All hail The Counter-Enlightenment!

On Autumn

I love this time of year. I love the trees going bald. 

Walking through piles of red, green and brown leaves, the peachy light of dusk and dawn, the memories of cycling to friends’ houses where we’d listen to music or play D&D in the cosy warm and dark bedrooms, back when the light from a solitary bulb was enough for everyone to be able to read.

The dark skies, cooling winds; cold enough to freeze my fingers gripping tightly to the handlebars.

The shorter days providing more reason to cluster together with friends indoors.

Jumpers, mohair, cotton, boots, big coats and spikey hair. Terrible goth music. (Tautological.)

Staring out from a classroom window at kids in their hooded coats running round the playground screaming in excitement despite the thick cloud above.

The build up to Christmas. The excitement.

A lot of people don’t like Autumn. I do.

Except today, when it's pissing down.

On the Wagon

7 weeks with zero alcohol. Watching what I eat too. The weight is falling off gradually, though not as quickly as I would like. Hopefully in a month’s time my clothes will be falling off, and in a sexy way.

Rather like not-smoking, not-drinking in this day and age is actually easier than ever. The non-alcoholic  beers are on the whole very good. Guinness Zero and most alcohol-free lagers and pale ales are very good. 

Electric Bear Unruly AF is my go-to in pubs.

Brooklyn Beers Special Effects is fantastic but the supermarché keeps running out.

So I don’t crave alcohol - turns out it’s more of a habit, like eating sugar or shaving cats. 

Which is a relief.

Mmn. Déja vu.

As of writing this I am still 12st 6lbs, or 79Kgs. At my fittest and strongest (at 27) I was 10st 8lbs or 67kgs. 

I wish this flab would fall off.

It’s stuck to me.

Intentions

I had intended this year to possibly visit the US, as I have never been but always wanted to go.

But with the current regime checking people’s social media as they enter, I would be ejected immediately, like sweetcorn from my arsehole.

Chillin’ with Tomos

Nerys has a new job in Bristol which means Tomos needs lovin’. So after I’ve walked him he comes back to the house with me. 

He's an excellent driver.

Mum and Dad love having him as he is so funny and loves snuggling. 

We never had dogs or pets when we were growing up as they were both working and… well, there’s always a reason NOT to do something, right?

It turns out not only is he a lovely boi, he is a great therapy dog.

Tomos

Piss-fizzingly BAD

People using Deep Heat in a cafe - actually happening as I type…

People having loud, self-important conversations on their phone with the speaker on.

Auto-correct - if I want to spell something wrong I fuckin' well will.

Grammar-check - I'll write shit how I want innit??

Dumb people - read, read and read! If you don't even have any benchmarks with which to process received information how can we have a reasoned conversation?

Leaf blowers - should be shoved the operative's arse and left on full blast. Scum. Noise pulsing in my eardrums no matter what I do. Close windows, go to another part of the house with my XM4s on - no difference. Noisy pulsing shit, blowing the heavy metals and other carcinogens from the road into my airspace. Should be banned forever. Bring back the grass rake and the broom.

People who start sentences with "First and foremost..."

People who are rude to waiting staff just because they can be.

People who are noisy in cafes.

People who shake their heads at me in Tescos car park when it is THEY who are in the WRONG.

Yes. You know who you are old woman.

You know who you are.

I'm not really in the people-space at the moment

"I'm not really a person-person"

Tom, in The Rise and Fall of Reginald Perrin. A sit-com so profound in its concept and brilliant in its writing and characters that it had a huge impact on me from a young age.

A wonderful Ronnie Hazlehurst theme tune too.

If you don't know, it's about an executive having a nervous breakdown. An existential crisis.
Very 70s. People were questioning the nature of our societal structures, what humans actually need to be fulfilled.

Reggie

It started in the counter culture of the late 60s, fuelled by radical thinkers, and among other things spawned the self-sufficiency movement which was also the basis of The Good Life, another highly successful BBC sit-com, in the golden age of British TV.

Not really the stuff of comedy, you'd think.

But it's an amazing piece of writing, with astounding characters who are caricatures of people we all know - the super confident Tony, the bag of nerves who is David, the tyrannical Boss CJ and the annoying pseudo-intellectual son-in-law Tom, who dutifully delivers a sprout wine on visiting and pipe smokes while uttering comments on everything.

