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.