Workshop piece #3 - Yugioh Abridged version

NB, it may help if you first watch this:




Attention Duellists! Today my hair missed the bus. In America. Not that it was a problem, the number 22 took me home shortly after. In America. I suppose you are wondering how on earth I managed to miss it, after all they are not exactly rare sights these days. To be honest, I’m not sure, but screw the rules I have money.
That’s what you learn on the stage you know, accidents equal injury, and mistakes are as good an accident as any. I do not have many accidents now that I am too old to work at KentuckyFriedMcBurgerKing. Now that my life is a pleasanter one - just the wife and my hair playing children‘s card games. In America.

I do not know how I managed to miss it; perhaps some gentler, more fabulous being took my place. For that alone I deserve to die of a terminal disease.

The wife left a super special awesome apple pie in the fridge for me - perhaps I will not eat it. It is only fair I do not sleep until my body screeches. The restless days shall put me right - there is no reason to indulge in forbidden fruits I do not deserve.

Perhaps we can take over the world tomorrow?

The Dog in the Ivory Manger

He was a rich man, there was no doubting it - he walked and talked with a swagger and sway. The world to him was that much more beautiful than in everyone else’s eyes, not because he was a poet or a priest, but because he suffered a kind of tunnel vision in which anything beyond the realms of loveliness was not worth his attention.

He could often be found wherever there happened to be women and a fresh supply of whiskey - surrounded on either side by envious companions chortling in unison. No one knew where he acquired his money or cared to ask, all they cared about was the cheap imitation of respect they might gain from him.

It was one contest after another - the men in town constantly vying for the opportunity to buy him a shot, followed by the girls, treading on each other’s faces for a chance to sit in his lap. Contests no one ever won, but everybody tried.

Every evening without fail, he would put on a dinner suit and drive to a massage parlour in town, spending the last few notes in his back pocket on a night of exquisiteness. The women there were no different -they brawled and squealed, scraping chinks in their porcelain faces.

Having his pick of the bunch, he always took the fairest lotus - on this night, a sweet thing by the name of Jane. Watching her count her payment eagerly, he pulled at a loose thread in the duvet.

“Jane,” he said. “If circumstances were different, would you love me?”

Smiling up from the wad of cash in her grip, she gazed at his aged form.

“Of course I would,” she said, in a pear drop tone. “You’re the most precious man I know.”

It was as good a ‘no’ as any.

The next day followed through like any other - he swaggered through town in his usual way, seating himself down in the finest bar to the sounds of whispers at the next table. Grinning, he waved gallantly at the strangers, laughing as they fought amongst themselves for a chance to inquire about his health.

The pointlessness of the situation moved him somewhat and within a short period of time he was leaving the bar, once again standing in front of the prettiest flowers known to man. It was not his usual time of day, so they were not his usual bunch. Indeed, the arrangement laid before him had an exotic smell and bright, luxurious colours.

Having pored over their faces for at least half an hour, once again he picked the loveliest of the maidens - a child of the orient, whose name was Ming-Su. She took him to a quiet room in the back of the parlour, decorated with a golden harp.

“Ming-Su,” he said, as she sat down and began to play. “If circumstances were different, would you love me?”

The sweet sound of the harp did not drown out his words, but still she did not reply. He repeated the question several times over, but received no response, realising too late his mistake in choosing a girl who spoke no words.

That night, he put on his dinner suit as usual and checked his reflection in the mirror several times before leaving. Tonight would be the night, he told himself, tonight he would find what it was he was looking for.

The owner of the premises wore a bemused expression as he saw him approach for the second time that day, but immediately replaced it with a smile. When asked for an audience with his girls, he immediately apologised and explained that they were otherwise engaged, only one was spare and he very much doubted she met his standards - he only kept her there to maintain the premises.

The Gentleman by this point was almost desperate in his seeking, so he bade the proprietor call the final girl into his presence. He knew the owner to be a great exaggerator.

Mere minutes later, the pair returned, the owner accompanied by a young woman whose face did not belong in such a palace; short, milky in texture, with a faded aroma of lavender surrounding her person, he would barely have noticed her presence had he not requested her.

Her name was Penelope, though whether she knew anything of the Greeks remained to be said. Approaching the only spare room in the place, the kitchen, Penelope returned to her former task of baking fairy cakes.

“Penelope,” said the gentleman, pouring a glass of wine from a cupboard next to him. “If the circumstances were different….would you love me?”

Turning towards him from her cooking, he could tell the girl was both stunned and confused.

