The Girl Who Played With Fire

The second of Stieg Larsson's Millennium trilogy is just as page-turnery and unputdownable as The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo, though it does stretch credibility to breaking point - or, more appropriately, shoot credibility in the brain then bury it in a shallow grave in the woods.

Unlike the previous book, the plot this time lands squarely on the doorstep of our titular, angry-goth-feminist-icon, heroine Lisbeth Salander when she's accused of murdering two reporters and her sleazy probation officer in a night of kill-crazy violence. Fortunately she has an excellent hiding place, plus the help of a veritable phone book of crack investigators - chiefly Millennium's publisher / Lisbeth's onetime lover Mikael Blomkvist. Also helping prove her innocence are her former employer, original probation office, boxing coach and Chinese girlfriend... even the police have Lisbeth sympathizers in their ranks, which is useful because the evidence against her is pretty condemning.

Oh, and there's also a secondary plotline about sex trafficking which seems to point towards some frightening figures from Lisbeth's past... who may or may not be untouchable in the eyes of the law.

Larsson's strength lies in his intricate plotting and eye for absorbing detail. He has the ability to write a chapter about nothing more than Lisbeth shopping for groceries or buying furniture from Ikea and make it as riveting as any murder investigation. His weakness is action sequences. Just as the showdown with Dragon Tattoo's serial killer felt slightly forced, the dramatic climax here will raise more than an eyebrow. It's melodrama and manipulation - undeniably thrilling, yet disappointing when compared to the rest of the book. That said, it's certainly not enough to discourage me from reading part 3, or cursing the cruel gods of fate who stole Larsson for us before he could write any more.

Ironically, the elements that work best in Larsson's books are the very things that don't transfer well to the cinema screen. Much of Lisbeth's investigative work involves hacking into secret computer files, while Blomkvist spends hours digging through dusty old reports in newspaper morgues. Exciting as that may be on the page, you'd be falling asleep in the cinema. So the Swedish filmmakers in charge of adapting Lisbeth's adventures to the big screen are faced with the task of not only streamlining Larsson's labyrinthine plot, but also ramping up the action. In doing so they sadly lose much of what makes the story work and render the plot bizarrely unintelligible for anyone who's not read the book. The first half of the novel is stripped down into the first 20 minutes of the movie and the large supporting cast is barely sketched compared to the fingerprint detail Larsson gives them on the page. What saves the second film - just, though not as much as the first one - is the central performances. Noomi Rapace and Michael Nyqvist bring Lisbeth and Blomkvist to life with a grubby realism that Hollywood just won't be able to match. While I'm excited to see David Fincher helming the US remakes (though I breathed a sigh of relief when the laughable rumour of Scarlett Johansson as Lisbeth proved false) and I'm hoping he can transmit more of what makes Larsson's novels so gripping to the screen, you can bet your bottom dollar there'll be no flabby nude scenes or grimy Swedish streets on show... and somehow, that just won't be the same.

Scott Pilgrim Vs. Cinema Audiences

If you're sick of reading glowing fanboy reviews of Scott Pilgrim Vs. The World, you might want to click away now. There's very little for me to add beyond: LOVED IT. All the potential from the comic, fully realised, in - arguably - a medium even better suited to telling this particular story than black & white semi-manga. As I've said before about Scott Pilgrim, the biggest thing this comic always had going for it was the "why hasn't anyone done that before?" concept. A young slacker battles his potential girlfriend's seven evil exes in OTT computer game and comic book inspired combat without anyone ever stopping to ask how. Just because, because that's how things work in this world - deal with it.

Scott Pilgrim kept me grinning throughout. Yes, Michael Cera is perfectly cast, but it's the support that make this film so much fun, from Kieran Culkin's mega-dry Wallace to Chris Evans and Brandon Routh hamming each other off the screen. The worst thing that could happen to Brandon Routh now is another Superman movie - with this and his show-stealing cameo in Zack & Miri, he's proved himself a far better comedy actor than comic book actor, I'd happily pay to see him headlining a movie - as long as it didn't have a big red S in the title.

Edgar Wright meanwhile takes the hyperactive direction of Spaced and turns it up to ten thousand. In a way though, we ought to be glad that this film has bombed slightly at the US box office (besides, cult status is assured) because the last thing any of us need is a load of unnecessary sequels or knock-offs. The Roadrunner-meets-Street Fighter action sequences work amazingly well in the context of Scott's world but they could so easily become annoying if, like The Matrix, they spawned a load of slow-mo imitators.

If you're stuck at certain age and never grew up, Scott Pilgrim Vs. The World is the most fun you could have at the cinema this summer without The A-Team. Go see it. Or don't. What do I care?

Thoughtballoons - John Constantine

This week's Thoughtballoons character choice was mine. Only my second time at bat, and once I'd gotten the most obvious choice out of the way... who was next?

Who else... but the second obvious choice?

If you've got a problem with the occult, and no one else can help... go find Dr. Strange, Daimon Hellstrom or Dr. Thirteen. Pray you don't ever get desperate enough to need John Constantine. Because the scouse mage, supernatural conman, and devil-taunting hellblazer is not a man you should ever wish to turn to in a crisis. John Constantine is good at helping one person, and one person only: John Constantine. Just ask his friends or family - well, you could if they weren't all burning in hell, possessed by demons or getting their insides ripped out by serial killers. (Yeah, there is Chas. Somehow Chas manges to survive everything John throws at him. Lucky bastard... if you can call that lucky.) Count on one thing - if you're in trouble and John Constantine gets involved, things are going to get much worse before they get better.

Read my John Constantine story here.

The Wedding Present Go Bizarro In Holmfirth

Congratulate me, I managed to stand up for a whole gig without too much discomfort. Still some discomfort, but nowhere near how bad I felt when I saw Ash back in April. Maybe the chiropractor is having some effect after all! He reckons I have weak knees which might be adding to the pain in my back when I'm standing. So he's got me wearing knee braces when walking, which are definitely helping manage the pain. Why not try them at a gig? Hey... there might be something to this...

Anyway - The Wedding Present in Holmfirth. There's a trend at the moment towards artists with a certain heritage digging into their back catalogues and performing a classic album all the way through, just as it appeared on record - twenty-odd years later. Never one to miss out on a bandwagon (one of his new songs involves a wife cheating on her husband via iPhone), David Gedge is dragging his latest incarnation of The Wedding Present out on the road to re-present 1989's classic Bizarro - and great it sounds too.

I was disappointed to miss out on the support - particularly when I discovered it was Cinerama. That is, the other name for The Wedding Present. Damn them! (My favourite David Gedge memory is still the Cinerama gig I went to where he was running his own T-shirt stand.) Still, whether my back would have stood up to an extra hour's punishment I'm not sure. It was Bizarro I came to see, and Bizarro I got. After an opening set of new songs and a couple of classics, the repeating voice of John Peel filled the Picturedrome, an edited montage of "The Wedding Present / The Wedding Present / The Wedding Present..." before the great man himself introduced the opening track from beyond the grave. (21 years later, David Gedge is a lot more animated than he was in this video.)

