave. The bid had been for twenty copper tarsks. In a moment I had heard twenty-two, and twenty-seven.

On my own world I was a modern woman, of sorts, independent, and free, and with political power, particularly with fearful, cringing men. But here men were not fearful and cringing. But then I had been taken from Earth, and my power, to be brought here to be utterly powerless, to be a slave, to be a pleasure slave! How reductive, I thought, to be a pleasure slave! Then I knew that that was what, on a proper, natural world, I would be, that that, on such world, was right for me. "No, no!" I wept, in English.

I heard more bids.

The auctioneer walked about me. He touched me, here and there, with his whip. He turned me on the chain, I on my toes, exhibiting me.

Then I again faced the men. There were more bids

I though how amused Teibar might have been, to have thought of me, his hated "modern woman," as he thought, being sold, and being sold in this place, a place fit for her, a sales barn, where tarsks, four-legged, and two-legged, like herself, were sold. I wondered if Teibar knew I would be sold in this place. He was doubtless privy to the records of the house. But he may have left their service before I was consigned to the wholesaler outside Brundisium. But it could be this was a common clearing point for their slaves. It could be, too, he had retained contacts with the house. He might very well know I was here. He may have even, for his amusement, arranged that it would be here, or in a similar outlet, that I was sold, influencing the orders in some fashion. Perhaps that I was here, naked in a sales barn, my wrists manacled over my head, being bid upon by strangers, was part of his vengeance on me. At the least he would have known that this, or something similar, would be done to me! How amused he must be, when he thought of such things, his haughty, pretentious "modern woman." as he thought, she whom he held in such contempt, to her dismay and terror, and misery, now being sold naked from a slave block, into absolute bondage!

Then I became aware of someone, or one or two men, actually, calling up from the floor. It was not bids they were calling. I tried to understand them. I did not know if it were their accents, or I simply, in my confusion, my misery and distress, had suddenly lost almost all my command of Gorean. I could not really understand them.

The chain slackened above me and my arms fell, somewhat. The auctioneer put his whip on his belt, held me by the left arm in his right hand, and, with his left hand, reaching up, lifted the chain between my manacles off the lower hook of the short chain, that attached to the strand of the double chain overhead. His hand on my arm kept me from collapsing to the sawdust. My hands were down, the chain on the manacles now against my thighs. He said something to me, but I did not understand it. Then he reached in front of me and gathered the chain between my manacles into his hands and lifted my wrists up, bending my arms back. He put my wrists back, behind my head, and then released the chain on the manacles, letting it drop behind my neck. "Clasp your hands behind the back of your head," he said. I understood him now. "Bend back," he said. "Display yourself." I obeyed, of course. Too, the whip was now again in his hand. "Flex your knees," he said. "Now, turn," he said. "Do not forget our friends to the right," he said. I then displayed myself, again, identically, at the right side of the block. I did not think the other girls had been removed from the chain, or not many of them, given the speed with which the line had moved. Why should I be favored in this respect? The bidding had been interrupted at eighty-eight tarsks, whatever that meant. I did know that there was apparently something about me, perhaps unfortunately, which many Gorean men found of interest. I do not think this was simply a matter of figure and face, though I think these appealed to a Gorean taste, but perhaps something else, something deeper, which they seemed to sense about me, some sort of possibility, or potentially, or something which I myself did not fully understand, or yet understand. Sometimes he touched me with the whip, calling attention to a curve or flank. Teibar’s "modern woman," I thought, is now displaying herself naked to Gorean buyers. He then had me kneel and bent me back, painfully, my hair back to the sawdust, to the center, and then the left, and then the right, before the buyers. He then had me straighten up and unclasp my hands from behind my head. He then lifted the chain forward, over my head. It then hung, between my wrists, a little below my neck. He let me lower my hands. My hands then, and the chain, were again on my thighs. My hands chained as they were, I could not both keep them on my thighs and maintain a full, open-kneel position. I looked up at him, from the sawdust.

Men were calling out, from behind the railing, and some from the tiers. To my surprise the auctioneer removed a key from his belt and removed the manacles from me. I rubbed my wrists. There were marks on them where the manacles had cut into me, when I was lifted to the block.

The auctioneer cracked his whip.

I looked up at him, from the sawdust. I was to be put through slave paces.

I tried to put from me what was being done to me.

I wanted to go back to the library.

The sawdust was in my hair, and its particles clung to my sweating body.

"Yes," I thought, "I can find that book."

I was on my belly, naked, in the sawdust.

"Yes," I thought, "there was quiet, shy Doreen in the library, going quietly about her duties, there, walking about, returning to the reference desk, over that flat carpet, from the information desk, past the xerox machines." I rolled in the sawdust.

Yes, there she was, there, in that simple sweater, that plain blouse and dark skirt, the dark stockings, the low-heeled black shoes. Surely no man could find her of interest. Then she became aware of a man at the reference desk, looking down at her, one bright afternoon, a man whose look penetrated into her deepest heart and belly, and stripped her, and saw the slave there. And he had caught her in her dancer’s costume, that in which no man had ever seen her before, and she had then, in swirling skirt and scarlet halter, and bells, danced in the darkened library, danced before him and his men. I was vaguely aware of a cry of pleasure from the crowd. I had performed the transition between two of the moves in the slave paces with the startling, sensuous agility of a dancer. It then seemed that it was the dancer in the sawdust, on the block, she who had worn the skirt and halter, and bells. How beautiful they seemed to find her! How she moved! She heard the exclamations of praise. The auctioneer stood back, the whip lowered, startled. "No!" I cried. Then again I was awkward and fearful, and only an Earth girl, miserable, confused and terrified, cringing in the sawdust of a slave block on an alien world.

"What is wrong?" asked the auctioneer.

"Nothing, Master," I whispered, cringing before him on all fours.

A gesture of his whip informed me I should lie upon my back. Then I was supine before him. He turned about. He stood partly over my body. He faced the crowd. He had one of his legs between mine.

"Two," was called to him from the floor. "Two!"

"Two!" repeated the auctioneer, holding up two fingers. "Two!"

The auctioneer did not sound angry at this bid. I myself was startled. The bids had been in the eighties before. Now, it seemed they were reduced to only two.

I was on my back, gasping, lying there.

The auctioneer stepped a little away from me, and turned to face me.

It was now as though I could hardly move. I was terrified. I hoped he would not beat me, because the bids were now down to two.

He looked down at me, puzzled.

I think I must then have seemed to him quite otherwise than I had but moments ago. I do not think he understood this. It was almost, I suppose, as though there were not one, but two women on the block, almost as though he had two different women to sell.

I rose up on my elbows but he, with the heel of his bootlike sandal, thrust me back to the sawdust. He then, with his bootlike sandal, turned me to my stomach. "Kneel," he said. I knelt. He then replaced the manacles on my wrists. He turned me so that I knelt facing the crowd. He pulled down the short chain from the horizontal chain. "Stand," he said. I obeyed. "What is wrong with her?" called a man. The chain between my manacles was looped over the lower hook on the short chain. I could hardly stand. I was terrified. I looked out on the men. Any one of them, I realized, could own me. I was a slave! I could be owned. I could belong to them! They could do with me what they might please, anything. They would have over me total power. But I was a woman of Earth! This could not be happening to me! Then, as the higher chain, the strand of the double chain, took up its slack, my wrists were again pulled up, high, over my head. Again I could touch the block only with my toes. I had not been as Ulrick had wanted, not at the end. I had been too much afraid. I had not been fresh and supple. I had not controlled my breath well. I feared I had not been beautiful. I had been too afraid, too afraid to be truly beautiful. I had been too clumsy. I had not down well! Oddly enough I had not wanted to disappoint Ulrick, who, I think, had liked me. Too, I didn’t want to be punished for not having done well. Surely they had wanted to make more money on me than "two," two of whatever it was.

I looked down into the faces. They were masters, and I was a slave. My eyes met those of one fellow, a large, corpulent man, stripped to the waist, very hairy, with crossed belts running across his chest. He had a drooping mustache. He had a long scar at the left side of his face. He was one of the grossest, most frighteningly ugly men I had ever seen. He looked up at me, and grinned. On the right side of his mouth, a tooth was missing. I looked up, away from him, at the manacles on my wrists. They again hurt my wrists, my body stretched, and pulled up, as it was, on my toes. My toes hurt, and the back of my legs. I looked above the manacles, to the chain. Chains are so strong. We cannot break them.

The auctioneer was now behind me and to my left. "Is there a further bid?" he asked.

I think the ambiguities in my performance, if that is what they were, may have puzzled several in the crowd, as well as the auctioneer.

The house was quiet.

I looked down again. Again my eyes met those of the large, corpulent fellow. He grinned. He did not seem puzzled. I feared he might be a perceptive master, in spite of his grossness, his ugliness, from whom a girl could not keep secrets. I looked hastily away, again, from him.

"Am I bid only two," inquired the auctioneer, "for this luscious merchandise?"

I felt the whip touch my flank and waist, on the left.

He then stepped a bit before me, to my left. He turned and touched me twice with the whip. "Consider this flank, and belly," he said.

I tried to hold myself perfectly still. The light touches of the whip, though, had made me terribly uneasy.

He again moved behind me, and to the left.

"I have been bid two," he said, "for this lovely barbarian pleasure slave. Do I hear more? To be sure, she is only semitrained, and perhaps not yet fully broken to the collar. That I would not gainsay. But surely she has some promise. Yes, I think so. Some of you, I am sure, suspect that she has promise."

I did not know what he meant by that.

"Is there a higher bid?" he asked. "Shall I close my hand?"

A wave of anger suddenly swept over me. I, a pleasure slave! Absurd! How reductive! How degrading! I wanted suddenly to prove to them that I was no pleasure slave. I was an educated, refined, civilized woman of Earth! I was a modern woman, at least of sorts! I was no pleasure slave! But I knew, looking down at those faces, that if any of them owned me, I would have to be fully pleasing to them. I would have to bend all of my efforts, and all of my beauty, my charm, my grace, my knowledge, my intelligence, my tact, everything that I was, and could hope to be, to that end. I would have to be to them, and perfectly, a pleasure slave. And what horrified me most, I think, was that I wanted this. I wanted to serve men, and give them pleasure, to be precious to them, to be loved and appreciated, to make them happy. What a terrible woman I was, to want to make men happy. Then again, I strove to be cold and hard, to be cruel like stone and leather. I must not allow myself to feel! But what, I asked myself, if I were not allowed to be my own mistress? What if men simply did things to me, forcing me to feel, as it pleased them, forcing me to yield, and melt, against my will, forcing me to feel, and experience, things which on Earth I had never even dreamed of, forcing me to be what I most feared, permitting me nothing else, a woman in the order of nature? Then I steeled myself again. I was no pleasure slave. There was no pleasure slave in me! I was above such things. I was my own mistress. No man could change that!

"Aii!" I cried, suddenly, startled, squirming wildly, leaping in the manacles, twisting, with a movement of chain, then my weight on them, the chain taut, my knees lifted, almost to my belly, my eyes shut, my teeth gritted.

There was much laughter from the house.

