Bad Company.

Magdalena.

Was in the Oxfam Shop in Ann St when I saw this in a browser. Theres an odd sensation that goes with seeing your work in a second hand scenario. Like finding one of your children in an orphanage oe something. Anyway I pointed it out to my brother. "Look, a signed copy", i directed his gaze to the sticker on the cover. "Ugh, cheeky bastard, who would do that?" he frowned. "Er...I did." I explained. You can pick your enemies but not your family.

Orbiter.

I can barely believe this amazing graphic novel by Warren Ellis and Colleen Doran is two decades old and counting. It felt pretty damn modern twenty years ago and sadly feels even more so. I say sadly given the subject matter the graphic novel addresses. A world where the human race has dropped out of love with the notion of mankind traveling through space, a world where people no longer look to the skies, where poverty of the spirit, of the imagination actually leads to poverty of an even more real world kind. We may all well be standing in the gutter but we no longer raise our eyes to the heavens. And something equally melancholy struck me as I thought about the world that Warren envisioned and Colleen Doran brought to dreary life. A comparison to the state of the comics industry as it is today rather than the space programme, where so many amazing new developments have taken place, from the work of Chinese scientists, the Indian Space Programme, the stirling efforts of a disparate British set of communities and the singular efforts of Elon Musk. Its all happening, while all the while the attention of the huge mainstream have to a degree fallen out of love with the comics scene. Or at best their attention has been distracted by a rise of intrest in other art forms and medias.It is not that long ago that the comics industry was in robust and spunky form. With a successful and big selling mainstream for the larger companies to a vibrant indie culture. There was the crossover to cinema with the rise in popularity of big budget movies based on superhero comics, there were creators who became "celebrities" in their own right, yet so much has changed in such a short time. Sales just are not what they were,some one suggested to me recently that the current comics scene is merely existing in the crumbling ruins of its own past,complete with statues of former giants with their heads knocked off. (I thought of Lancaster Merrin in the Iraqicy desert, with the wind picking up and the snarling of feral dogs, as the statue of the demon Pazuzu reminds him of a final confrontation to come.. I think he was thinkking more of statues in a neat and tidy museum display.Well hey, I was brought up a Catholic, I lean towards catastrophe.) This bleak vision, in tune with modernity, seemed a bit overcooked to me as just as in Orbiter, I believe it is possible to revive the ailing industry, we just have to remind the wider world of the possibilities the medium has to offer, to enrich the imagination, and thereby the lives, of millions of people. For instance, that brilliant mind of Warren Ellis is so capable of imaginative leaps that could kickstart a stalled genre, be it science fiction, horror, psuedo history and superheroes.You can read the introduction of Orbiter, to understand what inspired and drove him to tell this tale.Its an intellectual and emotional heartstopper. Orbiter,eh. Bravo Warren and Colleen. Your story continues to have legs.

The Company One Keeps.

Doctor Who 73 Yards.

The novelization of this season's most experimental and intriging stories is sitting on the table before me as I ponder its usefulness as a source of explanations for the more baffling moments in the episode. I think Russell T Davis has leaned as far in that direction as he wished to take, or give, the reader. I think what we saw, what we think we understand the story to be about, is as much as he ever intended to share with the viewer. Scott Handcock, who adapted his script for the episode, was not handed some secret blueprint to this Whoish head scratcher. It was a wise decision as to do so would have been to serve that story poorly, very much a case of taking the Who out of Who, so to speak. Not so much tmey-whimey as wavy Davy.Ruby is put front and center in the story of a life not lived, possibly caused by The Doctor disrupting a magical matrix held together by strings and possibility (String theory anyone?)Following this things proceed in a melacholy chain of events, stealing any chance the friends and family loving Ruby has of ever finding such contentment. Instead she plods hopelessly through a world that rejects her at every turn, inexplicitly closing the doors of earned intimacy and companionship. And yet in this story Russell finds a way to shape her life to purpose, building her character up in such a way that only she is capable of thwarting the will of a dangerous and twisted individual hellbent on seeing mushroom clouds bloom. Its a sad tale and a brave move to present this story midway through a season that is still only introducing Ruby herself and the current iteration of our beloved Doctor. Will the series ever be so bold again? Only Russell knows. And hes not telling.

Doctor Who Rogue.

