A Plea to Deaf Ears

As I sit here listening to some b-sides from the last few singles, I really wish that Idlewild would re-release their current album acoustically, as the tracks work so much better. The version of El Capitan is sublime, whilst Love Steals Us From Lonliness, with its mournful cello, is simply haunting. If they're not going to, and in an age when albums are re-released all the time I think it'd be a missed opportunity, then if anyone knows where I can get a bootleg of their acoustic tour earlier this year, I'd be very grateful.

The Emancipating Capabilities of Technology?

Can I just start by saying, and I don't get the opportunity to say this that often, well done to my beloved Exeter City, you've made me proud. I'm wearing my shirt with great hope today, hope for the rest of the season and that we may go one way whilst those other idiots go down. No offence to the Conference, the matches I've seen have been better than a number of the old Third Division matches I saw us play, but it'd be nice to be 'Exeter City of the Football League' once more. Anyways, to come back from 1-0 down away from home, against a fancied side, and win is a great show of character. Let's hope it continues for tommorow against that bastion of footballing excellence that is Forest Green Rovers.

That aside, its been a tirsome weekend: 21 hours worked over three days, coupled with a disastrous encounter with modern technology have left me rather worn out. And to think it could've all been so much better! I'm happy to report that in the last year I've gotten over my technology issues, mainly due to my good friend, and pirate, Christopher Rodway who has shown me just how irrational my fears actually were. However, it's noticable that this encounter happened whilst he was away. The occurance was due to my need for a new printer; technology has progressed over time and subsequently my old one doesn't speak to the now-downsized Cyber Tomb. So gleefully I marched to PC World, spending a good amount of time weighing up a) what suits my needs, b) what I can get some money off and c) what looked a little sexy. I finally settled on a little gizmo that not only prints, but scans and photocopys as well! Fear not though dear reader, an encounter with my arse it will not be getting, no matter how drunk I get. I mean try explaining that to Customer Support. However, after looking like a right prat at the checkout, by managing to pick up the only box not corresponding to what I was looking for in a pile of what I was, I eventually got home and began to set up said device. However, it doesn't work. Not even after the fourth attempt of setting it up. Instead it's sat here, at my feet, smirking worse than Micheal Howard in last year's General Election campaign. What makes it worse is that a) sodding Hewlett Packard don't provide any form of support number, aside from a website that tells you exactly what the set-up brochure does, and b) I spent a good ten minutes on the phone to PC World, doing everything I've previously done once more, only to be told 'Nah mate, I think you've got a faulty piece of hardware'. Well done sir. Keep it up and the people at Nobel will be on to you with an award. It's no wonder people get so agitated...

Anyways, 'How was Friday night?', I hear you enquire, dear reader! Well, the pizza was good, the Dalek was even better, and the wine was cheap. I, however, was rubbish: after Who had finished, I was asleep within five minutes, only to be awoken about an hour and a half later by the dulcit sounds of MTV. I didn't even get as far as the Ghost Light DVD. Oh yeah, and you'll never guess which song said channel was playing when I awoke... Yes, it was Mariah sodding Carey's We Belong Together. If this happens once more, I'm taking a restraining order out against the bloody song.

Speed of Time

Ugh, Devon seems a long time ago, even though it really was only a matter of days. The trip itself was great: there was laughter, there was strangeness, there were reunions, there was some picking at old scars, there was Exeter City sitting comfortably at the top of the Conference with Torquay bottom of their league, there were conversations with random strangers, there was a worryingly large amount of dancing and there was the strange realisation that some things/people/events are bigger than you, and can affect you in ways that make you very nervous. Eitherways it seems like, well, an experience a million miles away...

I look forward to tomorrow evening, when I can collapse with a pizza, a bottle of wine and the BBC3 repeat of Dalek. That'll keep me going during another ten hour shift. After that I'll probably fall asleep seen as though I find it hard to stay awake after 10pm, and asleep after the witching hour. Maybe its all those Demons I've been watching recently. That's definately become one of my fave words at present: Demons. Its even replaced 'Hellbeasts' as the preferred way of descrbing all things nasty. It just implies so much: from psychological states to tacky Dario Argento films, via Super Furry Animals songs, in one fowl swoop. Hurray for Demons!

Told my employer I'm leavin today. It was like Hiroshima in a call centre.

Cyber Control's songs of the moment:

Editors - Blood
Simple Minds - All the Things She Said
The Strokes - What Ever Happened?
Coldplay - Fix You
Beck - Girl

Plans and Schemes

As I sit here about to write the (probably, unless something amazing, or tragic, happens) last post before I return back to Devon to revel in the glory of my home town, I'm truly stuck for ideas. There's so much I could talk about, and yet, at a personal level, there seems so little. No one really wants to hear me slag off my job anymore. What's more in that respect, I've only got about four weeks before I leave and so feel a bit stupid moaning about something that's coming to an end. The main problem with that situation is, as with relationships, I seem to feel that if things are dying, why stay around to drag them out? Why not save the face of both parties involved and end it there and then? I suppose they really are two different things, but that's just a thought. On a different note related to work, why do you always spend the day with really appauling songs stuck in your head? I mean, there are perfectly good current offerings from Bloc Party and The Rakes that I could easily spend the day humming, but instead I seem to be left with two absolute hams. One is Mariah Carey's We Belong Together, which is played blanketly across all music channels after 11pm at nite, the other being some abortion of a track featuring the line "Don't you wish your girlfriend was hot like me?" Well, judging by your video dear, no. I don't. You're not exactly Scarlett Johanson yourself. What I'd give to spend the day with a bit of Phil to hum along to. Maybe Follow You, Follow Me or Turn it On Again. Magic.

So what have I really been up to recently? Well, a little bit of soul-searching in respect to the usual Big Themes I like to muse on. However, I have also got back into writing some music over the past couple of weeks. Something I haven't done since the failed project Krycek disbanded about this time last year. Ah, Simon, we could have done so much. Well, at least been something other than another Nirvana tribute act in the Devon music scene. We'd have been a Radiohead one instead! Anyways, I've so far developed two tracks pretty well, calling them For Your Amusement... and Scarlet respectively. If I had to describe them, I couldn't because I'm crap like that. Imagine if Brian Molko and Billy Corgan watched some Who and then wrote some lyrics, whilst Idlewild, Suede, REM and Radiohead jammed in the background, throwing in some heavy-riffing at certain points as well. Think that's the My Chemical Romance influence coming through. In short, it's intense, and epic, but you wouldn't expect anything else from me, would you dear reader?

It's funny I should end up writing about stuff I've been writing, because looking back over the years, the amount of ideas, plans and projects I've conceptualised, but never seen through, is quite outstanding. For example, there was the Don't Waste Cake campaign of 1999, that saught to do away with wasted cake in bakeries. Then, more recently there was The International Language of Doing Nothing Well, which was supposed to be a way for all people, like myself, who felt a bit worthless to communicate with. This soon evolved into another small idea for the apathetic, titled The International Language of Doing Nothing, Well. Isn't it great what you can do with a comma here and there. Completely changes the focus of a sentence, and hence the scheme, doesn't it? It truly is wonderful the differences in meaning you can portray by just altering one word in a sentence. There was an exhibit about this at Tate Modern recently. Unfortunately, I didn't get to go but I bet it was ace.

I'd just like to think that some of current projects, or ideas, don't go the same way that Krycek, and all of the above, did and end up in the bin. It'd be nice if either my drama series (I'll Hate you Next September), my music (The Infinity Loop), or one of my Who stories ended up out there. I think the problem is, I get in the habit of thinking that what I'm doing is both pointless and crap, and so just leave it to rot away. I don't quite know how to get over these constantly creeping doubts. If anyone has any suggestions, I'd be more than grateful. I'm bursting with so much creativity that it needs to find some form of outlet!