When I opened my eyes again, my body now again stretched out, standing on its toes, my wrists high over my head in the manacles. I looked down, across the dirt area, over the railing. The large, hideous, gross, corpulent fellow was there, looking up at me, grinning. I blushed hotly. I looked away from him.

I had not expected the touch.

There was more laughter.

My body was crimson with shame.

It had been revealed to the men that I had a vital, living body.

I held my ankles, and knees, and legs as closely together as I could. I was terrified. I was suddenly aware then, dimly, of what men might do to me, how they might take me out of myself, subjecting me to incredible sensations as they, not I, might wish, or choose. Too, if I had so reacted to so small and simple a thing, it was difficult to conjecture how I might behave if subjected to more detailed, subtle or prolonged attentions. I suddenly felt terribly helpless, and yet, too, in a way, eager. Too, what if, horrifying enough, I was not permitted resistance but must, under the sanction of terrible penalties, under the command of masters, open myself fully to feeling, if I were forced to yield, and fully, and was forced, thusly, to collaborate in my own conquest? There was one thing which perhaps, in a way, was in my favor. My entire skin, and body, tonight, was much less responsive than it would normally have been. I could tell that, even from this morning. I had known it, too, from my responses on the platform in the exposition area of the sales barn, at the other end of the long corridor. This had to do with my disappointment in the matter of Teibar, that I was still not within his grasp, that he had not brought me here, in some master’s jest, to reclaim me. I had then understood that, despite all my hopes, I was really, in the end, nothing to him, only another pretty Earth girl, to be brought here merely in the tone of his business, to wear the collar and lick the whip. My sense of abandonment had been acute. How alone I had suddenly realized I was here, on this strange, beautiful world. I had been almost in shock, and without feeling. Too, tonight, I had been, particularly in the last few minutes, almost numbed with misery, and terror, understanding myself being sold. I had been frightened, constricted and tight. I had been, I feared, not beautiful. I had been just the opposite, I feared, of what Ulrick would have wanted. Thus, even though I had been taken unawares by the sudden movement of the auctioneer’s whip, and had moved suddenly, inadvertently, in a manner which might have suggested to some that I was a pleasure slave, I knew that the fullness of what I conjectured would be my typical response to such a touch had not even been hinted at. The full range of my responsiveness, thusly, I congratulated myself, still lay concealed. None could suspect it. I shuddered, though, to think of what it, so delicate and deep, might be under a master’s hands. I could suspect, even from the simple touch I had received, how helpless I might be.

"Two!" called a fellow from behind the rail, raising his hand. "Two and fifty!"

"Two and fifty!" called the auctioneer, pleased. "Two and fifty! Do I hear more?"

The house was quiet.

I looked down. The fellow who had just made the bid, whatever was its amount, was the large, gross, corpulent fellow, he who was so ugly, so frightening.

"Shall I close my hand?" asked the auctioneer. His hand was open, held out to the side.

I looked down at the man.

I twisted in the manacles. I could not free myself. I was a slave!

I looked down at him.

I would wear a collar. I was branded.

I looked down at him.

I knew that in time my body would regain its sensitivity levels, that inexorably its awareness, and helplessness, would return. It would be inevitable, like the rising of water in a well. I could do nothing about it.

I looked down at him.

He looked up at me, and grinned.

"The barbarian is yours!" said the auctioneer, closing his hand.

Now I Know What Made Otis Blue

I like this song. It is slow and doesn't really have that great a sound to it but I like it all the same. It sounds... thoughtful. I think that is the best word I can think of to describe it. I have this song on mp3 and any time it comes up on random play I always find myself singing along with it. I don't really have anything more than that to say, so here are the lyrics.

Now I Know What Made Otis Blue by Paul Young

Mmmmmmm

You've got a hold on me
Hey don't you know
We've gone to far for me to let you go

You sold my love away
And then you tried
To see it burning in a stranger's eyes

I remember the good times
I remember the things we used to do

Now I know what made Otis blue
Girl, it must be love
What we're going through

Now I know what made Otis blue
Every single night
I keep holding you

Don't make me sleep alone
Don't make me bleed
How can you waste your love in jealousy

If we're together baby
Your eyes will see
There is no other lover here with me

Do you remember the good times?
Do you remember when every word was true?

Now I know what made Otis blue
Girl, it must be love
What we're going through

Now I know what made Otis blue
Every single night
I keep holding you

There's no one else, only you
And I'm begging you
Don't turn my heart to hurt this
Oh no

Now I know what made Otis blue
Ooooh

Now I know what made Otis blue
Girl, it must be love
What we're going through

Now I know what made Otis blue
Every single night
I keep holding you

House Of Serpents Trilogy: A Book Review

This book review is a bit different to any I've written thus far, as this time I'm reviewing an entire trilogy rather than a single novel. Also, while I normally write a review within a few days of finishing a book, two of the three books of this trilogy were read long before I even started writing this blog. So with that in mind, on with the review.

House Of Serpents is a Forgotten Realms trilogy by Lisa Smedman. It is primarily set in and around the city state of Hlondeth, which sits on a large ocean inlet called The Vilhon Reach. Hlondeth is a city ruled by the Yuan-ti (a cruel race of snake people), though the population is mostly human. These are the first books to really focus on this strange (and really quite sinister) race. The books are also different from normal Realms novels in that they strongly feature psionics rather than magic.

The books of the trilogy are: Venom's Taste, Viper's Kiss and Vanity's Brood. Whereas Venom's Taste could easily be a self contained novel, the second two books of the series are very much more closely tied together. The main character of the trilogy is Arvin, a maker of magical ropes and nets for the Hlondeth thieves guild. An orphan, he was raised in a strict orphange by monks of Ilmater (the God of Suffering), and was "adopted" by the thieves guild at a young age when they learned of his skill at ropemaking. As the story progresses though he gradually learns more and more psionic skills.

The other main character is Karrell a female yuan-ti pureblood (which means she is only minorly tainted by snake blood, as opposed to an abomination which is almost entirely snake save perhaps for having arms), even though we don't meet her until the second book. Karrell isn't evil like the rest of her race, and she is a cleric of Ubtao (God of the Jungles), a rival to Sseth (the Yuan-ti God). she is on a mission to see that the Circled Serpent (an artifact of great power) is destroyed.

Arvin (and later Karrell too) are oppossed by many different foes, but the most notable amongst them is Zelia (a female yuan-ti psionicist who quickly becomes Arvin's nemesis) who appears in many guises, due to her ability to mind-seed others. This strange psionic power overwhelms another persons mind, erasing it and imprinting it with a duplicate of Zelia's own. The other major opponent is Sibyl, a monstrous four-armed winged yuan-ti abomination who served as Sseth's avatar (divine herald) several years before until the God strangely went silent. She seeks to find out what has happened to her God and return to being his avatar again and she has a cult of fanatics who serve and worship her, to do her bidding.

The trilogy is very well written and certainly not for kids to read, as it is quite sexual in nature in many places. Considering that serpents have been considered sensual since time began, this is I think, a highly appropriate way to have written the books. I think the books could have flowed better though, as I said already the first book could easily have stood alone. Also the descriptions of psionics changed from the first book to the later two, though this isn't the writers fault, as the way psionics work in the D&D game was changed in that time and she had to include that. Still, it is a bit odd.

The plot is fairly convoluted in places, with schemes and counter machinations going on, which is all very well written and typical of the Byzantine politics and intrigues that the Yuan-ti routinely engage in. I'm going to give the trilogy 3/5 overall. It is a good read, but it could be a lot better. the difference between the first book and the later two is my main reason for its score.

Back On Ebay

I've just listed the first seven of the miniatures I recovered from my parents loft last weekend. It's been about 6 months now since I last did any selling on ebay, and a couple months since I last bought anything from there. I enjoy selling more, as I always seem to get sniped at the last moment whenever I'm trying to buy something.

I'm hopeful of getting some good prices for these figures, as they are all long out of print and there were never that many of them made in the first place. The money from these and the sales to come are going to go to pay off my overdraft and then my credit card. I would have spent some of my annual bonus from work that I got paid on Friday on the same task, but a nasty sized electricity bill and the large chunk the taxman took out of the bonus have scuppered that idea. Still, I have money enough to return to business on ebay.

If you want to keep track of what I'm selling and how well (or poorly) my auctions are going, use the link on the sidebar to see a page that summarises every auction I have currently running.

Midnight's Mask: A Book Review

Having finished this book a few days ago, it is high time I got on with the review, so without further ado here it is. Midnight's Mask by Paul S. Kemp is a Forgotten Realms novel. It is the third and final part of the Erevis Cale Trilogy, which is named after the central character. The book follows on directly from the ending of Dawn Of Night with only a few pages devoted to an interlude featuring an ancient monster of the deep which would reappear later in the book.

With the gigantic obsessed sea monster out of the way, the story resumes with Cale, Jak and Magadon fleeing the vengeful guardians of Skullport, whilst struggling to come to terms with Riven's betrayal and susequent alliance with their enemies (Azriim, Dolgan and the Sojourner, they having polished off Serrin). In no time at all the trio are back on the Plane of Shadow thanks to Cales ability to step between worlds. Here they are stunned by the revelation that Riven's betrayal was part of a plan, one they had agreed upon (but subsequently blocked from their minds by use of Magadons psionics lest their telepathic foes read their intentions).

Riven meanwhile gets to meet Azriim and Dolgan's master, the incredibly powerful Sojourner who easily sends Cale and Co fleeing when they jump in to Riven's location to take the mastermind down. That the Sojourner plans something big is made apparent throughout this book and the one previous to it, but what he does (and why he does it) did surprise me.

In one of the most brutal assaults I've ever read, he massacres every living thing (and a few undead too) in a temple/tower to Cyric (the God of Strife and Murder) and then steals the tower itself, teleporting the entire structure halfway across the continent to his island to serve as a conduit for the spell he needs to cast. He sought to create and control a Crown of Flame (an Eclipse) and to this end uses Epic Magic to pull one of Selune's Tears (A group of asteroids that trail in the moons orbit) from its orbit and use it to block the sunlight over his island. What got me, is that he does all of this simply to be able to walk on the surface again (sunlight is fatal to him), for a day before dying happily!

The book, as with the others in this trilogy, is very well written. The fight scenes are fast and brutal and the author doesn't gloss over just how a medieval city would be, with vice, villainy and especially the smell detailed expertly. The ending of this book leaves a huge plot thread hanging, and so I now find myself eagerly looking forward to his next trilogy (starring many of the same characters), the first book of which will be out in November. Look for its review shortly afterwards!

Spring Cleaning

No not the house, though some parts of it could use a tidy up. Instead I've made a few alterations to this site. Nothing really major, just some tweaks to the html to tidy it up a bit and make the place look better (even though it looks exactly the same). I have also edited the list of links.

The Movie Review Diary has changed its name to Celluloid Heroes for no reason that I can think of, guess its author got bored of the old name. Anyway, that link has been renamed accordingly. After the writer completely messing up the multi-part storyline that had been running in Pet Professional in favour of returning to repetitive one shots I've removed the link to that comic in disgust.

