Christmas Eve walk

This peice was writen for an Open University eTMA, kind of an assesment, I had to hand in. I got quite a good mark for it, tho there are things i got do to improve it. One of the reasons I’m on the coruse.  The point of the exercise was to turn on the radio and write about something in the first person narrative about the first thing you hear. It was ment to convay and effect the character in the story. Now I spend most on my time when listening to the radio, listening to ClassicFM, so when i turned the raido on on half 4 in the morning (the eTMA was ment to be handed in that following noon) I heard carol singers. And from there the story just flowed. It was written by hand and then typed up by half 7. The fastest i’ve ever writen & typed anything.
I’m uploading it here to showcase it, and of course to ask what you think.
Enjoy.

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Christmas Eve walk

I hate this time of year. I hate carols. I hate singers. I hate carol singers.
Their voices seem to cut through me. Sure their pitch and melody could be perfect, and maybe the songs they sing could be moving, but I never understood the notion of standing in the cold, in the dead of winter, torturing others through song. Especially ones no one wants to hear.

But what did I expect? If I end up walking past the cathedral at late evening on a frozen Christmas Eve on my annual Christmas Eve clear my head walk, do I have anyone else to blame for the punishment my red frost nipped ears take?

I look at them all huddled together in woolly knitted hats and scarves and thick heavy coats, some with fingerless gloves[,] others with mittens. Crowding round three to a song sheet as if to fool us into thinking they don’t know the words off by heart, their smug, sanctimonious voices filling the air. It’s definitely their fault, I’m not to blame. I’m totally not to blame. I sigh and watch as a cloud forms as my warm breath hits the frigid winter air. I pull my long thick coat closer to me to keep as much heat in as possible, and continue to walk down the old cobbled street in the shadow of the imposing old cathedral till I shortly hit the main shopping area of the city. 
 

It was mostly dead now, only the last, last minute shoppers were there. Running from shop to shop as if looking for water to put out a roaring fire, they raced about with all the urgency they could muster, knowing that their time is short and soon it will be at an end. I found myself smirking. If only they had been more organised they wouldn’t need to race around like starving dogs looking for scraps to satisfy their hunger.

I walked on stepping in a puddle as I went, the icy water splashing up my leg, sending a shiver though me that cuts to the bone. It had only stopped raining an hour or so ago. It had been raining; I thought we were meant to get snow in winter, not rain. I looked up at the gray foreboding sky. No hope of snow? No hope of a Christmas miracle?  I sighed and shrugged my shoulders, it was time I was heading home and out of range of those blasted carol singers, whose voices clung on to me like the cold claws of winter it’s self .

At least I could look forward to some good food tomorrow; some good food and the company of family. And maybe, just maybe this time of year isn’t so bad after all. If I have that, it might just be worth it. Even if I have to put up with bloody carol singers .

people of Britan

People of the inter net!
I salute you!
We did it

Rage for Music sake! RAGE!

  It’s the final straight! And I can’t tell anymore who’s in the lead.  

I of course talk about the First Battle for the Xmas Number 1 we in the UK have had for a while.
Rage Against The Machine against X Factor. 

I hope you all have bought your copy, but if you haven’t you have till midnight (on the 19^th) to do so! GO DO IT! DO IT WITH FIRE! 

I care aboot music so I of course am full, 596% behind making sure that RATM clinch the Top spot.
I normally don’t give a flying monkey about the charts, and the last few years have in a way been quite bad for music in general. In a way.
It stands that music is no where here the sorry state it was in 10 years ago, but I fear if we don’t bloody the beast, the 10’s could see a return to the dark ages of music, were we’re stuck wholly and fully with people who can’t sing with songs that were written for other people and sung before, or worst yet, tracks that aren’t songs at all. 

Now I know this is the doom and gloom that I’m known for, but that’s how I see it, and I call it as I see it.
I think it’s time we stand up and be counted. Yes US! You know who you all are. 

You’re the misfits, 

You’re the social out casts, 

You’re the shy one that keeps their head down to not draw attention to your self. 