A bit like me but with a pipe...

"I didn't get where I am today without having champagne not much just enough"

“I didn't get where I am today by selling ice cream tasting of bookends, pumice stone and West Germany.”

It's just wonderful surreal, profound, maddening. A sitcom that takes you to a place few others would dare: an existential cliff-edge.

Perhaps “One foot in the grave” trod similar territory

Talking of the catchphrases, you can read them here

Anyway, all this is a segue from my own condition which has been to isolate myself over the last few days.

It goes like that in the dementia space. I have long periods where I’m relatively social, and then I pay the price where I just can’t handle other people.

Trying to break it down - you - YOU - people just get in the way, physically. When I’m walking down the street, or queueing. Big blobs of matter talking incessantly, not paying attention, dawdling and meandering.

Would you do that on a motorway?

Children having fun but screaming in excitement.

Dumb males with overly loud combustion-engined vehicles.

People asking me questions, or to do things when I’m having difficulty even completing a sentence.

Too hot - I’m just trying to keep cool, trying to maintain a breeze going through the room.

Too bright as well. Bring me the gloom any time.

Reseal the bunker!

“Can I sit here?”

Sure. As long as you don’t talk to me, and don’t you dare put your phone on speaker and have a loud conversation, you self-important shit.

I will attack you with hot liquids.

Bloody exhibitionist.

I'm forgetting more words and the brain-fog is getting more opaque.

Waitrose and Death

Obnoxious ignoramus at the supermarket. Wouldn't help me at the self-help queue. A pesky garlic was failing to declare itself in my shopping bag.

He ignored me for a while as I waved at him.

Eventually he came over and chided me for not knowing what to do.

"Thank you soooo much." I replied as he walked away.

"You're welcome."

Cheeky cxxt.

As I walked out he had his back to me. The temptation to headbutt him hard where the spine meets the base of his skull to cause him irreparable damage was quite powerful, but then I realised that in the future I will still need that lovely Nduja pasta sauce which only Waitrose do, so I thought better of it.


Genuine life-saver.

Games Night

Been DMing for 13 sessions of our new campaign. It’s modular (i.e. made up of separate smaller adventures) rather than a colossal epic-style single campaign and it certainly seems to be going down well.

We’ve increased the player numbers to 5 now. We may have special guest stars such as Richard Basehart or Karl Marlden now and again just for the odd session.

It takes longer to put together now, and I never feel 100% on top of it any more, like I used to. So I just go with it. I also write down encounters like “Worst bandits ever” and just use my roleplaying skills to improvise it and it seems to do the trick.

The next day is always a write-off though.

In fact this weekend and last and the one before that I’ve just slept for 10-11 hours straight on the Saturday and Sunday and been even more useless than normal.

I can still run a good game though. And that’s what keeps me going.

Sharing is caring

I’m still struggling…

All that sunlight, summer cape-dresses and ice cream. Ghastly.

Make it go away!

Crawl back to the coolness of the cave and its screens where I can kill things with impunity…

I got tired of throwing Marjory out of the window. She came back in and I thought what the hell.
She keeps herself to herself.

Very hairy legs though.

Call me old-fashioned.
I felt sorry for her.

Chivalry is not dead!

Marjory

What can I do that's more interesting, more appealing?

Barry Manilow Complex

I'm finding it increasingly hard to write these things.

I know, there has to be a god, you're thinking. 

But subject matter is ever more difficult to come by. 

Life has become more, easy, in a way. I now know more people to chat to in Wells, or at least say hello to. Takes a while. 

If it's me it does. 

Some people obviously avoid me like the plague. And who can blame them?

Me bombarding them with lewd phrases and a random 'ANUS' now and again. 

Telling people about the virtues of ear-syringing, or out of politeness they ask me about Dungeons and Dragons and I actually try to explain it to them. 

I'm not all Dungeons and Dragons you know. I also play Traveller and Pathfinder.

See? A man of many interests.

There are people I avoid too. Gregory Twat and Barry Tedious are 2 who spring to mind. 

I guess having the same day over and over again does that to you, as regards news. 

It's okay though.

Toilet Update

I love a good toilet me, as you know.  

And to me toilet is also a verb, as in to toilet.

I toilet, you toilet, she toilets, we toilette.