I have however replaced one webcomic with two others. Please welcome (and hopefully read & enjoy) the webcomics Penny and Aggie as well as Brat-halla.

Penny and Aggie is about two American girls in high school. Penny LeVac is the atypical rich bitch overacheiver (think Cordelia from Buffy the Vampire Slayer and you're on the right track). Her nemesis is Aggie D'Amour a girl more concerned with saving the world than living her own life. Penny and Aggie is updated every Monday, Tuesday, Thursday and Friday.

Brat-halla is a fun comic which answers the question: "What were the Norse Gods like when they were kids?". Meet Odin and his wife Frigg and their unruly brood of child deities: Thor, Heimdall, Hod, Baldur, Hermod... ohh and Loki! Complicating matters are the evil Odineye and his minions, plus hormones, underdressed Valkyries, monsters, school and having Hel as a babysitter! Brat-halla is updated on Tuesdays.

Ordered Chaos

Work was a bit boring today. Not stressful like yesterday though. Mondays is always crazy in the office and I'll tell you why. All the grocery items in the store (basically everything that isn't a fresh food line) are ordered via the order pads. These folders are taken down from the office to the shop floor every day, filled in and then brought back to the office for us Admin clerks to tap onto the system. This order is suppossed to be complete and sent off by 4:30pm (4pm on a Sunday). It almost never is, and it's usually more like 4:45 before it is confirmed.

On Mondays though the department managers have a meeting from 2pm until whenever it finishes. This is usually about 3pm. This wouldn't be a problem, only several of the order pads are filled out by the managers, and they then don't start filling them in until gone 3pm... and there are a lot of these pads, like 20 of them! So filling them in takes some time, as does tapping them on. This almost always results in a frenzied effort after 4pm to tap the bloody things into the system, all the while the phone is ringing and we have the stock counts from the various Fresh departments to tap on also.

So today was a nice change from that. The order pads were still late being sent off today, but things were a lot less hectic in the office. I finished at 5pm and bpught a couple loaves of bread before heading home. Only I didn't go straight home, I detoured to the weirs in Goodland Gardens. This is one of my favourite places in Taunton (and yes I'll take a photo of it and post it here on a Tour article sometime soon), as it is here that ducks can be found in large numbers.

I love ducks and by ducks I mean Mallards. Not Swans and certainly not Geese. I had bread and set to feeding the few that were there, smiling as more and more ducks turned up in short order. I always try to spread the bread around when I throw it as well as doing my best not to throw it near where the thieving bastard seagulls are! Or the pigeons for that matter! I also throw more towards the females, because they need the food more, especialy at this time of year.

With one loaf thrown away and devoured, I headed for home intending to bring the other loaf with me tomorrow and feed the ducks again. I like feeding the ducks, I find it very calming. Still, as I was walking along the Millstream I saw a quartet of male Mallards in the stream and decided to open the other loaf and throw them some bread also. And while they were busy eating that, a female who had been hiding from them on the other bank, flew across to my feet.

She seemed quite tame, either that or desperate for food and she was only a little afraid of me. So I fed her a couple slices of bread, and I fed her by hand. As she was feeding one of the males clambered up the bank towards her and I thought he was going to attack her, because it is that time of year and I'd certainly seen enough of that behaviour whilst feeding the others. Instead he stood back, ate only a couple of the bits I threw to him and he let the female have the rest of the bread. That put a smile on my face that I'm still wearing. I love ducks, they have so much character... and I've still got most of a loaf for tomorrow!

Urgghh... Summertime Begins

I hate summer, I really do. Much more a winter person, when it's cold, dark, wet, windy and miserable for months on end. Far more my kind of weather than the light rain, stiffling heat and the bright sun overhead. Today British Summertime began, which meant that last night the clocks went forwards an hour. Quite why we bother with this archaic custom anymore I do not know, but we do. Tenacity and stubbornness are traits that run strong in the people of these rainy islands.

I must have been reminded a dozen times yesterday that the clocks were going forward an hour. My boss told me at least twice; there were signs put up in work; it was mentioned on the news and on the BBC News website and... well you get the idea. None of it worked. I still forgot to change the clock, I was still nearly an hour late for work this morning. This wouldn't ordinarily bother me. I mean it catches everyone out at one time or another right?

Except this is the 11th time in a row that it has caught me out. Okay, not strictly in a row, because back in October when the clocks went back an hour, I had the next day off work, so it made no difference to me as I slept in regardless. But on the ten occasions before that, it got me every time. Still, I made it to work and the duty manager was greatly relieved to see that I wasn't sick.

"Huh?" was my response to that.

"Ohh someone phoned in to say that you were sick. Glad to see you're not that ill after all" was the reply I got back.

As it turned out, someone had phoned in to report another Robert as being off sick (I think there are 3 or maybe 4 of us in the store), but it was a couple hours before I found that out and until then I was utterly baffled as to who could have phoned in on my behalf as I was reasonably sure neither Tony or Gareth were awake when I left the house, or if they were they were being really quiet. Whichever was the case, I hadn't seen or talked to either one of them.

The computers of course were all screwy as the clock change messes the system around no end, which is hardly surprising considering how ancient some of the computers in the office are. The pair that the tills run on are practically antique, yet they sit side by side with Pentium 4 PC's. It took a good few hours to get everything working right again and over half an hour of that was spent waiting on the phone (had it on speaker, so I had to endure what felt like an aeon listening to the truly awful music whilst I was on hold), to talk to technical support to get them to send a report down that the Cash Office needed.

Summertime has begun... wake me in October!

Rummaging

After work yesterday I went over to my parents house. This was primarily so I could get my head shaved, as Dad has a Do-It-Yourself hair-cutting kit. He has shaved my head many times now and it is far cheaper to do it this way than to pay £6 to get a barber to do exactly the same thing. Of course a barber likely wouldn't get the attachment to the razor wrong and when I'd ask for a Grade 2 cut that would be what I'd get. Dad, on the other hand, gave me a Grade 1 shave all over and only halfway through remarked "You know... this looks shorter than normal".

My other reason for going over was so I could have a rummage through the various boxes of my old stuff in my parents attic. Specifically I was looking for a box of metal miniature figures which I knew I owned and had not painted. The figures in question are all out of print and regularly fetch a good sum on ebay. While I would dearly love to paint them I have another plan for these models. I intend to sell them off individually, as I've seen these figures go for £20+ each before now... and I have 14 of them! The money will clear a nice chunk of debt off my credit card thus reducing how much I owe and how many things I own. Two New Year's resolutions in one.

A Couple Of Thoughts On Manhood

From the book "Marauders of Gor" by John Norman.

On another world, lit by the same star, in another place, dawn, too, drew near. The distant light in the great cities, unknowing, soon to be occupied with the concerns of their days, piercing the haze of daily, customary poisons, first struck the heights of the lofty building, reflecting from the rectangular windows, like sheets of burnished copper reflecting the fire of the sun. Men would soon be up and about their duties, hurrying from one nothing to another, to compromises, to banal degradations, anxious lest they fail to be on time. They would not care for the blackened grass growing between the bricks; they would take no notes of the spider's architecture, nor marvel at the flight of a wren darting to its nest among the smoke-blackened, carved stones. There would be no time. There would be no time for them, no time for seeing, or feeling, or touching, or loving or finding out what it might be to be alive. Clouds would be strangers to them; rain an inconvenience; snow a nuisance; a tree an anachronism; a flower an oddity, cut and frozen in a florist's refrigerator. These were the men without meaning, so full and so empty, so crowded, so desolate, so busy, so needlessly occupied. These were the gray men, the hurrying men, the efficient, smug, tragic insects, noiseless on soft feet, in the billions iron hills of technology. How few of them gazed even on the stars. In grandeur so fearful that men must shield themselves from pettiness from its glory; do they not understand that in themselves, and in perhaps a thousand other intelligences, reality has opened its eyes upon its own immensity; do they shut their eyes lest they see gods?

David Fincher the director of Fight Club in an interview with Gavin Smith, "Inside Out," Film Comment, Sep/Oct 1999

We're designed to be hunters and we're in a society of shopping. There's nothing to kill anymore, there's nothing to fight, nothing to overcome, nothing to explore. In that societal emasculation this everyman is created.

Dawn Of Night: A Book Review

It's been a few days now since I finished reading this book. Normally I try to write a review within a day or two of finishing a book, but I've been on holiday and have thus put it off until now. Dawn Of Night by Paul S. Kemp is a Forgotten Realms novel. It is the second book in the Erevis Cale trilogy (named after the central character) and follows on directly from the ending of Twilight Falling. So if you've not read the first book and intend to do so, look away now because there will be spoilers in this review.

Okay then. The start of this book introduces us to the main villain of the trilogy, who is the shadowy figure that Azriim, Dolgan and Serrin work for. With Vraggen betrayed by his minions, and Elora dead at the hands of Riven, this trio of shapechangers it turns out are working for an ancient creature known only as The Sojourner. To say that I thought this to be an odd name for a grand villain is an understatement. A sojourn after all according to the dictionary is "a short stay in a place". Still, this villain is both very old and very powerful and is well written, so he got my interest.

Meanwhile, Cale, Riven, Jak and their guide Magadon Kest find themselves on the Plane of Shadow, apparently transported there somehow as they were drowning. Quickly figuring that the plane mirrors their homeworld of Toril (at least in this part of it), they set off towards where the nearest city is (or its shadow equivalent anyway), figuring that any doorway back home is more likely to be in a place like that, than out in the wilds where they are.

Of course they are right (would be a really boring book if they couldn'tfind a way home after all), and the city indeed has a gateway back to Toril... just a small matter of getting through a Necropolis (a city of tombs) to get too it! Mr Kemp writes very good battle scenes and it is easy to picture myself to one side watching the goings on as the two groups (the heroes and the villains) go about their deeds.

This is a very worthy sequel and I'm going to be starting to read the finale of the trilogy when I go back to work tomorrow. I am eagerly looking forward to finding out what happens next, because the cliffhanger at the end of this book, is better than the one the first book ended on. And that's saying something! 5/5 for this novel and I am really hoping that the writer doesn't drop the ball in the last book.

Taunton Tour: The Market House

Well I did indeed go out and take a few photos of places in Taunton yesterday. Took about half a dozen in all, but only half of them turned out that great. The sky was a bit overcast, which led to some colour distortion (for instance the Market House here isn't really that dark a shade of red). Anyway, enough of my technical difficulties on with the article!

This building is the Market House and it sits right smack in the centre of town. The pub that I sometimes frequent on a Saturday night (though not for a couple months now owing to a lack of funds), is on the ground floor and is entered through that big door in front there. The building also houses a dance hall on the 1st floor and offices for at least two companies, which are accessed via other doors in the sides and rear of the building.

It used to sit in the middle of a surrounding road, but when the town centre was revamped several years back, they pedestrianised the road behind it, and moved the traffic flow to go around a roundabout in front of the building (just out of shot to the left of the picture).