“No sir,” she finally said, turning back to her cooking. “I don’t know you at all.”

The gentleman never visited the massage parlour after that, save for the final trip to pick up his bride, the muted Ming-Su. The last anyone heard about them was when they moved into their new home; a manor house south of Oxford. No one ever visits and they never leave, but pressing your ear to the door at the right time of day you might be honoured enough to hear the pleasant sounds of a harp seemingly playing for itself.

'Tempest'

This rain is my salvation
I will catch it as it falls
Cradled in my hands
Silver shining as I call
Your name in entreaty
- Soaked and forlorn
The cobble stones are cold tonight
Nobody braved this storm -
But I will find you, find you
In this shallow vacuity
It was you that put me here
I know that you will be
Hiding in the churchyard
Amongst the falling rain
Farther soaked than I could be
This day we meet again
Alone amid the storm tonight
It cannot block my way
I will find you in this underworld
Drowning, we shall say
This rain was our salvation
From the chilling gates of hell
And I saved you love, saved you
Caught you as you fell.

...Elephants?

Which Naruto Character Are You?




Here is the story of how Egg Heads saved Easter.

Going home from my flat is one of those dreaded taboos - in Whitters we have no mobile phone signal and in my house the only hope of internet is the local library. Anyway, I came home recently to find my mother in a grumpy mood, the fridge bare and my dad nowhere to be found. I had left most of my decent DVDs and mangas back at the flat so it wasn’t long before I was bored - when I mentioned such matters to Frau Mothership, she suggested I meet up with Lucy and Elle, a feat that would require several texts since they live about three villages away. When I pointed such matters out, her next suggestion was to send them an email, which I was all for at first. However, this plan fell into shambles as the library was shut for the Easter holiday (meaning a fortnight at least).

Needless to say, I was soon annoyed and feeling extremely agitated. It is bad enough that the only attraction in Whitters is a wood and the closest we have to Waterstones is the free books you get on magazines sometimes - but being out of contact as well? That really, really took the biscuit.

It wasn’t so bad when I was at school, most ‘holidays’ were only a week long and hardly anyone had a mobile, so signal never came into it. Since we live literally in the middle of nowhere, there was a lot of house calls and expeditions into town just to fetch a video from Woolworths. (I’m not exaggerating when I say expedition, it’s an hour both ways). Once, I had Beth and our other friend Mary-Sue over for Halloween and we wanted a scary film to watch, so had to catch a train. Anyhow, they arrived at the house fully decked in witch garb, which later proved to be an extremely bad idea, for the suggestion was later put forward we board the train in similar condition.

So, at any rate, with no phone signal, parents that work full time, no chances of emailing anyone and absolutely no DVDs or manga lying around you would think that there was nothing left to get worse, wouldn’t you?

Admittedly, I did, but then I’m always wrong about such matters.

As I have previously mentioned, the fridge was bare when I arrived. All that was in it was a yoghurt. Dad suggested we go to Sainsbury’s to pick up some food as the freezer was empty too and I was only too happy to comply. Or at least I would have been, had the car not gone kaput as we turned to leave the house. Something to do with suspension I think, but whatever it was, we definitely weren’t going shopping.
Knackered up cars are the running joke of our family, well okay, more the running joke of my dad. I don’t think he’s ever had a fully functional one - I seem to recall stories of my laboured mother being taken to hospital by my granddad because dad’s car had broken down. The one he had before this one was the worst, the gears on it didn’t work to the point where our local mechanic said keeping it was suicide.
In the end, we ended up eating dribs, drabs and takeaway for the rest of the day, rounded off wonderfully by my mother chipping in our home phone had text message capability, why on earth hadn’t I asked earlier?

Texting Lucy and Elle over a bowl of cup a soup and rice crackers, I happened to overhear a strange whooping kind of noise coming from the sofa, which upon closer inspection turned out to be my Dad. Working in a newsagents, the most TV he gets to watch is Loose Women and Ready Steady Cook. His favourite show, mainly because he hates them with a passion, is EggHeads. He loves to watch the show - not because of it’s format or because of it’s style - simply because on the off chance that these ’geniuses’ get a question wrong he can watch and laugh.

When I questioned him as to why he was making such a racket he explained that the Eggheads were in the final rounds of the game, playing against another team. There was nothing unusual about this, except for the fact that they were losing. The Eggheads never lose! That’s the whole point of the show - no one can beat the Eggheads… The teams had come to tie break and if their final question was incorrect, they would lose £27,000.

