Happy New Year!

I watched 'The Return of the Goodies' last night, and it was uplifting to find myself laughing so hard at my childhood heroes. Especially the classic 'Kitten Kong' and 'Ecky Thump' episodes, the latter being responsible for a viewer actually dying laughing!

The only blight on last night's programme was the abundance of C-List talking heads that pop up to explain why something is good. I don't need some twat analysing why summat is 'a classic moment in comedy history'. Just show me and let me judge for myself, thanks very much.

I for one, think the Beeb are nuts for not repeating these shows.

Anyway, the rest of the Stone tribe are descending upon me this evening to let in the New Year. As we're such sticklers for tradition, Jill is laying on . . . Mexican food.

Eh?

Goodies

Goodies as in... yesterday I spent most of the day revising my novella 'The Reconsruction of Kasper Clark'. This was actually the first time I've read it through from beginning to end and, d'you know what? It ain't bad, though I do say it myself. Certainly a lot better than I thought, anyway. I emailed an editor who is putting together a limited edition chapbook -- called "The Butcher Shop Quartet", which is a brilliant title -- comprising of four horror novellas. I was hoping I had the luxury of getting my story critiqued by my lovely cohorts at critters.org, but Boyd (the editor) tells me that the cut-off point for submissions will be around the 10th of January. Which means relying on my own judgement and submitting it as it is. Hmm.

Goodies as in... My website is up and running and looking quite good. I say "quite good" as the logo and menu bar are very basic and could do with more thought going into them, but hey, the content is mostly there. Go take a look. www.mylefteye.net

Goodies as in... yesterday I got an email from Gary Fry, editor and publisher of "Fusing Horizons" magazine. Issue 5, due last January or thereabouts, is finally out next week. "FH" is not just a good market for writers of dark fantasy, it's a great read too. I've missed it. Especially pleasing for me is that two of my micro fictions will feature in this issue: Models and Tasty. Go here http://www.grayfriarpress.com/fusing/index.html and consider buying a copy. If you're into horror and dark fantasy, you won't be disappointed.

Goodies as in... Tonight, the BBC are having a "Goodies" night. People of a certain age will remember the trio of Tim Brooke-Taylor, Bill Oddie and Grahame Gardener will fondness. Complete anarchy and bloody hilarious. A sort of Monty Python, with storlines, more actual jokes and bigger props. I just hope it lives up to expactations. Always disappointing to watch a favourite from yesteryear and think: "What did I see in this? It's crap!"

Where's the snow?

All over Blighty it is snowing, apparently, except here in Stoke-on-Trent. We get a few wisps now and again, but that's all. Bah!

I like snow. Not so much for the snowperson-builiding potential, or the prospect of snowballing or sledging, or even the photogenic vistas. No, I like the snow cos it means I can go outdoors at night and not walk into things. Everywhere is white and bright. Early morning trudges to work are relatively stress free after a good fall of snow. Everyone else is chuntering when I get there as they've just spent half an hour digging their cars free, but I don't care. "Get out and walk you lazy bastards," I say, and they all laugh, kicking me to keep warm.

The snow is my friend.

Back to the writing

Having survived the single-minded attempt to induce a chocolate fuelled diabetic coma, I am back at the computer and writing again.

First off is a quick revision of 'MirrororriM'. This was very well received by my fellow writers in Critters, and I have hopes it will sell one day. It's a comic fantasy piece. Somthing I've had some success with in the past, although markets for humour crop up only rarely.

I have already dumped my next story in the queue at Critters: this is a massive thing called 'The Reconstruction of Kasper Clark'. 13500 words. An absolute bastard to write. I will have to go over it again to make a few changes before it reaches the top of the queue. A lengthy percolation (it's taken a year to complete this first draft) has made me feel very insecure about Kasper Clark. I've grown to mistrust my judgement regarding this individual.

Finally, I've commenced a complete rewrite of an old story called 'Scrodinger's Bug'. I wrote the original way back in Summer 2004, but never really felt that happy with it. But recently I envisaged it in a space colony setting -- rather than a straight horror tale set in suburbia -- and the picture in my head looked a lot more enticing. Alien parasites replacing the Earthbound insects of the original draft.

Poison.

Had a pleasant Christmas Day, all told. Heather was certainly overwhelmed by it all, so that was as it should be. I ate whole turkey or two, as dictated by tradition, and drank a glass or three of Bailey's, Sheridan's, and a couple of shandies (wimp!). But more than anything, I ate chocolate. Mint, orange and caramel, bars of it. White, dark or milk, I shovelled it all in. Bliss!

But I really feel quite strange this morning and I'm sure it's the chocolate. Is there such a thing as chocolate poisoning? I really do feel a mite queer. Dizzy and . . . kinda drunk. Still nibbling the stuff today, but now it's purely in the interests of science and not for pleasure.