The one thing that strikes me every time I look at this building is how similar it looks to the Town Hall building in the Back to the Future movies. You know, the one whose clock was stopped by a lightning strike in 1955 which is where Marty McFly ends up in the Delorean and that same lightning strike is used to power the time machine return to the future. Every time I look at this building, I can easily picture Doc Emmet Brown connecting the cables up, so that the 1.21 gigawatts of power can reach the cable strung across the road beside the building. Having said that, it's been a while since I watched those movies, so could just be my imagination playing a trick on me.

A Room With A View

Just for the sake of something different, I thought I'd share the view from the bay window that is to my right as I type this. This photo was actually taken yesterday (and would have been posted then too, only Blogger was acting up and I couldn't upload it... and I tried like 20+ times!). The big gothic building that can be seen there is the Somerset County Courthouse, and is suitably spooky looking (especially at night), and beyond that can be seen St. John's Church with its steeple.

I'm actually really impressed with how well the photo has come out, considering it was taken indoors through a window. I've taken a few snaps with the digicam my parents bought me for Xmas before, but none of them has turned out that well. Guess perseverance really does pay off! If the weather is good today, I might go and take some pics of other places in the town that I like the look of and post them on here.

Ghostbusters

My mind is in a silly place right now, so I felt it fitting to post a silly song. The film that this song comes from is easily one of my very favourite movies, and I've watched it more times than I can remember. That damn ghostly librarian still gives me the creeps! Apparently the tune for this song was taken from another song, which led to Ray Parker Jnr being successfully sued by the original songs writer for royalties. Still, this song is remembered. I couldn't tell you what the other song was called or who sung it.

Ghostbusters by Ray Parker Jnr

Ghostbusters!

If there's something strange in your neighborhood
Who you gonna call?
Ghostbusters!
If there's something weird and it don't look good
Who you gonna call?
Ghostbusters!

I ain't afraid of no ghost
I ain't afraid of no ghost

If you're seeing things running through your head
Who can you call?
Ghostbusters!
An invisible man is sleeping in your bed
Oh, who you gonna call?
Ghostbusters!

I ain't afraid of no ghost
I ain't afraid of no ghost

Who you gonna call?
Ghostbusters!
If you're all alone, pick up the phone
And you call
Ghostbusters!

I ain't afraid of no ghost
I hear it likes the girls
I ain't afraid of no ghost
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah

Who you gonna call?
Ghostbusters!
If you've had a dose of a freaky ghost
Baby, you'd better call
Ghostbusters!

Let me tell you something
Bustin' makes me feel good

I ain't afraid of no ghost
I ain't afraid of no ghost

Don't get caught alone, oh no
Ghostbusters!
When it comes through your door
Unless you just want some more
I think you better call
Ghostbusters!
Ow!

Who you gonna call
Ghostbusters!
(Repeat to Fade)

Death Warmed Over

I feel pretty rough right about now, though I'm not sleepy really. Brain feels worn out but then I've had my RPG group across at the house today for a monster session of D&D, which involved one huge battle royale where the group took on an entire Cult of the Dragon ceremony complete with Dracolich in a straight fight. 3 of the 5 members of the party were killed in the ensuing chaos (the characters played by Gareth, Tony and Matt), but by the end of the session they had either been reincarnated or raised from the dead (for the 5th time in the case of Matt's maniacal dwarf barbarian), and the group finished the session by teleporting back into the cult stronghold to continue their crusade to wipe out the cultists.

Still many hours in a small room with 5 other people has had some side effects, namely a nose that is running like a tap, eyes that are stinging and my throat feeling a bit raw from all the speaking. It was a good day though, and was in a way compensation for there being no Games Club last night (the hall was booked out for a Quiz Night instead). We got about 2 normal sessions worth of adventuring done in the space of today, as well as a lot of chat and laughs.

So I'm sat here now with the curtains open, listening to a folder of Bangles mp3's and feeling a bit urgh. I have a novel in front of me, that I need to write a book review for, but I'll leave that for later today I think. I do need to order some more novels though, as I'm down to just 3 on my back list to read now. Hopefully all the caffeine I've drunk in the form of coffee and cola will wear off soon so I can get some sleep. I am quite enjoying having this weekend off as a holiday. no work for me until noon on Wednesday!

Super Strength

I was browsing the BBC News website a few moments ago and I came across an article that both caught my attention, made my eyes open and brought a genuine "Wow" from my lips. Here, have a read! To say that this development could change the world, is I think a gross understatement.

Whilst this could lead to a whole new generation of better prosthetic limbs being developed (and it likely will), my foremost thought is that it will inevitably be used for military purposes. The Japanese can already build human sized robots. Combine that technology with this (and someone will do just that), and you get robots that are 100 times stronger than humans! Granted it will take maybe 20 years for that to happen, but think of all the other technologies that will be developed and/or refined in that time and could also be incoporated.

I don't think it is pessimistic to conceive of a robotic super soldier. Human sized, possessing super-strength, no moral quandries, able to see at night, and have access to GPS to allow for more accurate aiming of weapons and deployment. I also don't think it is pessimistic to think of seeing these things in armies (almost certainly beginning with the US Armed Forces) well within my own lifetime. I just hope that whoever they get to program these things, have first been forced to sit and watch a large number of sci-fi movies where robots we build end up enslaving/killing humanity first... especially the Terminator movies!

Twilight Falling: A Book Review

Twilight Falling by Paul S. Kemp is the first book of the Erevis Cale Trilogy, named for the central character. Cale is a character I've met before in the novel Shadow's Witness which I reviewed recently. As with that book, this one is a Forgotten Realms novel and it begins several months after the events of that novel.

Erevis Cale is a tall bald man with a dark past. A former assassin, he has for the last decade or so been the loyal butler to the wealthy Uskevren family in the city of Selgaunt. During his time in their service, he had come to regard the lord of the family Thamalon Uskevren as a surrogate father. All that ended when Thamalon died a few months prior to the start of this book, which has Cale evaluating his life. The new lord of the family Tamlin has little need for Cale's service it seems, and Cale for his part has no love for the spoilt young lord. As he debates what to do now, he is surprised to realise that he has already decided to leave the familys home of Stormweather Towers.

On the day he is to leave, he receives a note from an old rival by the name of Drasek Riven. Riven is an ex-member of the Zhentarim, an organisation of ruthless wizards, priests and assassins bent on controlling the Realms through trade. He left the organisation not because he developed a conscience about killing, but because he got tired of the constant in-fighting. Riven is everything Cale used to be before he came to work for Thamalon. Not knowing why Riven wants to see him, but needing something to do once he leaves the Uskevren home behind, Cale meets him at a tavern.

And thus begins one of the best written books I've ever had the plesaure of reading. From that simple start, Cale and Riven are drawn into the start of plot by a villainous shadow wizard by the name of Vraggen, and his murderous and seemingly unkillable accomplices: Azriim (a half-drow with a penchant for high fashion), Dolgan (a big brute with an addiction to pain both caused and felt), Serrin (an oriental with a perpetual sneer and little to say) and Elura (a seductive woman who loves men to death). Vraggen is seeking the Fane of Shadows, a temple to the powers of night that travels between worlds and in which he believes he can become immortal.

To this end he needs a curious item Thamalon purchased a few years before as an art object, and thus wants Cale out of the way. As Vraggen is also a worshipper of Cyric the God of Chaos and a former member of the Zhentarim himself, he has a personal score to settle with Riven too. The last major character is Cale's longtime friend and sometime partner Jak Fleet, a halfling priest of Bandobaris the God of Trickery and an accomplished thief himself. Three against five would hardly be fair odds, but Cale and Riven are both servants of Mask the God of Shadows and he has plans for his First and Second.

This book also has one of the coolest characters I've ever read about, Sephris a Chosen of Oghma the God of Knowledge, who sees the world in terms of mathematical equations. To him everything is solvable if you know the correct maths. The trouble is that this "gift" from his God has rendered him a trifle mad, or at least that's how he appears to be to most people.

This book is a great start to a trilogy and I'm already well into book 2 of the saga and loving that just as much as I liked this one. Top marks for this book 5/5, and I am glad to know that after I've finished this trilogy, Mr. Kemp has another coming out starting later this year featuring many of the characters that I'm enjoying reading about now.

Radio Romance

Everyone nowadays tends to regard Tiffany as a one hit wonder, as the only song anyone seems to remember of hers is "I Think We're Alone Now". Not true though, she also had a huge hit with this number back in the late 80's. I bought her Greatest Hits CD specifically to get this tune, as I couldn't find it on mp3 at the time.

It is a very optimistic song I think, in that the singer is requesting a song on a late night radio station every night, in the hope that the man she loves (who is her best friends partner) hears it. I'd go as far as to say that it is hopelessly optimistic as this bloke would not only have to figure out that the song is intended for him, but who the anonymous requester was. I do have to admire the sentiment that while she covets the man her best friend has, the singer is unwilling to try stealing him away by letting it be known how she feels about him. A strange kind of loyalty there.

Radio Romance by Tiffany

From who?
Ahh, just say from...
From the one who loves you baby

I see you baby
Every single day
Holding on to my best friend
But you don’t see me
So I make the same request now
Every single night
Going out from me to you
On the dedication line
I wonder if you’re listening
To the words that keep me wishing
That one day I’ll be kissing you

Oh wo wo

Radio radio romance
Radio radio romance
Radio radio romance
Radio romance

My secret admiration
I won’t reveal
I wouldn’t want to hurt no one
By tellin’ how I feel
The DJ knows my voice now
He even knows my choice now
He never says my name
He just says from the one
Who loves you baby

Radio radio romance
Radio radio romance
Radio radio romance
Radio romance

One night you’ll hear a song
And then you’ll know just who it’s from

I see you baby, every single day
Holding on to my best friend
But you don’t see me
I wonder if you’re listening
To the words that keep me wishing
That one day I’ll be kissing you

Oh wo wo

Radio radio romance
Radio radio romance
Radio radio romance
Radio romance

Monday The 13th

Some people fear Friday the 13th, there's even an offical phobia name for that (Which a quick Google search revealed to be: Paraskevidekatriaphobia). Not me though. To the best of my knowledge, nothing bad has ever happened to me on a Friday 13th. Monday 13th on the other hand, that's another story.

I'm not a Mondays kind of person anyway. It has got nothing to do with the usual Monday blues that affect office workers and the like, who get to go back to work on that day. I work most weekends so I don't get that. I'm not sure why it is, but me and Mondays just don't go well together. And at no time is that more apparent than a Monday 13th, such as today. Guaranteed come rain or shine, something bad always happens to me on a Monday 13th and today was business as usual.

I woke up this morning, sat up in bed, yawned and then stretched... and damn near choked from the blinding flash of pain that shot up and down the left side of my torso. I have no idea what caused it, but the muscles in that side of my body have ached like hell all day, and every now and then spasmed slightly just to rub salt in the wound. A couple of these have had me gasping for breath. It has thankfully subsided now though as the day nears its end, and I am hopeful that when my body relaxes in sleep tonight, the muscles will sort themselves out so that tomorrow I will wake with just the memory of a day spent in pain, and not facing another actual day of such.

A look at the calendar reveals that there is but one Friday 13th this year, but 3 Monday 13ths! Thankfully, with today almost over, and one last month as well, I just have one more to "look forward" too in 2006 and that is several months away.