Dad was gripping the seat as the question was announced, but personally I didn’t see the point. I all ready had visions of the outcome; in true Egghead fashion they would smile, nod and slip out an answer like the two times table. Their question was geography based and immediately my dad began the ‘eeny meeny miny mo’ on the three answer options. Funny thing was, based on their expressions, the Eggheads didn’t know either.

It took at least five minutes for them pass, losing £27,000 in the process. I looked at my dad. My dad looked at me.
We laughed solidly until the credits were over.

When you’re having a truly awful day, it’s true that news of someone else’s can make you feel a whole lot better about the situation.

The Falling Sickness

I was surfing the web last night and I realised that there isn't any kind of story about an epileptic - most people I have known are extremely in the dark about it. On my other blog I'm going to write one, if you would like to read it, fill yer boots.

!TAGGED!

Can't believe I am saying this, but right now I actually feel like kissing Carley. She just delivered the best news I have heard all week.

It was re-enrolment today, everyone piled into the tiniest room in the campus just to tick a box on a small piece of yellow paper. I decided to take the module that would help me personally as a writer, though was quite tempted to study Romanticism.

Got home later to find Carley in the kitchen and as a result didn't go in. However, she followed me to my door and asked when I was planning to go home for Easter. Dad is the only one in our house capable of driving, so as a result my return home revolves around him. Since his only day off is Sunday, that is the day I return to Whitters.

I thought for a while that Carley would stay for at least a week after term ended, using the empty flat as an excuse to invite Chris over. Apparently not, for she revealed that I would be the last one in the flat to go home, something that has never happened before!!! I've dreamed of it happening, a time when I can play my music loud and sit in the kitchen all day with no worries of anyone coming in. A sign, if anything, of how anti social I have actually become.

I was tagged on deviantart to write 8 random facts about myself in a blog entry and I thought I would post them on here.

1) I have a Nutella fetish
2) I appear quite hyperactive but actually am one of the laziest people on earth
3) I didn’t get a computer until I was twelve and bought it out of my own pocket money
4) My favourite anime is Death Note
5) My favourite manga is Immortal Rain
6) I was the first person in my family to go to university
7) When I was younger, my dream was to travel the world
8) I can swallow smarties whole

Laney, Pru, Alissa, Pix, Miss McPixie - consider yourself tagged.

Unfortunate thing

Unfortunate Thing. by *Slinkers on deviantART

Have I put you off? (Say yes and I'll poke your eyes out)

Today has been such a pointless day on so many levels. As is the norm, I woke with the best intentions - all of which proved to be a waste of time, as in the end they all were skewered by an unknown assailant wielding a stopwatch.

It was meant to be my day off today, a day I usually spend in bed with my laptop on my stomach, only moving to type random anime titles into search engines and occasionally find a biscuit from my food box. If I'm feeling really rebellious, I'll brave the kitchen and make myself a cup of hot chocolate.

Today was rather different to previous expectations - I had a subject talk to go to. Re-enrolment is this week, so as a result there are discussions to attend for help with module choices. In English, there are three choices, neatly explained in the subject handbook, along with a workload description. Therefore, the talk really does not seem compulsory.

Me, Laney, Scoot and Alissa decided to go anyway, as we were under the impression it would further detail the course descriptions. How wrong we were.

I went into class early to prepare for the discussions, and met up with Alissa, who was going the same way. I had falsely believed that the talk was on at eleven, so was ages early. Instead of having me sit in the library for two extra hours, she said I could go to class with her instead and for some reason I don't remember I agreed.

Yes, that's right, I agreed to go to someone else's class on my day off. Lord, I'm such a student.

After about an hour, we met up with Laney and walked to the classroom, adorned with a piece of paper that announced the cancellation of the class. I don't think I was quite as disappointed as the girl who emerged in tears, but was quite dashed all the same. Our class is dreadfully behind on workload - we were still studying Esther Waters two weeks ago. It would be nice to actually study the other books on the course.

We ended up heading for the food court, where Scoot appeared and after two hours of hangman, during which I discovered my true IQ, we left to find the lecture, only to discover that it had been moved to a different room. Oh, the irony.

Not a problem, I hear you say, just follow the yellow brick road.

We made ourselves comfortable in the replacement room, oblivious to the fact that we were about the only English students there. By the time we did notice, it was almost time for our lecture to start in a room we didn't know the location of. In the end we must have got lost about three times, not because we didn't know our way around, but because we didn't have a clue where it was we were meant to be going, delayed somewhat by the lifts and their sizist remarks. Eventually we fell through the door about ten minutes late, to a grumpy faced lecturer, muttering, 'I shall have to start again now'.