You’re the loud one, making the scene 

You’re the music lover 

The ones that have sat year after year hoping 

Hoping that maybe this year the people would grow scene and not buy into the mass made fictional fair tale story for easy come riches and fame. 

Well listen up people, and Listen good!
YOU ARE THE PEOPLE! You want the music scene to change, go make it change!
Take the Stand! Hold your head and hand high, and make your voice heard!
Because if we don’t, well I’m reminded of an old saying: 

“When good men do nothing” 

And to all the nay sayers, the discrediters, those smug sanctimonious gits that sit there safe behind their computer screens in their rooms and offices that just don’t get the idea.
This isn’t against Sony. Hell we like SONY! They give us DVDs, HD TVs, Anime, Movies, really heavens to Betties Music, and the PS3! We like Sony! No this is about reclaiming apart of who we are, who you are! Who we use to be, who you use to be! Who we will be again, who you will be again! 

We’re doing this for music. We’re doing this the Music that has been, the music that is, and the music yet to come.
For all those who formed bands in basements and bedrooms, who’ve played dives, burnt our bars, small gigs, big gigs and those that play festivals. We’re do this for all the kids yet to come, who have dreams of playing music close to their hearts close to their homes, songs with heart, songs with soul. We’re doing this for ourselves, to give back enjoyment of music so we can hold our heads up high and say “We made a stand! We stood strong”

But most importantly. We’re doing this for you!
And we’re doing this weather you like it or not. 

JOIN THE FIGHT FOR MUSIC.
RAGE ON!

I have Skype

I now have skype. Not sure why now of all times i’ve desided to get it but now i have it.
my add thing is amw.whi I think, i;m too sure to be honest.

Argo: Chapter 1: Battle for the plains. Lone soldiers can not turn the tides of war.

It was the sound of rumbling rolling thunder coming form the west that first alerted Argo to the cavalry charge. Just finishing despatching the pike man that he had been in combat with he turned to see the mass of men and horses that were tearing through the western lines.
“This is not good” the words escaping form his mouth as a whole host of curses swept though his mind like a tilde wave crashing onto shore.
He pulled his sword free form the ribcage of the dead pike man, and readied his shield. The cavalry were getting closer, cutting though the men as if they were a scythe in a field of corn. They’d soon be on top of Argo’s position.
Argo’s eyes were almost transfixed on the charge, watching as it cut though the line, he almost didn’t see the swordsman that was running at him. His instincts kicked in just in time, as the swordsman lunged at him. A quick side step out of the way and a swift spin on the spot meant the swords man flew past him, and that Argo’s own sword connected with he swordsman’s gut, slicing him open. Argo looked at the poor man, and then turned to brace himself as the cavalry was almost on top of him.
His mind raced, as it sought franticly for the small jewel of knowledge and wisdom his master had given him for when he was faced with cavalry.
The thunder grew louder.
Argo was becoming aware that other warriors around him had noticed the cavalry and became to brace themselves as well. He watched as those the cavalry charged though tried in vain to dismount the riders, and he watched as the riders swung their huge swords and axes cutting low any that tried to stand in their way or at their side.
The Thunder grew louder still.
They were so close now Argo could make out the riders in greater detail, so much so he could see the marking on the armour, and at once seeing the leader of the charge, wielding a huge two-handed sword and in his splendid sliver armour and helm with engraved rune and black dragon claw marking he knew who lead the charge. Malcolm Bain, the legendary hero of Albear. The man who had killed a thousand men. Thoughts of certain death and defeat flooded Argos mind, it raced showing him all the ways he could possibly meet his feat in the next few seconds, then it stopped, and one clear thought filled his head. With a sense of satisfaction his mind gave up the item it had been searching for, and instilling a new found courage in him Argo found him self yelling the advice given to him by his master almost as soon as it come it into his head.
“Forget the Riders! Kill the horses!