Runaway Train Of Thought

I've lost count now of the number of times that inspiration has struck, only to leave me as quickly as it arrived. So many times I've had an idea worth writing about (at least in my opinion), and I've opened up a Blogger window or an application of Open Office or Wordpad but invariably the notion will have fled my mind before I can commit it to type or even just scrawl it down on a piece of paper. It is a very frustrating experience to sit and stare at a blank sheet of paper or a blank section of screen, knowing that I had something, only moments before, that compelled me to open that window and yet now it is gone from my mind.

When I created this blog I included at the top of it (under the awesome picture that I named the site for), the reason why I had made it. This is exactly what I meant by my mind being a whirlwind of ideas and images that is beyond my control. This occurence happens all too often and it drives me nuts, as while I cannot recall what it was that motivated me to write, I have the blank screen or sheet of paper before me as a visual reminder that I obviously did have something to write about just moments before.

It is as though my mind torments me, with fleeting thoughts and ideas. I'd like to think that because they vanish almost as quickly as they arrive, that perhaps my subconscious has evaluated the thought and decided it was not worth writing about after all. But, while that may or may not be the case, the lingering notion of loss is both confusing and frustrating for me to deal with. I'm writing this now not because I had the idea to do so, but because this same thing has just happened again and I'm irritable enough to write and make an issue of it!

I feel a little better now for having gotten that rant out of my head. This rant was brought to you today by the letters B***** and F*** and the sound of "Arrggghhhh!!!"

Off To Bed Now

I've been downstairs in the lounge for the past few hours, watching TV. First up was a documentary from the Extended DVD edition of Fellowship of the Ring, called The Fellowship of the Cast. I've watched it before, but it is very funny in parts, touching in others and I fancied seeing it again. I especially like Dominic Monaghan's impression of John Rhys Davies ordering food at a restaurant. Priceless!

After that I watched the entire Extended Edition of The Return of the King, as it's been a while since I've done that (I normally just use scene select to watch the huge battle scenes), but I felt like losing myself in something for an evening and lacking a good woman, this was the next best thing.

Spent most of the Nectar points I've gathered over the past year earlier this evening after leaving work, during a side trek to Sainsburys. Treated myself to a couple bottles of Caribbean Twist (the Pina Colada variety) which I drunk whilst watching the movie, some ice cream (some of which has been eaten already), and a few other bits like a bottle of Daddies brown sauce (which I'd been without for months), a tin of pink salmon (or "Evil Fish" as Tony has branded it!), and a couple tins of water chestnuts to add a bit of crunch to my stir fries.

I've had a pretty good evening as a result, but I'm off to bed now as I have to be in work at 8am. Nite World!

Supremacy

I've had today off work, which is fairly rare. Short of being off work on holiday, I don't tend to get many Saturdays off. So it was nice to not have to set my alarm clock this morning, and as a result of that I slept in until about noon, having let my body decide how much sleep it needed for once. I feel pretty good as a result of that. I've passed the time by watching a couple episodes of Stargate Atlantis (my favourite show at the moment, and I have all 40 episodes of seasons 1 & 2 on my HDD, which is handy). I've also been playing a game called Star Wars: Supremacy.

It is a fairly old game, the copyright on the CD case reads 1994. The graphics are pretty decent for its time (especially the various animated cut-scenes), and the gameplay even against the AI is addictive as hell. The game can be played against a human opponent, but I've never done that. The AI has 3 difficulty settings (X-Wing, Star Destroyer and Death Star, each of wich starts your side with less and the opposition with more resources), and the game has 3 settings for the size of the galaxy you want to play in. Habitually I play in the largest setting, which gives the player/s 200 planets to battle over.

Unlike other Star Wars games where you control a fighter, or an army or a single character, in this one you literaly control the entire Empire or the entire Rebellion. Every unit of troops. squadron of star fighters, capital ship and up to 30 special characters on each side are yours to command. I prefer to play as the Empire, mainly because they have the cooler ships, but it is more of a challenge to play as the Rebels which is what I've been doing today.

It comes to something when the Empire starts the game with a few Star Destroyers and your most powerful attacking ship is the Corellian Corvette. For those wondering what that is, picture the opening scene of Star Wars Episode IV, where a little ship roars into view getting shot at by a Star Destroyer which utterly dwarfs it. That little ship is a Corellian Corvette! On the plus side, the Rebels do have the ultimate saboteur team in Han Solo & Chewbacca, and their capacity for blowing up imperial installations is very useful!

I'm doing quite well so far and I've saved the game at just past the 500 day mark. I have more worlds than the Empire does, most of them well protected by shields and planetary defence laser batteries. What I don't have really is capital ships. I have a few, and I'm building more all the time, but I just don't have any that can stand up to a Star Destroyer in a straight fight, and so my tactics are still annoyingly focused on sabotage and hit & run raids at the moment, while the Empire can easily blockade planets and blast the living hell of them from orbit, as with enough big ships in one place, shields can be shot through.

I did get one extrodinary piece of good luck early on in the game though, as the first planet I attacked and overrun happened to have all three of the Empire's special characters who can research new ship designs on it and I captured all of them! This basically limits the Empire to only the ship designs they started the game with (plus TIE Interceptors which they developed before I snared their researchers). Granted, they start the game able to build Star Destroyers and even a new Death Star (if they can afford the horrendous resource cost of building it), but I'm hopeful that I've now stopped them from being able to build Interdictor Cruisers.

These are a real pain in the ass, as they prevent escape via hyperspace, thus forcing the smaller Rebel ships into fights they cannot possibly win against the Empire's far more powerful ships. Without them, I can hit & run throughout the game. Also, my research team is hard at work designing new starships for my side and will in time (unless they get caught or killed) design a couple ships that can really turn the tide in space battles against the Star Destroyers. Until then, I'll keep a low profile and keep sabotaging shipyards so as to limit the number of capital ships the Empire can complete, while building lots of star fighters and harrassing their planets. Wish me luck!

Realms Of The Elves: A Book Review

Well seems I'm gonna be posting back to back book reviews anyway, so here goes. Realms of the Elves is a Forgotten Realms anthology, consisting of seven short stories by different authors. As might be expected from the title all of these stories feature elves to one extent or another (usually as the central character/s). The anthology is edited by Phillip Athans, who also found time to write one of the stories. The stories are as follows:

1. Traitors by Richard Lee Byers. Set in the distant past of the Realms, this story is in essence a prequel to Byer's Year of Rogue Dragon's trilogy, and it details what motivated the elves to curse the great dragons as they did. It's not that great a story though, but as a historical account it is very good indeed. I rate this one 3/5.
2. The Staff Of Valmaxian by Phillip Athans. This is pretty much a straight forward morality tale about the dangers of taking "the easy way" of doing things. It is well written though, and it nicely captures the hubris and pride of the elves at the height of their ancient civilisations. 4/5 for this one.
3. Necessary Sacrifices by Lisa Smedman. This is a wonderfully written tale on the theme of revenge, with a great twist at the end. One of the best stories in this collection and thus it gets a 4/5 rating from me.
4. The Greater Treasure by Erik Scott de Bie. A confusing tale about two elven treasure hunters looking for an ancient artifact in the city of Elversult. There they team up with another elf and clash with the cultists of a demon lord named Graz'zt. There is a twist in the tale here too, but it really makes very little sense at all, and the story doesn't really have an ending either. Still the characters are well written, and a couple scenes are really well detailed, so I'll grant this one a 2/5 rating.
5. Comrades At Odds by R.A. Salvatore. I usually hate Salvatore's writing, and I can honestly say I've not enjoyed any of the short stories he has contibuted to pat anthologies that I've read. But I really liked this one! It acts as a bridge between his recently finished Hunter's Blades trilogy, and whatever book will be following on from the events of that series. It stars his signature character, the renegade dark elf ranger Drizzt Do'Urden as he makes the disturbing realization that the orcs who swarmed down from the Spine of the World Mountains are setting up forts and roads in the wilderness, using the lull in battle that winter has brought to secure their position and establish the basic beginning of a nation. While the story is left hanging at the end, it still gets a solid 4/5 rating from me.
6. Tears So White by Ed Greenwood. Ed is the guy who created the Forgotten Realms world... and as this story proves he is by far and away the worst author writing for it. This story is utter shit, and frankly stinks of the worst kind of cliched fantasy I've ever had the misfortune to read. The plot (what little there is of it) has the powerful wizard Elminster take several of the Knights of Myth Drannor with him to a place of nothingness. There he and one of the Knights vanish leaving the other three (one of whom is an elf!) to battle unending hordes of lich's, all the while putting up with another elf who pops up, spouts some cryptic nonsense and vanishes again. As it turns out these masses of liches are being sent by a more powerful lich called Larloch (one of the most powerful villains of the Realms and a master strategist), even though they are virtually powerless in this nothingness place! I mean "what the fuck??" None of the story makes any sense at all (even to the Knights stranded in that place, as Elminster never explains to them why they are there or what is going on), and is pretty much an excuse to feature as many "big name characters" as possible in the space of 50 pages. A complete waste of space and this gets a 0/5 rating from me as a result.
7. The Bladesinger's Lesson by Richard Baker. This is a tie-in to his current The Last Mythal trilogy which strongly features the elves, and is set between books two and three of the saga. It is superbly written and to my mind the best story in the book, dealing with the themes of presumption and redemption. It also has a fantastic battle in it, as Baker is very good at detailing military tactics and his battle scenes as a result are easy to picture in the mind. Top marks for this story 5/5, and I'm now eagerly looking forward to reading the final book in the trilogy.

All in all I'm going to give the book an overall rating of 3/5 as while some stories are good (and one is excellent) the couple bad ones really drag the score down, especially Greenwood's tale, which has put me off ever buying another book written by him. True, this means that I won't be able to read all the Forgotten Realms novels as I have been attempting to do. But, it does mean that reading all the ones I'm going to read will be a lot more enjoyable without having to put myself through the torture of enduring his writing.

The Yellow Silk: A Book Review

I finished reading this book yesterday and as I'm already well into my next book, it is best I get writing this review out of the way before I end up having to write two at once! The Yellow Silk by Don Bassingthwaite is a Forgotten Realms novel, and the fourth in a quartet of stand-alone tales called The Rogues. Each book in the series focuses on one (or more) characters who rely on their wits and dexterity to get by in life.

The rogue in this case is Tychoben Arisaenn, or Tycho as most people know him. Tycho is a bard, and makes a meagre living in the port city of Spandeliyon, by singing and playing his strilling at dockside taverns, in particular The Wench's Ease. He also runs errands for various people in the town, almost all of them unsavoury. Lastly he makes a few coins on the side as a music tutor for the teenage daughter of the city watch commander. He needs this money as much to keep a roof over his head and food in his belly, as to pay for the medicinal herbs that his ageing tutor Veseene needs to suppress the effects of the palsy that is slowly killing her.