Have you ever seen a bunch of late 30-something / early 40-something blokes moshing? It's a sight to lift your heart. And though I couldn't join in myself (that was never really my scene, even as a younger man with a stronger back), I cheered them on through No!, Thanks, What Have I Said Now, Granadaland and the mammoth, showstopping Take Me! I never saw The Wedding Present back in 1989 - hell, I'd barely even heard of them - but I can't imagine them sounding any better than this. Especially on the song below, perhaps their greatest single... fans of My Favourite Dress may disagree, but as Mr. Gedge was happy to point out, "I think you paid to see the wrong album - you should have come when we did George Best."

Friday Flash - The Cleaner

I've managed another #FridayFlash short story this week... but don't start taking them for granted. I won't be able to do one every week!

The Cleaner

Me and Lisa, we both worked hard. Long hours, late nights – we were earning decent money, but never had any free time to enjoy it. The last thing we wanted was to spend our weekends scrubbing the bath or mopping the kitchen floor. So at risk of being mocked as middle class by all our right-on friends, we hired a cleaner. From a card in the newsagents window. Eight pounds an hour, three hours a week. Twenty-four quid wasn’t bad if it bought us back our Saturdays.

Joanne called round one night after work and Lisa told her exactly what we wanted. We’re not perfectionists or clean freaks or anything like that - a bit of light dusting and hoovering, a once-over in the kitchen and bathroom, that’ll be fine. As long as we’re not choking on dustballs or getting out of the bath dirtier than we got in, we’re happy.

“Oh, I think we can do a little better than that,” said Joanne. She was a slight woman in her early 30s with a bleached perm and a bright silver stud in her left nostril. Normally when I see those things they make me think I’m talking to someone with a huge zit on the side of her nose, but Joanne’s was so shiny no one could mistake it for acne.

“She seems nice enough,” said Lisa once Joanne had gone for the bus. We’d been concerned about giving someone we’d never met a key to our front door, but there seemed little to worry about. Joanne would work Friday mornings, 10 till 1, so it’d all be sorted by the time we finished work for the weekend. No problems.


Week One.

The first thing I noticed was the oven. I didn’t even get inside – I could see it shining at me as I passed the kitchen window. I thought for a moment Lisa must have bought a new one and not told me. Then I remembered the cleaner.

“It’s amazing,” said Lisa, when she got home, “it must have taken her hours.”

“It did,” I said, handing her the note.

Sorry I didn’t have time to do the whole house this week, kinda got caught up cleaning the oven – what a state! Don’t worry, now that I’ve blitzed that it’ll be a lot easier in future. Get to the rest next time – Jo.

“So we have a nice sparkly oven, but we’re still going to have to clean the rest of the house ourselves?” Lisa asked.

“Just this week. Like she says, now she’s blitzed that…”

“Was the oven really that bad?”

“I guess it must have been.”


Week Two.

This time, the first thing I noticed was the coffee ring on the kitchen table. How could Joanne miss that, I wondered, as I carried my bags through to the living room where the cat hairs on the carpet made the same patterns they had when I left for work.

“So she spent three hours on the bathroom floor?” said Lisa, reading the second note a third time.

“It must have been filthy.”

“Yeah – but we’re still going to have to do everything else ourselves.”

“Next week – she promises next week she’ll have time to do the full clean.”

“She better – or you’re having words.”

“Me? Why me?”


Week Three.

The perfume bottles on Lisa’s dressing table were arranged in order of descending height. The cut glass bottle with the elegant stopper and the crystal pendant round its neck was cleaner than when Lisa’s grandmother bought it 60 years earlier. The rest of the house was untouched.

“Right – that’s it,” said Lisa, “I’m having words.”

“I thought you wanted me to—“

“You? What would you say? You’re bloody hopeless. I’m working from home next Friday anyway so I’ll tell her straight. We don’t want her spending all her time on just one thing if it means nothing else is getting done. I’ll talk to her. It’ll be fine.”


Week Four.

I phoned home during my lunch hour. “So? How did it go?”

“She’s doing my nut in!”

“She took it the wrong way?”

“No, it was fine. I told her soon as she got here how we wanted things doing and she said no problem. She told me she was a little bit OCD, but at the end of the day she’d do it however we wanted. Then she went up to clean the bathroom… I’ve not seen her since. I knocked on the door about half an hour ago and she just said the toilet – she really needed to spend more time on the toilet. I’m dying for a pee – but she won’t let me in till she’s done!”

“We’re going to have to let her go – get someone else…”

“Too right we are! As soon as she comes out of that bloody bathroom – she’s gone!”


Week Five.

I’ve been tied to the bed now since Monday. Sometimes I can hear Lisa crying from the bathroom, but I don’t know what’s happening in there. Every few hours I see Joanne walk past the bedroom door. Sometimes she’s pushing the hoover, sometimes she’d dusting, other times she’s just looking for dirt she might have missed earlier. She’s got a huge magnifying glass, some kind of strange beeping device that measures air quality, and all the time in the world.

She brings me food twice a day. Unties my hands just enough so I can eat. Tells me not to make a mess. I know better than to get crumbs on the bedclothes. I’ve got sores on my back and my legs and I’m worried what’ll happen when they burst. Will she try and bleach the whole bed again, with me in it? She never stays to chat, there’s too much to be done.

“This house is filthy…”

Thoughtballoons - Jubilee

After many years of getting very annoyed with Chris Claremont's increasing need to overwrite every single word balloon, I finally gave up reading Uncanny X-Men in the late 80s (around the time scratchy old Mark Silvestri took over on art). I didn't pick the book up again until Grant Morrison jumped on board, and by then it was another century. As a result, I know very little about this week's Thoughtballoons character, Jubilee. As I understand it, she was created by Claremont and Jim Lee as a kind of mallrat Robin to Wolverine's Batman and she had some kind of exploding firework powers which she's subsequently lost but will probably end up getting back once she's finished being a vampire or whatever.

You can tell I don't really care, can't you?

Still, that didn't stop me writing my own 2 panel Jubilee script... my first Thoughtballoons What If? Well, I like it even if nobody else does...

August Listening

So what am I listening to at the moment? You know you want to know.

First though, for everyone who found themselves staggering under the weight of all that relentless misery last week... This Is A Happy Song by Superman Revenge Squad.



I always found Guillemots a rather frustrating band. They lured me in with classic indie pop singles like Made Up Love Song #43 and Annie, Let's Not Wait then bored my pants off with half-arsed albums full of much beard scratching and muso-noodling. I always felt songwriter Fyfe Dangerfield had great potential... and he's taken a step closer to realising that on his new solo album Fly Yellow Moon.

Earlier this year Fyfe scored an actual Top Ten hit, albeit with a cover of Billy Joel's old cheesefest She's Always A Woman, as featured in some TV ad or other. That's been stapled onto subsequent reissues of the album, but there are far stronger songs here (and songs which fit Fyfe's delicate voice much better - rather than straining to hit some of Billy's notes). When You Walk In The Room, She Needs Me, and this... all good stuff.