Malcolm Bain was a Legend among men. It was he who had turned the tide of almost countless battles. It was he who ended the great sedge of Kaldan. It was he who at the battle of The Bridge of Gaz’ah’zeck slew a thousand men. It is he who rides into battle on the sliver mare “The End of Fantasy”, and cuts these poor miscreants of warriors and this army to threads. So imagine his surprise for then the “poor miscreant of a warrior”, only wearing a chainmail shirt over leather armour and wielding a battered shield and long sword, he had picked out to slay ties not to attack him, but instead ducks under the swing of his sword, rolls in the muddy trampled dirt and cuts at the legs of his beautiful specimen of a horse causing it to buckle and crash head first into the ground.
A few seconds past before Malcolm realised he was in fact still very much alive. There was a hefty weight on his chest, right arm and right upper body. But his left arm was free. 
His eyes opened, yet all he could see was darkness. His breathing stifled, he figured his helm must have been turned around in the crash. He brought his arm up to pull his helm off, and doing so the light of day hit his eyes full force. The gray cloud sky filled his view.
“At lest I’m not face down in the mud” he found him self thinking.
He lifted his head up to try and look around. He was under his horse, but he figured that already, what he next saw he hadn’t figured on. All around him laid the rest of the cavalry charge. Riders and charge lay still on the well trodden muddy ground, and Malcolm realised just how lucky he had been that the fall had not broken his neck, or that someone hadn’t come to finish the job. He looked around some more, and caught a glimpse of two of his riders having made it to their feet engaging in combat, one with an old relic of a pike man, and the other with the young warrior that was the one that took down Malcolm’s own horse. Rage filled Malcolm, and finding the strength he is renowned for, with just one hand he lifted the dead stead up enough for him to roll out form under it. Getting to his feet he spotted his huge two handed sword, and hosted it into his hands, and then he turned to see his riders, and almost could not believe what his eyes told him. The young warrior pulled out his sword form the gut of the rider that he had been in combat with only to spin around on the spot and beheaded the other rider as he came up behind him, the pike man already dying at the rider’s feet. Malcolm was slightly shocked. Clearly his was no ordinary conscript, hulled up for military service for his lord, land and country. He clearly had training and taking him lightly could lead to ruin.
Malcolm hosted his sword over his shoulder and began to march the 20 or more paces to the warrior.
“Time to see what this child is made of.”