Fuck Dance, Let's Art

Taking Back Sunday

A strange realisation has come over me the last few days, well, since last Sunday if we're looking to be precise. However, it occurred to me on the said day exactly how much I miss not having Sunday to myself. Now, I never used to do anything of great consequence with them anyways. In fact, when I was back in glorious Devon, I was quite often working, but that was only for a few hours. Yet whilst at Uni, Sunday really came into its own. Sunday was always an excuse for an early start, a lot of reading, the possiblity of a football match in the afternoon, and then the Union pub quiz in the evening. In short, they were a day for relaxing and doing stuff you enjoyed. Jesus, you can tell how much of geek I am, I actually enjoyed studying at Uni. Then again, I always stand by the statement you should study what you enjoy rather than what you're good at.

Anyways, my point is this: Sunday's are for doing things, even if that involves doing very little! At least your doing something! If you're simply watching Dawson's Creek, you're still doing something as you're endulging in the act of viewing. Sunday is not a day for being sworn at by members of the public. Sunday is not the day for trying to decode what the hell people in Leeds are trying to say. Sunday is not the day to be working a ten hour shift. Now, I'm in no way suggesting some regression back to biblical times, when people had to attend some organization for fear of being burnt alive, or having one of their children sodomised by a local 'dignitory'. Surely we went through the Enlightenment for something, after all? No. I'm suggesting that for one day a week, contemporary culture just finds an 'off' switch. Surely we can go one day without words such as 'Customer Service', or 'Mobile Phone', or both, needing to be uttered? Surely we all deserve one day where everyone just goes "Sod it. I'm going to read a book" or something?

So this Sunday, when I'm indulging in the unsavoury occasions outlined above, I know a big part of me will be yearning for (less than comfortable) wooden bench, with good friends, a drink or two, dogs running in the park and a sudoku that I won't even look at for the simple reason that I always mess them up. I'll long for a crappy tabloid, where you can colour in the letters of headlines to make new ones that seem more interesting, whilst listening to acoustic-rock music and smiling nervously at waitresses who may or may not be looking in your direction.

Come on people, join me. Lets turn the world off for a day. It moves quick enough as it is! So before this idea itself becomes redundant, why not act? I'll see you in Terra Nova, where the toilets are badly labelled and the cocktails are embarassingly named. Make mine a peroni...

Downside on the Up

I feel slightly apprehensive in writing this post, especially in light of the previous one, as it's necessary to gauge the right tone. After the downward focus of my previous musings, it would be wrong for me to turn around and pretend that that was just a blip: me having a bit of a 'bad day' if you will. The truth is I'm probably not OK, not feeling all that together, but that certainly doesn't mean I'll be doing anything stupid. I apologise if I gave that impression. So whilst I currently find myself in a dark place, it's worth noting that there is always light in dark places, even if it's the mearest flicker. Thus, without getting all Bono/Amnesty International, it's always necessary to keep a sense of hope. The only problem I have is that whilst I have hope, it's usually outweighed by pessimism on a ratio of about 1:3 against.

What do I accredit this to? Well, I can't help but thinking that part of it comes from the music I listen to, and the outlook I've developed from that since a young age. You see, I've always been a follower of the indie/ rock scene, and always especially been a fan of the epic, string-drencehed, mournful ballad of which The Verve used to be such fine purveyours. Furthermore though, I've always truly valued songs, and artists, that are genuine, or honest if you like. One of the reasons I hold R.E.M. in such high esteem is you can always tell the genuine emotion behind both Michael's lyrics and delivery, and the fact that the music adds to the sense of melancholy inherent in them. It's the same with the music of Neil Finn and Crowded House, you can tell the honesty of the emotion in the songs being played. However, the main problem I've always had with the music scene I so adore is the drunken, sing-along crowd who, in my (perhaps rather shallow?) opinion, appear to have little connection to the sentiments being portrayed. I mean come on! How can a townie possibly relate to something like Losing my Religion, Falls to Climb or Snow Patrol's Run? As a result, I always try to understand where these songs 'come' from, and attempt to relate to that either via hyperthetical situations or real-life experiences. I suppose at the end of the day, I truly value honesty, and things that are genuine, and so want myself to be reflected in the music, and art, I consume. Perhaps this is the part of me that needs to regenrate? But in doing so, how can I possibly keep a hold of the things that I so value? Or perhaps I just need to stop wearing 'being a fan' on my sleeve so much?

Sorry, this has gone all 'Me Me Me' again, hasn't it? I do apologise, dear reader. Thank you for returning to this humble page and sticking with it. I also apolgise that the updates haven't been that often recently. The truth is I've been downsizing: moving out of Cyber Control to the smaller, yet more portable, Cyber Tombs of Telos. In short, I've bought a laptop and am in the process of transferring files across. This then explains why the Brighton photos are yet to be uploaded; the necessary programme is still on the old computer, you see! Fear not though, once things have fully changed over, I'll be sexing this place up better than a US Presidential Intellegence document. You see, it's not acid, it's a wicked sense of humour!

I watched a terrible film at the weekend: Van Wilder. I don't know why I watched it, I think it was the only thing on television at the time, and the lure of Tara Reid was also helpful. I think she's something of a modern day Jenny Agutter: a guarantee of an opportunity for a male to admire the female form, therefore momentarily filling the holes in his own life. Anyways, the film was crap. Sure, they made Ms. Reid's 'boyfriend' utterly dispicable, but the other guy was just as bigger loser as well! He was your typical 'Hey, I'm an easy going, slacker-type who just gets drunk and makes silly quips all the time' character. I mean, come on! What's wrong with a bit of depth to these characters? Rather than the usual 'Boy meets Girl' scenario, why not add in a few emotional scars to pick at? Or maybe some death? Or maybe something off-the-wall, such as the occult, ghosts or doppelgangers? You see, that's what makes Donnie Darko.

Finally, there's much in the world of Who that needs addressing at present but, unfortunately, now is not the time. What with new episode titles announced, new cast members and, most importantly, new press photos showing David Tennant wearng what appears to be one of my suit jackets! However, this week could be rather hectic, what with work and social engagements over the weekend, so these will have to wait a little. In the words of a sadly-forgotten classic from the Britpop era, this weekend "we'll go out tonight and breathe, a little deeper", and in such instances there's always hope; hope for the opportunity to laugh, to forget, and maybe to meet someone special. However, there's still always the doubt that comes with this, and you know how big that can be.

Damaged Goods

It has come to my attention over the last week or so that I am not quite myself, with this being brought to a head this evening when one of my housemates expressed that they thought I've been this way for a long time. Truth is, I'd sensed it myself as well: only yesterday I was chatting with a good friend I hadn't seen for a long time and it felt as though, well, I didn't have anything to say. I feel as though people have stories to tell, conversations to indulge in, concerning all manor of things, whereas I seem to be unable to be drawn into these situations. The responses I make are really dull, but conversly when I try to make a conversation its always about something really dull. In short, it seems lately as though if I can't make some strange quip in relation to a film, tv show or band, then I can't hold a conversation at all. Thus, if it's not the Daleks then I'm not good. Otherwise, if people are talking about something serious (i.e. politics), I seem to have a nasty knack of saying something completely abstract that subsequently destroys the conversation.