Kate Heron and Briony Redman adapt their own script for the television episode Rogue.You know the episode, its the one with the kiss. The lovely big kiss between The Doctor and Rogue. Which had a few people clutching their pearls. Well you know what they say; Pearly dew drops drop...or something like that. Actually thats just some lyrics from a Cocteau Twins song from back in the day. And waht a jolly nice job they do of that adaption. There is a welcome lightness of touch at play here, which may have come from them not feeling it necessary to improve on material which some one else created. It was their baby, it was their kiss too. There, when all is said and done is the moment most people will remember this story for, when our lonely alien finds a brief moment of happiness with a fellow traveler. The story where The Doctor kissed the other leading man of this episode. Or rather, the story where The Doctor is kissed by Rogue. Its Rogue who really goes for it but The Doctor really returns to sender, so to speak. Its not the first time we have seen someone fall under The Doctor's spell and iniated a physical gesture to best demonstrate the affections. He is a bit passive and reactive to these things, is our dear old pal. The lonely can be like that. They are screaming inside for affection but lock themselves off from the possibilty of getting what they want. Kate and Briony do not make too much off this.Which means their script should age well. Never feeling like a clumsy artifect from a point scoring age. Off all the eras and locations it is so strange to think of The Doctor finding love. Georgian Englad being an era of great extremes. There was a lot of beauty but so much brutality and injustice as the people of that era were groping against all the odds to find some reason and decency, where a human being might be sold to another. The foundations for the social mores of the era being built atop much human misery. Historically it were ever so. I like to believe The Doctor forgives us our cruelties, knowing that in time we will do better. Otherwise how could he justify dancing beneath the chandiliers and having a merry old time when we know that just outside the walls of this guilded cage human misery and cruelty abounds. Er, maybe I am overthinking the limitations of a one hour television story. Sometimes a knees up is just a knees up. And oh boy,this was a knees up all right.Well, apart from a few of the guests being murdered.Ruby looked like an angel. As did ncutti. This Tardis team were well walloped with the handsome stick. Although, both were upstaged in these sticks by the uncannilly handsome Jonathan Groff who plays Rogue.I am used to seeing him in much more serious fare and I do believe I saw a twinkle in his eye as he performed in this story. As though he could not quite believe he was being given a chance to play with someone else's toys. Indira Varma brought a touch of class to her character The Duchess. As the leader of these cosplaying bird like aliens. Despite the complexity of her alien make up she plays it with a knowing humour, by turns murderously petty and greedy for experience. She shrugs and twitches to transform and wears it well. The episode is grafted in beatifully crafted detail. A very endearing story with some equally endearing character moments. Talk about loving the alien.

Sapphire and Steel.

Just rewatched the final series of Sapphire And Steel and oh my giddy aunt what a weird and uncanny turn it was. I had forgot just how strange this wonderful series could be.Set in a very drab yet ordinary transport cafe and garage. our heroes, including a very impressive turn by David Collings as Silver, find themselves facing off against a group of entities called The Transient Beings. In this story there are the by now usual creeping eeriness dogging their steps building to an unnerving and seemingly inescapable trap. I do not know if this was intended as a cliffhanger to the series or if the creators wanted to shock us by having a shocking ending intended for the two main characters. Since it was never resolved I can only imagine they are still there,stuck, with a birds eye view of eternity.

Where's Homelander?

The Artist, The Philosopher And The Warrior.