Argo almost struggled to keep his footing on the now blood soaked muddy battle field. His last minute command had an effect, breaking the cavalry charge, but it came at a cost. Not every one of the horses they downed went down with out a fight or taking it’s attracter with it. Some were crushed as the horse and rider fell on them, some not fast enough to avoid the defence swings of the riders and died before they could enact the plan, and some just got powered over by the horse and trampled under hoof. However the losses, the majority of the cavalry now lay on the ground, horses floundered like fish out of water, thrashing and kicking the air, most of the riders died as they crashed down or were too wounded to rise up and continue the fight.
As Argo surveyed the carnage that he had help wrought he took a brief second to check on the battle around him. He may have stopped the cavalry, but the damage was done; the lines were in disarray, his side was being pushed back. They were losing.
He turned back to look upon this foes. In the distance their crimson flags fluttered in the wind above what seemed an endless sea of men. Closer their lines stopped being carefully crafted lines of men and became more of clusters of sword and axe and pike wielding mad men. Every so often a figure dressed in rich purples would stand out, throwing fire, ice and many shades of light form their hands. Mages and Heroes all fought as one impressive army, an all conquering force that had never known defeat.
Argo’s heart sank in his chest. There was no victory here. Not today. He pushed himself to focus; there was no point in worrying about that now, as his master use to say;
“Care not for the out come in a war you’ve already lost, but the opponent that is right in front of you. Less you not make it out the fight alive.”
‘Wise words’ Argo thought as he spotted a huge giant of a man with a his great two-handed sword slung over his shoulder ready to be brought down at a moments notice, no more than 10 paces away. He had moved tree paces closer before Argo realised who the man was: Malcolm Bain.
Fear clawed at his mind and heart, his grip tightened around his sword. He tried his best to not let his fear show as he raised his shield and readied his stance. It was one thing to bring down a living legends horse; it would be another to face him in straight combat. His heart almost leapt into his mouth as he realised what the markings and runes on the brute’s armour were. The names of the battles he had won, the names of the heroes and warriors of great renown he had bested and killed; names of great people that are now nothing more than foot notes in history. He felt his knees shake, he dug his heels into the mud to try and steady himself, only once before in his life had he felt this level of fear. He tried to gather as much courage as he could and pushed the terror out of his mind. He no longer had time for such thoughts.
Bain was upon him.
Argo sidestepped and then rolled to Bain’s side as his huge monster of a sword came crashing down. Then with just as much ease as Argo would have wielding his light longsword, Bain lifted and swung his sword again at Him. Argo ducked, narrowly avoiding the blade’s edge.
Argo didn’t have time to dwell on the near miss. One good hit from Bain’s sword and he’d be dead instantly, a bad one and he’d likely be so badly wounded he might as well be dead and Argo knew it, so did Bain. Bain swung again, and once more Argo dance around it while looking for an opening in his enemy’s stance. He saw one, ducked under another close swing and slashed at the giant. There was the sound of metal clashing as the sword hit the thick armour; some small sparks went flying also. But no harm was done to the wearer. The armour was just too strong for a slash to be effective. Argo ducked, rolled and tumbled past Bain just making it out of his reach in time as his sword came crashing down once more onto the ground. From the few moments of the deadly dance that he had been engaged in, Argo’s brain had work out a few things. Bain, experienced, well armoured and powerful, was slow. He was no longer as young as he once was in his true prime and needed time to react and move, and while his movements and swings of his sword might seem fast for the size of weapon, they weren’t fast enough to catch Argo. Argo on the other hand was fast and young, and that was about it. He had no fancy armour to protect him, and he lacked the power to penetrate Bain’s armour. Argo figured his best bet would be to go for the exposed head, since Bain must have lost his helm when he crashed off his horse. But for that to work he’d have to get in close, and that wouldn’t be easy not with his opponent having the greater reach. Bain readied his stance to strike as Argo circled around looking for an opening. He though he saw one once more. He lunged in only to realise it was a faint. Quickly, with all the speed he could muster, he raised his shield. Wood splintered off and went flying into the air as the huge weight of Bain’s sword come crashing into the shield, the force was enough to knock Argo down to the ground rolling in the mud. Argo had just enough wits about him to continue rolling as Bain stuck down again, just narrowly missing Argo. Spinning to his feet and keeping low, Argo looked around then once his eyes found what he needed he looked at Bain, their eyes meeting. Slowly he stood, and readied what was left of his broken shield.
“KAL ZO ROK BAL CAR!” a voice boomed in what seemed to be a made up langue, and then the area around Argo became to glow a light shade of blue. Reacting almost with out thinking, he jumped back just a blue blot of lighting crashed down on the spot were he had been standing. The force sent him flying backwards and he landed on the ground with a large painful thump.
He lay there for a few seconds, not wanting to move.
“I think that was a mage that just hit me” he thought, slightly wincing in pain as he lightly padded his chest checking for broken ribs. “Now would be a good time to slink off” he though, “they probably think I’m already dead.”
He lifted his sword arm and trust the sword tip into the ground, then leaning on it help himself to his feet. He looked back to were he once was. It looked like Malcolm and the mage were in conversation, and it looked like he was already all but forgotten about. He unslung his broken shield from his arm, and took hold of one of its edges. For the plan now forming in his head to work, he’d only get one shot at this, and his aim would have to be true.
A horn blasted from behind him; the signal to fall back. The battle for the plains had been lost. Argo didn’t have much time. It would be now or never, the sound of the horn had broken the conversation between Bain and the mage, and now they were looking straight at Argo, almost in disbelief.
“As grandmother always said” Argo found himself saying himself “take out the mage first”