What worries me the most is that one day I'm gonna turn around and realise that, contray to the old adage that "No man is an island", I've done a bloody good job in becoming one. I'll be the guy who lives on his own and gets the occasional visitor from x and their partner, who politely inform you about the wonderful time(s) they're having, and when asked the question of "So what have you been up to?", I'll just reply with, "Oh you know. This and that", which actually means nothing because I'm so isolated the only company I have is four walls and myself.

More alarming to me is the way that I can't seem to be able to strike up a conversation with anyone. If people come up to me and start talking then I'm fine. Overtly pleasent, I suspect. But for me to go and talk to someone? Woah, that's another cup of tea! I just don't know what to say to people. With blokes, I know you're gonna get some quippy put-down as a reply and I'm not quick witted enough to think of anything suitable as a retort. Couple in the fact that my sense of humour doesn't revolve around being mysoginistic and talking about sex, and we hit upon part of the problem. Whereas with women? Don't even go there. You see, I've come to the realistaion that, after many years of attempting to enter in the dating game, I'm really not attractive to the opposite sex. Granted, I mean, who really wants to date a weedy Whovian with mild obssesive-compulsive disorder? This then hits upon other problems I have if, and only if, I meet someone I like: I come across as rather intense. This is due to the fact that I rationalise things far too much and if I meet someone I like, I don't see the point in all this Dancing around the Houses. I just tend to think that life is short enough, and the moments that people share can be rather brief, so what's the point in wasting these moments? Now, this could be a direct result of the problems I've had with dating in the past, namely that every girl I seem to be interested in goes off with someone else. Hence, another reason why I think I'm dull. Moreover, if, and again if, I do manage to talk to someone I can come across as rather smug and cheesy. This is because I don't know what to say to keep conversations going.

Consequently, we move on to another reason why I'm feeling pretty low at the moment: all I seem to think about is myself. I've lost contact with so many people, probably due to being miserable, and spent so much time with myself as of late that the only person I really think about is me. Now by admission, I'm not a great fan of my own company, so you can imagine the downward spirals that entail. I keep thinking, no hoping, that this will end; that someone will smash into my life and wake me up. Show me a few things I've never seen before, help me feel a few things I've not felt before, or for a long time at least, and at the end of the day, help me feel a bit more human. The way things are at the present, I can only see one end result: a big wooden box in about 40 years or so, and if that's all that's ahead, then why not simply accelerate the process? After all, I may regenrate into something better?

Don't Go Back to Athens

Crikey, I can't believe it's been over a week since I last mused on my inconsequential existance here. The truth is that so much has happened over the past week,I haven't had the time to update this site. As a result, things are gonna get a bit sketchy, as I'll have to cover things that happened after others as it'll take any age for me to manipulate all the photographs regarding my trip to Brighton. Consequently, we'll have to rewind to Sunday, instead of Saturday, and tackle the appearance of R.E.M. at the Millenium Stadium instead.

I always thought Sunday was gonna be a good day. After all, its not every day you get to see your favourite band play live, and it's always extra-special when its your first time, if you pardon the expression. Anyways, I was a little surprised to be awaken by my friends at 0930 in the morning. However, it's a marked improvement on the time achieved by Savage, when he appeared on my doorstep at 0805 a couple of weeks ago. I think its something to do with the air in Devon, making people get up early. Either that or they're really eager to get out of Devon (or perhaps that should be see Yours Truly?). Now, its never a sensible idea to have ice cream for breakfast because, although thoroughly pleasant, it isn't really that substantial. Couple that with the fact that it freezes your brain easily, and it became evident I was going to be rather silly for a couple of hours, as proven by the little aside into why the ice cream company parted company with Mr. Whippy as a mascot. It was, for those interested, for thoroughly sinister reasons...

After an interesting experience in a Toby Carvery, reading Nietszche whilst drinking cider in a Welsh pub overlooking a Safeway, I eventually found myself heading towards the beginning of the concert and inside the Millenium Stadium. Unfortuantely, I couldn't resist telling people that this was where Dalek was filmed, and I secretly harboured desires to start running around shouting 'Exterminate' at people. I'm such a child. Eventually things got down to business as, after enduring one support act that consisted of a guy and an acoustic guitar (not that impressive and a bit depressing in all honesty), iDLEWiLD finally made their way on to the stage. Now, I was a little disappointed about this since I thought they'd be on just before R.E.M., but in hindsight I was glad they weren't. The problem was that they just looked bloody nervous, especially Roddy. Now I know Roddy is one of the shy, retiring, poetic types, but where was the guy who threw himself around Cardiff Uni Great Hall eighteen months ago? Aside from that, they were bloody good, playing an almost 'Greatest Hits' set with Little Discourage and American English obvious highlights and a welcome cover of Sweet Home Alabama featuring Mike Mills on keyboards.

By the time Messers Stipe and Company appeared on stage, I was getting even more jumpy than usual. Granted, I'd already managed to scare certain members of the party with my over-enthusiastic enjoyment of iDLEWiLD, so it was with great vigour that I jumped to my feet during the first few chords of Bad Day. This joy was only scuppered when told to 'Sit down' by the old couple behind me as they couldn't see. OK, they probably hadn't paid £40 a ticket to watch my Tom Baker wig jig up and down for two hours, but neither had I paid £40 to sit and clap politely at the Greatest Band in the World. After all, R.E.M are a rock band, playing a rock concert, so isn't it just right to want to rock? Its almost there in the title of the event, isn't it?

An obvious highlight was the fact they played Strange Currencies, my absolute fave track that they'd only played once throughout the whole tour, and couple that with an extra poignant Everybody Hurts in light of the London attacks and a beautifully intimate Nightswimming and you had a supreme gig all round. It's been previously identified by journalists that one of the great things about R.E.M., and Michael especially, is their ability to be both ballsy and vulnerable at the same time, and this was apitomised in Stipe's energetic performance, causing the stripe of make-up across his eyes to crack and run across his face. OK, if appearing in a Welsh rugby shirt and celebrating Brains SA was playing to certain members of the crowd ever-so-slightly, it only goes to show how good the band really are: willing to push the right buttons to acknowledge little cultural differences. So whilst Michael played the rock-star, his voice showed why I view him as the best singer around, largely due to the fact he doesn't just sing tracks like they are on the record. Instead, his voice seems to be capable of ascending to new levels in the live performance that only add to the emotion of the songs. Back this up with Buck and Mills' wonderful backing and you had something bordering on the sublime. The set list in full was:

Bad Day
What's the Frequency, Kenneth?
The One I Love
Drive
The Outsiders
Animal
Strange Currencies
Wanderlust
So Fast, So Numb
Leaving New York
Everbody Hurts
Electron Blue
Electrolite
(Unknown Track)
Final Straw
Orange Crush
Walk Unafraid
Losing My Religion

Immitation of Life
The Great Beyond
Exhuming McCarthy
Nightswimming
DJ
Man On the Moon

Right, just gotta find a minidisc to recreate the live experience!

Am I an Alien? Or am I Simon Le Bon?

I've been thinking a lot recently about the concept of identity, and the ways in which people construct themselves. After all, we all do it, from the clothes we wear to the words we speak and the manner in which we speak them! These thoughts have been brewing in Deep Thought for a while now, finally coming to a head on the way to Sainsburys this morning. I don't know why my brain works so well when in motion, but it just seems to be that way. Perhaps I should do my job in one of those chairs they use to test the potential ability of astronauts with. You know the ones, like they try to kill Bond with in Moonraker? It ceratinly might make the day go a bit quicker, whilst also being a potentially interesting experiment into relativity at the same time.