Into Tycho's fairly humdrum existence comes Li Chien Kuang, a native of the distant eastern empire of Shou Lung (think medieval China), who has crossed a continent in search of his brother Yu Mao Kuang, who had traveled west with a trading caravan three years earlier, betrayed them and joined a pirate crew. He has been sent to restore his family's honour by slaying his brother. Unfortunately for Li, he is somewhat naive to the nature of the western world and on his first night in Spandeliyon he is brutally beaten up, stripped and left for dead. And then found in a snowdrift by Tycho.

He has only survived by the power of an artifact that his father has sent with him, the Yellow Silk Of Kuang, a large piece of silk cloth, in which the weavers trapped the power of the Sun! Teaming up with Tycho, Li sets out to recover first his stolen gear and then find out what became of his brother. His sole lead is Brin, a halfling pirate turned crime boss (think Frodo Baggins with an eyepatch and a REALLY mean attitude), and one of Yu Mao's former shipmates, only it was Brin's thugs that beat him up and left him for dead!

The plot is easy to follow, and yet full of twists and turns, providing for a fun book to read, as I was never entirely sure what was going to happen next. Every character is well detailed and springs to life off the page. The fight scenes are really something to read, as Li is a monk and fights with hands and feet, leaping and twirling about, quite a refreshing change in style from the usual depiction of combat in these books.

I'm going to give this book 5/5, it is a good read, with interesting characters (and really quite a cast of them too), and it has it all, magic, murder, betrayal, pirates, martial arts, music and a lot of pigs! A shame that Mr. Bassingthwaite isn't writing for the Forgotten Realms setting anymore really. I would love to read a sequel to this one, as the ending is left open enough for there to be one.

It's Pancake Day!!

Or rather Shrove Tuesday if you want to be all Christian and give it its proper name. In times gone by, today is when the monk's would basically eat till they burst, clearing out their larders and such, as from tomorrow (Ash Wednesday) they would fast for the forty days of Lent. But I'm not religious, not even a little bit and so today is Pancake Day.

This is the first Pancake Day in a long while in which I have had pancakes to eat, as I bought a couple packs of ready made ones from work at the end of my shift today. And because I'm a nice guy (as evidenced by my always finishing last), I bought enough for the house. I also bought a bottle of syrup, Banoffee syrup to be exact. Quite nice it is too, but then I'm a sucker for Banoffee in general. I even bought a bottle of Banoffeeade once... and the less said about what that tasted like the better!

Pancakes with syrup and a mug of coffee to drink with it. Not even remotely a healthy meal by anyones standards, but as I've not had pancakes for years, I'm not going to be feeling guilty for enjoying it!

Complicated Girl

I love this song, and for some reason every time I hear it, it reminds me of an ex-girlfriend who loves The Bangles' music as much (or more) than I do. It was her who told me that the group had released a new album (Doll Revolution), which I promptly went and snapped up. I think part of the reason we never got any further than we did is because we are/were both too stubborn to give any ground to the other. The saying goes that "Hindsight is 20/20" and it is certainly true in this case. The lyrics bear little if any relation to my relationship with her, but it is still this song that reminds me of her. Weird huh?

Complicated Girl by The Bangles

Valerie is beautiful
But she seems a little bit confused
The life you offer her she says
She cannot use

You live in another world
She thinks she won't fit in at all
And oh, what about her plans for him
She bends to his will

Hey, you better listen
'Cause I'm warning you
Love is never simple
With a complicated girl

You call her on the phone
She's got the other guy on hold
You see the scene unfold
You know it very well

Stay inside your room all day
When she doesn't call you pull the shades
Never seen you act this way
The girl has hit you hard

Hey, you better listen
'Cause I'm warning you
Love is never simple
With a complicated girl

Why bother making rules you know
She will not follow
Someday she'll find a way to remedy
This lovely mess she's made of you

Hey, you better listen
'Cause I'm warning you
Love is never simple
With a complicated girl

Attention To Detail

I've been spending a quiet day indoors relaxing and enjoying a day off work. I'd much rather the day off wasn't a Sunday as I prefer to work those, but rest is good regardless. I've spent the day listening to music, watching a bit of TV (and more later on, as a new series of "Two Pints of Lager and a Packet of Crisps" starts at 10pm on BBC3 tonight), but mostly painting miniatures.

This week I picked up my paintbrushes again, and have thus far managed to finish the following:

• A pair of large Yuan-Ti Abominations (snakemen with large scimitars).
• A pair of Chaos Warriors (humans in platemail armour with swords & shields).
• An Elf Ranger with longbow.
• A Elf Priestess with twin whips.
• A Dwarf Warrior with axe, shield and crossbow, which is to represent Matt's character Jebodiah Bugman at my Friday night D&D games.

I am also working on, but have not yet finished (and in fact have barely started on some of these):

• A Lich (skeletal wizard).
• A Human Necromancer/Wearer of Purple. Intended as a villain model for my D&D game.
• 6 more Chaos Warriors including a drummer. When done I'll have a regiment of 16 of these, complete with drummer, standard bearer and leader.
  
• A Kajira (slavegirl).
• A Dwarf Wizard.
• A Dracolich (undead dragon).

I've also done more work on the massive model Tarrasque that I've been working on for ages now. Still a long way to go before that is finished, though all but one of its limbs is now assembled and stuck to the torso. Just got the last leg to fill with Plaster of Paris (so as to counteract the weight of the body and help the assembled creature to stand upright), and then trim the joint to fit the bulk of the figure, before sticking it together. I've also got to make its giant horns and attach those to either side of its head, for whch I have a quantity of modelling putty to mould them out of.

Normally I'd have spent my day off studying and revising my course, which is what I did on Friday followed by taking the second course exam which covered Copy Editing. I had been dreading this one, as Copy Editing is a lot trickier than just Proofreading alone, but it wasn't as hard as I had feared it might be, and I think I've done really well. I won't know for sure for a while yet, as I now need to mail off the papers to the publishing company to get them graded. I plan on getting them photocopied first, just so I have a record in case they get lost in the post or some such thing.

I thought the title of this post to be fitting, as paying attention to detail is going to be paramount from now on in both my hobby (figure painting) as well as the professional work I aspire to do (Freelance Proofreading).

Two Days In Yeovil

I've just returned home after the second day spent in the Morrisons store in Yeovil. Yeovil for those not in the know, is a town about 26 miles from Taunton where I live. It is mainly known as the site of Westland, a company whose factories take up a good deal of space on one side of the town, and who manufacture helicopters. In particular, military helicopters such as the EH101 and the Apache.

I was sent there along with two other employees of the store: Kath West, and Jane (I honestly cannot for the life of me remember her last name!), to learn the basics of First Aid. I had been volunteered for this duty by our stores Personnel dept, who needed someone to make up the numbers. The course started at 9am, so to be sure of getting there in plenty of time, we left the Taunton store in Kath's shaky little car at 7:30am on both days. We got there 45 mins early yesterday and today, and so got to relax in their canteen before hand. We didn't get to warm up though, as the Yeovil store canteen is bloody freezing!

The course was attended by another 8 Morrisons employees, from the Bridport and Glastonbury stores, for a total of 11 students. Our tutor was... dammit his name eludes me as well, but he did look strikingly similar to an actor by the name of Joshua Malina, which was a bit odd. The course was good, with a variety of presentation styles ranging from demonstrations on volunteers to some truly gruesome video clips and photos (the short clip of the skateboarder breaking his leg is gonna take a while to forget that's for sure!). I did find myself almost nodding off at a couple points yesterday, but that was due to the utter lack of sleep I'd gotten on Tuesday night. Thankfully Pepsi Max and willpower kept me awake!

I have enjoyed the couple days training, and I passed my evaluation at the end of it, demonstrating my skills at CPR, Bandaging and the Recovery Position. So I've got my little green badge and the green pouch with its belt to wear from Saturday when I am back in work. Still, while I have the knowledge now to help someone who has been injured, I truly hope I never actually have cause to need it.

Still Linkless

It would seem that I was a bit premature in my last post, in saying that the problem with our internet connection turning itself on and off was fixed. It isn't! The wireless router we use to link our PC's together and connect to the net through has 4 green lights on the front of it. When all four are lit up, then the connection is a-okay. But the middle two keep turning off, and thus severing our net connection. This isn't a problem with the router, we have checked and double-checked its settings (and by "we" I mean Tony).

So the problem lies with our broadband provider, and Tony is gonna have to give them another call later on to ask what the hell is going on! As for me, I'm being sent by my store to the nearby town of Yeovil today and tomorrow, to the store there, to learn First Aid. Wish me luck!

Linkless

I've not posted anything for a couple days now, because I've been unable to do so. This is due to an upgrade to the houses internet connection, courtesy of our ISP: Bulldog DSL. Last year we signed up to an improved package to what we had. What we had was a 2MB broadband connection. Not too shabby, but not good enough, as we would regularly use all of that up between 3 PC's, especially on the weekends when Tony does a lot of downloading of the latest TV episodes.

So we signed up to a combined package, which would give us an 8MB broadband connection, as well as include our telephone line rental, local and national calls, all inclusive for a slightly greater fee. This was suppossed to have been installed back in October. It wasn't! On the plus side, we weren't being charged for the new features until they were up and running. We just had to wait.

Last week, the company finally got around to upgrading our service, but not without a few hiccups. Namely the connection turning itself off all the time, in intervals ranging from 5 minutes to as little as 10 seconds! To say this was extremely annoying would be putting it mildly. Tony phoned up the company and got a job reference number and a statement that all should be well within 24 hours.

To be fair it did take them about that time, but it sure did feel longer. Nice to have the net back though, and now it is running much better than before, with ample bandwidth for all of us. I've used the time to tidy up my room a bit, and paint some miniatures, which I'd not done is quite a while. Even finished four of them. I'll have to do a bit of painting more often from now on, it certainly eats up the time!

The Rainbow Connection

I adore this song. It took me ages to find it on mp3, but that time was totally worth it. This is the song that Kermit is playing on his banjo at the sart of The Muppet Movie. Sat on a log in the swamp, he is strumming away and singing a happy tune to himself, when a Hollywood talent scout comes rowing past having heard him singing. It's probably best not to ask why quite a Hollywood talent scout is rowing a boat through the Florida Everglades really.

Kermit is intrigued at the idea that his singing could bring joy to millions, and he decides to head to Hollywood. So begins one of the great road movies, as along the way he will meet (and be joined by): Fozzie Bear, Gonzo the Great (and his girlfriend Camilla the chicken!), Miss Piggy (urgh, my least favourite Muppet), and Rolf the Dog, as well as Dr. Teeth and his crazy band The Electric Mayhem. All the way they are chased by the villainous Doc Hopper who wants Kermit to advertise his chain of Frog's Leg restaurants. I used to have this movie on VHS but I donated most of that collection (4 banana boxes worth) to the PDSA a while back. I must remember to get that movie on DVD sometime. I miss having it on my shelf.

The Rainbow Connection by Kermit The Frog

Why are there so many songs about rainbows,
And what's on the other side?
Rainbows are visions, but only illusions,
And rainbows have nothing to hide.
So we've been told and some choose to believe it
I know they're wrong, wait and see.
Someday we'll find it, the rainbow connection,
The lovers, the dreamers and me.