Something of a League Of Extraordinary Gentlemen, off sorts. Hit the town in the company of this trio and you would have had a night not to forget, or more accurately a night you may not want to remember. Ugh, should not relegate the notion of meeting such cultural and political figures in such a purile way, my brain gets a bit lazy.Leonardo, Machavelli and Cesare Borgia. What a fateful collision of Renaissance energy this three generated. The book is a gripping historical, reaching back to the 15th century to explore the lives of three main movers of that period. Three men who's lives and influence shaped an era, well, added to its shared cultural zeitgeist in meaningful ways. Each bringing something different to the table. although this confluence of persona, the collision's of philosophy, art and politics impacted the body polotic in ways that reveberate to this day. Not just in Italy but anywhere the possibility of cultural progression was an outcome to be reckoned with. Roads less traveled were taken, meetings took place, with the visionary scientific mind brushing up against the real world political one, with a purveyor of brutal realism at both their elbows. as impossible as it all now sounds the historical text renders it all humanely plausible. Before starting it , the book, I thought I knew something about the era. But I quite quickly learned what I did know I had learned from two episodes of Doctor Who; The Masque Of Mandragora and The City Of Death. Sounds like one big episode does it not? The Fourth Doctor had travelled back in time to the study and the workshop of Leonardo , although the great artist is off somewhere while The Doctor talks to himself (i.e.; to us.) before an amazingly brutal gaurd shows up to harrass and detain him. Before that though, the wonderfully detailed set, with half built contraptions, with fluttering sketches and hand drawn charts were the stuff of genius workshops. Its a BBC designer's idea of what a Rennaisance man's workshop would have looked like. They were so good at this sort of thing, back in the day, and did not require Disney money to tickle the imagination. What I knew about Macchievelli I knew from his book The Prince. His how to be a bastard rotter thesise. I have come to think of that book as a sort of job application that Macchievelli wrote in the hope of re-emerging from a period of forced retirement. A job application, for a job, which in time he got although not until after he was dead. Consider; he was gone but his book lived on, never out of print. Its been used by cruel regime after cruel regime throughout the ages. From the court of Henry V111 to the boiler room of current Labour. Cruel necessity masquerading as virtue, just heart breaking. At the end of the day you may dress it up as you like, with a wry wink and a knowing sigh, but its a philosophy about dominating others, using humanity as it is rather than as we would like it to be. As for Cesare Borgia, well, what can one say about the fruit of the Borgia Tree, a bloodline that drenched the era in ambition and selfish purpose. Even The Doctor could but roll his eyes. We are led up to a military campaign in the Autumn of 1502, when the three men's lives became entangled in a shared and shaped destiny, caught up in the machinations of statecraft and religion. Paul Strahern has performed a Herculean task of research, mapping the life paths that led them to intersect in this period of history, much of which is mirrored in the state craft of modernity. Although the author never makes that claim, he never projects back in time the hubris of today, allowing the reader to think and see the past as it was, never causing the reader to unsee that which does not measure up to modernitys social mores.making history a hot meal to be enjoyed in the vibrating now.

The Zygon Invasion.

The premis is that there are a couple of million shape-shifting aliens living amongst us, peacefully co-existing, their true forms locked out of sight. Only now the fragile alliance holding the peace is tottering, drunk, and about to collapse. Almost certainly plunging the world into a war it had believed itself to have avoided BBC books have done a lovely job as presenting this novelization as carrying on the look and feel of Taget books of old. And why not, those books sold millions back in the day. Right down to the energy thrown off by book cover designs that mirror those by Chris Acheleous back in the seventies, giving them a cosmic epic quality. Peter Harness adapts the script from this fondly recalled two-parter from Peter Capaldi's second season as The Doctor. Its a story now best remembered for the "war speech", or perhaps more accurately his "anti-war-speech"which was powerfully deivered by Peter Capaldi and stands as one of his tenures defining moments. The set must have felt electrified the day he delivered that speech. Actors love moments like that, it demonstrates their super powers as performers and love to lean into them.Its not all apocalyptic covert alien invasions, theres some cracking humour here such as Capaldi's iteration revealed his first name is actually Basil. The Doctor's sense of humour warmed throughout Capaldi's time. His reflexive stabs at humour came across cold and even alien, which off course he is. I think it took a while for the actor to look in the mirror and see The Doctor looking back. Well, thats how Peter Capaldi put it in an interview. An interview with a Time-lord. He did get there and that journey enriched his time, to the point where when the Doctor fell we felt the pain off it. His final season proving his performance was mesmerising and haunting. I enjoyed Peter Harness fleshing out of his own script. Actually wish he had a broader template to show us what he can do. As Peter Capaldi demonstrated so admirably in Twice Upon A Time. But thats a story for another day. .

The Mummy's Shroud.

