Beard Aid

Apologies for the lateness of this week's post.  My flimsy excuse has something or other to do with me being a way for work and then having a family thing and then...  you know what?  I just forgot, okay!

Anyway...

I'm not quite sure how it came up.  I remember that Dr K and I were in the car on our way back from town - perhaps after visiting the supermarket, or getting a takeaway. 

And we were talking about something.  I have no idea what we were talking about, but at some point, one of us uttered the fateful words 'beard aid'.

'Beard Aid'.  I know, right?

Once those words had been spoken, all traces of the previous conversation were immediately forgotten and we embarked upon a far more hirsute discussion, the result of which is the following short list of things that 'Beard Aid' could be:

A delicious fizzy soft drink, the chief ingredient of Beardade is beards.

An autoimmune disease, Beard Aids affects the beard, rendering it far more susceptible to infection by things you really don't want IN your beard such AS, say, badgers.  AND that's good Beard Aids.  You definitely don't want bad Beard Aids.

Beard Aid is a massive benefit gig to raise money for starving beards in Africa.

A beard aid is a zimmer-frame type contraption that provides support to injured, disabled or elderly beards that cannot support themselves.

Whatever a beard aid is, you can bet that it's awesome.  Because beards are awesome.  And anything that aids something that is awesome is at least equally awesome.

Welcome to the end of my post.

My Two Robots

Today the awesome guys at Romotive sent me a robot.

Well, actually, they probably sent it ages ago, but because they live a gazillion miles away, it only just arrived.

Here's a picture of my new (iPhone powered) robot, with Lego R2-D2:




Awesome, huh? My two robots.

There must be a sit-com pilot in there somewhere!

'Ready Player One' Is Not A Good Book...

I actually wrote this book review for a forum, somewhere on the interwebs, but I have such an irrationally strong opinion about it, that I feel the need to post it here too as a public service.

Ready Player One by Ernest Cline.

Lets see...

MARY SUE!!! Check

One dimensional characters: check

Terrible prose: check

Tell, don't show: check

Derivative nonsense: check

Worse dialogue: check

Lists of things instead of world building: check

Astounding and unrealistic deductive feats: check

Don't bother describing something - just say that it's like this other thing from the 80's. And namecheck the movie, TV show or game it was in EVERY TIME! In case someone misses how clever you think you're being: check

Fundamental lack of understanding of how computers work: check

Black lesbian character that only exists to prove that the author is not only cool with all genders, ethnicities and orientations, but is cool with all genders, ethnicities and orientations CUBED! At the same time! How cool is he? Yep. Check.

Unintentionally (presumably) sexist and racist characterisations of everyone who isn't the main character: check

Deux ex machina ending: check

It's not just that I don't like this book. It's a bad book. It's like a ten year old has read the Wikipedia entries for William Gibson, Philip K Dick and Neal Stephenson, written some bad fan fiction and then, just because, used the Wikipedia entry on the 80s to bulk it up a bit. It's all been done a hundred times before, and every single time, it was better than this drivel.

I could live with it if it wasn't, despite all the evidence to the contrary, getting rave reviews from almost everybody. Have they actually read it?

I have.  And I feel dirty.

Advice For A 13 Year Old Me

A couple of weeks ago, I was given a cake by a 13 year old boy.  In return, I gave him some valuable avice: never eat yellow snow.  I know, I know.  It's an oldie, but he was 13, so he's probably never seen it before.

I also accidentally said a bad word in front of him (and his mum), which just goes to show that I'm just not cut out to hang around with kids.

The cake was nice though.

Anyway, it got me to thinking.  In the event that I manage to invent some sort of time travel device, what advice would I give to my 13 year old self that will stand him in good stead over the years?*

Well...  here's my list:

1. Don't say bad words to children in front of their mums.  They don't like it.  The mums that is; the kids are fine with it! 

2. Curry is brilliant, and the hotter it is, the better.  Start acclimatising yourself now, instead of waiting 'til you leave home.  It'll be worth it! 

3. When you get made redundant in a few years, don't worry about your move to Bristol.  It's brilliant here and there are some amazing friends to be made. 

4. Grow a beard at the earliest opportunity.  Beards are awesome and the earlier you start, the bigger it'll get.  Also, it'll really pi... er... annoy your Mum. 

5. Lost doesn't get any better.  Really.  It doesn't. 

6. You don't have enough Star Wars Lego.  Even when you think you do, you don't. 

7. Speaking of Star Wars, don't get too excited by that prequel. 

8. No-one else has a clue what's going on either.  This goes double for anyone that claims they do.

9. Dr K lives at [REDACTED].  Go straight there.  Do not pass Go.  Do not collect £200.  Actually...  free money always comes in handy.  You can collect that.  But then go to Dr K's house.  She makes muffins.  

Okay, so it's probably not the bet thought out or useful list in the world.

What advice would you give yourself?

( * obviously I never will invent a time travel device, because I never did get this advice when I was 13. )

Sunday Of The Triffids

Today, Dr K and I saw a Triffid in a phone box.



Well, Dr K insists that it was just an abnormally large weed growing inside the phone box, but, well... here's a picture:


I think the evidence is clear. It was a triffid, and it was using the payphone.

I have to say that I'm not too concerned that they're going to take over the world just yet. I mean if they haven't even progressed to mobile phones - let alone smartphones, then they're at a major disadvantage.

If I get cornered by one, I'll just toss him my iPhone and make my escape while he's distracted by Angry Birds!


If Triffids are part of a plot by the Evil Cabal of Evil to take over the world (or just fuck with me) then I think they're going to have to up their game.

Battleships, maybe. That's a good game.

R.I.P. Rochester

My best friend died today.

I've had Rochester since he was a four week old kitten, rescued from an abusive home.

This afternoon, he died.


Here are some pictures (in approximate chronological order):

 He was tiny and I was skinny...  That was a long time ago.

You'd look startled too, if you'd been shoved in a small, pink pyramid. 

I'm not eating that crap.

Isn't this the single cutest picture you've ever seen?  That's Elliot spooning Rochester.

King of the castle. 

This is a pretty excellent impression of Darth Vader. 

What the hell?  No beard!!! 

Food? 

Dad, you're a creepy sod. 

I'm in your bed.  What are you gonna do about it? 

Rochester's a handsome chap. 

Why?  Why would you photograph me when I'm trying to sleep?  Paparazzi.

Not so skinny now, are you?  I can sit on that shelf you call a belly. 

I have a sinking feeling.

I miss him...