"Hold me bag Deirdre, I'm just going to have a toilet for a couple of hours."

Makes sense, huh?

Toilets in pubs are a thing too. In the old Slab House Inn  - a family pub up the road that was burnt to the ground and is now a housing development (the 2 are not related - ok? OKAY??) served great food but had pictures of nude ladies in the men's. 

It was really inappropriate. It was like the landlord showing you his dirty mag from under the counter when the Dorises weren't around.

"Look at that eh? Phwooorr!"

Well, I went for a walk with Richard and Charlotte, my fashionable new friends I shan't be introducing you to, and I took the opportunity to have a toilet, and this is what I encountered.

 Even the little boys (or dwarves) will get a complex.

I'm still in shock.

In the future...

In the last post I predicted that the human race is headed towards an aesthetic singularity. 

So it is now, with great confidence, that I predict that in the future everyone will look like Punky Meadows, from hot rock band, Angel.

"In the publicity photo, Punky can be seen with a beautiful shiny hairdo...."

Lip filler, botox, make-up, dyed hair, probably some plastic surgery too. 

It could equally be Aunty Val from Manchester, as she drunkenly tries to get off with some footballer in a nightclub.

It's where we're heading, folks.

Too bloody hot

During the last few days it’s been very hot. Too hot, in fact. 

Apparently it takes 2 weeks for the human body to acclimatise to different temperatures. Trouble is in the UK with a temperate climate it fluctuates all over the place, so we never have time to get used to shit, hence we’re always complaining  it’s too hot, too cold, we need the rain, it’s too wet, etc.

It’s gone from 30 yesterday to barely 20 today. This is great, as I can wear clothes again.

A relief for everyone. 

I am looking every bit my age now. Withered body, flabby breasts, pot-bellied, bald.

Reminds me of the bloke in the Contacts magazine from my friend's dad's colossal porn collection. One of the classifieds pictured a middle-aged bloke in his 50s with a black Brylcreemed comb-over, National Health glasses, full-length shot, standing in his Y-fronts.

"Ex-forces, gammy leg, looking for couples."

Who could resist such an Adonis?

I don't know why it stayed in my mind. Probably because I didn't know what a gammy leg was. 

And it was a very powerful image. 

Very, very powerful image...

So anyway, I need to rectify my revoltingness. 

Hopefully there's a pill or something.

What I have been mostly watching

Giff-gaffing doesn’t win you the moral argument. Ask Jordan Peterson, or the bloke down the pub who hands out Reform Party leaflets.

Jordan Peterson is the Canadian psychology professor who became a cultural phenomenon by telling young men to make their beds and take themselves more seriously. 

In other words all the stuff their mums had been telling them for years that they'd just ignored. 

He recently went to pieces on a 20 atheists vs one Christian show - he's gone all religious now, yet he denies it with obfuscation, deflection and word-salads as these clever young people tore him to shreds.

Enjoy! (as they say)

Adam Curtis is a film maker who follows in the seldom broadcast social and cultural analysis of Clive James, Jonathan Meades and even Jon Ronson, in showing us what’s really going on under the surface.

Shifty is a 5 part series chronicling life in the UK for the last 2 decades of the 20th century.

More like an essay than a the usual BBC documentaries; those of us who lived through it or know about the subject matter will not necessarily agree, but it all adds to the conversation or at least starts one.

https://www.bbc.co.uk/iplayer/episodes/m002d2jv/shifty

I'm afraid it's probably unavailable for those of you outside the UK.

My viewing figures are down

So what can I do?  

I know I go on. Same old stuff. I mean I'm quite content but at one point I was getting 200 views for every post, no it's down to just over 100. 

Did I become boring?

Was I was I always boring?

I should look to some popular people for advice.

I asked an old Welsh fellow what the trick is: 

Or should I be more like Drimble Wedge and The Vegetation? 

Treat 'em mean keep 'em keen. That kind of thing?

I think the latter is more me.

When was our zenith?

When did we peak?

I'm talking about human excellence. In the sciences, arts; creativity. What it is to be human. What we can achieve if the best minds and talents are nurtured, encouraged.

Very few people know who the engineer of the Burj Khalifa was. 

More people know what Kim Kardashion has for breakfast.

Great people of our age are pouting morons.

Exude Izzy! Exude!