Earlier this year, former Delgado Emma Pollock released her second solo album, The Law Of Large Numbers. I remember commenting that certain songs on her previous record (Watch The Fireworks - my 9th favourite album of 2007) reminded me of mid-period Elvis Costello. That's truer than ever here, many of these tracks could fit snugly onto Mighty Like A Rose or Spike... though Emma's got a much sweeter voice (no offence, Declan).



Eddie Argos is back again! Not with Art Brut, not with The Glam Chops, not even with Everybody Was In The French Resistance... Now, but with yet another side-project, this one aimed squarely at comics fans... Spoiler Alert! Eddie is a particular fan of DC's old JLI comic book - i.e. The Justice League when they were funny (and worth reading), and the first Spoiler Alert! EP features songs about Booster Gold, Blue Beetle and Batman. Available to download for peanuts (you choose how many peanuts) right here.

I used to have this theory that The Divine Comedy got better with each album, in inverse proportion to how many people were buying their records. Much as I still love Neil Hannon, he's tried his best to disprove that theory with Bang Goes The Knighthood. It's a fine record, featuring many good songs, but doesn't quite scale the heights of Victory For The Comic Muse or Absent Friends. It does however feature the first decent song I've heard about the financial crisis...



A recent Radio 2 documentary on Laurel Canyon in the 60s stirred my interest in loads of old hippy songwriters, including Jackson Browne, Joni Mitchell and Crosby, Stills & Nash. Though I'm more familiar with the work of their occasional fourth member Mr. Young, I've been enjoying their mellow greatest hits collection. And boy do I know where Fleet Foxes nicked all their tricks now.



Dresden Doll Amanda Palmer has released an EP of old Radiohead songs played on her magical ukulele. There's a real ukulele resurgence going on at the moment - Louise just bought one, then there's the Ukulele Orchestra of Great Britain... even Dan's getting in on the act. Radiohead on the ukulele really shouldn't work... and yet, it does. Creep in particular is a work of twisted genius. Download the EP from Amanda's website, Amanda Fucking Palmer dot net.



New Jersey's favourite Bruce-influenced band The Gaslight Anthem are also back with a new record American Slang, and while it's not quite as barnstorming as The '59 Sound it does make me want to go tripping down the boardwalk then sleep on the beach at midnight. They still sound like a tribute band though. A more interesting bunch of Springsteen groupies are Titus Andronicus whose debut The Monitor roars out of Jersey louder and punkier than anything you'll ever hear on E Street. I'm still undecided on whether this is a good thing or not, but they certainly nail their colours to the mast with this song, paying debts not only to the Boss, but to Billy Bragg as well...

"No I never wanted to change the world, but I'm looking for a new New Jersey...
'Cause tramps like us, baby we were born to die."

Finally, an oldie but... well, an oldie. When I was 14, I thought Dire Straits were pretty cool. Then, like much of the rest of the world, I decided categorically they weren't. Now... many, many years later... I might actually be coming round to cool again. Yes, Mark Knopfler looks like your dad's stupid mate with the Ford Capri, but this is a great song whatever...

The Universe Hates Me

We all have those moments (or, at least, I presume it's not just me) when it seems like some higher power is mocking us. God, Fate, Mephisto, Loki, Mxyplyzyk, Tyler Durden, The Impossible Man, Grant Morrison, the rabbit from Donnie Darko... I dunno, whichever of those dudes you believe in. Those moments when the twisted writer in charge of our lives sticks a knife in our joy balloons and 'pop'. Those moments when you shake your fist at the sky and scream, 'WHYYYYYYYY?'

Yesterday had one such moment. I was in a bad mood anyway, largely due to work-related shenanigans, so I really wasn't up for being the butt of a cosmic joke in my lunch hour. Like I had any choice.

Every Monday I go to the Evil Supermarket That Needs No Further Publicity to pick up a few bits for my lunch. Apples, bananas, the one flavour of Ocean Spray (Cranberry & Blueberry) they don't sell online (obviously the type I want). Mostly good healthy fair. On my way to the checkouts I always glance down the snacks aisle where the temptation of Marmite Cashew Nuts waves at me from its over-priced shelf. Much as I love this particular delicacy, £1.63 always seems too much to spend, so normally I sigh ruefully and carry on about my business. No Marmite Cashew Nuts for me this week. Maybe when they have them on special offer...

Cut to this weekend. An unpleasant sight greets me in the bathroom mirror as I step out of the shower. I quote Harry Chapin: "I've got a tyre around my gut from sitting on my butt". The back problems (yes, still ongoing) are preventing me exercising as much as I might. I need to lose some weight. Right then - strict regime. Watch my diet for the next few weeks. While I can still fit in the bathroom door.

And so to Monday. The Supermarket. A bad mood already. The long walk to the checkout. A glance down the snacks aisle... Marmite Cashew Nuts - HALF PRICE! Oh, man, too good to pass up. My sweaty little hand reaches up to grab a packet from the shelf. And then I remember... cashew nuts: high fat content. OK, it's "good" fat (a concept which was surely invented by nut farmers)... but it's still fat. I can hardly break my diet on the first day, can I? But why do they have to be half price this week? Why? Why? Whyyyyy?

As flies to wanton boys are we to th' gods,
They kill us for their sport.

In that awful moment, I seriously feel like crying at the unfairness of it all.

Tell me about your last The Universe Hates Me moment. Go on, I need cheering up.

National Get A Decent Artist Into The Charts Day

My favourite British female singer songwriter is, and has been for a good many years now, Thea Gilmore. She writes smart, incisive lyrics and sings like an angel. She's something of a critical darling, the music press all seem aware of her greatness, yet sadly this has yet to be communicated to the great unwashed. Largely this is because Thea isn't on a major label - and doesn't want to be on a major label. She prefers the creative freedom of being an independent, even though this means she often struggles to get her music played on the radio. Every now and then though the radio takes notice - as it has of her new single, cunningly titled You're The Radio. (A hint to all songwriters - radio is an entirely onanistic industry. It loves to play records about itself.)

So You're The Radio has been A-listed by the UK's biggest national radio station, Radio 2. Having cracked that, Thea's set her sights firmly on the Top 40. But she needs our help. The single is out now and can be downloaded from Amazon for a very modest 79p. So take a listen to the video below, and if you like what you hear... give Thea your support. It's about time we had something worth listening to in the charts again... god, I sound old.

The Cattle Raid Of Cooley - Duel!

Patrick Brown's wonderful translation of ancient Irish legends returns, and chapter 3 focusses on an exciting and amusing duel between teenage border guard Cú Chulainn and his chosen challenger from the invading army of Connacht. It's a beautifully rendered action sequence that proves why Patrick's decision to retell these old stories in comic book form was such an excellent idea.

Also in this issue, the secret origin of Cú Chulainn and a gripping game of fidchell. Now you know that's got you intrigued! Start reading The Cattle Raid Of Cooley online over at Patrick's website, where you can also order the first three issues, and the prequel book, Ness.