Who said that every wish would be heard and answered
When wished on the morning star?
Somebody thought of that, and someone believed it,
And look what it's done so far.
What's so amazing that keeps us stargazing,
And what do we think we might see?
Someday we'll find it, the rainbow connection,
The lovers, the dreamers, and me.

All of us under its spell,
We know that it's probably magic...

Have you been half asleep?
And have you heard voices?
I've heard them calling my name.
Is this the sweet sound that calls the young sailors?
The voice might be one and the same
I've heard it too many times to ignore it
It's something that I'm s'posed to be...
Someday we'll find it, the rainbow connection,
The lovers, the dreamers, and me.

Laa, da daa dee da daa daa,
La laa la la laa dee daa doo...

The Crimson Gold: A Book Review

Yep I am definately writing these more often of late... or it just seems that way cos I've not been writing that much else recently. Hmmm, anyway on with the review. The Crimson Gold by Voronica Whitney-Robinson is a Forgotten Realms novel, and the third book in a quartet of stand-alone tales titled The Rogues. This particular novel's central character is Thazienne Uskevren, the wealthy daughter of a powerful Sembian merchant family, with a larcenous streak.

Having started stealing as an infant to gain attention from her emotionally reserved father, she has gradually gotten better at it as she's grown older, tutored in part by her friend, the family butler Erevis Cale. This book is a sequel to an earlier novel (which I've not yet read), which was part of a seven book set called The Sembia Series. The same series featured the novel Shadow's Witness, which I recently reviewed, and which focuses on Cale himself.

The book starts with an entirely unneeded prologue featuring a duergar (gray dwarf) called Adnama Stoneblood, who is exploring some volcanic caves. He gets eaten by some creatures. So that was a waste of 16 pages. Next we get to meet Thazienne herself, who is a couple thousand miles from home, deep in a cave system under the Sunrise Mountains, busy stealing from some unknown race. She is stealing nuggets of crimson gold, a type of gold with a reddish glow to it, that is harder than steel. The reason why is explained later in the book, and to be honest is a crock of shit. She's stealing the gold, to replace the lump of the same stuff she took from her father years before. Only her father is dead now, which kinda defeats the point of her "quest".

The book is named for this substance, but it barely plays a role in the actual story, as she is out with her loot within one chapter. What then follows is a long drawn out journey story, wherein Thazienne (or Tazi as she is known to friends and family), is enlisted in the schemes of a Red Wizardess named Naglatha.

The Red Wizards are an organisation of evil spellcasters who utterly rule the nation of Thay, a large empire atop a plateau wherein magic rules, and slavery is widespread. In the past Thay has periodically invaded its neighbours, with mixed results. But of late, they have persued a policy of trade and peace. Naturally this doesn't sit well with many of the ruling council made up of the Zulkir's (each of which heads one of the eight schools of magic) and Tharchions (each of which controls a territory, much like a Duke rules a Duchy), but thus far none of the disgruntled have challenged the authority of the most powerful Zulkir of Necromancy, Szass Tam, who dictated the new approach.

Naglatha aims to change that, and she needs Tazi to do so. So she stages a bar brawl and gets her arrested and then enslaved. When she buys Tazi from the slave market, with her comes another duergar, Justikar Stoneblood (the brother of the dwarf devoured in the prologue). Though gruff and surly, Tazi is able to reach an accord with him wherein they will work together to serve Naglatha's interests and thus win their respective freedom from the wizardess.

None of this is that well written to be honest, the author regularly resorting to cliche's which quickly grow tiring. Also the journey to the mysterious Citadel takes FAR too long. It is 187 pages before the group (comprising Naglatha, Tazi, Justikar and Naglatha's two bodyguards Milos and Heraclos) arrive at the Citadel, and the book is only 312 pages long. This results in a long drawn out beginning and a rushed finale, which stinks of bad writing, with the very gratuitous use of name dropping. EVERY well known Red Wizard villain in the Realms is present, even if they only get a line or two of text, they are mentioned. Ohh plus a couple armies, volcanic eruptions, an apocalyptic battle, political intrigues and more. In the space of 100 pages?

The one redeeming feature of this book, is that the main villain himself Szass Tam, is very well written. Calm and commanding whilst all about him is in chaos, he is written like the natural (or unnatural when you consider that he is in fact an undead lich) leader that he is. For the sole sake of how well he is written I'm giving this book 2/5, otherwise it would get but a single point. I have read that the author of this book is no longer writing for the Forgotten Realms, and I can honestly say "Thank fuck for that!"

An Act Of Rememberance

Before going to work today, I spent a couple hours browsing my usual selection of websites that I check pretty much daily. And I read a bit of news that saddened me greatly. An actor who I admire has passed away. That actor is Andreas Katsulas, who is better known to fans of sci-fi as the Narn Ambassador G'Kar on the TV show Babylon 5. Film fans might well remember him as the one armed assassin, who framed Harrison Ford's Dr. Richard Kimble for the murder of his wife in the movie Fugitive, or perhaps the terrorist cell leader whose freedom is demanded by the plane hijackers in the Kurt Russell action movie Executive Decision.

He was a truly great character actor, especially in his role as G'Kar, being as he brought that character to life from behind a full face prosthetic. No easy task! So I've done what I always do whenever I hear of a member of the B5 cast dying. I watch what I consider to be the best episode of that actors particular character. For Richard Biggs (Dr. Stephen Franklin) it was the 2nd season episode "Confessions and Lamentations" where he has to find a cure to a 100% contagious, 100% lethal alien virus, before it annihilates an entire species. For Tim Choate (Zathras) it was the 3rd season two-parter "War Without End Parts I and II", the plot of which is way too complex to fit into a couple lines, but has to do with a time travelling space station, and the greatest theft ever undertaken.

Tonight it was back to the 2nd season, for the episode "The Coming Of Shadows", which won the prestigious Hugo Award for that years best filmed sci-fi presentation. A visit by the ageing Centauri Emperor to the Babylon 5 space station on a mission of peace, results in the outbreak of war. Watching his performances won't be quite the same again now that he is gone, but he left a legacy that I'll certainly continue to enjoy. Rest In Peace Mr. Katsulas. You will be missed.

Crunch Time

So after weeks of reading, learning, making notes and revising, it finally came down to this. Taking the exam in module eleven. I'll be honest, I was dreading doing that. I've not sat an exam since... ohh August 1997 when I had to go back to University for a weekend to do a re-sit exam. Of curse then I was sat in a large quiet exam hall, at a tiny table under the stern gaze of some professor type or other. Today I was curled up on the sofa in the lounge, feet up on the other cushion, with a mug of hot coffee. Was still quiet though, apart from a short shower that made the plastic roof of the conservatory at the back of the house rattle.

I haven't done the whole exam though. Not yet. The whole thing covers both Proofreading as well as Copy Editing. Now Proofreading I know well, that's really the easy part... well okay not easy per se, but certainly easier. Copy Editing is a lot more tricky. But the part of the exam that is purely Proofreading is done and dusted. For all my nerves about tackling the exam, when I actually sat down and got on with it, it felt really natural. I think I've done well.

I had to pause mid way through the exam to go out and get a dictionary though. I also felt in need of some fresh air. I should have bought a decent dictionary ages ago, back when I tried this course the first time really. But for whatever reason I didn't. So off to Waterstones I went and there I was confronted with a huge variety of dictionaries to choose from. Dozens of them, in all shapes and sizes... okay sizes, they are all pretty much book shaped! Should I go for a Complete Dictionary, a Concise Dictionary, a Dictionary/Theosaurus combination? The choice was a little intimidating, especially since by this time the store was closing in less than half an hour.

I settled on a Collins Essential English Dictionary, which set me back £11.99 for a nice sized hardback. While it is not as comprehensive as a Complete Dictionary would be, it is within my budget, whereas a £30+ book is not. With that in hand I made my way back to the house via the Market House pub which I haven't frequented since before Xmas. Stopped in there for a pint of lager and a pack of peanuts (dry roasted of course), before returning to the house and finishing the couple bits of the exam paper I wasn't sure on.

I need to have a good read through the Copy Editing paper before I attempt it, and the third module of the course too. Still, I am happy with my progress so far. Taking this course too quickly was what caused me to do poorly at it the first time around. A mistake I do not intend to repeat this time.

Strapped Up

Over three years ago, I slipped on the dancefloor in the Cafe Mamba nightclub and landed heavily on my left wrist. For the first (and thus far only) time in my life I broke a bone. The pain was so intense, so much a surprise to me, that I went into a mild state of shock and a far greater state of denial. Had it not been for my friends who caught up with me as I was walking home, I don't know what condition my wrist would have been in by the time it got treated.

As it was they called a taxi, and my mate Derek Adams accompanied me to the hospital and waited with me for several hours before I was seen too by a doctor. X-Rays were taken and I found out that I'd broken a couple small bones in my wrist, behind my thumb. Weirdly, the impact with the floor hadn't broken my bones, they had been snapped by my other bones crunching them, as the breaks were on the other side of my wrist to the side that hit the floor.

So I was plastered up and sent home, and told to return in a week to have a new cast fitted, as the one I was put in that night was temporary, designed to allow the break to swell and then subside again. The new cast wasn't plaster, it was fibreglass. When it was drying, the doctor twisted my wrist slightly and held it thus until the cast had turned solid and would hold the wrist in that pose for the next five weeks while it healed.

I thought the posed wrist felt wrong then, but I didn't say anything. I figured the doc knew what he was doing. After all he likely set bones dozens of times each week right?

Three years on I'm not so sure that my silence was such a good idea. My wrist healed up sure enough but not fully. I can hold my right hand out with the palm upward, with the palm flat. I cannot do that with the left one any longer. From time to time the wrist aches. For no reason at all, it will throb. As far as I know there is no cause for this. It happens no more often when it is cold than when I am in the warm. And the throbbing can last days. At times a constant tingle, at other times bad enough that I have cause to grit my teeth to bear it.

It started up again today. At times like this I am thankful that I kept the wrist support the hospital gave me to wear for a few weeks after the cast came off. Reinforced with a metal bar, and secured by four velcro straps, it can very effectively immobilise my left wrist. Typically a day or two spent with the wrist strapped up like this causes the pain to stop. I've had it on most of today, and I'll likely wear it at work tomorrow. I wonder how many will notice?

The Alabaster Staff: A Book Review

Time for another book review. Feels like I'm writing these more and more often of late, maybe I'm reading faster. The Alabaster Staff by Edward Bolme is a Forgotten Realms novel and is the first book in a quartet titled The Rogues. Each of the four books details a story featuring a central character whose main skills lie in sneakiness. As I love sneaky characters, I'll admit I am a little biased towards these books from the outset.

This book focuses on Kehrsyn, a slip of a girl on the verge of womanhood who has grown up living on the harsh streets of the cities in the nation of Unther. Unther was a nation ruled by the god Gilgeam and his tyrannical clergy. All that changed when Kehrsyn was a small girl as he was killed in battle with another god Tiamat, the five-headed queen of dragons (who you should remember if you've ever seen the old D&D cartoon). Chaos has ruled in Unther ever since, with various factions controlling each city and struggling amongst themselves to reunite the country under their sole authority. To add to the nations problems, just over a year ago the nation of Mulhorand invaded, and has conquered three quarters of the divided country in just under 18 months. All that is left of Unther is the city of Massemprar and its environs.