Blic!

Santa Claus is God. Probably.

Having a four-year-old is great. Especially at this time of year.

Heather has been amusing me and Jill with her constant evaluation of the forthcoming festivities. She wanted to know how Santa got in.

'Down the chimney, of course,' I said.

'But we haven't got a chimney.'

Very observant. 'He comes through the door, then.'

'Have you give him a key?'

'Hm, no. Not yet.'

She was so worried I've had to hang an ornamental key on the door to put her mind at rest.

She is also leaving out two glasses of Bailey's and a couple of mince pies, for Mr & Mrs Claus, as well a carrot and a bowl of water for Rudolph. I persuaded her that Mrs Claus would be coming as I wanted two glasses of Bailey's and two pies. Jill pointed out that I can help myself to a drink at any time, I don't need to warp our daughter's beliefs. Which is true, I suppose. What can I say? I'm getting caught up in all these lies we tell our kids.

Like this whopper: Santa is everywhere, like Jesus or God. So behave yourself, because if you're naughty, he'll see you and uou won't get any presents!

Every now and again, Heather looks upwards and shouts something along the lines of:: 'Santa, I've changed my mind, I want a Bratz hair braider, not a Barbie one!'

Merry Christmas, everybody.

'Raising Archie' sold

For the third time in three weeks, I'm thrilled to report a story sale. This time it's 'Raising Archie' to Electric Spec. It will feature on their website when it launches at the end of January.

'Raising Archie' went down really well when I ran it by my fellow writers in the Critters workshop, so I've been fairly optimistic about selling it. It's about a guy named Dave who buys a mysterious egg on eBay. It breaks open one night to reveal a stone gargoyle, which (naturally enough) thinks he's Mummy. The problem lies not with the gargoyle, but with Dave's best mate, the straight-laced Jim, who is determined to prove that Archie the gargoyle is a hoax.

My bullshit meter is tingling.

Spoke to a Human Resources officer at work. The government, mindful of redundant pottery workers like myself forming a human scrapheap, are pumping money into retraining. All well and good. And I was paying attention up to the point he started talking about interview techniques:

"So, let's say, you're going for a job at Tescos. Go on the Net and find out as much as you can about the company first. How many outlets they have, where they're opening new stores and suchlike. Then, on the day of the interview, get there an hour early and have a wander round. Talk to a few members of staff, visit the cafe. Get a feel for the layout.

"Do all this so that during the actual interview, when the interviewer asks why you want to work there, you can reply that the company made X billions of pounds profit last year and you want to be a part of that drive; that they have recently opened another store in Basingstoke which is dead impressive; that you love way the the delicatessen is organised and that even the coffee in the cafe is just right!"

The Human Resources officer leaned back, beaming.

Oh God, I thought. If I need to spout bullshit of that calibre just to get a job stacking shelves in Tescos, I may as well give up now. Ask me what I'm doing there and I'll tell em I want some money. "I won't nick stuff, promise. And look, I'm tall enough to reach the top shelves without a ladder. Gizzer job!"

'Tastes Like Chicken'

Happy to report another story sale, and so soon after finding a home for 'Sheep', too.

The story sold is 'Tastes Like Chicken', which will be published early next year in Space Squid magazine. The pay ain't much at $5. But the story is only a hundred words long. So hey, that's 5 cents a word. Semi-pro rates. Damn, I've arrived!

Pending redundancy

I got hauled into the office again at work today. Last time I was in there, it was to be told that I would be made redundant in January 06. Today, they just wanted to let me know that I was definitely going to be made redundant in January 06. Oh, right. I hadn't been aware of any doubt. Still, thanks for clearing that up. With typical working class deference, I said 'Thank you' on my way out. At least I didn't tug my forelock.

My new home

Not that there was anything wrong with the AOL blogpage, but this place looks like it has a lot more potential for personal customisation. See, my partner-in-crime on the BADASS HORROR project, the infamous Chris J. Hall, is building me a virtual edifice at www.mylefteye.net (that is, if he can go five minutes without stuffing food into his face), and this blog will then be customised to look a part of that.

Badass cover

Here it is. Probably the finished cover for the forthcoming anthology. Chris has asked me to write some cover blurb for the back cover. So far I've got 'Mad, bad and dangerous to know'

Legally blind

Went to se the eye specialist today, a preoccupired Geordie who muttered to himself all the while. Good job Jill went in with me, I hardly caught a word he said. Anyway, he examined me and declared me 'legally blind'. This, apparently, is not the same as medically blind (or how would I be reading this?), but it does mean I'm eligible for some benefits and/or assistance. Something of a relief with redundancy coming up in the New Year. While I was there he lasered my right eye to burn away dome cloudiness developing in the lens sac. Too soon to tell if it's made any difference as my vision is so blurred from the eye drops they put in. Hardly use my right eye anyway.