Friday Flash - He's Just A Lickle Kid

After taking time out to write a new play (There's More Where That Came From), a few short stories for competition entry and a couple of new strips for PJANG, I've gone back to my latest novel, which is cheerfully titled I Wish, Wish, Wish You Were Dead, Dead, Dead. It's a love story. I'm about three quarters of the way through, but it's a long, soul-destroying process full of dread, self-doubt and disillusionment ("it's all SHIT!"), and apart from my weekly Thoughtballoons script I've not got anything else to keep the evil thoughts at bay.

So I thought I'd try my hand at some Flash Fiction. My old mate Dan Powell is always banging on about #fridayflash, a meme wherein writers post a short story of 1000 words or less on a Friday then promote the hell out of it via Twitter and sundry other locales on what Vicus calls the electric interweb. So I set myself a challenge - and challenge it is, because word limits are always a problem - to start writing my own #fridayflash stories, the first of which can be read below. I'm worried that in doing so I might have channelled my inner fascist, middle-class, Daily Mail reading, scumbag Hyde-self... but I prefer to think there's more going on in this story than just reactionary zeal. See what you think...






He's Just A Lickle Kid

In the summer of 1949, a farmer by the name of Hedgemoor caught seven year old Tommy Marshall running through his fields, stamping and trampling his crop to the ground. Hedgemoor grabbed Tommy by the wrist, lifted him up so his feet were swinging over the broken corn, then whipped him to within an inch of his life with a riding crop he wore clipped to his belt.

When Tommy returned home for tea his mother asked him why he’d been crying. He told her the full story, because he knew never to lie to his mum, then took a second beating for his trouble with a carpet slipper. He never trampled corn again, but he carried a lingering resentment against all farmers for the rest of his days.



In the autumn of 1977, 35 year old Thomas Marshall caught a kid from his local estate, Carl Shutterman, pulling the petals off the prize roses in his garden. He chased the little bastard with a garden hoe, screaming how he’d report him to the police for vandalism and destruction of private property. Carl escaped, but not without running through a patch of nettles that left him itching painfully.

“So how did this happen then?” his mum asked when he got home, and though Carl tried his best to tell the story without getting into trouble, she soon wheedled the truth out of him. “Sounds like it serves you right, young man. You should count yourself lucky you got away with just a few nettle stings – now go to your room and think on. No TV for you tonight.”



In the winter of 2009, Carl Shutterman, now in his 42nd year, was walking home from work in the snow. He stopped to admire a snowman in a neighbour’s garden - a carrot for its nose, pebbles for a smile and cool dude sunglasses. That’s when a hard-packed iceball hit him straight in the eye. Blinking, holding a palm to his swollen face, Carl spotted the culprit, Danny Harris, a kid he recognised from three doors down, laughing on the corner. “You little fucker,” Carl screamed, “when I get my hands on you, I’ll rip your fucking head off and shit down your neck!” Danny ran away, ha-has echoing between the frozen terraces.

That night, Carl opened his front door to a furious Michael and Fiona Harris. They told him in no uncertain terms that if he ever threatened their son again, or came anywhere near the boy, they’d report Carl to the police, the social services, and the Child Offenders’ Registry. When Carl explained that he wasn’t the sort of man to ever hurt a child, but that he felt perfectly within his rights to at least give Danny a blasting, considering the black eye he was now sporting, Fiona Harris told Carl to grow up. “He’s just a lickle kid – didn’t you ever do nothing wrong when you were a lickle kid?”



In the spring of 2050, Danny Harris, 49 and not long out of prison for GBH and assaulting a policewoman with a Becks bottle, was attacked on his way home from an appointment with his parole officer. Eight year old Ewan Turner tripped him up then set about beating him repeatedly on the back of his head with a golf club he’d stolen from his great uncle Eddie. When Danny finally managed to wrestle the weapon away from the boy, a passing pensioner who’d only seen the tail end of the altercation pulled over to the side of the road and shot Danny with a 5000 volt taser. “You all right, lad?” 83 year old Carl Shutterman asked the boy. “Did he hurt you?”

“Fuck you, grampa,” said Ewan Turner, knocking the taser out of Carl’s liver-spotted hand and making off with it down the road. When he finally arrived home after midnight, Ewan’s parents didn’t ask where he’d been. They were too busy playing Hostile-WOW-3D and acting out cyber-rape fantasies with a 16 year-old in Brazil. Not yet ready for bed, Ewan went into the kitchen and started testing his new toy out on the dog.

To Kill A Mockingbird

This year marks the fiftieth anniversary of the original publication of To Kill A Mockingbird, so it seemed a good time to pull the book down off the shelf and give it another read.

What can I write about Mockingbird that hasn't already been said? Very little. It is a timeless classic, and rightfully so. Its theme of racial integration in the deep south of America is one we've seen time and time again in popular fiction over recent years, yet it must have been groundbreaking in 1960. Its secondary theme, of growing up and the loss of innocence, is another common to many classic novels, yet despite the fact that Mockingbird's narrator is a pre-teenage girl, Harper Lee never shies away from the unpleasant realities of the adult world.

The courtroom scenes are as gripping as any John Grisham thriller, yet in Atticus Finch, Lee gives us a hero more fascinating and troubled than any other crusading legal eagle you might care to name. He's an old widower with young children and a snobby sister; a crack shot with a firearm who doesn't like guns; a quiet, studious man but a cunning judge of character. He's honourable and lives his life to the letter of the law, yet is ultimately persuaded that there are times when the law needs bending to protect the vulnerable. For anyone who's seen the movie, it's impossible not to think of Gregory Peck's pitch perfect performance.

Beyond the central storyline are some powerfully affecting subplots, notably the tale of crotchety old Mrs. Dubose, one of Atticus's sternest critics, a proud lady who wins her final battle with dignity. And then, of course, there's the unsung hero of To Kill A Mockingbird, Boo Radley. Well - unsung until the early 90's, anyway...



Harper Lee never published another novel. As she's refused all requests at interview for the last few decades, we may never know why. It's possible she just doesn't feel she can ever top her first book. If you're only going to have one novel to your name, you could do much worse than this one.

Top Ten Misery Songs

In a change to the expected programme, we take a break from Top Tens about popular beverages, and take a request from the floor instead. Kelvin didn't actually ask for a Top Ten Misery Songs... but he's getting it anyway.


10. Graham Coxon - Bittersweet Bundle Of Misery ( From Happiness in Magazines)

Kelvin thinks this sounds suspiciously similar GC's solo Blur outing Coffee & TV. I'm not sure I agree. You?

9. The Beatles - Misery ( From Please Please Me)

Yes, yes, I know, it's the friggin' Beatles. But always better a miserable Beatles than some happy-happy joy-joy grinning-Macca Beatles.

This was the first Lennon & McCartney composition to be covered by another artist. Originally written for Helen Shapiro, but she rejected it, the honour of being the first ever Beatles cover star actually went to comedian and singer Kenny Lynch. Yep, this guy...