Just watched this amazing mummy yarn on Bluray. Blimey,what a treat. I had vague memories of having watched this as a boy. I remembed poor Michael Ripper being wrapped in a curtain and thrown out a window to land in a horse trough. I remembered The Master as played by Roger Delgado lurking in the mummy's tomb spitting curses. ( I said I remembered it, I did not say I remembered it with any precision.) And I remembered Andre Morell ( My favorite on screen Professor Bernard Quatermass.) having his head crushed by a heroic mummified slave. I also remembered that ancient Egypt looked very similar to the planet Exxilon from Doctor Who and Death To The Daleks. As an adult I am able to reason those scenes were probably filmed in the same quarry. Archeologists beware, they could be nearer than is safe to one of the great wonders of the universe. Its a fast paced well acted pulp horror loaded with mummy movie tropes with a quite powerful soundtrack which lends the film an epic quality the production budjet alas could not. Its all ancient curses and archeologists who pry where they are not wanted. With the finacier of the tomb robbing British expedition discovering too late that money cannot buy everything. Michael Ripper really puts in the stand out performance in this film as the down trodden factotum of the sleazy and dishonorable expedition leader. Andre Morrell and his team, who get knocked off brutally one by one, had all the best intentions in the world trying to rediscover the splendour of Ancient Egyypt , but the fact the expedition is bank rolled by dirty money dooms them almost as much as the ancient curse.Theres some very nice character acting from the assembled cast, in major and minor roles, bringing their best game to proceedings. Although some of the ancient Egyptians do look as though they would be more comfortable behind the counter of the mens wear department in Grace Brothers. Heartily recommend this pulpy horror tale from a lost age.

On The Beach.

You know, that really long tracking shot which opened The Leisure Hive showing a snoozing Doctor on the pebbly off season Brighton Beach, with Romanna and K9 playfully, yet thoughtfully, dandering along in a melancholy mood, always made me imagine that the travelers were allowing them selves a breather from some epic experience. Who really knows, I just found the sight of them all wind tossled and Edwardian finery touching. Gave me goose bumps watching it. The last time I had seen them they had been seeing off the Nimon in a splendid tale of inter-galactic shananigans. Something had changed....

The Quatermass Memoirs.

Old Bernard Quatermass had some amazing memories and stories to tell, which is exactly what this audio recording does. The three stories which had different lives on television and on the big screen. Andrew Kerr narrates the three tales although he played Bernard Quatermass in only one of them; Quatermass And The Pit which is one of Hammer Films very best hours. The different actors who played the role brought different qualities to their stories but each embodied a fierce intelligence. One not afraid to face the unthinkable, facing off against entities which were at times hard to put into words. Yet here we get to share that struggle as Andrew Kerr speculates on the horrors seen and overcome. All the victories achieved by Quatermass and his friends were close to not suceeding but the fact that he means "We Still Get To Hear Birds Sing In The Trees". Doubly interesting is we get to hear Nigel Kneale bookend the tales with the cutural events surrounding the writer and it is truly sobering to consider that so many of the things which threatened humanity are still unfolding about us.The more things change the more they stay the same, even as the the hands on the Doomsday Clock hover trembling just before midnight.Any one of the chapters in Quatermass Memoirs could have stretched to an epic length so its the brevity of the audio which is its only drawback, which is truly no bad thing. Its also quite poignant that the young reporter who has tracked Quatermass down in his retreat from a world that was becoming increasingly difficult for him tells the aging professor that life in the bigger cities is getting harder and harder with social order beginning to break down. Nether is aware that something truly apocalyptic is drawing close to Earth and the great scientists darkest adventure lies just ahead as his stories conclude.

Smith.

"He was called Smith and he was twelve years old, so far Smallpox, gaol fever and the hangman's rope had'nt been quick enough to get him, but they might anyday" so began this Leon Garfield book and I thought "Blimey, they certainly credited kids with more intelligence back in the day", at least they did so when it came to historical novels and adventure tales. "But Mal," I hear you say "They also make them go up chimneys to clean them" affecting Sharon eyes rolling heaven ward at my credulity. Hmmm, I think,"good point." perhaps I am a Victorian Waifaphobe. Damn, you think you get to my age and you know yourself. This was a beautifully wrapped little Puffin paper back from the 1970s. The cover artist was Anthony Maitland. Take away the book title and the author's name and you would assume you had lifted a book of tales by Sheridan Lefanu.And this would not be too far away from an appropriate description of what the tone of the book felt like. Although I dont think Lefanu wrote anything which crackled along at the pace this book did. With breatless twists and anxiety inducing turns, poor Smith was driven along at a scary pace, first finding safety from his would be killers, then losing it and finding himself friendless, only one step ahead of murder,betrayal and the wicked ambitions of others. And all written in an entirely plausable fashion, there is nothing in the text which could not have taken place in the real world. From the filthy labyrinth of the warren like streets of Olde Londone Town to the even filthier environs of Newgate. Brutality and cruelty are commonplace in this location, in this era. The poor are crushed by the indifferent forces of societal oppression by virtue of their poverty. Leon Garfield creates a gallimorphery of finely observed Dickensian characters. Newgate prison and those who occupy its walls are rendered so realistically I itched with sympathy. With the spectre of Tyburn looming large over the lives of Smith and his murdered-for "dockiment". It is this story maguffin Smith pickpocketed moments before its owner waws stabbed to death, resulting in Smith now becoming the object of the killers base intentions. I have to stress the quality and artistry of Anthony Maitlands line drawings which come married to the text. The artist and writers collab makes for an impressive team producing a small but perfectly formed body of Victorrianna. And to think this book was aimed at younger readers. Adults rarely had it so good.