Anyways, my thoughts with respect to identity largely stemed from my percieved inability to connect with people, especially people of my own age. I don't know why, but when people seem to be having some form of crisis I'm usually stood there going "Oh for goodness sake, it's only (insert event here). Hardly the end of the world, is it?" Thus, whilst others seem able to offer supportive words or gestures, I feel awkward and unsure of what to do. There's a great moment that captures this well in the Hitchhikers movie when, as Ford and Arthur are about to be thrown out of the Vogon airlock, Ford turns to Arthur and asks "Would you like a hug?!" as though he's not really sure how humans work in situations such as this. What do I put this ineptitude down to? Well, I mainly put it down to my interests and the people I admire. It's always been observed that one of the best things about Tom Baker's performance as the Doctor was his ability to speak lines of grave or macabre importance with a huge grin on his face. As a result, this is something I've always found interesting: playing with the expectations people have and subverting 'norms'. As a result, more often than not, I do say things that are ultra-serious or profound with a huge grin on my face, to see how people take them. An action which is made all the more unnerving for those involved since I don't tend to smile that often.

Moreover, my 'alien' qualities are evident in other areas of my 'self' as well: for instance, I remind myself of my 'Cybermen' qualities when approaching people. I don't tend to show that much emotion about very often, as shown in the above example, but also in regard to such things as 'hugging'. Like Ford, I never seem to know the times when this is an exceptable action and so tend not to endulge in the action, thus reinforcing my 'Cyberself' since I tend to shy away from physical interactions with people. If you couple that with the fact that I'm hideously logical, boiling anything down to the most rational way to go about things, it's not suprising I admire the Cybermen so much. Additionally, I think I can be quite alien in the amount of acid I seem to have running through my veins. Surely it's not healthy for someone to have such a cynical, scathing opinion on everything? Especially at this age? It was often remarked that I could be unnecessarily harsh about people/events whilst at school, but aren't you meant to lose that?

Yet, despite all of my 'alien' qualities, there's still a part of me that yearns to be Simon Le Bon, singing songs about commiting ladies to celuloid whilst riding yachts and drinking silly-coloured cocktails. All of this whilst being exceptionally well dressed and surrounded by mysterious women. This is also the part of me that loves being hideously flamboyant and eccentric (much like The Doctor actually!), whilst revelling in the cheesiness of things and knowing that your being hideously cheesy at the same time. I also admire the fact that amidst all this cheesy decadance, Duran Duran manage to construct themselves as 'serious' musicians that spend ages fretting over chord changes and lyrics. Or do I admire Simon Le Bon for the simple fact that he manages to project the image that he's a hit with the ladies? Or perhaps, at the end of the day, I do just really like Duran Duran's music?

As a result, what does this say about my opinion of myself? A once human, probable New Romantic, Time Lord who has sacrificed his body parts and emotions for cybernetics and cold logic, and that has a strange hybrid of acidic blood which boils over occasionally? All of this whilst being smartly presented and a bit of a pretensious arse?

Alternatively, is this all in my own delusional head? Have I really got the wrong impression of myself, and the way I construct myself to others? Does the fact that I seem to spend so much time thinking about this make me hideously self-obssesed? Damn post-structuralism and autoethnography! They give me too much to think about, as I seem to apply these principles to everything and everyone, thus leading me to my big question: if we live in a world of discourses, where all is culturally constructed, how can we do anything that is genuine?

Countdown:

Days left at work: 70
Days until The Christmas Invasion: 5 months and 19 days (approx.)
Days until Jessica Alba in a catsuit: 17

Music Plus One

It's frustrating when time just seems to disappear and you never get the things done that you wanted to. It's also frustrating when you spend most of your time dithering around trying to remember what the hell it was you wanted to do. Furthermore, it's frustrating when your sister telephones you in the middle of Cardiff with "important news", only to gloat that she's off to see Oasis tomorrow and that you could have come but, oh yes, you're working. However, none of this probably comes close to the sheer tragicness of trying to organize your shopping with the time(s) the attractive cashier is likely to be working in Sainsbury's. Who says us SF fans have nothing to think about and have slight stalker-esque character traits, eh? Last time I was in there, her name badge said 'Gareth'. I really should have made a joke of this, but then again I'd have probably come across as a bit of an idiot. Anyways, if that is her name, it's a bit of a turn-off.

In the absence of much Who to think about, my attentions have turned back towards music, and it was much to my surprise when the other nite I finally started to make some inroads into my Dire Straits songbook. Sharp intake of breath I know. Why, dear sentient beings, do I own a Dire Straits book? Well, a) it's for Brothers in Arms, which I view as one of my favourite albums of all-time, and b) it's pretty complicated! One of the main problems I have with buying indie bands music books is that they're all pretty standard three or four chord runarounds with the occasional nice twist. The exceptions to this rule being the Bluetones and Idlewild, who seem to like to do things a bit differently. I'm yet to assess bands like Razorlight, Kasabian etc on these criterion, but watching them play live it seems they're more about attitude and ambiance than wierd timings and playing in odd keys. Yes, you could probably level exactly the same criticism at the Killers, but the bands formely mentioned haven't written anything as glorious as Mr Brightside or All These Things That I've Done.

On the subject of new bands though, I've stumbled across a couple of oddities. Firstly, there's My Chemical Romance, who seem, by their videos and press, to be the kind of band that I should have gotten over whilst I was in puberty. However, I really like the singles by them and am considering their album. It could well be a case of Evanesence and Linkin Park all over again, as I always get "Dude, what are you? A sixteen-year old Goth?" when confessing to liking these bands. Granted, they'll probably never ascend to the heights of the House, or write a Distant Sun in that respect, but they're pretty scathing about contemporary society.

Secondly though, there's Hard-Fi. A band that, by their very look, should be the type of band that I instantly despise. Let's look at the evidence: they're from chav-centric Staines, their current single sounds like the kind of riff you dismisively bash out when having your first jam with a band, and their singer looks like a gimp whilst the rest of them are just wallpaper. Yet for some reason I like the track and I don't really know why. There's a certain simplicity about the whole thing, both musically and lyrically, that makes you think that maybe you're making your own life a little too hard on purpose. Bloody hell, I bet they never thought when they wrote the track it'd be used by somebody to assess their stance on life. Or am I just subscribing to the chav mentality?!? Ugh, the very thought makes my skin crawl! Whichever train of thought wins, whoever decided to include JD Sports in the video is just asking for trouble.

So, as I sit here desperatly trying to make my mind up what to vote for in the DWM magazine poll, I'm left with the following questions: Did I really enjoy Boom Town more than The Parting of the Ways, Dalek and The Doctor Dances? Do Father's Day and The Unquiet Dead deserve to be so low in the rankings? Who was better as a co-star: Simon Pegg or Shaun Dingwall? Were the Reapers better than the Daleks? And what did I really make of the trailers?

Decisions, decisions. Good job I've Senor Corgan's new opus to help pass the time...

Reflection of Summers Past

"Pining for the moon/ and what if there were two
Side by side in orbit/ across the fairer sun?"

A favourite lyric from one of my all-time favourite songs. The kind of track that you want played at your funeral and that anyone who really knows you knows how much you love that particular track. It also seems relevant for the mood I've found myself in over the last couple of days, accenuated by a conversation I had with someone that went on to the small hours of yesterday evening. A slight lament for the past and a face you haven't seen for a little while but would like to in the near future. Yes, I'm feeling slightly reflective, but this is also probably due to the fact that I'll be encountering two good friends from Glorious Devon in the space of two days. As the mysterious "they" rightly observe, things happen all at once. Anyways, this has got me to thinking as to why we occasionally, or reguarly, look back to the past. Is it because we think that we've lost something, or someone, that meant something more to us than we realsied at the time? Or is it because we're so scared of what the future holds,and so would rather reflect on something that was safe? As Freud observed, it is the unknown, the uncanny, which is most horrific and perhaps that applies to many areas of life.