8. Pink & Steven Tyler - Misery ( From M!ssundaztood)

Pink and Steven Tyler... now that's what I call scary.

7. Frightened Rabbit - Not Miserable

I will always remember the night that I almost drowned
All alone in a house

And the love that I lost
With all of the shit that came out in the wash
Just a pocket of fluff

And I'm not put upon
I'm free from disease, no grays, no liver spots
Most of the misery's gone
Gone, gone to the bone

No, lads, not miserable at all.

Taken from the album Winter of Mixed Drinks- which might be my album title of the year - even if the record itself isn't a patch on their last one.

6. Green Day - Misery ( From Warning)

Green Day write their own version of Walk On The Wild Side... the rest is misery.

5. The Pet Shop Boys - Miserablism ( From
Alternative)

Just for the sake of it
make sure you're always frowning
(Angst! Angst! Angst!)
It shows the world
that you've got substance and depth

Thank you, Neil, you made me feel good about myself... for a flickering millisecond. Was it worth it?

4. Half Man Half Biscuit - Reasons To Be Miserable (Part 10) ( From Back in the Dhss)

A fairly attractive girl walks past a building site and from underneath an industrial safety helmet you hear (wolf whistle) and you stand there witnessing the whole Neanderthal situation, wanting to twist your own brain out as they sit satisfied on their newly-built wall, laughing their hods off...

Reasons to be miserable
Another good excuse to be dead
It’s one more thing to gripe about
As I while away my days in bed

3. Brendan Benson - Misery ( From My Old, Familiar Friend)

Brendan Benson sounds more like mid-period Elvis Costello with every new record. If you're going to sound like anyone, that's a good place to start.

2. Tom Waits - Misery Is The River Of The World ( From Blood Money)

On which Tom plays calliope - or steam-powered organ. Forget guitars, we need more calliopes them in pop.

1. The Smiths - Heaven Knows I'm Miserable Now ( From Hatful of Hollow)

Come on, you all knew where this was going... it was this or Miserable Lie. No contest really.

The song most often mocked by non-Smith fans (i.e. me, circa 1985) who claim the band are miserablists... and just don't get the irony.

Apparently this is one of the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame's 500 Songs that Shaped Rock and Roll. Which is pretty cool for all kinds of reasons.



So... what's your favourite misery music?

Thoughtballoons - Scott Pilgrim

This week's Thoughtballoons character is our first to exist outside the Marvel or DC universes, the star of a new film by Shaun Of The Dead's Edgar Wright (not yet released in the UK so I can't give you my review - but the trailer looks ace), Scott Pilgrim. I've only read the first of Bryan Lee O'Malley's seven Scott Pilgrim books but it's a great concept, mixing slice-of-life indie bedsit angst with OTT comic book, Manga and video game action. As you probably know, the premise is that Scott meets a cool new girl who may be the answer to his dreams... but before they can live happily ever after he has to fight her 7 evil exes. It's the sort of book you hear about and think, "I can't believe nobody's ever done that before" - and such ideas are few and far between in the world of comics... or anywhere else for that matter.

For my own shot at Scott Pilgrim, I went with the obvious crossover (or should that be X-over?) gag. It's the sort of idea that made me think, "I can't believe nobody's ever done that either"... though I'm scared to scour the internet because knowing my luck somebody probably already has. Here it is. I make no apologies.

30 Songs - Day 14

Day 14 - A Song No One Would Expect You To Love

As with the previous day's quest for my Guilty Pleasure song, I struggled to think of a song no one would expect me to love. Then I remembered a tune that's been kicking around in my head all week from Dan Le Sac and Scroobius Pip...



The duo first came to my notice with their hilarious and biting list-song Thou Shalt Always Kill, but though that track had its roots in rap and drum 'n' bass, its heart was all indie kid - hence its crossover success. Many of the other tracks on DLS Vs SP's debut album performed a similar balancing act, particularly Letter From God and Angles. However, the reviews suggested their follow-up record towed a much more dance-oriented line, so I had my doubts whether it'd appeal. But though there's nothing quite as strong as the three tracks mentioned above, there's much fun to be had with the rhymes and themes developed by natural storyteller Pip (plus he's got a great beard). I'll never be a fan of electronic beeps - I'd always prefer a guitar or piano ("proper instruments," says the fogey inside me) - but if the lyrics are good enough, I'll keep coming back for more.

Top Ten People I Don't Want To Follow On Twitter

Twitter has started helpfully suggesting people I might like to follow, presumably based on the people I already follow. Some of these suggestions are making me angry. Very angry. You wouldn't like me when I'm angry...

This blog post is rated 15. Contains images of a disturbing nature and one instance of *very* strong language. Don't say you weren't warned.

10. Derren Brown - smug conjurer who really ought to spell his name with an 'a'.

9. Rich Johnson - arrogant, self-important comics gossip-columnist boob who takes special joy in pointing out errors of subbing, proofreading, continuity et al. Not itself a crime unless one makes far more basic errors oneself - such as not knowing how to spell Electro or that The Lizard was never a member of The Sinister Six.

8. Ashton Kutcher - for this, Demi ditched Bruce?

7. Fearne Cotton - DJ. Makes Jo Whiley sound interesting.

6. Neil Gaiman - ridiculously arrogant "rock star" writer who poses for author photographs dressed in leathers and riding a Harley - which is fine if you're Jim Steinman, but not if you specialise in fey goth-centred gibberish in which every one of your characters goes on endlessly about "the mystical power of stories". I'm sorry, I know you like him. Try not to hate me too much for disagreeing with you.

5. Jim Carrey - gurning "comedy" twat.

4. Russell Brand - another so-called comedian (yes, yes, humour is subjective, blah blah) whose comedy seems based entirely on a) his silly voice, b) his stupid hair, and c) his ridiculous sex-life; career-building popstar husband; and the man who singlehandedly ruined Radio 2 (by bragging about the fact that he once shagged Manuel's daughter, upsetting the Daily Mail, and bringing about the resignation of Programme Controller Lesley Douglas, leading to her replacement by someone who quite clearly doesn't have a clue what he's doing). Yes, he likes Morrissey, but he's still a tosser.

3. Mark Millar - ego-maniacal comics writer who is excellent at writing about how excellent he is... not so excellent at writing comics that don't rely heavily on clichéd shock value, unnecessary cynicism, and sub-Arnie one-liners.

2. Chris Evans* - DJ. Cunt.

1. Tom Hanks - Gump**.




*No, not Captain America.

**I did warn you I was going to use the 'G' word.

You Have The Right To Remain Misanthropic

According to the Association of Chief Police Officers, I could very well be a Menace To Society. In a recent radio advertising campaign*, these top cops highlighted certain types of behaviour the public ought to be vigilant about... after all, you never know when there might be a potential terrorist in your midst.

"The man at the end of the street doesn't talk to his neighbours much, because he likes to keep himself to himself."

Or maybe he just thinks his neighbours are annoying?

"He pays with cash because he doesn't have a bank card..."

Or perhaps he can't remember his pin number?