Devil In The Fog.

Just had to try another Leon Garfield. I enjoyed SMITH so much. Once again I found myself gripped from the start; "It is the story of fourteen year old George Trent, eldest son of a family of strolling players. They seem a family with a golden future; actors of genius who represent happiness is only marred by the twice yearly visits of the stranger in black, with his cold uncanny stare and the feeling he conveys of some devilish and unwholesome bargain eating away at his soul."Oh my giddy aunt , Leon Garfield did it to me again as he majestically drew me in, the paperback cover as enticing as the one before, fog shrouded and mysterious, the stuff of Sheridan Lefanu or Wilkie Collins. It is another dark tale of devious plots and uncanny characters, with a young protagonist thrust into a tale where no one is who they seem and thus there is no one to trust or turn too for support. One more Anthony Maitland provides a series of interior illustrations that do much to drive the narrative forward. As though you have entered a haunted house you thought was empty only to find it stuffed to the gills with antiques and Victorrianna. This is a formidable creative team and I wish I had discovered them when I was twelve years old, or so. As I was in the last century.They could have shared shelf space with my beloved Doctor Who novelizations. Devil In The Fog confronts class divisions with a blunt clarity you rarely find in the media anymore. Tackling subtlely notions regarding nature versus nurture in a mature and even quite moving fashion. I found myself caring and drawn to the plight of George Treet and his bohemian family. An adventurous family of actors and performers who share close and loving bonds in a world which will shatter such notions in a heartbeat. This was a family who had experienced the highs and lows of a life performing in venues which were physically dangerous places to be should their act fail to entertain. They had honed their many talents in open air performences and before tavern audiences, basically anywhere they could set up stage. Yet they are out of their depth when confronted with the moral ambiguitiews of their so called betters.Cruel plans are revealed and put into practice, the innocent flounder while the criminal flourish. Ah, t'was ever the way. A superb tale full of engaging and interesting characters wrapped up in a foggy curtain that allows us glimpses of a world long passed.

Ghost Busted.

Rembrandt's Eyes.

Well, I finally tracked a copy of this wonderful book down.I first heard ab out it years ago, at Garth Ennis' stage weekend on Rathlin Island. That sturdy rock in the middle of a night dark sea.I was talking to Dave Gibbons about his Doctor Who comics. Stories so good they transcendthe medium they originally appeared in, adapted as audios and even television. Stories which I felt were so good they felt like ones I had experienced on the small screen as opposed to black and white comic strips in Doctor Who weekly. At some point we moved on to other things and he mentioned this verey book. Describing how Rembrandt narrated his own life through a lifetime of self portraits. Recording not only the world he lived in as well as how he looked in that world.He talked about Rembrandt a bit, some of his ups and downs and really brought the man and his work to life. I determined to pick up a copy as soon aas we got back to Belfast. Only when I did track it to a Belfast bookstore I realised it cost as much as a weeks grub for me so I settled for a nice Thames and Hudson collection. Still, I hoped someday to find a copy I could afford and now I have. Mine to read at leisure and how to see the world through Rembrandt's eyes.Which might also be as interesting as seeing it through Dave Gibbons eyes.

The Entropy Exhibition.