And it is here that Kehrsyn, like so many other refugees has fled too, the cities population has tripled from the influx, and between that and the naval blockade of the harbour by the Mulhorandi fleet, food prices have soared. Kehrsyn does her best to earn a living though, entertaining crowds in the various plaza's of the city, with sleight-of-hand tricks (such as the card and coin tricks performed by modern day magicians). Still a couple factors make her living hard, one is that few people are inclined to part with coin to pay for her perfomances when that same coin could be needed to feed them; and the second is that Kehrsyn is far too nice for her own good, and frequently gives her money away to those more needy than herself.

It is while performing in such a plaza that she attracts some unwanted atention from a recruiter for the newly formed Thieves Guild, who seeks to employ her. When Kehrsyn refuses, the agent frames her for the murder of a Zhentarim soldier (the Zhentarim being a powerful evil organisation of merchants and wizards, and one of the few groups able to get food shipments past the blockade). Wanted by the Zhent's and the city guard she has no choice but to carry out the theft that the guild want her to perform, in return for which they will remove the stain on her name.

There are several powerful organisations in the Realms, for a novel to feature a couple of them and to do them justice is one thing... this book features no less than five of them! And all written superbly. I smiled reading pretty much every page of this book, as the characters, the action, the dialogue (ohh the wonderful dialogue, in particular how the character of Massedar speaks!), all of it is well written. I've never read anything by Edward Bolme before and I know he is now writing books for the Eberron shared fiction world, which is a loss to the Realms.

This book gets a full marks from me, 5/5. Kehrsyn is one of the best written heroines that I have ever read, and I'd dearly love to read another book about her (unwanted) exploits. If you want to try a Realms novel and you don't know where to start, I can heartily advise you to give this one a read.

Turned Off

I had the late shift in work tonight. Normally on a Saturday this would entail me finishing work at about 9pm, as the store shuts at 8pm and it takes about an hour to do the closedown and such on the computers. Not tonight though, I was there until 10:30pm this time. Granted my shift had started an hour later, as I knew that I'd be staying late in advance.

The reason for this is... well actually I don't know the reason, only the cause. Tonight I spent about an hour and a half racing around the store turning off every piece of electronic equipment in the store such as: computers, servers, printers, tills, scales and these big ass terminal things called Bizerba's. Not only did I have to turn them off, I also had to unplug them from the wall.

That second part proved a bit tricker, as not only were a lot of the plugs a weird design called electrax (which twist to the side, rather than pull straight out, which took me a few tugs to figure out), but many of them are in damnably hard to reach locations. Clearly whoever wired up our store during the refit last year, thought it'd be a laugh to do so in such a manner. I guess so as to ensure that when it came to unplug the equipment, whoever was doing so would have a few choice curses to utter whilst doing so. I know I certainly did!

The guide I had to work by, said that the whole operation should take about 30 mins. I'd like to see the git who wrote that try it. Maybe in a store half the size of ours it might be possible. We have 24,500 square feet though, and that's a lot to dash around. And I still don't know why we had to unplug everything, only that it gets done once a year. Something about an electrical test or other.

Still as tiring as turning everything off and unplugging it was, my sympathies go to my colleague Ben Harvey, as tomorrow morning he has the unenviable task of plugging everything back in and turning it all back on. Rather him than me!

Like A Prayer

Now some songs I post on here I don't have that much to say about them, other than I like the tune and/or the lyrics. This song though. I could write all day about this one. I mean where would I start? I could go on and on about the songs obviously religious nature, and my hatred of all forms of organised religion. I could mention the video that created a huge fuss when this song was released, because it depicted Madonna dancing with Jesus... who was black! I could mention that when this plays at the disco, the dancefloor will always be packed, and everyone knows thw words to it.

But while I might someday write an essay or two on those topics, today is not that day. I'm just too tired right now. So yeah I like this song, the tune is a wonderful mixture of pop and gospel, and the lyrics are great. I'm not the slightest bit religious, but I don't think you have to be to like this song, and to lose yourself in its rythmn.

Like A Prayer by Madonna

God?

Life is a mystery, everyone must stand alone
I hear you call my name
And it feels like home

When you call my name it's like a little prayer
I'm down on my knees, I wanna take you there
In the midnight hour I can feel your power
Just like a prayer you know I'll take you there

I hear your voice, it's like an angel sighing
I have no choice, I hear your voice
Feels like flying
I close my eyes, Oh God I think I'm falling
Out of the sky, I close my eyes
Heaven help me

When you call my name it's like a little prayer
I'm down on my knees, I wanna take you there
In the midnight hour I can feel your power
Just like a prayer you know I'll take you there

Like a child you whisper softly to me
You're in control just like a child
Now I'm dancing
It's like a dream, no end and no beginning
You're here with me, it's like a dream
Let the choir sing

When you call my name it's like a little prayer
I'm down on my knees, I wanna take you there
In the midnight hour I can feel your power
Just like a prayer you know I'll take you there

Just like a prayer, your voice can take me there
Just like a muse to me, you are a mystery
Just like a dream, you are not what you seem
Just like a prayer, no choice your voice can take me there

Just like a prayer, I'll take you there
It's like a dream to me

Sky High: A Movie Review

I bought a DVD before leaving work today. I hadn't heard anything about the film I was buying, but I saw it on the shelf, read the back cover of the case and figured I'd give it a shot. After all if it turned out to be crap, well there are a couple of places in town that buy second-hand DVD's. The film is Sky High, which is a high school comedy/drama with a twist. The school hovers a couple miles up in the sky, and is a special learning facility for super-powered teenagers.

The idea of a superhero school is hardly new; cartoonist Aaron Williams writes & draws a comic book called PS238 for instance, which has the same central premise (though that school is deep underground). And (more famously) there is the Xavier Institute from the X-Men comics/films/cartoons. But a couple things convinced me to give this film a try:

1. The film stars Kurt Russell who is one of my favourite actors. This is the guy who did Stargate, Big Trouble In Little China and Escape from New York (among many others). Seeing him playing a superhero. Yeah that sounded cool.
2. The film also stars Bruce Campbell who never fails to be cool in any role he plays, though his most famous role is, of course, Ash from the Evil Dead movies.

The movies plot centres around young Will Stronghold, the son of the worlds two most legendary heroes Commander (Russell) and Jetstream (Kelly Preston) starting at Sky High school. There's just one small problem... Will has no super powers! He has been hiding this from his parents, who fully expect him to join them in the family business.

No such luck at school though and when he has to admit to being powerless, Will is placed in Hero Support class aka Sidekick Training, much to the dismay of his father. There is the usual high school cliches of course: the couple bullies who pick on the sidekicks, the bitchy cheerleader, the angry rebel kid, and the girl best friend with a crush on the boy next door. None of that detracts from what is a fun film. Yeah the plot is wafer thin really but I didn't care.

The film is funny and entertaining and I enjoyed it. For that it gets a 4/5 rating from me. It doesn't pretend to be anything more than light entertainment, and it is exactly that. I hope they make a sequel!

And Now For Something Bunny

I was browsing the BBC News website and I saw a link to the Newsround section (which for those of you who don't know the BBC, is a news program for children), about Herman, who may well be the world's largest rabbit. The full story is here.

I've included the picture here though, because just looking at it stuns me. That is one massive bunny! I like rabbits. I can remember the "joke" my Dad played on myself and my two siblings years back when he got us to eat rabbit. All of us were appalled when he told us what it was that we had eaten and I think it was a while before he was forgiven.

I get to see wild rabbits whenever I walk to the cinema, as the parkland either side of the River Tone, that stretches from the Town Centre to the Riverside complex where the cinema is, is home to hundreds of them. As I walk along the trackway through the park, so up ahead I'll see bunnies diving into the hedgerow, alerted by the tremors of my approaching footsteps.

I have seen a big bunny before, back when I used to be friends with a guy called Greg, who kept this big rabbit (which used to chase the local cats if they came into the back garden), and the size of that startled me. But this? This rabbit could eat Greg's rabbit whole and likely have room for seconds!

Part of me thinks "Urgh, that is some serious messing with nature", and a far larger part of me is wickedly envious of the guy holding it, cos damn that is one cool bunny!

Ulysses

It has been a while now since I last posted a poem on this blog and so I think it is about time I put another one here. This is by my favourite poet (I have a thick book of his complete works on my shelves), and it is also the first poem of his that I read. The last part of it is quoted at the end of the season 4 episode of Babylon 5 titled "The Long Night", which was where I heard it first, and I then tracked down the full version of the poem, and then his other works. Hope you like it too.

Ulysses by Alfred Lord Tennyson

It little profits that an idle king,
By this still hearth, among these barren crags,
Match'd with an aged wife, I mete and dole
Unequal laws unto a savage race,
That hoard, and sleep, and feed, and know not me.

I cannot rest from travel: I will drink
Life to the lees: all times I have enjoy'd
Greatly, have suffer'd greatly, both with those
That loved me, and alone; on shore, and when
Thro' scudding drifts the rainy Hyades
Vest the dim sea: I am become a name;
For always roaming with a hungry heart
Much have I seen and known; cities of men
And manners, climates, councils, governments,
Myself not least, but honour'd of them all;
And drunk delight of battle with my peers;
Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy.
I am part of all that I have met;
Yet all experience is an arch wherethro'
Gleams that untravell'd world, whose margin fades
For ever and for ever when I move.
How dull it is to pause, to make an end,
To rust unburnish'd, not to shine in use!
As tho' to breath were life. Life piled on life
Were all to little, and of one to me
Little remains: but every hour is saved
From that eternal silence, something more,
A bringer of new things; and vile it were
For some three suns to store and hoard myself,
And this gray spirit yearning in desire
To follow knowledge like a sinking star,
Beyond the utmost bound of human thought.

This is my son, mine own Telemachus,
To whom I leave the sceptre and the isle-
Well-loved of me, discerning to fulfil
This labour, by slow prudence to make mild
A rugged people, and thro' soft degrees
Subdue them to the useful and the good.
Most blameless is he, centred in the sphere
Of common duties, decent not to fail
In offices of tenderness, and pay
Meet adoration to my household gods,
When I am gone. He works his work, I mine.

There lies the port; the vessel puffs her sail:
There gloom the dark broad seas. My mariners,
Souls that have toil'd, and wrought, and thought with me-
That ever with a frolic welcome took
The thunder and the sunshine, and opposed
Free hearts, free foreheads- you and I are old;
Old age had yet his honour and his toil;
Death closes all: but something ere the end,
Some work of noble note, may yet be done,
Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods.
The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks:
The long day wanes: the slow moon climbs: the deep
Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends,
'Tis not too late to seek a newer world.
Push off, and sitting well in order smite
The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds
To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths
Of all the western stars, until I die.
It may be that the gulfs will wash us down:
It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles,
And see the great Achilles, whom we knew.

Tho' much is taken, much abides; and tho'
We are not now that strength which in the old days
Moved earth and heaven; that which we are, we are;
One equal-temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.