I just watched a documentary on Stanley Kubrick, genius director. 

He picked the greatest hard-science fiction author of his age - Arthur C Clarke - to co-write the story with. Arthur C Clarke had an extensive background in science and predicted back in the early 60s the use of satellite technology for communications, so that a doctor in London could perform an operation on a patient in Calcutta.

What we now call a futurologist.

2001: A Space Odyssey (1968) features iPads , artificial intelligence, and asks fundamental questions about our place in the universe.

Unlike the great cultural milestone that was Sex in the City 2. 

Kubrick created a new standard of special effects, technologies and ways of shooting scenes by aiming for perfection, and encouraging and enabling excellent people to go and figure things out so they could contribute to his vision.

He used Zeiss lenses made for NASA which were F0.7, to shoot Barry Lyndon and lit the whole film by candlelight and no electric lights, having exhaustively studied English 18th century paintings. 

His films became fewer as he got older as the perfection he sought in preparing for his movies was increasingly exhaustive. For example, he employed his nephew to photograph every house in Commercial Road in Shoreditch, which entailed a separate shot up a ladder so there was zero perspective convergence. (This is all before digital cameras, let alone Google Streetview).

It took a year, and they made a huge Bayeux Tapestry of them all. 

Stanley said 'It sure beats going there, huh?'

In the end they made the front they needed on a film set. 

What's all this about then? 

I suggest we probably peaked 60ish years ago. 

We live in an age of homogeneity: botox and fillers and deadening hairdos with which people try to reach an aesthetic singularity, finished off with make-up techniques perfected by drag queens. 

Young men with absurd dental implants, bulging  biceps and shoulders, with the skin colour of pure creosote. Then covered in tattoos that look like any doodled notepad next to a telephone.

People no longer wish to be individual. This idea that for northern European women the upper lip should be as plump as the lower lip, despite having the wrong bone structure and skin colour to accommodate it.

Music that is so utterly banal and boring as to reduce me to sleep in seconds. Where people like Cowell talk about "The Product" rather than the song.

Scum.

That anyone creative is at the bottom of the pile. That English, art, drama and music are now the least popular subjects in state schools, leaving only kids from wealthy backgrounds with the opportunity to pursue careers in them.

The country that gave the word the most mongrel and elastic language ever, and the person who shows us who we are, now eschewing it all to turn us from a 1st rate Britain into a 3rd rate China.

The commodification of everything has put a stick in the spokes of what it is to be human. As Frank Zappa said, American culture can be summed up as “What’s the bottom line?”

So kids are driven to careers which will soon be swallowed up by the leviathan of AI, or A1 as US Education Secretary Linda McMahon calls it.

Yes, she of the WWE.

An art scene that is purely market-driven to decorate the foyers of large banks and the preposterous homes of those who toil in them, in order to show off their great taste they neither have nor are even interested in acquiring. 

"I mean, they must be good. I paid a fortune for them!"

Our differences which were fascinating and wonderful are eroding. Those old colloquialisms found all over the British Isles, subtly different accents from town to town, have become disappeared or are disappearing fast thanks to radio, TV and now the internet.

For example you rarely hear rural Buckingham or Kent accents any more. They've been replaced by estuary English.

Those almost incomprehensible accents I heard at school have softened to become a broad Mummerset.

I listened to a fantastic podcast the other day which explains how social media has essentially fucked us up. 

That it was all going so well and the future was rosy, until in 2006 Facebook introduced the Like button and Twitter the opportunity to retweet...

PICK YOUR BINARY SIDE AND START HURLING INSULTS!

It’s really worth listening to.

We live in a world where a narcissistic conman and reality TV star and who has aspirations to be an unenlightened despot more appropriate to Turkmenistan than a liberal democracy, is the leader of what used to be known as The Free World; enabled by immoral lickspittles whose CVs comprise solely of how far they can get their tongues up Jabba the Trump's anus.

In summary,, I'll leave you with this. 

And...breathe

So we arrive with nothing. We leave with nothing. 

It's the in between that's the difficult bit.

Well, I found it quite difficult anyway. 

My Dad who is quite wise said it's about picking where you want to be on a line with money at one end, and pleasure on the other. What are your priorities?

I think the old bugger's right.

"Hey Stud! Let's boogie!"