OK, Deep Thought off. Shall I condense this months DWM into a paragraph? No? Well, I'm gonna do it anyways. Series Two has two episodes with working titles: 'School Reunion' and 'Army of Ghosts'. So what do we gleam from that? Well, School Reunion would indicate to me that perhaps the Doctor takes Rose into the future, to see all her friends in ten or twenty years time. Not quite sure what the villany would be there, but perhaps there's something sinister working behind the scenes? Perhaps, Friends Reunited is actually run by aliens? As for AoG, well that sounds pretty epic, what with the word 'Army' in the title. So will the dead be rising from their graves in their hordes? Or perhaps it's a referance to ghosts from the past? Perhaps one character will have to face a number of faces from their history? Interesting...

Oh, and apparently my beloved Cybermen are in the directorial hands of James Hawes, who did The Empty Child and The Doctor Dances last year, which I'm pleased about. Slightly annoyed Mr. Harper won't be tackling them but nevermind. However, if this apparently forms Block One of shooting with The Christmas Invasion, does this mean we're gonna start the season with the guys? Two thumbs up from CyberControl if that is the case!

On a different note, I actually found justificaton for watching The OC this evening: George was making a cameo appearance. It's so much better than having to admit that, yes, you just want to ogle the lovely Rachel Bilson. Anyways, George's cameo was hideous. Instead of some profound musings on what inspires George, and where he got his ideas from, we get him musing on the importance of the American Prom and the cornerstones of American youth culture. Why George? Why? Anyways, I gotta hand it to that programme because, like Dawson's Creek before it, it may be hideously cliched and sickeningly saccherine, but the writing, story arcs, and characterization are so spot-on and well thought out that it deserves applause. The kind of things that the UK is really behind on in that respect. The episode wonderfully set up four or five narratives that occasionally inter-cut, but were satisfyingly resolved, with some original twists that at the same time left consequences for episodes still to come. That, I respect, or am I just seeking a way to justify a voyeristic appreciation of Ms. Bilson? Of course not, I'm a serious TV writer!

Finally, I'm getting worried I may have to invest in the new Coldplay CD. After four years of Chris Martin hating and generally dissing them for being overtly simplistic, I heard Fix You and again had to admit its ace. I'll still never retract my opinion on In My Sodding Place though.

"You/ I thought you knew me
You/ I can not judge"

Dear readers, the lovely Holly. The future Queen of CyberControl, well, until someone real comes along that is.

One Week On

It just feels so empty. So crushingly, disappointingly empty. I had a perfectly pleasent day yesterday, enjoying witty conversation with my parents and having to come to terms with a tricky dilemma when tackling the HMV sale: when faced with two from the list of either contemporary, respected electronica, a collection of horror films that are so appauling they border on genius, or three CDs of Phil, which one would you, or could you, sacrifice? Unfortunately Phil was the loser this time around, but I hope it'll only be for a little. Throughout the course of the day though, I managed to go the majority without even thinking about it, as long as we don't count watching The Awakening at 8am on UK Gold and my minor frustration at the price of a certain DVD in the previously mentioned sale.

And then it hits you. Its about 1815 on Saturday evening and rather than being a bundle of nerves and expectations, eagerly awaiting 1900 and that familiar theme tune, you're instead left with nothing. Skidaddle. Zero. In fact, what you've got is some new lottery-related quiz show or something. So you sit there, and you rack your brains for something to do but nothing comes. In fact, do you know what I was doing yesterday at 1900? I was assembling a chair! Yes, me. Mr. Truly Dreadful at DIY (Tm) was trying to fill the void left in his life left by the absence of Who by assembling furniture. From speechless geek to a hyper-exertion of masculinity in seven short days. Who said SF fandom holds us back? Oh, and the final irony: who was I listening to whilst indulging in my seat-related shenanigans? Phil, that's who.

So, with less Who to talk about during this fallow period, my attention shall have to turn to other shows to either celebrate or berate. First up, I've been meaning to sing the praises of MTV's Wonder Shozen for a while now. It's superb! Imagine the sicklyness of Sesame Street done for the disaffected, left-wing liberals of today and played completely seriously. So you get such wondeful asides as kids chasing Bankers (and yes, the pun/innuendo was intended) down Wall Street asking if they feel guilty about selling people down the river. Or such informative sections as 'D is for Drive-by Shooting' or 'S is for Suicide'. Absolute genius.

Something I was much less impressed with was when I had the misfortune to wander momentarily on to ITV2 this evening. Now, my hatred of those three initials, 'I' 'T' and 'V' in that order, is well-known but if the mother channel is one huge, steaming turd then its lesser-known sister is surely the televisual equivalent of diarrohea: the waste of the waste. I'm happy to report that this thesis was backed up by stumbling across the show Man Versus Beast, and yes, its exactly as it sounds. Men are pitted in various challenges against animals, and what did I have the 'pleasure' of witnessing? Fourty-four midgets, sorry 'small people' for the sake of political correctness, challenged to pull a jumbo jet across a set distance quicker than an Asian Elephant. Yes, you read that correctly. The midgets against the Elephant. Unfortunately, the small people were defeated and, at the end, the Elephant looked rather smug about this. Like it knew what was going on! Granted, this show was American, and the presenter was wearing a jacket with Fox emblazened across it, which is litterally like having 'crap' written on something, but for goodness sake! More worryingly so, Man was 4-2 down to Beast bythe end of the show so obviously we aren't as intellegent as we'd perhaps like to think. I can't wait for the British version, it could well be the much-needed humiliation of the population of Kent! I'd imagine they're the type of people who'd watch such drivel.

Crumbs, its gonna be a long six months until The Christmas Invasion. I did have a great idea as to how they could start the episode though: since RTD's first announcement about the Christmas special was along the lines of "Don't worry, we're not gonna do a Lovejoy and go to Prague", why not have the pre-credits sequence with the TARDIS arriving in Prague and DT coming out to announce something like 'Oh, Prague! Why on Earth are we here?" and then roll the credits. It'd be an inspired joke for the fans and adult viewers!

Once more dear reader, in my head it's funny.

The FutureNow

"It's not me, to make a fuss
It's just that the water's cold and I can't feel my legs"

I don't mean to start with an apology, but I feel it necessary: I'm sorry about Vitriol #1 that appeared earlier this week. It's been deleted from The Matrix Data Banks as its not really me to let things like that out. When Deep Thought powers up the output belongs in a place in my head, not in public. Thus, I think the above quote, lifted from The Cooper Temple Clause (where the hell are they?), sums up the way I was feeling. I've come up with the excuse that I'm suffering from some form of post-Who trauma at present, not knowing what to fill my Saturdays (or life?) with.

Anyways, as previously alluded to, I visted Cardiff Barfly for the first time in ages to watch a gig on Tuesday. What follows is my twopennyworth opinion:

Xfm Xposure: The Rakes/ Martini Henry Rifles/ Captain Black
Cardiff Barfly, Tues 21st June

Upon venturing down to the sweaty environment of Barfly upon the hottest day of the year so far, or since yesterday at least, I was firstly taken aback by the amount of people present. My sources had informed me that they weren't expecting a great crowd, hence my place on the guestlist, and, at the end of the day, who really wants to be stuck beneath ground with no windows when its sweltering outside? The answer: quite a few people, since Xfm is Cardiff for a short period. What's more, they've bought a few friends along to say Hi.