Christmas Concert

Knocked off work a couple of hours early today so I could witness the spectacle that was the School Christmas Concert. Heather was a snowflake, and had to say the line "Whoops-a-Daisy would not let the snowflakes melt, and always took them back to Heaven!!!" Note the three exclamation marks. Heather boomed. A star in the making.

What story the children were presenting I have absolutely no idea. I've played back the video I took, twice, and still it eludes me. Something about a king getting a gift, snowflakes melting and an angel called Whoops-a-Daisy. Joseph and Mary sat in silence holding a plastic Jesus while some shepherds fidgeted in the wings. It was all very Peter Greenaway.

'Sheep' penned

I sold another story this weekend: my psychological tale of lycanthropes and misfits, called 'Sheep', to dredtales.com. A fair few puns spring to mind, like penning stories, or the shear delight at finding a home for it . . . but thankfully decorum prevails.

Badass Horror closed to submissions

At long last, the Badass Horror antho I'm co-editing with Chris Hall is closed to submissions. The publisher is quite happy to go with the stories we have, although I still feel a couple more would help balance the content. As he's paying the bills though, he calls the shots. I don't know when the book will be a reality, as Chris has got to sort out all the formatting, a task I'm only too happy to leave to him. Maybe Feb/Mar next year is possible.

No more Badass. Aah, the relief.

DNA

This year, what with having an mp3 player and all, I've been listening to audio books from the library. Helps to while away those working hours, y'know. Hands busy, brain in freefall. Anyway, as an advanced Xmas pressie off my brother, I've treated myself to a boxset of the original BBC 'Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy' radio plays. I've read all of Douglas Noel Adams's books, the radio scripts, watched the TV shows, even read Neil Gaiman's 'Don't Panic' and MJ Simpson's biography. I'm a fan. But, I've never actually heard the original radio plays that spawned the whole shebang.

They're brilliant fun! Well, the first 3 discs are anyway. That's all I've heard so far.

The thing that's really struck me is, I know from Neil Gaiman's 'Don't Panic' that these were written with a tight deadline, with DNA not really knowing what he was going to do from one week to the next. And yet the sheer abundance of comic sf ideas he throws out, he could have written a hundred short stories. I don't admit confessing, I listened to the first three discs (series one) in awe. I've heard people say that DNA was just lucky, that he managed to wrap up Monty Python humour in shiny SF clothing and pass it off as something new. To which I say a hearty Bollocks! I mean, all those segues from the HHGG (played wonderfully straight by Peter Jones) sound as fresh now as they must have done nearly thirty years ago. I cannot think of a single writer of comic SF who has come close to the HHGG.

DNA dried up in later years, suffering writer's block, famously watching deadlines go past with a whooshing noise . . . You'd never guess it hearing those first radio plays. S'quite sad, really..

Building societies can be nice

I spoke to my financial advisor yesterday (yes, I have a financial advisor - a pukka independent one too) about the disappointment over my new mortgage rates, and he said give em a ring. But, I said, if they've told me that the rate is 6.5% then surely that's what they are offering? Not necessarily, he said. Ring em and tell em it's not good enough. So I did ring em, and they offered me 5%, just like that. Did I want a tracker mortgage, fixed rate, over 2, 3, 5 or 10 years....? They couldn't have been more helpful. They were brilliant. So why didn't they outline these products to me, rather than automatically choosing a shit one on my behalf?

Don't these people ever do anything in the customer's best interests anymore?

Probably not. I remember the aggro of changing my mortgage over to a the current lender a couple of years ago. I got a letter from the previous lender informing me that as I was curtailing my mortgage with them before it was due to finish on the 6th of November, I would have to pay a fee of £800. WHAT?! But I'd told the new lender not to start things until the old one had ran out. I got the number and phoned the solicitor taking care of the transaction on behalf of the new lender, and he said "So you want me to hold fire until the 6th of November?" He was fully aware of the termination date, and that I'd have to pay a penalty, but he had still gone ahead and started the new mortgage on the 2nd of November. For the sake of waiting four days, he nearly landed with a bill for £800. And all the parties concerned knew this! No one said "Hang about, this is mental! I'm sure the client doesn't want to pay £800 when in another 4 days he can move for free." They just couldn't be arsed to act in my best interests.

And they wonder why no one trusts em anymore.

Oh God. I've turned into a Grumpy Old Man.

Tonsil & eye updates and mortgage blues

Jill's having a rough time with her throat. It's nearly a week since the op to remove her tonsils and she seems to be in more pain with each passing day. Her throat has bled a little this last two days, but this is normal apparently. Just the scabs coming away. Yuck! What's also normal according to the literature they sent her home with is bad breath. Jeeez, it is stomach-churningly awful!