Went out with friends on Friday at 4pm. Came home around 10.30. I had a good time but I'm on the cusp of 56 and I don't want to have let myself down. I can be quite a show-off with a few beers inside of me, and quite dumb as well.

I think I had a good time. 

My key-demographic is now the horny pensioner. Thankfully nothing has happened in this department, and luckily with my diagnosis and living in the parental home, it should be a sufficient repellant.

Apart from that, I am running Dungeons and Dragons on Thursdays and the thrill-factor seems to be back on eleventy, which is where we want it.

We had 2 guest players this time and they enjoyed it too.

So that's good. We are back on track! Also playing Mondays, Wednesdays and the very occasional Friday.

Been playing BG3 - over a 1,000 hours just on the PC.

Reading the paper. Do you go to the columnists you either love or hate? I do. Nothing inbetween.

What's that about?

Here's something beautiful. Check out the harpsichord!

Trump - a footnote, from a YouTube commentator:

An Insurrectionist threatening to invoke the Insurrection Act??? A Draft dodger demanding he be honored with a military parade??? A Felon demanding law & order??? The irony is not lost.

An end to navel -gazing

"He was black, so he might have pulled a knife out"

I see racism's on the increase. Reform - the party for the modern Daily Express reader - seems to have more batshit crazy councillors than Labour and the Conservatives combined.

And with batshit populism on the rise everywhere, it seems to have gifted the bigoted and the dim with a green light to air their prejudices, all in the name of Free Speech.

The other day a dog walker told me her daughter lives in Bristol, and her dog was attacked by a larger dog, but because the owner was black he may have pulled a knife on her so she just had to back away.

Obviously a large out of control dog is one thing. Like the dogs in question, the owners are often a 'type' .

We think of drug-dealing gangsters, but again these can be of any ethnicity. 

Why she felt the need to mention his skin colour when the majority of knife crime is black on black, to me is just racism.

It's like when you hear the phrase 'black bastard', as though the blackness of the person's skin had any bearing on his bastardness.

That's why the police mentioned that it was a white man who drove into a crowd of Liverpool football fans, as with social media had it been even mentioned that it was a brown person, the racist mob may have descended into violence, like last summer when a disturbed teenager who it was rumoured was Muslim but it turned out was not, stabbed some children to death in a nursery in Southport. 

These are scary times we live in. It feels like we're in a powder keg and one spark on social media is all it ever needs.

And it's all part of free speech. 

Which should of course come with responsibility.

The Beautiful Cathedral City of Wells...

Wells is a proper old Medieval town - and one of the smallest cities in England. It gets its city status purely by having its own cathedral.

There are plenty of stonemasons earning a living in these here parts, so I wanted to show some of the utterly shite repairs.

Someone has presumably ticked the 'okay' box and paid money for these.

This joker's used a stone repair mix instead of mortar, and it's already failed

Same again.

Obviously some left in his bucket.

Nothing like having pride in your job is there? Could have used a sponge.

Yes, that is a Grade 1 listed 850 year old cathedral behind. But who cares?

Wrong colour, too wet, and then they just leave it.

When you can do something to a certain level of proficiency and you have pride in your work, to see crap like this, you just think "What's the point?"

What is the point of me having dedicated all these years, thousands of hours, into a craft when shit like this earns people a living?

My family are musicians. My Dad still can't understand how people who could barely play could make so much money in pop music. 

Why do a good job when the people signing it off either haven't a clue what they're looking at or just couldn't care less?

And the thing is it's everywhere. For example, look at some of the new builds and see how poor some of the bricklaying is.

It's not as difficult as you'd think to make something look right, but it does take time and concentration.

I've seen some shocking work be praised by people who should know better. Even awarded with OBEs (Other Buggers' Efforts) and conservation awards. 

What is the point, indeed.

DMing the kids at Pilton

This was hard work. I'm still pretty kernackered 5 days later. 

One and a half days of prep, then 2 days of running the game with a large group of 6 kids - age range 12-16. 

That's a big range if you think back to when you were that old.

And then throw in a bag of neuro-diversity.

The youngest had quite a high level of ADHD and by the end of the 2nd day he was really getting on the edge of everyone's tolerance, but we got through it.

I had a massive tension headache, then took one ibuprofen and slept for 11 hours. 

Ah well. It's what I live for...