At the end of all that, I was positive the lecture would have been worth the hassle, but actually it just turned out to be a broad Q'n'A, in which the mature students seemed to have most of the answers.

Quite a lot like class, now I think about it.

Workshop piece #3

Today I missed the bus. Not that it was a problem, the number 22 took me home shortly after. I suppose you are wondering how on earth I managed to miss it, after all they are not exactly rare sights these days. To be honest, I’m, not sure, but I do know one thing - I deserve punishment.

That’s what you learn on the stage you know, accidents equal injury, and mistakes are as good an accident as any. I do not have many accidents now that I am too old to sing. Now that my life is a pleasanter one - just the wife and I.

I do not know how I managed to miss it; perhaps some gentler, more deserving being took my place. For that alone I deserve to die.

The wife left an apple pie in the fridge for me - perhaps I will not eat it. It is only fair I do not sleep until my body screeches. The restless days shall put me right - there is no reason to indulge in forbidden fruits I do not deserve.

I missed the bus today, perhaps I will catch it tomorrow?

Cosplay party 2008

The Cosplay Party took place last week - Laney and I made the final preparations (i.e. the fruit salad) the night before and then spent the rest of the evening watching Naruto Abridged. We had a hectic day, rushing into town to purchase everything else we didn't all ready have; it was good just to sit down for a few hours.




The next day was the most important, as in, we had the most to do-when checked, our to-do list actually did cover two sides of A4. Thinking about it, it's amazing just how much we did get done in such a small period of time.

Elle arrived around 3:00, with several bags of belongings and a rather large feather hat. Having talked to both her and Lucy in the week beforehand, it was pointed out that the distance between here and York is quite difficult in terms of trains - hence why only one of the two showed up in the end.

The party officially started at six, which gave us just enough time to get into costume and lay the food out on the table, by which point guests had started to trickle through the door. Admittedly, this was quite a slow process, as the lifts had timingly broken. Funnily enough, they were fixed again by the end of the night.

There was cake and nobody died, so I guess it's safe to say it went well.

Our hearts we pledge to thee

For some reason I've had this song spinning round my head all day. The thing I don't get about it is, at the end why does the French mouse pull out Bianca's chair when she's about to sit down, just to push it back seconds later? It's almost as if he's debating whether to punish her for being late by making a timed sweep of the chair, disguising his true motive for French chivalry.

I can't help but wonder what kind of film it would have been had he succeeded....

Oh I wish I was a Shinigami

Originating from an extremely crazy conversation with Laney this is a merger of 'I wish I was a Punk Rocker' by Sandi Thom and Death Note.




Oh I wish I was a shinigami with apples in my hair
From Tokyo to USA - they wouldn’t see me there
I was born bright green but my mother didn’t care
Oh I wish I was a shinigami with apples in my hair

Where the head of state has ruby eyes
Not everybody needs disguise
Where music doesn’t matter cos
We made Kira King
There is no one to take control
Except a Death Note for your soul
And people say we’re scary cos
We know everything

Oh I wish I was a shinigami with apples in my hair
From Tokyo to USA - they wouldn’t see me there
I was born bright green but my mother didn’t care
Oh I wish I was a shinigami with apples in my hair

How dare you say it’s just a myth?
This ignorance cannot be bliss
One touch of paper and I swear your heart will fail
Oh you might think I’m just a teen
But I have so much better dreams
I’ll find the next Kira and be the hero of the tale

Oh I wish I was a shinigami with apples in my hair
From Tokyo to USA - they wouldn’t see me there
I was born bright green but my mother didn’t care
Oh I wish I was a shinigami with apples in my hair

Where gender issues rule the plot
And gambling is all that they’ve got
It’s their job to watch the world; keep it in its place
Where life’s a temporary state
There’s no such thing as love or hate
Could render a man crazy just by showing him their face

Oh I wish I was a shinigami with apples in my hair
From Tokyo to USA - they wouldn’t see me there
I was born bright green but my mother didn’t care
Oh I wish I was a shinigami with apples in my hair

I was born bright green but my mother didn’t care
Oh I wish I was a shinigami with apples in my hair

Get more sleep, drink less coke

So said Nikki at lunchtime - I'm thinking of making it my new mantra. Admittedly, the sleep part wasn't all my fault this time,quite unlike the times where I would sit awake watching anime till the ugly hours. No, this time I was a mere victim of circumstances.