Malcolm dropped his hand from his eye, the blue light was so bright that, even shielded his eyes still stung a little. His young opponent had been sent hurtling backwards by the blast, and was likely killed. He turned to his left to see the mage that interrupted his fight. Calmar Eleanor stood no more than 10 paces away, warped in flowing clothes of purple and whites; he was a beacon of clean in an otherwise sea of mud, blood and dirt. A small band of metal sat on his for head and went under his short jet black hair which was swept to one side. Unlike Malcolm he was completely clean shaven, his face showing the wrinkles that come with middle age. He almost always wore a smug childlike smile that belied the wisdom and intelligent that was in he wielded. Malcolm trusted very few of the mages of the Voxtorn, and of those he did only Calmar would be one he’d ever consider calling friend.
“Calmar. Why’d you go and do that?” Malcolm’s gaze fixed it’s self on the mage.
“What no thank you?” he said folding his arms and walking up next to Malcolm, “No ‘thanks Calmar I own you one for saving my life’?” He put on a mock accent similar to that of Malcolm’s.
“I didn’t need it. I could handle the whelp.”
“Not from where I stood, looked like he was handling you.”
“What would a mage know about the finer points of armed combat? All you care about is your ancient books and even older scrolls. It’s a wonder anyone can drag your kind out of the Voxtorn.” Malcolm’s voice though still stern had taken more of a friendly tone, and Calmar knew his friend been in jest. They have had this conversation a hundred times, on a hundred different battlefields, and each time Calmar had given the same response.
“True, so true. But when the king himself comes to the Voxtorn and asks for our services, who are we to deny him. After all are we not all still subjects of his pleasure, and good true citizens of Milltar?”
Both men smiled. Then Calmar’s face turned solemn, “This battle is taking to long, the strategist said it should have ended an hour ago and we should be at the temples walls by now. What’s been going wrong?”
“Small things” Malcolm said staring back across his lines, “they fight harder than we thought they could, and smarter than we’d give credit to grunts.”
“Like the warrior that brought you down off your horse?”
“Exactly, He wasn’t your ordinary villager with a shield and sword thrust into his hands, he had training and skill.”
His voice almost rung with sorrow as he though about the boy he had just fought, he had shown no fear at all when facing Malcolm, he had stood his ground and attacked with skill, bravery and intelligence, had even come close once. It was almost a shame they never got to end their fight, then his thoughts were broken as a loud roar of a horn sounded and yells of orders to fall back were heard form the enemy.
“At last good news” a smile crossed Malcolm’s lips as his head turned towards Calmar once more, “Looks like we’ll be hitting the wall today after all…” His smile fadied as he saw Calmar’s face, the colour was draining out of it as he held a look of shock and disbelief in its place with his head was turned to face the enemy. Malcolm puzzled by why his friend would be so shocked by the enemies retreat turned and following Calmar’s eye line found the source.
Standing calmly in a sea of chaos and confusion as his allies turned and fell back, the young warrior stood. A sly yet confident smile across his young face as in one hand he griped his sword and the other the edge of his broken shield.
‘Not good’ the thought ran though Malcolm’s head almost as fast as the questions of ‘why he doesn’t retreat’ or ‘how is he alive’, but the whys and what for’s didn’t matter all that much now, the boy began to charge.
Malcolm readied himself, and brought his sword down to guard form the low swings and thrusts that the boy had used last engagement, beside him Calmar began muttering his incantations and his hands began to glow as fire consumed them. Calmar wasted no time forming the small flames into a ball and with a mighty throw, flung it at the feet of the charging boy. Just at the ball of fire was about to hit his feet the boy leapt into the air, higher then Calmar or Malcolm could think possible, flames’ nipping at his heals. As the boy reached the peek of his jump, he threw his shield with such force it sent him into a spin. Malcolm’s eyes follow it as it flew though the air towards Calmar. The mage was already half way though another incantation when the shield hit him in the throat, causing him to buckle over and fall to his knees gasping for breath. Malcolm turned his gaze back to the boy just in time, as his spin ended, his sword out reached to come down on Malcolm’s head.
Malcolm tried to take a step back but only managed to pull his head back slightly as he rushed to pull his sword up to swat the boy away.
“To late” he though as he felt the tip of his enemy’s blade contact the skin of his forehead and run down over his left eye. The pain was almost unimaginable, it forced Malcolm to close his eyes and hope for the best as he powered though with his sword. He felt it hit something and then heard the sound of metal shattering, then he collapsed on to his right knee clutching at his left eye. Blood was pouring form the cut, he tried to wipe it away before opening his eyes, it was no use. He could only see out of his right. He stood with all the speed he could muster, then waving his head form side to side screeching, he found the boy. He stood across form Malcolm, broken sword in one hand and now a war hammer in the other, he hadn’t gotten away with out taking a few knocks himself, with a grazing on his forehead and gash that was bleeding on his sword arm.
“I’ve had enough of this!” Malcolm thought as he roared and charged at the boy. The boy ducked and rolled to Malcolm left, his now blind side. There was a loud clanging of metal on metal and a huge painful roar from Malcolm as he felt two of his ribs break. He swung around, more dragging his sword then wielding it, to try and face the boy but to no avail. He couldn’t see him, the boy was too fast. He turned franticly searched form his foe, in the distance he could see small dots of golden light pitter-patter thought out the battlefield as his side advanced. He turned his head just in time to watch as a war hammer came crashing down onto his left arm. Malcolm yelled out in pain as he dropped his sword and fell back down on to his knees. His vision blurred, he watched as the boy came into view, though down the hammer. He watched in almost bewilderment as the boy seemed to begin to glow golden as he brought up his broken sword to deliver the final strike, then as he was about to thrust it down he shimmered out of sight.
For a moment Malcolm just stayed there, kneeling in the mud, blinking and staring into the air, then he burst out into laughter. It hurt to laugh, but Malcolm didn’t care about that, he let out a sigh and a few hushed words went with it.
“That was close,” 