Dancing?? on a Saturday???

Ugh! You bastard.

I admit, it was me, in the White Hart, last Saturday. 

Boppin' about like a right Bertie. 

I think it was grab a granny night, as we used to call them.

Some joker called me a pirate on the Facebook post. 

I can see why.

As lovely old Dick van Dyke said: 

'Sing like no one's listening; dance like no one's watching.'

Gyles Brandreth in The Times, said: 

“Stop thinking about yourself. I find this one hard. We’ve all turned our lives into one big selfie. Breaking the mirror won’t give you seven years’ bad luck; it’ll add seven years to your life because happy people live seven to ten years longer.”

Good advice I think.

But what the hell am I going to do now??

T-shirt of the week

The Disclaimer T

Summer Ranting (and worrying)

Enforced Enjoyment

People in cafés and pubs dictating how I react to their product.

They serve the food then qualify it with ‘Enjoy’.

An affectation which has crept insidiously into the service industry.

Is it an instruction? 

You MUST enjoy this mediocre sweetmeat! Or else!

Perhaps I should cheerfully wish you ‘death’ upon serving your knickerbocker glory?

Don’t you tell me what to ‘enjoy’. Who do you think you are? If it’s good I shall be in receipt of an enjoyment. 

That is an inevitability.

If not, I shan't be in receipt of any form of enjoyment.

‘Enjoy your boxers!’

Sure! Enjoy my deep loathing of you!

Jargon. Like ‘Going forward…’ 

Repeat any sentence ever spoken with that phrase but elide those 2 words, and see that it adds nothing.

Mindless.

Scum.

Hiding from the Hairdressers at The Dorchester

Many years ago...at possibly my lowest ebb - and if you read this blog you'll know I've had a few ebbs like that - I was working in the office of a hairdressing/day spa.

It hurts just to admit this, to type those words - 'day spa'.

It was fucking awful.

The grifter who ran it (and it is an industry of grifters) had bought rights to a big hairdressing expo, and he got a former employee who'd fled to America to run it. 

It was insane. 

Said person got a friend she'd met at the pub to assist her. Pub-person was unbelievably irritating, and had no clue how to use a computer. 

Me and the other person in the office were kept out of the loop.

On the day of the event at The Dorchester, grifter decided to destroy her seating plan, and scores of attendees went ballistic at her. She had a nervous breakdown. 

I later found out this was a pattern of behaviour for her - take a high-octane job from grifter, don't share it, then get hospitalised. 

Nuts.

So I then dealt with the hairdressers, who were so visually ludicrous and deluded of grandeur that I had to bite my cheek as I couldn't take any of them seriously. That made life very easy.

Ludicrous yet terrifying

The 8th floor of The Dorchester compared to the lower floors is like a dorm. It's like most hotels in London were in the 1970s - so in need of an update as to be a national embarrassment.

I hid under the bed for about 3-4 hours. People came in looking for me, I saw their feet and heard their conversations. 

I'm never one to shirk a party or a free drink, but I just couldn't bear these people.

It was one of the best decisions I've ever made, hiding under that bed. It was so nice and peaceful, as I didn't have to suffer the dumb conversations of coke-fueled twats. 

Organiser and her mate from the pub awarded themselves a suite each - £1,500/night? Pub irritant and her beige-suited, slip-on shoed boyfriend left with almost the entire contents of the room - bathrobes, towels, mini-bar etc.

They do actually bill you for these things.

I only mention this as I'd almost forgotten it until I mentioned it casually to my friend Mark.

I've always been a bit strange, I guess.

Empty days 

One day looks very much like the other. So much so I'm seldom writing in my diary anymore. 

Walked Tomos, ate porridge, caught up with YouTubers and Times, went to town, played D&D/went to pub as a daily routine gets a bit monotonous.

Then a couple of days ago I woke up (which is almost always a plus) and the world span, and I flopped down on the bed. 

I hadn't had a drop the previous night. Honest.

I wondered what the hell was going on. My first thought was, is it dementia-related?

Apparently poor balance is a late-stage of dementia. I'm not at a late stage.

So is it a stroke? Or something else neurological?

Later in the day hives would appear on my hands and feet - my post Sertraline guide to my stress-level.

A couple of days later I confided my dizziness to my sister - it's vertigo, most probably caused by calcium deposits which have come loose in the ear. 