The worst kind of victim there is :<

The reason I was up so late - I had a parcel to wrap. Not just any parcel though, this is the kind of parcel you pass. What with Laney and mine’s party looming on the horizon, hundreds of urgent little jobs have cropped up, such as wrap the parcel for the ‘pass the parcel’, burn the play list to disk, pick up all of the prizes, décor etc.

Anyway, whilst wrapping this monster of a parcel, I came to the conclusion that not only am I absolutely rubbish at wrapping, but it turns out I loathe it as well… My dad is the best present wrapper I’ve ever seen - receiving a DVD at Christmastime is the equivalent of a finely tuned Rubik’s cube; three hours later you’ve only just got past the sellotape. I kind of hoped it would be hereditary, but clearly it isn’t. Words cannot express my disappointment right now.

I have just discovered that production has been started on the anime version of Vampire Knight and the guy who voiced Light Yagami is going to be playing Zero! Weird coincidence really, as I reread all my copies last week; I hope it’s just as good and they don’t destroy Yuki like they did Miaka when they animated Fushigi Yugi. I watched episode one out of curiosity, as I have always loved the books, but the producers had turned it into a generic shojo romance, where the characters were 2d charicatures of their fomer selves. I really hope they get it right...

Magicarp ate my plushies

Today is Mothering Sunday and my own rose to the occasion in her - er - special way, by adopting a daffodil. Yes...a daffodil. She found it in the middle of the road on the way to Morrisons complete with bulb and felt it was desecration. We ended up wandering round the supermarket with it peeping out of her rucksack. When one of its buds fell off, she apologised in such a flambuoyant fashion the cashier stared at me and my dad like we were the crazy ones.

As of today I have a half-sibling by the name of Dilly.

During the journey back, my father hypothesized that due to the celebrations for Mother's day, lots of people would be at home. Unfortunately, this theory did not apply to Carley. I entered the kitchen with my shopping to find several pizza boxes and wine glasses scattered around the room. When I opened the microwave to make myself a meal, I found a slice of pizza on a bright pink plate, that looked at least three days old.

Today has not all been bad news - I received a parcel upon arrival that turned out to be my Chii ears - in the country ahead of schedule.




Uchiha Showdown by *gejimayo on deviantART

I'll bet it was boo in horse language

I always believed that when I left home, my parents would degenerate into pensioners. I’m not sure why, but whenever I return to Whitters, I half expect to find them nestled under tartan blankets, moaning about the government.

In actual fact, I returned home to immediately be ushered into the kitchen and shown the entirety of our cupboard. Home cooking only improved after I left, something I am constantly reminded. While I sit with a bowl of noodles, my parents tuck into spinach seasoned polenta and Parma ham with a mozzarella centre. It was fish fingers and sweet corn with every meal half a year ago.

Life just isn’t fair….

Anyway, my parents refuse to conform to expectations; I had barely been home a few hours before my Dad started to giggle like a schoolboy because my doctor’s name is ‘I.B. Cross’ and my mother ate a whole box of Roses intended for my grandmother, muttering, ‘She doesn’t deserve them anyway’.

The sad part about it is it’s true. Me and my grandmother are not on speaking terms, mainly because we don’t like each other, but still every Mother’s Day my mum faithfully attempts to preserve the lie.

The waters changed midweek, so all my father’s diligent plans were somewhat skewered - and that was without the earthquake. I’ve never been a heavy sleeper so when it actually happened I was partially awake anyway. I have one of those bunk bed types, except instead of a bottom bunk, I have a broken cupboard, so needless to say, when everything started to shake I gripped the mattress for dear life.

Speaking of broken cupboards, there was a funny quake related story in the local paper quite recently. Since Whitters is pretty close to the epicentre, the paper sent journalists into town to interview random locals on their experiences. Anyway, one of the people interviewed said that he thought his cupboard had been possessed and was shocked to learn the truth. From the tone used, it sounded like he was somewhat disappointed. Disappointed, I guess, that Derek Acorah won’t be broadcasting our mediocre village on Britain’s most Haunted.

If anything, it’s worthy of a segment on Rosemary and Thyme - I can just see it now - The attack of the Clattering Cupboard …. Aforementioned title characters are sent to a manor house in some random county to ‘tidy up the garden’, only they never get around to it, as on their arrival they discover the owner of the manor house stabbed fifty times in the back. Of course they investigate, discovering the man’s wife crouched in the corner of the study, next to a hostile looking oak cupboard, which is covered in blood and flapping its doors. The woman is also covered in blood, but seems unperturbed by the situation. Instead she stares at the title characters and says, ’It wasn’t me….the cupboard did it….’