For almost the entire time I have owned this book (Since it shifted from the book collection of Mark McKeown to my own.)I have been looking at the spine and seeing the title "The Atrocity Exhibition" by JG Ballard. Its a trick of the eye and memory, signifying a short attention span. This book is a series of essays detailing , as the sub-title explains, the early history of Michael Moorcock and the British "new wave" in science fiction, presenting a critical study of the legendary NEW WORLDS magazine, especially covering the period that Michael Moorcock was the editor, chief contributer and captain of the good ship science fiction anthology, a craft that saled through unchated waters, surving collisions with literary ice-bergs and worse. The Entropy Exhibition is a collection of thoughts and insights which proves to be as dense as you might expect given its detailing of many taboo breaking literary conventions. It was literally game changing, proving an inspirational decade long editorship. Sex, horror, spiritualism, religion and titalation were boldy experimented with along with a dollop of zeitgeist affecting creativity. This period of Michael Moorcock's editorship with an eye for the era in which NEW WORLDS was birthed and took its first foundling journey into the imaginations of a world that had forgotten it was dreaming. It is interesting to speculate in this era of modern progressive experimentation,such as it is, about the genre busting changes in the traditional precepts science fiction and science fantasy found itself, floating in the horse latitudes of modernity. The radical and almost altogether meta qualities of the sailors on the seas of this particular fate were as ground breaking as they were unsettling, with writing contributions from Michael Moorcock, JG Ballard, Brian Aldiss and many others.They proved themselves the artists possessed with the right tools; Their intellects.T'was a brave NEW WORLD with such creatures in it. Off course, what was new then is old now. Modern science fiction seems less obssessed with the predictive qualities of this speculative genre mix. looking back was always so much easier than looking forward. Have we all become the watchers at as opposed to the dancers of that imagined destination. One can only imagine how the old gaurd of science fiction writers must have felt when these new barbarians were at the gates of their lovely gleaming retro-futuristic city, like pike carrying soldiers of the witches army in The Wizard Of Oz, stamping up and down on regimented duty, barring the way.And really imagine the shock of how these new barbarians were so much better looking. Oh the sins we forgive those possessed with sartorial elegance. The unstable DNA of the genre was changed forever by an agressive and radical form of re-invention, with such speed and chaotic abandonment of imagined rules and seismic burstsof creativity that still affords a giddiness to those attempting to cross a constantly changing and evolving seas. Here be monsters, if we are lucky.

Bee Bee Cee.

Picked up this chunky hardcover on a recent book haul. Its not so much the content but the cover which sold it to me. I literally judged a book by its cover. Still, at least its an interesting subject to learn more about. The BBC has been around all my life and for all its faults it has produced some of the finest television ever transmitted. Modernity and the whims of would be futurists have not been kind to it and the license fee continues to prove a divisive subject and its difficult to accept but most of its problems are mainly off its own making. Still, as a product which can be said to represent the best of life in the west, it remains like an old maiden aunt who has not washed her cardigan for years. Presenting us all with the problem; "Are You Gonna Tell Her Or Am I?"

Roobarb and Custard.

(From my sketch book.) Felt like some Roobarb and Custard,so here is some Roobarb and Custard.And yes, the moment you see them is the moment you hear the theme from their show. In your head. Now. A wee gift from me.

Delaneys.

I have heard the old Delaneys building has been sold for redevelopment. If you are like me, off a certain age and temprement, you may well pass this building and continually see it as it was rather than as it is. I remember one loud and sweaty night many years ago when I was out for the night, drunkenly dancing to Two Tribes by Frankie Goes To Hollywood. Oh the craic was good and I thought the whole world was Gay which off course it wasn't, not then anyway. It is now but not back then.

My Telephone Never Rings.

Magic Roundabout.

(From my sketchbook.) Dougal is listening to an old record. Probably the Bonzo Dog Doo Dah Band. Hes a bit partial, is Dougal.

The Devil's Storybook.

Came across this lovely wee bookin a hospice Shop. The Devil's Storybook, written and drawn by Natalie Babbitt, consists of ten little parables straight out of the Adversary's ink well. Wry little yarns with titles like The Harp Of Heaven or The Power Of Speech, each one accompanied by a single illustration which elevates each rum little tale. Part Edward Gorey part Charles Adams, this is a Halloween Orange and Black celebration of a Devil more inclined to miscief than mayhem. And one of the stories has a goat in it called Walpurgis. Eat your soul out, Black Philip.Originally published in the seventies by Sunburst, I was lucky to find a copy. Although the words luck and The Devil rarely go together in a sentence.