The staff at the eye clinic were true to their word, and I now have an appointment to see a specialist next week. This is good news, so I just knew summat bad would have to come along (I'm becoming a regular pessimist aren't I?).

Hey, what's this? A letter from the building society who, with less than a month to go on my contract with them, have decided to tell me that when the new year kicks in, the rate they gave me two years ago will cease to be effective and my monthly mortgage repayments will hop up a few brown and blue notes. Don't worry, they say, they'll take care of the direct debits, I don't need to do a thing. Great! Thanks a bunch. I am free to look elsewhere, of course, but get another lender sorted out in three weeks?! Well, maybe I could have done, but there's now the small factoid that I'd be damn lucky to get anyone to give me a mortgage now the redundancy is a certainly come January 2006. Damn and bugger. They could've given me a little more notice than this, I'm sure.

The same as it's ever been, but peculiar

After a weekend spent trying not to think about the looming, post-Xmas redundancy, I had to go to work. Which felt really strange. Nothing had changed, of course, apart from me. I had to keep telling myself that if I work out my 90 day notice, I have yet another 4 months left at Tams.

Some good news: Jill phoned the eye clinic and stressed my need to see a specialist, sooner rather than later, and they said they'll pull my records out and see if they can kinda steer me to the head of the queue.

Finished the Jasper Fforde novel 'The Big Over Easy' today. I had a few reservations about this book to begin with, as it was billed as more of a crime novel than the wonderful Thursday Next series. I needn't have worried. Marvellous stuff. Mr Fforde, you're a genius.

Deal with it

Yesterday I downloaded and played a Half-Life 2 mod called -- with no imagination at all -- 'Leon's Maps'. Then I bumbled around with an old story, seeing if I could get it to work. Then I read a submission to the BADASS anthology, making a few changes as I went along in case Chris Hall decides to accept it. So what I did yesterday, in short, is turn my back on all my woes. Eye problems and redundancy . . . sod 'em for now.

Next week however, Jill is going to phone our GP to make an appointment: I need a referral to see another eye specialist at Hartshill Outpatients. I really need to get in the queue for laser treatment or I will be the same situation I was this time last year - seriously hindered by cloudy vision on top of the ususal shitty effects of retinitis pigmentosa.

Jill will also ring the ENT department at the Outpatients to make an appointment for me to be fitted up with a new ear mould for my hearing aid.

A union man is coming on to the factory to advise me on my rights re. the pending redundancy and the possibility of retraining. Then, I suppose, I need to get myself down the Jobcentre to look into the whole situation of re-employment and/or benefits. I know I'm entitled to some assistance, but the thought of asking for it . . . well, it makes me unhappy.

So, more Half-Life 2 it is then!

Havin' me stuffin' knocked out

A lot's gone on today. I'll kinda just list things cos I reckon I'll be coming back to these topics again and again.

Jill came out of hospital, sore and tired, but in better fettle than expected, so that was good. S'bout the only good thing that's happened today, though.

I dropped my hearing aid at work and shattered the ear mould, the part that goes in my ear.

I was able to confirm for myself that the difficulty with reading I've been experiencing lately is due to a cloudiness developing on my new lenses. That will need laser treatment to correct.

I was told that on 6 January next year I will be made redundant. Expected, maybe, but still a massive blow. 22 years, and I'm to be turfed out.

I have been waiting for an appointment with my eye specialist since April. It should have come round in September, then November . . .I phoned up today to see exactly what the delay is: he's left. I have to start all over again now, going through my GP for a referral.

As I said at the beginning, I'll enlarge on these occurrences, just not right now.

Jill's tonsils are out

Just back from the hospital where a dozy looking Jill was tucked up in bed, whispering and wincing in equal measure. She was wheeled into surgery about 2 o'clock this afternoon and came round about 5 ish sans tonsils. With luck, she will be home tomorrow morning. Mum is stopping over tonight so I can get off to work in the morning and not worry about Heather going to school. Times like this make you realise just how wonderful and important family is.

Unrelated to the above, but worth noting is today was the day the company director met the union to discuss the reduncies he wishes to make on the factory. With perfect timing, his new company car arrived, a rather swish new Mercedes to replace his five-year-old Alfa Romeo. Can't help feeling that someone is taking the piss.

Tonsils to go.

Jill goes into hospital tomorrow to get her tonsils removed. A tonsilectomy is one of those ops which in the young is -- snick! -- all over and done with in a few minutes. The older you are though the more complex the op becomes. Jill has had several bouts of tonsilitis and each bout (so the specialist told her) leaves scar tissue behind, which must also be removed along with the offending glands. Coupled with this is the fact that Jill's tonsils are HUGE. They're like bloody golf balls at the back of her throat. That dangly bit that nobody know the name of actually sits on her tonsils. It'll take more than a swift snick to remove them. She is, quite understandably, bricking it.