First up on the bill were Captain Black, a three-piece post-punk Indie trio who reminded you of the Pixies in places, and a whole host of other bands in the others. Obviously suffering from the problems of "people to cool to come close to the front" syndrome, the band did their best to entice the audience, securing two ardant fans and not letting them both pee at the same time. Slightly harsh, but anything that manages to make your band seem popular has gotta be a good idea. The band themselves rattled through a number of interesting tracks, often starting in one form and then changing into a different beast halfway through to keep things interesting. Add in the singer's knack for interchanging between singing and angrily shouting the lyrics on a line-by-line basis and they evoced a memory of Captain-era iDLEWiLD in this reviewer. In fact, if they'd have ended their set with the penultimate song, a touching ballad involving just man, guitar and voice, I'd have been even more interested in them. It was a shame that everything was ruined then by the last song, when, as the singer collapsed on stage, writhing around like Kurt used to, it became crushingly evident that rather than wanting to be their own band, they actually just wanted to be another Nirvana-wannabe. Shame.

The first encounter I had with the Martini Henry Rifles was on my twenty-first birthday a couple of years ago, when they played a DJ set at Clwb and were thoroughly dull, playing only songs they wanted to hear and that they thought were funny. Moreover, from that, and the performance tonight, the lasting image you get of the band is that they obviously think their the most important thing in the world, if not the Universe, since they swagger around with the air that they should be headlining proceedings. Fair enough, there's enough of the local Indie crowd here to back up that claim, so it's a shame then that you come to realise that they're just a plie of tosh. The songs are hectic and unmemorable, usually involving one member twidling a knob on a synthesiser, one member playing something frantic and singing, sorry, shouting, something probably quite obscene down the microphone whilst the other charges into the crowd to give everyone intimidating looks. Granted, the fact that one of these charges almost resulted in your reviewer having his eye flicked out by a trailing microphone stand, but I'm afraid that arrogance, intimidating stares and subscribing to the "swearing is cool" scheme don't make up for decent songs here, even if they probably think that they're being really cutting edge. Couple that with the fact that one of the band looks like the guy from Tears for Fears who know one remembers, and they start to loose their 'cool' edge. It's also a sorry state of affairs when the only positive you can write about a band is that they best thing they played was in the last two minutes, when they'd effectivly left the stage and the synthesiser was mimicing the beginning to REM's Electron Blue.

And so we came to The Rakes, just as I was about to lose hope and go home to listen to Together Alone and Siamese Dream and remember how good music can be. From what I'd heard and read on the band's website I was expecting an ultra-serious, sharp-suited lot that looked, and sounded, somewhere between Interpol being fronted by Alex from Franz Ferdinand. This was backed up by the imposing height of the microphone stands that had been set up. Another band with a 'towering' personality I thought. It was much to my surprise, and pleasure, that when the band emerged they reminded me more of The Housemartins in their look than Franz Ferdinand. That thought continued as they played through their first few tracks, all bouncy rhythms and catchy melodies that finally got the people moving. Introducing one song as 'a nice romantic one for the ladies' was a bit of a mistake though. It was hardly Snow Patrol's Run, but then again their really not that type of band. It was also refreshing to see a singer who obviously enjoyed being where he was: all silly hand movements, witty asides between songs and a knowing glint in his eye that he wasn't to be taken too seriously. Nowhere near the 'bit-of-a-gimp' persona someone had previously mentioned.

The problem with seeing a band first-hand like this though is that you never really get the chance to engage with the lyrics as, nine times out of ten, you can't actually pick them out, and this was a shame as I'm sure they had some interesting things to say. For that, I'll have to wait for the album but for now it seems as though The Rakes's star is definately on the ascendance if the hyper-pogoing crowd is anything to go by. And why shouldn't it be? They've got a sound that's popular at the moment and an individuality that works to set them aside from all of the other bands in their field. It'll be interesting to see how they come to differ themselves from their peers, as they're similar to both the jerky, angular sound of The Futureheads, the current art-rock crowd (Franz, Bloc Party) and the wave of sub-Clash revivalists (Dead 60s, Hard-Fi) around at the moment, but I look forward to tracking their progress. What's more, I look forward to the album, and even would've bought a t-shirt if they weren't so darn pricey!

As the Ways are about to Part...

So this is it. Thirteen weeks ago it was all apprehension, sick feelings in the stomach and worries that they'd get the tone wrong, be slaughtered by Ant and Dec and that, after so much promise, the good Doctor would still be something of a point of ridicule. How wrong was I? We've got the Guardian proclaiming it the best thing to happen to British television for years. We've got the highest audience shares for Saturday evening, and ratings that buck the trend for Saturday evening family television. We've got people admiring the special effects, noting how the sets don't wobble and the monsters are 'better' (personally speaking, I think one of the redeming factors of Terror of the Vervoids is the design of the titular menace, but thats just me). We've talk of BAFTA nominations for certain episodes. We've got kids running around shouting 'Exterminate' and telling their parents they'd rather have the Daleks on DVD than whatever else kids watch these days. Most importantly we've got two more series in the bag, and two Christmas specials, which will see the return of the Cybermen and Graeme Harper behind the camera.

So am I satisfied? Yes, and no. Yes, we've achieved everything, and a whole lot more, than I hoped for thirteen weeks ago. I've got people coming up to me at work commenting on how much they're enjoying the series. I've got people asking me what I think of certain things. I've got people I respect contacting me after episodes to let me know they thought it kicked ass. Yes, it seems Who is back where it should be: culturally important and respected. However, the doubts never go away: yes, we have a third series now, but is that just so that ideas can be developed over two series, thus allowing for a thorough review of the programme at the end of series three? I mean, tele-sf doesn't seem to last that long in the UK. Randall and Hopkirk and Strange didn't make it past three series. Additionally, what if people don't take to David Tennant? Granted, he's been ace in the things I've seen, but there's always a chance. Moreover, the BBC has decreed that cutbacks have to be made on the programme, so could this have a negative impact? Furthermore, how on Earth - or should that be the Universe? - will ITV react? I'm sure they've something thoroughly unoriginal and sneaky up their sleeves.

My biggest thought at present though is 'I want in on this, now'. I'm brimming with ideas at the minute! Well, five anyway. Two of these I've previously disclosed, but I'm also working on ideas such as tying together the Mara, the work of William Blake, and the 60s state education system in to a story where the Mara reappears in 60s Britain due to the mood of the time and the National Cirriculum. Then there's my personal fave: taking the wonderful, vain, self-obsessed Jagoroth and writing an Invasion of the Body Snatchers style piece where they end up in the world of today, admire the selfishness and vanity of Western society, and settle in perfectly. In the end, they use their natural carisma to ascend to positions of power and enslave the humans. All this, and humanity doesn't even realise therefore noting how 'alien' humans have become. However, my novel twist on this would be to tell the story from the point of view of the Jagoroth, thus having them musing on such things as McDonalds, The OC and other aspects of contemporary life. Well, in my head its funny. However, my problem is where I can get in on this: I need a foothold somewhere, for someone to read these ideas and deside that their not half bad. Or maybe that they're not a quarter-bad, but with a bit of bashing about they could become not half bad. Is there anybody out there that can help?

So, with only seven hours until those Ways are Parted I can't wait to see how this pans out. I realised the other day this will be the first regeneration I'll have experienced 'first-hand'; in that respect I'm a regeneration virgin, if you know what I mean! I remember when I saw the end of Androzani and first experienced the idea, and it was immense. Granted, that that's the best of all the previous regenerations, with Colin Baker uttering the best dialogue he has for his whole stay as the Doctor, but how will this weigh up? If its as stirring and defiant as Eccleston's rant against the Daleks at the end of Bad Wolf, it'll be superb. Oh yeah, and finally, there've been a few rumblings against the Daleks utterance of'What is the meaning of this negative' last week. Apparently this was considered camp in some circles. What would people have preferred? The Daleks turn around and go 'Ooooh, hark at you' to the Doctor?