In the Avenues and Alleyways.

I pass under Pottingers Entry archway on a re3gular basis. It never gets old. Unlike me.

My Lady Judge.

Had not heard of this wonderful mystery tale set in one of the most mysterious regions of Olde Irelande but I am so glad I came across it on a recent book forage in Oxfam books.

I have never been to the Burragh but have seen a documentary and some articles and pictures capturing some of its primal beauty. It struck me as a location that fairly radiates an otherworldly energy, as a region shaped by ancient forces that predate man on this island of ours. Everywhere we find people on this world you also find ground beneath their feet. Yet few bear the impression of the way deep time works than this region of Ireland. The finger prints of deep time lingers in the region, with its silent tributaries of serrated rock, like the wrinkled bros of sleeping gods. It would be easy to accept that life is not welcome there but that notion could not be further from the truth, life does indeed exist there and continues to do so, in abundance. It may not be human life as modernity presents but its a hardy and savage kind of life form that can choose to operate there. One might goes as far as to suggest The Wild Hunt continues there. Cora Harrison does a fantastic job of introducing a wide range of very interesting and real feeling characters in this murder mystery set in a period of Irish history I am completely unfamiliar with. we were never taught history like this in school. We did learn something about the Tudor period in school but barely anything about the history of Ireland. In fact I do not think I have ever read any fiction, much less factual history, set in this era. And for a historical it feels very fresh indeed. I would not hesitate to read more by this author in whatever era she chooses to work.

The Craic's Up To Ninety.

Nine decades of being Tom Baker.What a man.We love you,Tom.

Trouble Songs.

Are there such things as redemption songs? And by virtue of that redemption music? Who can tell, music means so much to the people of this planet it is most likely only onr aspect of an enormous world view stretching back to the time some human being blew into a hollow reed or repeatedly bounced sticks of a drum like object. Like our ape descendent in the opening of 2001 A Space Odyssey as he beat out the opening to Blur's Song 13 on a pig skull. Probably.

A picture of me with someone who actually understands and makes music; Brian Young of The Sabrejets.

Mark Mc Keown has wonderfully brought to life, or at least a simalcrum of life, with sound and moving pictures of a story I did with the Belfast artist Sean Hamilton. Originally influenced by people I was listening to at the time, trying to capture in a comic strip the energies I would have picked up from a three minute song. It is as much a mystery to me as the art of songwriting but I reasoned even if I failed Sean would produce some very pretty pictures to go with my words. Mark has taken that notion even further with a trippy pop alchemical wash. He really fired some visual love-bullets for this one. And to think that it all actually happened beneath some striking April Skies on a spring day far , far away and yet so very, very close to home. But dont let us tell you what we tried to do, let us show you...The Colour of Love

Synthesis.

Had the pleasure of collaborating on a short film project with film maker Mark Mc Keown and artist Jim Mc Kevitt. I like to think all our collabs are of equal contributions to any project but Marks the heart and brains behind this one. Its a more involved and complex procedure than I had expected. In my own limited creative experience I am used to controlling what is produced on a blank page. Less so if I am script writing, more so if I am writing and drawing. Or at the very least I try to give the notion of creative world building in a shared project, which ultimately most creative endeavours end up being. So the filmic experience engenders trust in anothers creativity and such things rise or fall in how successful a project is left at the end. And this one really made me happy with the outcome. Mark really believes in getting in there and delivering art that requires no gate keeper to enter. You go in to his work in much the same way you approach territories new which you have to adapt your internal compass to areas which are startingly familiar and yet possessed of a haunting liminal quality. There are so many everyday sights and sounds we tune out on a daily basis but these things are the soundtracks of our lives. Light ripples beautifully on thoughtlessly polluted local rivers and streams. Wind moves through swaying treetops surrounding abandoned buildings and factories graphitied back in to the corner of our shared vision. These and many more effects we selectively delete but Mark sees them and puts them into short films. Films that record, rewire and illuminate. His vision and sound combine in this one that cause my words to ripple as he lays them down. It was not intended by me to sound poetic but as he aurally rewired it he came damn close. Playing with visions from one of Jim Mc Kevitts many artbooks. I've seen them, Ive felt the pages his colourful images indented. You can smell the ink. I thought his most recent artbook, purely drawn for his own appreciation of the early morning minutes he translated into a visual diary were simply moving. No two clouds the same, the disaray of back gardens untended and doing their own thing, as nature always will. We are not gardeners anymore than we are sheperds. We have no land to tend or flock to protect. Yet we would like to leave behind some well intended appreciation of our lived experiences. Its all so transitory but no less valuable for its fleeting existance. Please give our stuff a look see. We made it for you.