"...and he keeps his curtains closed because his house is on a bus route."

What, you'd prefer he was an exhibitionist? Free live nude shows for the kids passing on the bus? Is that what you're suggesting? Oh, no, wait, my bad - we're not supposed to walk around naked in our own homes, are we?

"This may mean nothing, but together it could all add up to you having suspicions."

Or it could mean you're a nosey-parker busy-body with far too much time on your hands.


But wait, the foremost fuzz aren't done yet...

"The man two desks down from you at work looks at online aerial photos, because he's thinking of moving house."

Or perhaps he's building a missile in his cellar?

"He rents three lockups, full of his mother's things he just can't throw out."

But what about that fourth lock-up, the one his mother's decomposing corpse is locked in?

"He paid for a flight with cash, but that's because he's a spontaneous kind of guy..."

Or maybe he was in a desperate hurry to get away from his prying, judgmental (or just plain mental) colleagues?


In short: being vaguely antisocial, minding your own business, and keeping yourself to yourself is the new blowing up airports. Lock me up and throw away the key. Just don't expect me to make polite smalltalk with my cellmates...




*I keep telling you: radio advertising... that's the real menace to society.

Sleep No More

I first heard about LTC Rolt's Sleep No More a few years ago in an article on classic British ghost stories. Unfortunately the book was out of print and the only copies I could find on either Amazon or eBay were going for silly money. Earlier this year I noticed Rolt's anthology had been republished and added it to my wishlist, thinking I'd get round to it soon. It quickly went out of print again (a small run, perhaps, and unexpected demand) but luckily I managed to secure a copy before the prices started rising.

Tom Rolt was a writer between the 1940s and 70s who specialised in factual books about the history of British railways, canals and industry, as well as biographies of famous engineers such as Isambard Kingdom Brunel and Thomas Telford. But he was also a fan of the supernatural, and wrote a number of creepy short stories that combined his various interests in macabre fashion.

Here are stories of haunted mines and foundries, tragic railway tunnel disasters, lonely moors with mysterious buildings that appear from nowhere in the fog, remote islands with eerily lit castles, and cars that break down miles from nowhere on stormy nights. Atmosphere is everything in Rolt's writing, and his detailed knowledge of the subject matter lends these short tales a chilling authenticity. Like John Wyndham, Rolt is writing of a Britain that's hardly recognisable nowadays, yet despite his rather middle-class leanings he's unafraid to venture into darker territory when the story requires.

In her introduction, Susan Hill mentions Rolt's love of MR James, which shines through in these stories. But while many of James's stories were set in towns and cities, Rolt ventures away from civilization to investigate the creepier corners of the British isles. If you've ever found yourself lost and alone on misty moorland - or stared into the darkness of an old abandoned railway tunnel - these are the stories for you.

Top Ten Tea Songs

What sort of True Brit would I be, listing my Top Ten Coffee Songs, if I didn't follow with a tribute to The Great British Cuppa?


10. Nirvana - Pennyroyal Tea

"Give me a Leonard Cohen afterlife", pleads Kurt Cobain, "so I can sigh eternally".

Wonder if he got his wish?

9. The Proclaimers - Lulu Selling Tea

Like a Scottish Housemartins, The Proclaimers "voice their dissent" over the fact that the 60s people always talk about isn't the same decade they remember from the childhood. It's not the Beatles they grew up on, but...

Mother's Pride on the table, Batman on TV
A Man In A Suitcase, Daktari and Skippy
Jimmy Clitheroe, Colin Stein and Lulu selling tea

8. Supergrass - Whisky & Green Tea

Story of my life. Whiskey in my 20s, Green Tea in my 30s. Man, I needed those antioxidants!

7. Philip Jeays - The Tea Dance

Welcome to the tea dance
Old debutants getting up on their toes
Darjeeling and romance
Between potted plants and yesterday's Romeos

Philip Jeays - give that man an Ivor Novello.

6. Joni Mitchell - The Tea Leaf Prophecy

Still working my way through Simon Goddard's Mozipedia, and I hadn't realised how much of an influence Joni M. was on Mozzer's songwriting. Could this be her Ouija Board, Ouija Board...?

Out of the blue--just passin' thru
A young flight sergeant
On two weeks leave--
Says "Molly McGee--no one else will do!"
And seals the tea-leaf prophecy.

5. Frank Turner - A Decent Cup Of Tea

As mentioned already, Frank Turner is my musical discovery of the year, combining the fire and brimstone of a youthful Billy Bragg with the epic ambition of Springsteen. I can't tell you how happy it makes me to have found a young songwriter who speaks to me as much as Frank does.

It's obvious to me,
But she never seems to see
That it's not about the days when everything has turned out right,
No it's more about the moments when she calls me in the night
To make her cups of tea and wash the weary worries from her head
And then to draw the pain out slowly as I put her into bed.

4. Belle & Sebastian - For The Price Of A Cup Of Tea

For the price of a cup of tea
You'd get a line of coke
For the price of a night with me
You'd be the village joke

Cue self-deprecating gag. Stuart Murdoch sets 'em up, I knock 'em down.

3. Fortunes - Storm In A Teacup

Pitter patter. Pitter patter.

2. The Scaremongers - Tea Leaves

From my favourite record of 2009, the Number One album Born In A Barn.

Didn't know it'd made Number One? Here's the proof.

1. Cat Stevens - Tea For The Tillerman

Used as the theme to Ricky Gervais's Extras, this short (just over a minute) track is both poignant and uplifting. Not a clue what it's actually about, but it always makes me think of the foiled ambition of Andy Millman, Maggie Jacobs and Barry from Eastenders.



So... how do you take yours?

People - Don't You Just Love 'Em?

You know when you send somebody an email containing two questions and they only reply to the first? How annoying is that? Like they've lost interest after the first question. Fuckers. (It's OK, the individual in question is a friend. I'm sure he won't mind me calling him a fucker.)

My sister goes to the dentist. As she arrives, there's a couple in front of her heading from the waiting room to the surgery. "I know you're not looking forward to this," says the husband, "but try to be brave."

After a few minutes, terrible screams begin to issue from the surgery. These continue for the next hour while my sister waits for her own - now long-delayed - appointment. Just as she's about to explain to the receptionist that she can't wait any longer - she's late enough for work as it is - another man comes in for his appointment.

"The dentist is running behind today, you'll have a long wait," says the receptionist, with no hint of an apology.

"OK," says the man, "I'll just pop out and tell my wife so she doesn't wonder where I am. She's waiting in the car."

"LEAVE THIS RECEPTION," screams the receptionist, "AND YOU WILL LOSE YOUR APPOINTMENT!" ('Also your head and your bollocks', is understood.)

From the surgery, the screams continue.

Louise gets on the train. The carriage is crowded, but there's one free space next to a woman who's put her bag on the seat. Louise goes to ask the woman to move her bag so she can sit down.

"Sorry," says the woman, "I'm saving this seat for my husband. He stood back to allow the ladies to get on first."