I’ve been a way a while.

Well it’s been a while since I last wrote anything, and while I’d love to blame my current lack of internet for that, the truth is I have just been putting it off.
About mid why though the summer, just at the end of July for reasons I won’t go into, my depression hit me really hard. REALLY hard. For about all of august I basically just sat in my room playing WoW, or any other computer game, and I watched a lot of YouTube. About late September I thing I had started think about pulling myself out of it, and by about mid October I was back to where I was before my crash in July. I’m still not great but I’ll manage somehow. I hope.

But while I’m here, I can get to explain my current lack of internet goodness. About earlier this month, 5^th of November to be exact, I moved house. The new house is huge. And when I say huge I mean 22 rooms huge (that’s 22 rooms counting the all the bathrooms and basement). I even have an onswet-room (or how ever it’s spelt). So I now on longer live in the middle of no-where. Well I do, Annan is still the middle of no-where in the south west of Scotland, but what can you do right?
Well other than moving house (and just after I had my room all sorted the why I wanted it too), I’ve been up to a few things. Lately I’ve started on a writing course, because I’ve never done anything like it before, and maybe one day I too can have a huge money making book run like Harry Potter or Twilight. I won’t care if people think they’re crap because I’d then be rich, and I can always be artistic after I have loads of money. No point being a great writer if you’re a poor writer.
On that note I wrote a first draft of a first chapter, and when I say chapter I mean a 3000-4000 word first chapter, which I might, put up depending how I feel when  get internets back on my home computer.

this house is made of fake and fail

So I’ve been busy working on stuff of late. Trying to find a job, clearing out my room, and redecorating it.
It’s safe to say I’ve been busy.
But While i’ve been doing that, I’ve also been doing something else, I’ve been busy drawing.
In fact me and my friend Jason have come up with a webcomic.
It’s not much to look at now, but as time goes on and as I learn how to work the damn thing it should look better.
I just hope that yous all like it.

It’s a webcomic about our time at St Andrews and all the crazyness that goes along with it.

Room Done

So my Room is now done.
Well for the most part done. It’s all new wallpaper and carpit, the only thing left to do is empty all the boxes of stuff that were packed up or were never unpacked. It will be a slow process, fallowing the mantra of my grandfather, “Everything in it’s place, and a place for everything”.