The Hand Of Fear.

The lovely Lisa in her Sarah Jane Smith costume from the classic, and unforgettable, Doctor Who and The Hand Of Fear. I remember the night Elizabeth Sladen walked out of our lives, with Sarah jane Smith walking out of the Tardis. I had no idea that years later the best was yet to come. The return of Sarah Jane feels a little bitter sweet now, with the wonderful Elizabeth Sladen no longer with us. Yet that body of work and the love that drove it will always be with us.

From My Sketchbook.

The Smoky God.

Found this interesting looking book on a recent book haul. Did not know what to expect as I read the title wrong, thinking it was called The Smokey God, which for some reason seemed to make more sense to me. Anyway, when I read the flyleaf explaining what the book was about I half expected the map of a lost continent to fall from behind the dust cover or Kenneth Moore to show up and ask me to accompany him on a trip to the centre of the earth. Neither actually happened.Could this be a true story? Probably not. But then again it could be. Although it does read as a little bit bonkers. But what story of adventures of ien in extremis does not sound a little bonkers. I remember5 being gripped by a biography of Sir Enerst Shackleton with his men in an icy hell actually living the meaning of the word ENDURANCe and I could not help thinking he, and they, were all a little bit potty to put themselves through such terrifying experiences. Mind you, I have always liked reading about the adventures of others not actually having them myself. A lot of pulp storytelling has not aged gracefully, or tastefully, but I try not to project modernity into less enlightened times. there are tropes which cause more than just an eyeroll 9Might not sound like much of an action but with the right eyebrows it can be devastating.) You just have to look at some of the interior sketches to see where I am coming from with that obsevation. Overall though, its the kind of adventurous journal i really enjoy, which I did with this one. It may not quite be Shangri-La but it is a lost horizon of sorts. It was a fast read and one I enjoyed. I am something of a Jules Verne armchair adventurer. Should I ever reach the North Pole it will be in a cardigan and carpet slippers, using gin as fuel for adventure.

Dr Yon Sin; The Mystery Of The Dragon's Shadow.

I found a couple of old pulp mystery and adventure reprints in an amazing collec tion of old science fiction and pulp adventure books in the Oxfam bookstore in Ann street Belfast. A collection of a lifetime genorously donated to the charity after the passing of the collector, his family hoping the charity would be well served by her loved ones years of collecting. From the most obscure science fiction to hard boiled pulp, this was a collection worth sharing. These two pulps were the first thing that jumped out at me. The lurid covers doing their job, hooking my imagination with first glance.Two pulpy anthologies which would no doubt strike most viewers as Sax Rohmer Fu Manchu knock offs, but I was more than willing to discover with the reading if that was indeed the case. Modernity oft scoffs at such notions and most would quite rightly also scoff along, but I try to see history as the way it was rather what we hoped it would be, acknowledging the fault rather than erazing it. How else might we learn for the world that is to come and how we chose to navigate it. The adventure begins in a fog shrouded part of er, Washington.This capitol city having its own East End Of Londoninspired Chinatown. Yet is strongly suggested this part of town is a crime ridden Gotham of a place. i warmed to how much the two male leads warmed to each other, even in the heat of adventure they clearly only have eyes for each other. Its charmingly benign, no subtext, just comradely affection. Men can be like that. So can badgers I suppose. its all unintentional off course, Doc Savages men are written in this way and Monk and Ham only ever fought together and never fell in love. Pulp tropes perhaps but their origins began somewhere. There is also a beautiful maiden to be rescued from a life of crime, which is in itself a pulpy trope. With a good person being black mailed into criminality by wicked ones holding their family hostage. The illustrations within this reprint echo all these tropes, if thats how you care to think of them. Some of them verge on racey. (More tea, Vicar?) It was thrilling glimpse into a world of publishing which has passed. One that barrels along at a rocketing pace. A two mug of tea read.