Happiness.

I have for some time had a couple of long term retirement plans for my old age. One was to move to a lighthouse and wait for the world blinding meteor shower and the attack of The Triffids. The other was to move to Knotty Ash and seek out a job helping out  in The Jam Buttie Mines with the other Diddymen. For I have always felt spiritually one of Doddy's Diddy Men. I have always certainly looked like one.
           For some time, after The Good Friday Agreement, I have also thought Northern Ireland should adopt Ken Dodd's excellent song Happiness as the new Northern Irish National Anthem. I long for the day The Northern Irish Assembly stands as one and belts it out together. Not actually waving tickling sticks in the air.
That might detract from the credibility of such an august institution.
            Happiness.
            Happiness.
            The greatest gift that we possess.
            Wise words from a wise man.
            Ken Dodd.
            A master of laughter.
            The world needs you now more than ever.

A Dark Night In 1981

 

Oh Boy, was going through some of my ma's old things,found this wrapped up in a copy of her birth certificate, a drawing I did for her of all us running about Etna Drive on a Halloween night all those years ago.

I can see myself and my best pal Fergie and my brothers and sisters knocking around O'Connor's Alley. We loved the dark nights and would come in mucked to the eyeballs. It was a traumatic year for me 1981. I was beaten up fairly regularly (for being "fruity", what can I say, I was, I still am.) but worst of all Tom Baker regenerated into Peter Davison. My Hero fell off a bloody big Radar dish and left a big Doctor shaped dent in a field. He also left a big Tom Baker shaped hole in my life. 

Do Kids run the streets on Halloween Night any more?Trick or Treating, dressing up as scarecrows and tramps basically anything that will allow old clothes to pass for a costume. Modern peer pressure being what it is they probably insist on full Iron man outfits that actually work or avatar outfits in which they may actually download their personalities. Its a different world and expectations are so much higher and dare I suggest it...unrealistic.Or maybe not.Maybe to want and dream about it is enough. Maybe the world just dreams bigger these days and a plastic devil mask will not do the trick or treat anymore.

I am so glad this wee piece of artwork against all the odds survived our house burning down. Or our house being burnt down to tell it as it was.

 Now that really was a dark night.

Paperback Rider.

Daft Punk have not got a new Tuba player ; this is the only way to travel these days; Speeder Bike!Safety first off course.

O Captain!My Captain!

               Tom Baker has been on this planet for Eighty Years. An infant in Galifreyan Terms.
               From the highest table top and with respect I proclaim his genius.
               The first season of stories he did with the lovely and wonderfully talented Louise Jameson for Big Finish Productions were just fantastic. More than just a slice of nostalgia re-embraced. These were stories that stood on their own, done with the best possible talents attached and easily strong enough to stand as canon. The season he then did with the much missed Mary Tamm and the joyous John Leeson exceeded my expectations on so many levels. I have just finished the last story in another season of The Doctor's and Leela's travels together( Zygon Hunt; thrilling and a great pay off to another great run!) and I already just want to listen to them all again. (What companions they were with ones foot in the air.Which is to say whilst recovering from surgery and not some swarthy personal habit of mine.). Yet just when you think it could not get any better this appears on the thin blue horizon;

For those who remember Philip Hinchcliffe was the captain of the Good Ship Who and steered it through what many consider to be a Golden Age. He seems such a modest fellow that he would acknowledge that Who probably more than any other television show is best served by the adage The King is Dead Long Live The King; thus allowing it to enjoy much more than one Golden Age. That said he did bring so much to the table in terms of a rarely equaled eye to a Gothic and most arch form of storytelling that literally gripped the imaginations of millions. Those long ago Saturday tea times were dark indeed and not just because of a seasonal Saturday wintery frisson. Those stories still echo in the halls of our shared imaginations.
             Now the talents that cemented that period in the annals of fantastic-dom have come together once again. I cannot wait to hear what a feast they will have crafted for our ears.It is timely. With this lot it is always timely.
             Always wanted and always needed.
            The best of times is the here and now.

Detective 1945.

Hard Boiled Boys and Girl from Northern Irish bubbling talent pool Daryl S. Lucy Shaw and Tommie Kelly deliver a slice of Noir crime drama that satisfies and surprises in equal measure. Detective Joseph roberts has returned from action in The Pacific  where he was witness to and also responsible for the sort of war time atrocities that can change a man forever. Where a man's soul can become damaged by the horrors of life in the meat grinder. Yet imagine returning home to discover the steel and stone canyons of New York concealing horrors of its own. In this jungle there is no beast so fierce as man. Daryl S and his team rediscover this lost world and breath color into its black and white palette. Its a thundering 45 blast of a first issue that echoes a glorious pulp heyday in a new and invigorating burst of storytelling. To my old eyes all involved in this fine new comic are much too young to speak the world weary tones necessary to talk Noir speak convincingly yet they do so with aplomb.
           I met Daryl S at the Drawn In  Comic Workshop I spoke at in the Crescent Arts Center and I am dazzled to see him carry through an idea he was almost giving voice to then from inception to completion. From a first lonely line on a blank challenging page to this lovely perfectly formed comic book. The seed that has germinated in this wonderful blossom of a Black Dahlia was just taking root in Daryl's imagination then.
We discussed script writing and in particular that night how to construct a flashback sequence that would not confuse a reader, how to use past tense as part of an on-going tale without too bold a stroke, that a readers brain would assimilate without them being aware of it. I can now see the sequence he was having a problem with that night but in the reading I assimilated without being aware. Just as he intended.
              Also how refreshing it is to see a comic where the characters have actual human features. Where the young and the old share panels in a way that is increasingly rare in comics, in television and on the cinema screen. It takes courage to show ordinary human beings in an industry dominated by Olympian physiques and perfectly constructed profiles. Where all the main characters look as though they have been grown in the petrie dish of a central casting agency or a modelling agency. At times I fear the media have assured the frightful vision of Logan's Run and we live in the time of Carousel. At least on television and in cinema.
               Daryl has assembled a nice creative team to make his vision a reality. Lucy Shaw's script is Raymond Chandler Sharp and his colorist Tommie Kelly brings a pulp fiction adult wash to the proceedings. Their confidence in their abilities ensure this is not a pastiche of the period but a worthy addition to the black mountain of crime fiction. It is hard to believe that this is this creative teams first effort together as they hit the ground running and prove themselves a trio to be reckoned with.
                This is only the first issue and should you, the discerning tasteful person you are, get the chance please do not hesitate to take a walk down the mean streets of Detective 1945.
                 You will be in the best of company.
                 Noir dont get no more noirish than this.

Hyde Post Script.

I have a few versions of The Strange Case Of Dr Jekyll And Mister Hyde by Robert Louis Stevenson but my favorite has to be this amazing version illustrated by the equally amazing Gerard Gibson. It feels so authentic you could almost believe he haunted the rain slick night time streets of Edinburgh to capture the fever dream atmosphere of the two stories contained in this volume. And if you knew Gerard , as I am fortunate enough to know Gerard, you could almost believe he would. Scribbling in his sketchbook by the light of a hand held oil lantern.
           As something terrifying, and as yet unseen and perhaps not meant to be seen, looms up behind him.
           Knowing Gerard he would whirl round and do a quick pencil sketch.
           Forgetting to be terrified.

The Hanged Man.

                 

(From my sketch book/Beyond Black)Some one once sagely advised me You Can Only Play The Cards With Which You Have Been Dealt. 
                                               Bullocks I Say, rip them up and make your own.