The Promise of a Warning

I've been meaning to post the following for a little while now, as I think they really do deserve to be read. It was Michael Stipe who introduced me to the idea of writing lyrics down and sharing them with people because, in his opinion, it allows the words to breathe and, consequentially, take on new and different meanings. Now, these that follow are by no means mine. They're taken from a track on the latest iDLEWiLD masterpiece, 'Warnings/ Promises', thats in all good, and probably a number of less-than-good, record shops now. However, to me, it showcases this band's uncanny knack of writing tracks that I feel really reflect either the way I feel at a certain point in time (Low Light, American English) and in general (I'm Happy to Be Here Tonight, Little Discourage, The Bronze Medal, Live in a Hiding Place). This track? Well, it's a little of both. So read, contemplate, read again if you must, and let me know what you think. At the end of the day, I just hope you enjoy what follows.

BLAME IT ON OBVIOUS WAYS

All the mistakes I've made
I've made because
I didn't really know myself very well
And by this stage
I feel like I really shouldn't know myself
I'm forced into a sponsored silence
Where I'm only paid if I don't say
What I want to say

Open up your arms and say, "I can't throw it all away"
Open up your arms and say, "I can't give it all away"
I couldn't even care what you'll say
You change
You change everyday
And blame it on your obvious ways

I gamble my praises
And fill the jukebox full of my favourite phrases
As we cling to the nightclub walls
We whisper the words
We whispered them wrong
And so we screamed out the wrong words
In to our own song
And with a kiss that tasted like drugs
Which tastes like we'll never, ever make it home

Open up your arms and say, "I can't throw it all away"
Open up your arms and say, "I can't give it all away"
I couldn't even care what you'll say
You change
You change everyday
And blame it on your obvious ways

Throw me around
First you've got to calm me down
Don't you think you
Should calm me down before you throw me around?

You throw me in to another move I came and make
It changes everyday
Open up your arms and say, "Give it all away"
I couldn't even care what you'll say
You change
You change everyday
And blame it on your obvious ways

(Woomble, Jones, Stewart, Fox, Newton (2005))

Wolf at the Door

Once more it seems I am behind schedule, and I apologise for that dear readers. This post was supposed to go up yesterday, seen as though I spent all day at work musing over it, but due to a nasty encounter with the air-conditioning I have developed the flu and so spent yesterday evening sneezing and ommiting a low-frequency groaning noise. As a result, today's intended post concerning iDLEWiLD, the Jagoroth, the Mara and the BBC Radiophonic Workshop will have to be delayed a little.

Anyways, with the imminent transmission of the 'revelation' episode Bad Wolf this evening, I thought I'd throw my hat into the ring with some ideas concerning the season's narrative enigma. Firstly, lets examine the evidence: the 'Bad Wolf' tag has so far been used in relation to two seperate comments, some graffiti, a security sign, a TV station, a poster, a bomb and a power station. Now by the law of averages some of these are going to be red herrings and I feel the biggest one of these is the graffiti on the TARDIS. In my opinion its just too obvious. However, the term seems to be related to some form of 'device', whether that be human or otherwise. So could it be a situation? An event? A 'thing' (for want of a better word)? A person? The BBC website points to the latter, and something archaic at that due to its references to ancient mythologies. This, naturally, points to The Doctor as he is over 900 years old and, by definition, an alien and therefore mysterious. So if the revelation does relate to the Doctor it could be interesting as it would help to add to the mysticism of the character for further seasons. After all, the criticism of the series as it ended in 1989 was that he had lost any form of mysticism and thus become over-familiar. This would also fit in well with the Time War theme, as he could be responsible for some action that he's trying to avoid.

However, I would ideally like to see the revelation to relate to either Mickey or Adam. Now Mickey's been a bit of a stooge over the whole series and, in all honesty, he got on my nerves something chronic in Rose. However, after Boom Town I've changed my opinion as I felt some form of graviats in his character. Moreover, he's certainly got motivations: The Doc pinched his lady and he might want revenge. Furthermore, it might explain why The Doctor refers to him as Ricky; is he not really what he seems. Alternatively, it could refer to Adam because, and as the BBC site points out, he downloaded the entire history of humanity into his head during The Long Game and could well use that. Plus he doesn't like the Doctor since he dumped him back on Earth with a hole in his head. Additionally, he's familiar with the Daleks; could they possibly track him down?!? The only flaw in this idea is the fact that Bruno Langley is listed nowhere in the cast list for the two episodes, so unless a wonderful secret has actually been concealed, this would be wrong.

What's more, we are apparently promised the return of a character from Dalek History (perhaps this should be a new GCSE topic. Can you imagine it? "Mum, I don't wanna do History, I wanna do Dalek history, its far more interesting"!). We're assured it's not The Master, nor another Time Lord (but Omega would've been v cool), neither is it Fenric (?!?). Thus, its gotta either be Davros or the Supreme Dalek. I really hope its the latter, as to re-introduce Davros would see the Daleks get bogged down in all that continuity from the past, and that could be really rather messy, especially when the programme is already in a state of transistion (more on that next time). Of course, I could've made a gross miscalculation but personally I think it'd be cool to see a character not seen since the almighty Evil of the Daleks.

Aside from that, there are questions to answer regarding the cliffhanger at the end of the episode: what will it be? The revaltion of the Daleks as the plotters? Hopefully not, since that was given away by the trailer at the end of Boom Town. Perhaps the revelation of the Bad Wolf enigma? Probably, especially if this relates to one of the main characters or theories I've forwarded above. Or maybe the revelation of the 'returning character'? That would make for a great dramatic ending, and be very different to the two previous cliffhangers we've had. Either one of those will do! However, knowing the episode is in the directorial hands of Joe Aherne counts for a lot. His work has been expcetional so far, so let's just see how things go...

On a different note, I feel there's a storm of abuse for RTD brewing in the fandom for the way he represents the Daleks. I mean, this is why Terry Nation's estate were reluctant to use them in the series after all, and there are bound to be comparisons to Rob Shearman's superb re-examination of the Dalek Condition. So prepare for abuse on their behaviour, dialogue, general menace, and anything else that can possibly be picked apart. Personally, I'll be interested to see the Dalek ships and how they're designed in comparison to their crafts in Rememberance, Revelation and Resurrection etc.

Oh, and just one final note: you can tell Who is cool again. On eBay you can bid for buttons of psychadelic Cybermen and Scaroth. Ah, the Jagoroth. More on them next time...

Neglecting my Responsibilities

Dear Reader, I feel as though I should perhaps apologise as it appears that somewhere along the way we've got a little lost. Not very good seen as though this has only been going a matter of weeks, is it really? It seems as though I've gotten rather bogged down with dwelling on questions of life and philosophy and thus neglected the true focus of this journal: Doctor Who! I never posted my review of The Doctor Dances, which is a shame as it was one of the most enjoyable pieces of television I've seen in ages, with an ending that bordered on the euphoric. Couple that with one of Richard Wilson's best-ever comedy lines - that from an advocate of Mr Meldrew and his One Foot in the Grave - and you truly had a great piece of family entertainment. However, that didn't prepare me for the immensity of Boom Town. I had fears about the episode in all honesty, bad pre-comments from the fan community hadn't helped, but perhaps when your expectations are lowered you're more open to surprise as this was fantastic. I'd waited eleven weeks for a good, thoughtful, well written character study and just when you aren't expecting it, along one comes and reminds you how great the series has been! Intellegently dwelling on the aftermath of a situation, and whether you could lead someone to their death, is the kind of story I'd have loved to have written for the show! Moreover, its good to see the series developing some new mysticism about the Doctor and, in this instance, the TARDIS as it breeds scope for the long-term direction of the show. Couple that with the fantastic intensity of Eccleston in places and you had a really unexpected treat.