Chivalrous enough to allow the ladies to get on first, but not enough to let them have his seat.

I have an argument in Morrisons. I go in to buy cat litter and make the mistake of trying to enter via the automated check-outs rather than the "official" entrance. The woman policing the automated check-outs makes me go back and walk all the way around, like my headmaster used to if I was running in the school corridor.

I fetch my cat litter and return to the automated check-out. On the screen it says: "To begin, touch the screen or scan your product."

I scan the product.

Nothing happens.

I scan it again.

The woman I had the earlier altercation with rushes over and with a huge sigh says, "you have to touch the screen to start!" ('Moron!' is understood.)

"But that's not what it says on the screen," I point out.

"You have to touch the screen to start," she repeats.

"But it says 'To begin, touch the screen OR scan your product.'"

"You have to touch the screen to start," she repeats, like the Computer Says zombie from Little Britain.

"That's not what it says."

"You have to touch the screen to start."

"'OR scan your product' - it says 'OR'!"

"You have to touch the screen to start."

This continues on a perpetual loop until civilization has crashed around us, ivy is growing through the floor, and the cat litter I'm holding has become fossilized charcoal.

It may still be going on. Sitting here typing this post might just be a dream.

Thoughtballoons - The Question

This week's Thoughtballoons character is Renee Montoya, The Question. I was a big fan of the original Question, as created by Steve Ditko, voted Number 2 on my list of best comic character costumes. I was also a fan of Renee Montoya in her previous life as a tough, no-shit-taking Gotham City cop in Gotham Central. Though I've not read any of her adventures as the new Question, I do think she was a pretty good choice to replace Vic Sage, and I like that they kept the classic Question costume, just added the necessary curves.

For a change, this week's script isn't a done-in-one adventure, but the opening scene of a story... kinda like the pre-credits sequence a lot of US TV shows use to hook you in and make you stick around for the rest of the rest of the episode. Read it here and marvel at my restraint in not using the title 'To Be Or Not To Be...'

30 Songs - Day 13

Day 13 - A Song That's A Guilty Pleasure

I'm not sure I subscribe to the whole Guilty Pleasures bandwagon. After all, I'm someone who proudly boasts a record collection that includes Barry Manilow, Dean Friedman, Bon Jovi, Pink, Hall & Oates, Bryan Adams, Andrew Gold, ELO and many other MOR crimes against cool. And I'm not ashamed of any of them. I will stand up with pride and admit that the first 7" single I bought was Respect Yourself by Bruce Willis. I consider Kevin Rowland's much-maligned covers set My Beauty a work of genius (though the cover, with Kev in stocking and suspenders was a bad idea - even after my stockings confession last week!). I will happily admit to at one time or another having bought records by Whitney Houston, Robbie Williams, Mike & The Mechanics, Hootie & The Blowfish, Kula Shaker and even Phil Collins. No shame, no guilt. (Though I'm not saying I've listened to any of them in the last 10-15 years... or that I still own them.)

So... a record I actually feel guilty about liking?



The difference between all the artists above and Scouting For Girls is that, love them or hate them, Hall & Oates, Bon Jovi, Dean Friedman et al. have a degree of musical talent. The music they make might not be cool or to your liking, but they have songwriting, singing and instrument-playing talent.

Scouting For Girls, on the other hand, write jingles. This is an enormous talent in and of itself, but I'm damned if I believe there's any artistic merit to it. They write songs that are instantly, insanely catchy yet have as much depth as the We Buy Any Car advert or the Intel Inside bing-bong-bing. The first time I heard This Ain't A Love Song (even the title is unoriginal), I felt like I'd heard it a hundred times before. By the time I'd heard it three times, I was sick of it. If I ever hear it again, you'll find me sitting in a high window with a higher powered rifle taking potshots at passers by. I am seriously ashamed that I ever liked anything by Scouting For Girls, even for a split second. That is a guilty "pleasure".

28 Questions

From the nonstop meme machine that is Sunday Stealing...

1. Was your dad named after anyone?

My dad's so great, you should be named after him.

2. What do you think is the minimal age to get married?

Are you asking?

3. What’s the longest time you‘ve been involved with the same person?

4 1/2 years.

4. What actor/actress do you consider hot at the moment?

Other than Kate Winslet? Rebecca Hall has an interesting quality...



5. What is your favourite album by a band?

6. What is your favorite album by an individual?

Some might argue this record is by a band too. But then how would I choose between them?

7. What is something you‘d rather be a bit dirty?

The back of any white van that's in front of me in a traffic jam. You know, one of those with "I wish my missus was as dirty as this!" scrawled on it in one particular hand, and "She is with me, mate!" written in alternative calligraphy. Oh how I laugh.

8. What was the last TV show you watched?

Sherlock, episode 2. Still enjoying it, despite assorted grumblings from the world wide interweb.

9. How many people have you met from the blogosphere? Who are they?

I've not met any of them. They don't really exist.

10. What's your philosophy on life?

If you build it, they will come.

11. Do you think prescription drugs are over prescribed?

Not the ones I'm on.

12. Would you keep a secret from me if you thought it was in my best interest?

I already am.

13. What is your favorite memory in the last year?

Our holiday in the Peaks.

14. What is your favourite guilty pleasure?

I've just written a whole post about how I don't really subscribe to the notion of guilty pleasures... and if I say anymore here, you won't read that.

15. Tell me one odd/interesting fact about you:

I have weak knees (according to my chiropractor).

16. You can have three wishes (for yourself, so forget all the 'world peace etc' malarky) - what are they?

i) A three-book deal.

ii) Movie options.

iii) A call from Joe Quesada... "We really need you to take over Amazing Spider-Man".

17. Who would you want to get together with and make a cake?

Nigella.

18. Which country is your spiritual home?

The one I'm living in.

19. What is your big weakness?

At the moment, coffee.

20. What's your favourite Spielberg film?

Raiders or Jaws, Raiders or Jaws, Raiders or Jaws...?

21. What was your best/favourite subject at school?

English.

22. Describe your accent:

Yorkshire. But not like you're imagining.

23. If you could change anything about yourself, would you?

If I could leave anything the way it is, would I?

24. What do you wear to sleep?

Shorts.

25. What is your favorite casual outfit to wear?

Jeans and a T-shirt with some kind of pop culture reference on it.

26. Do you use cigarettes or alcohol?

No, and not anymore.

27. If I only had one day to live, what would we do together? (If you have no idea, just say something crazy, it'll entertain me!)

Why would you want to spend your last day alive with me?

28. Rate the memes you play generally. Use any scale or just in order.

What, you mean compile a Top Ten...?

Not today.

Once We Were Anarchists

I'm young enough to be all pissed off
But I'm old enough to be jaded
I'm at the age where I want things to change
But with age my hopes have faded
I'm young and bored of being young and bored
If I was old I could say I've seen it all before
In short, I'm tired of giving a shit

Or: One More Reason Why Frank Turner Is My Musical Discovery Of 2010.

