Tom Chadbon.

I was very sorry to hear about the passing of actor Tom Chadbon. To generations of Doctor Who fans he will be forever remembered for his much loved performance as Duggan, the Trench coated Police Inspector hot footing it through Paris with The Doctor and Romanna on the trail of some nefarious art thieves. Duggan was not afraid of delivering a righteous haymaker ( Indeed, as The Doctor haplessly pointed out, he may have delivered the most important punch in human history, 400 million years ago.) We met Duggan only the once, way back in 1979, Humanian Era, in the absolutely classic Douglas Adams penned City Of Death. We had two wonderful Time-Lords on top of their game, a terrific supporting cast, a witty and timeless script, a great location and a haunting and very memorable soundtrack by Dudley Simpson. A crowning achievement at the tail end of the seventies. And Tom Chadbon was a vital ingredient in that glorious mix. Tom Chadbon left behind a lifetime of performances in all manner of genres but for Doctor Who fans we will always have Paris.

Stookie Bill.

(From my sketchbook.)

Dead Lions.

Oh My Giddy Aunt, really enjoyed this second book in the Slough House series of books, Nick Herron does a very subtle job oif embedding these characters, those who populate Slough House, and even those who torment them, in the readers conciousness so readily. I feel like I know them almost as much as I feel for them. Jackson Lamb and his...er,team feel like they are really out there somewhere. Dull, drab and dangerous to know. This one plays with the notion of "sleepers" and the notion that if you pretend to be a thing for too long you might find yourself becoming that thing. At times it felt like the most messed up episode of the Avengers, never written and even then I am just grasping for something to compare it too. When its not really like anything else, certainly not Le Carre. But then, what is?

The Distant Suns.

Well, this was a surprise. Discovering a science fiction yarn of an almost old fashioned disposition, about a perilous voyage across space in the hope of saving mankind, of finding a new home where we might start again. And bloody Nora, whos the pilot of this saviour ship? Its only bloody Jerry Corneilius. Just about the last person one would put in the Captain's Chair.Unless the destination was an orgy or a rock festival, or even an orgiastic rock festival. There is a great introduction to this edition of The Distant Suns, by Michael Moorcock, explaining the history of the piece. A job for hire intended for The illustrated weekly of India,intended as an educational foray into the not well explored field in India of Science fiction tropes. The then editor of the paper hoping to inspire its readers towards a broader understanding , if not outrightin India which accewptance of fictional science ( Interstellar flight, mercy missions beyond our solar system, new life on new worlds.) Alas, the story never saw the light of an Indian day, never reached its intended readership, due to social upheaval in India and a change of editorship, who cared little for past commissions by other editors. First printe in nineteen seventy five with this edition seeing print in nineteen eighty nine, with illustrations by Jim Cawthorn, this story did a bit of otherworldly traveling of its own. Michael Moorcock also states that he found the collaboration with Jim Cawthorn as a very happy one, which is always nice to know. Michael Moorcock has swept across so many regions of his multiverse over the years, with a map for navigation that has many unexplored regions ("Here be monsters" indeed.)It is nice to think of some of those regions as uncomplicated and satifyingly pulpy. The relative innocence of a space opera performed at this level is a pleasing discovery and comes very close to delivering an uncynical ending to a perilous journey. Although "close" in stellar cartography is a very loose term indeed.

Thirty Years Of Paul Mc Gann.

Oh My Giddy Aunt, can it really be thirty years? In what timey-whimey universe is that even possible? Well, as it turns out, this one actually.

Elizabeth

Lisa Hilton does a superb job of taking what could seem like an obscure thought experiment and turns it instead into an engaging view of a Princely preoccupation with the extensions of power, their continued control and utility. I have always loved this cover painting, this Momento Mori, the hub ris of power and its use and misuse. People throw the word Macchievellian around like its the hat of the day. Its the difference between how the world is and how we want it to be. You cant not play the game because sure as daybreak you will be played by others.

Black Dog.

What a lovely find.

"There were ten tongues within one head and one went out to fetch some bread, to feed the living and the dead." Was really enchanted by this little novella. Its the very definition of slim but perfectly formed.It is a follow up to some stuff found in the short story anthology Trigger Warninga, as the character Shadow Moon takes a meandering journey into the melancholy heart of the English countryside. In other words, Here Be Locals. the tight narration is accompanied by some fancifully rendered and hauntingly beautiful illustrations by Daniel Egneus. It all begins in a cosily lit English Olde Worlde Pub but it ends on a shadowy English hillside within some stealthily concealed catacobs, when this mound gives up its heartbreaking secrets. Not a paragrapgh is out of place, not a word is wasted, Black Dog is a short read but its memory will linger long after you have finished it.