However, there's news I've overlooked. Big news. In fact, its news so fantastic that it deserves the title of BIG NEWS. Oh yes, as of next year, they'll be back. Who? None other than the Cybermen! Hurrah! I'm so pleased as, after the fantastic work done in reinventing the Daleks, I can't wait to see what RTD and team will do with the Best Sci-Fi Villains in the History of TV Sci-Fi (TM). You dispute this fact? Well, the Borg completely ripped off the Cybermen all you Trekkies. Let's just hope for a nice bleak story showing how very evil they can be, and no car-headlights on the head if you please. I think its time we had a quote. After three: "We are called Cy-ber-men!" Think I'll go and watch The Tenth Planet shortly.

All I can hope for now is a third series, and judging by the intellegence displayed on Saturday, if by some strange occurance you're reading this Russell, sir, and fancy commissioning an intellegent piece on ethnic cleansing I have one by name of The Drowning Pool. Or if you're looking to bring back the Sontarons, I have a great idea for a story concerning them which engages with current debates surrounding cloning and faulty genes. In fact Faulty Genes sounds like a hell of title for the story. I'm rather awash with inspiration at the moment, as my other project is benefitting well from at present, but that's a different story.

All that and the trailer for Bad Wolf looked pretty good as well, apart from well done BBC for concealing the fact that the Daleks are back again. Not. If anyone has been irresponsible with this series, its been the dear corporation, and it does pain me to slate the best broadcasting organization in the world.

Cheap Shots, Expensive Drinks, and the Girl in the Leather Trousers

It's been a good number of years since The Best Rock Band in the World (TM) identified that from time to time everybody hurts, and that when faced with these instances its best to seek some solace in those closest to you: your friends. Now, whilst I feel that this has become something of a cliche over time, I'm happy to report that there is still some form of truth in the statement. You see, over the past few weeks I hadnt been feeling especially great or clever. I hadn't been sleeping, or eating, much. I'd been working a lot. I'd been feeling a lot more discouraged and lonely than I usually do. I was having some pretty severe dizzy spells as well. In fact, there were a couple of instances when I thought I was beginning to look a little like a cross between Tom Baker and the singer from My Chemical Romance. Couple that with the creeping paranoia that something wasn't quite right in the world, and its no surprise I was experiencing some form of dementia (if that's the operative word).

However, there's nothing like a reunion with your closest, and most endearing, friends to make you feel a hell of a lot more positive: you realise that the same jokes that were funny, possibly up to three years ago, still have some form of resonance, you realise that you can turn up and do or say whatever you feel and it won't be judged, you know that everyone is growing in to that which they always threatened to become, whether that be flash-boy Surrey type or, in my instance, a slightly off-beat writer type. Whilst I'd have like to have thought the insult 'And your Mum' might have been relegated to the playground of comebacks in favour of something better, I suppose there will always be some things that your stuck with.

Its also nice to see that with age, you're moving into the better drinking establishments. Granted, there are still some dingy holes, and I mean that in the most affectionate way possible to Metros, that you'll frequent for a good few years, but its also nice to see people willing to step into the air-conditioned, faux-utopias of alcohol us journalists seem to like to frequent. All that and they've got a videoscreen of a fire playing as well. Is that cool, or is that just me? However, its also good to know that you can return to the watering hole you called 'Home' for the best part of two years and pretend you never really left or grew more cynical, showing off the same impressions of celebrities that don't age in the same way as the wine you're drinking.

Finally, it's good to know that additions can be made, and openly welcomed, into the old dynamic. Additions that are easy and pleasent to talk to, laugh at the stories dredged up from the past and seem genuinly interested in what you've got to say, giving you hope that one day you might meet someone cast from a similar mould. Moreover, its comforting to know that you can go out, desensitise some of your inhibitions and see girls like the ones that appear in your head: like something out of a strange Goth Rock Opera, all leather trousers, heavy eyeliner and can't-be-fucked graces that hides an Amy Lee-style vulnerability beneath the surface. Or that's what you'd like to think about them in your head.

At the end of the day, it's jsut nice to feel like you belong once more. Even if it is just for 48 hours...

Is it Wrong to Want to Change the World?

Okay, I'll be honest that this post was supposed to be put up last Thursday but due to social encounters its been pushed back. I've now however found myself with lots to say and probably three posts in a day so I feel some, if not all, might not get read at all. I'll just have to hope that sanyone reading is dedicated enough.

I was catching the bus to work early this (Thursday) morning and a strange thought occured to me: why do so many kids and adults dress and act the same way? This thought came from the amount of (annoying) kids there were on the bus today who, obviously, had a non-uniform day at their respective schools. They were all dressed like something out of either a very cliched hip-hop video, or someone they'd seen on the pages of Heat magazine, and they were about twelve! It just got me thinking about what people must aspire to today. Is there nobody left these days that wants to better the cards theyve been dealt by life? I mean, granted, we're all born with certain circumstances that we can't deny, but that doesn't mean that we're stuck with that role forever? Doesn't anyone want to make their mark? Doesn't anyone want to change the world, and, more importantly is it wrong to want to?

I would certainly like to think that I had the potential to do something worthwhile in my life, so that in some shape or form my name would linger a little after it amounts to nothing more than an engraving on a stone monument somewhere. I'd also like to think that that is actually starting to happen. After all, I've now had my first mention in an academic text book! Granted, it's only a mention on the acknowledgments page of the new book by A Man Much Greater than I, but its a start! However, as you'll come to realise dear reader, I like to think a number of things.

And there is my inherent problem: my disgusting lack of self-confidence in myself and my abilities. I'm becoming aware that I can probably make a difference, or a mark nonetheless, to this world in some shape or form but my problem is I need some people or somebody to help me. I can't do this by myself. As Shed Seven rightly observed all those years ago "I've got high hopes, all I need is your hand to steady my feet". That's exactly the situation I feel I'm in. I'd like to think I've got a couple of people there but, as with anything in life, you can never really be sure. On that note though I'd like to thank my first reader of this page for their thoughts. It's always nice to know that you're gaining an audience.

However, this thought led me to thinking about why, and in what form exactly, I want to leave a mark on the world, and I managed to boil this motivation to one of three things: power, money or respect. For me, its not power thats driving me. I don't want control of anyone, or anything, in particular. Power breeds corruption and egos; people who think they're more than a decaying pool of matter want power because they feel inadequate about themselves in some form. Anyways, in the words of Hope of the States, "Don't make me a leader, I'll lead you all wrong". Neither do I want money in excessive amounts either. I grew up in a household where, whilst money wasn't a problem, I was often lead to believe that it was and so have seen the problems that it breeds. In fact, if I start earning more than I actually need I'd like to do something with it that is worthwhile. I'm quite happy with a decent house somewhere and a small car that won't harm the environment too much. No, what's motivating me is respect. Definately. I want people to turn around and respect me and my views; to view me as someone who stood for what he believed in and had something decent and interesting to say on things. Its something I stand by throughout life: if people respect me, I'll do the same to them. I think it's the single most important thing in the world and, unfortunately, we don't seem to live in a society where there is much of it. Too many people are willing to judge others due to something that they don't understand, whether it be something big like religion or race, or something small like a hobby or interest. I think we could all do with a little more tolerance, dear reader. Don't you?