Time Is Running Out

The person who invents a safe, reliable teleport system will never have to work again. We spend so much of our lives rushing here and there, always trying to get one place ahead in the queue... to have that pressure finally lifted from our shoulders would be a godsend.

Take yesterday. I'm coming off the motorway. I pull over into the exit lane, and at the very last second, rather than slipping in behind arsehole some impatient arsehole in an Audi cuts me up. Everyone wants to be ahead of the person in front.

Or how about when I head across town for my afternoon coffee? I'm walking fast. As I approach a street corner, I see a man heading towards the same corner from another direction, also fast. We're both going the same way, we're going to reach the corner at the same time - one of us will end up stuck behind the other. We both speed up. I spill hot coffee on my hand, but I win the race. This time, the impatient arsehole is me.

We rush everywhere - but imagine if we didn't. Imagine if we could just boil down our molecules into ray form then shoot them across the planet to be reassembled perfectly - minus the fly DNA, Jeff - at a point of our choosing. Or imagine we could BAMF! like the recently departed Nightcrawler. How cool would that be?

I spend up to 2 hours a day in some kind of transit. How much more productively might I use that time? Just think of the books I could read, the stories I could write, the blogs I could surf... though I would still have to find some time to listen to my music, since often these days the only listening time I get is when I'm stuck in the car.

The person who invents a safe, reliable teleport system will never have to work again. Anyone got any ideas?

Superpowers

I've read a few proper novels about superheroes (and by proper novels, I mean those involving original characters, created purely for the novel, rather than adapting superhero from other media such as comics or film). There was Robert Mayer's Super-Folks, which I came to a little too late - long after all its most original ideas had been ripped off by the medium it serenaded. Then there was Austin Grossman's Soon I Will Be Invincible, which was a little too respectful of its source material to have as much fun as was needed.

David J. Schwartz's Superpowers is more successful than most. It does that thing I like most about stories like this - building solid, three-dimensional characters and placing them firmly in what Stan Lee called 'the world outside your window'. Five young people wake up after a party with super-powers - the obvious ones: flight, super speed, strength, invisibility and mindreading... then they have to learn to deal with them. It's nothing we haven't seen before, but it's well done, witty and contains a few surprises along the way - not least the calculated absence of supervillains. Conflict is instead provided by powers going awry, people doing stupid things and real world events that prove much bigger than the average superhero can cope with (hint: for all those who complained about JMS's infamous black-covered Spider-Man comic, here's a different take). Schwartz writes flawed yet hugely sympathetic characters and keeps the pages turning. If you like your superheroes, this one comes recommended.

Meanwhile, over at Thoughtballoons, this week's character is sinister space-vixen Gamora - the deadliest woman in the universe. (Tony will approve.) I wasn't sure how to handle this back-stabbing scifi vamp, knowing little about her other than that she's the sort of character who'll rip your heart out if you stand in her way. Then I hit on a brainwave of throwing Gamora into a Scott Pilgrim-esque high school love story. I think this is the best of my Thoughtballoons stories so far. You're entitled to disagree.

Top Ten Coffee Songs

Went into Cafe Nero today. Ordered my usual black coffee to take out.

"Would you like a biscotti to go with that, sir?"

"Tell you what, call it a fucking bisCUIT and I might."

As mentioned a couple of weeks back, I'm back on the drugs. Specifically caffeine. And for no other reason than because I didn't have enough room in my Top Ten TV Songs for Blur... here's my Coffee Countdown.



10. Johnny Ray - Coffee & Cigarettes

Poor old Johnny Ray
Sounded sad upon the radio
Moved a million hearts in mono...

If it's good enough for Kevin Rowland, it's good enough for me.

9. Otis Redding - Cigarettes & Coffee

Some of the greatest songs ever written take place in the wee small hours of the morning, yet typically they're written from the point of view of a lonely, down-at-heel loser who's only companion is a whiskey glass. Otis bucks that trend by writing a small hours love song. They're just sitting here talking over cigarettes and coffee - with Otis on the stereo.

8. Crash Test Dummies - Afternoons & Coffee Spoons

The song that proves Crash Test Dummies weren't just an annoying Mmm Mmm Mmm Mmm One Hit Wonder.

7. All Saints - Black Coffee

All Saints, Rol?

Really?

I'm a big fan of the classic girl-groups - from the Supremes to the Shangri Las... and for a second - just one second - All Saints came closer than most to recapturing and updating that sound. Ultimately they failed, but give them some credit...

6. Richard Thompson - Java Jive

From Richard Thompson's epic trawl through 1000 Years Of Popular Song, here he takes on The Ink Spots' 1940 hit. You know the one.

"I love coffee, I love tea, I love the Java Jive and it loves me..."

5. James - Coffee & Toast

Recorded in the original sessions for the Pleased To Meet You Album, this was subsequently relegated to b-side status when Brian Eno stepped on board the good ship James as producer. A shame, because this would have been the best track on the album. Perhaps Tim Booth realised this - he quit the band for 7 seven years after its release.

4. Squeeze - Black Coffee In Bed

Featuring Paul Young and Elvis Costello on backing vocals, another of those songs that reminds you what a great lyricist Chris Difford is.

3. Blur - Coffee & TV

The song that broke Blur and persuaded Graham Coxon a solo career was beckoning? Could be.

2. Prince - Starfish & Coffee

Prince goes into Cafe Nero...

"Hello sir, can I take your order."

"Yes, I'd like Starfish and coffee, maple syrup and jam, butterscotch clouds, a tangerine and a side order of ham, please."

"Certainly sir. And would you like a Biscotti with that too?"

"Call it a fucking bisCUIT and I might."

Soulwax do a cracking cover of this song too.

1. The Clint Boon Experience - White No Sugar

The man on the mac in Macedonia
Hits on the girl with the fully loaded PC in DC
This is definitely a new revolution

Mr. Boon - play that tune!



So that was my caffeine fix - what's yours?

There's No Time Like The Present - The End!

I've been wittering on about the majesty of Paul Rainey's There's No Time Like The Present for months now. Well, it's been a long but extremely satisfying journey, and now it's over. #13 is certainly an unlucky number for fans of quality comics - but you'll be pleased to know that writer/artist Paul goes out on a thought-provoking and emotionally satisfying high.

Where most writers would use the final episode of a series to wrap up what's gone before, Paul keeps throwing new ideas at us too. One of the underlying themes of TNTLTP is of time speeding up as you grow older - so while the early episodes started slow with lots of slice of life character work, as the series progressed Paul has introduced more and more fascinating concepts. As a writer, he understands that the most affecting sci-fi is grounded in the world outside our windows, and takes off from there. Under a less-skilled creator, this final episode might seem like an info-dump of exposition, but Paul keeps it human and enthralling even when introducing the most mind-bending of concepts... then leaves us with a surprisingly tender conclusion that packs an emotional punch I really hadn't expected. Come the inevitable TNTLTP graphic novel collection, this story really deserves to reach a much wider audience.

In the meantime, you can read the first 39 pages of Paul's masterpiece by clicking here. Pick up back issues and that awe inspiring final episode by popping over to his shop here.