But other than that, the room looks good. I’m quite pleased with how it’s turned out.

164

While I’ve been in my room, I’ve not just been beavering away tiding all the time.
I have in fact taken the time to watch a few amount of stuff. Some stuff that’s relatively new and I was glad I found it. And some stuff that is not so new and I knew about it for a while, just never sat down and watched it. First off the bat is a show called Castle. A murder mystery drama show of the Police procedural genre. Yea, yea, I know. With the CSI’s of the world why do we need another one? Well. This ones not a CSI clone or knock-off, it’s about a detective trying to solve murders by tracking down witnesses and stuff, like the good old days of the genre, oh an she’s followed around by a writer.
… … Yup you read right. A writer! In fact he’s the main title character. And he’s played Nathan Fillion. What more could you want? Now I’m a massive firefly fan and just love watching Nathan in this. I fun the show a pure pleaser to watch. It good paced, witty, intelligent and just a interesting show. And I can’t wait till the make a second season of it.

The other Show I’ve been watching is an older show. About 10 years older in fact. And it was the inspiration for the title of my last post. Babylon 5. I must say the show is quite awesome. I was actually surprised by this. But that might because I’m now at an age where I can appreciate the themes of the show. When I first watched it many years ago, I did not enjoy it. I thought it weak and not very interesting. But now, I chock that up to being young. Now that I’m older I must say I love the show. I’d recommend it to anyone. But I’d especially recommend it to all the trek fans, like myself, out there that haven’t watched it, because they still hold on to a silly prejudice. I held my noise up at this show for far too long and I regret it.  And before anybody lashes out with the whole B5/DS9 rip off line, or some such please don’t. I’ve watched both. And they’re nothing alike.

 So what other shows should I watch?

The Tower of Babylon

I’ve been in my room a lot of late. Not because I’m locked in it, or have no where else to go, though that’s not a million miles away form the truth. It’s true that while back home, for that is where I am, I’ve not got anywhere to go. I don’t really have friends in the area anymore, mostly because they’ve either moved away or I’ve just lost contact with them. But the main reason why I’ve been in my room is nothing so emo.

For the last few days I’ve been trying my hardest to clean my room. I know, I know, I sound like a little kid.  But the truth of the matter is, since I went to uni my room has never really been properly tidied. You’d be surprise at the sheer amount of stuff that can appear and fill a room while you’re not living their. And so for the first time I’m actually tackling this.  But while it sounds simple enough, it is not. Ever tried to solve a four dimensional puzzle before? I’d recommend it if you haven’t. You see, to create one, what you need is a room of fixed mass, and enough content, of varying size shapes and densities, in that room to make in nigh on impossible to actually make your task of cleaning the room possible, and add in a limited time factor to get the job done.  The real part of the puzzle is that, you have to try and juggle the whole volume of the room, especially when it’s holding more stuff than it’s meant to.  You see my room has done what it should not of done. What no room should ever need to do. It has swallowed up my room form uni, well all of my stuff from uni. But not just that, over the course of my time away, it has swallowed up much more. There is a lot of stuff belonging to my two brothers, stuff I don’t know who it belongs to, and stuff that had been brought out of hiding or long though lost. And so, it is with this, I had to set about trying to clean my room. But you can’t clean something if you can’t clear a space to work in, and you can’t clear a space to work in if you don’t have any where to put the stuff that needs to move. It was a real pickle. At first. But with some creative thinking, and a lot of tooing-and-froing, I somehow managed it. So now on one side of my room I have a quite large tower of “sorted stuff”. The tower started off manageable but now it’s turned into some what of a monster. I’m frightened that if I move one thing form it, the whole thing will collapse, ruining all my ‘good’ work, and worst of all eat me in the ensuing ‘stuff-slide”. All my fears to one side, I can’t help but feel a little pleased with my self. I have almost completed, as my mother would often call it, “the imposable task” and long before the time limit too. Hopefully with it cleaned and cleared it can be decorated and ready in time. My room’s not be decorated in years, I wonder what colour it shall be.