I've made a doctor's appointment but due to the increased size of Wells's population, I'm having to wait a month!

So I lay down on the bed and rolled on both sides to find out which side I instigated the dizziness, did some exercises and it's helping. 

Phew.

At least I know it's not dementia-related. That made me sleep easier.

(And some of the hives go away.)

New D&D Campaign

I'm running a brand new Dungeons and Dragons campaign called Quests from the Infinite Staircase. It's essentially a bunch of 40+ year old modular adventures, all updated to the current 5th edition rules.

Under 18s, as I've found out from running said games at Pilton 6 times a year, don't like the old games so much. They're used to narrative and role-playing, and there is certainly less of that in the old adventures.

I'll explain. Old adventures had little plot. Most of the time you would chance upon them like an old tomb for instance, enter and open a series of rooms each of which would have a random monster in, kill the monster, nick its treasure, and repeat. There was almost zero logic to the randomness of the creatures, as to why they were there, what they did in downtime, where they prepared their food, where they went to the toilet, and a lack of communal areas or canteen where the gelatinous cubes, goblins and shadow demons (or whoever else might be in the dungeon) could get together to discuss their days or watch Countdown.

It was really like opening the door of an advent calendar, with a different result each time.

These are generally referred to now as 'funhouse' dungeons. There's no particular logic to them - they just exist.

Modern adventures tend to have an overarching narrative and structure, with the randomness excluded.

I'm trying to make the experience more visceral for the players by expanding on the written content with embellishments - personal quests such as looking for long-lost family members, heirlooms, or being on the run, which I've developed with the players - and trying to expand the personalities of the non-player characters or NPCs who the players will meet on their adventures, to make them real or at least 3 dimensional.

We had a terrific session zero where we worked on the characters, which will of course add to the fun when they are role-played by the players, because their motivations, flaws, traits and idiosyncrasies will  be more real, as opposed to say, playing a fighter who hits stuff and simply works for 'coin'.

I'm looking forward to Thursday.

And so is Nafas the genie, who runs the Infinite Staircase.

Miss Perkins will see you now...

A life in a day

I love lying in bed when I've just awoken, pressing the snooze button on my alarm 5 or 6 times. 

The perfect warmth under the duvet. Stillness. No one asking me to do anything. Listening to the birdsong, in the distance a terrier barks, and the low hum of vehicles passing by. 

Crunching of gravel as our neighbour prepares for work. Any time between 10 minutes and an hour I shall get up. What a shame to have to get up at all.

Then I become aware of the ever-present tinnitus in my left ear - a very high-pitched tone that sounds almost like central heating.

Pills, pills....100mgs of Sertraline, 30mgs of Nifedipine, Vitamin B complex, Vitamim D, Lions Mane, and a soluble Vitamin C.

Always blocked up - spray some saltwater up there. I am a martyr to my sinuses. It's hereditary. I can hear my parents blowing their noses - they sound like elephants.

Breakfast is a glass of worthy green sludge, a bowl of porridge made with water with a spoonful of real honey and plump blueberries on top. 

I have to have breakfast with my headphones on to avoid the television and its rolling news; a cafetière of smooth coffee and a carton of oat milk, then go through the paper starting with the columnists I give a shit about, thereafter working through the news.

Someone's taking someone to court over a boundary issue...World News, get 7 out 15 on the quiz, then YouTube. Any NRL matches? What's Trump done now?

I walk Tomos. Meet Herb and his dog Daisy, get ignored by Dame Joan (still don't know what I've done - my feelings alternate between loathing and laughter), get the next instalment of Gillian's Mexican soap-opera life, bump into multiple others. 

Some of us humans know each others' names now - we all know the dogs' names before we know each others'.

Spend too much time on YouTube. Get angry. My version of Tik Tok.

Must write more adventures. I'm rediscovering my writing side, my creativity having been strangled by years of institutional education. 

An ember still lies there. Must get the bellows out and some twigs. Need to work on this.

I almost forget lunch. It's a powdered Huel drink. Some people say it tastes of cheesy feet. I quite like it.

Snacks are shortbread biscuits or Bahlsen chocolate biscuits washed down with a mug of tea. Maybe a banana and an orange too.

Do a shop. Go to the supermarket every day. If I'm cooking for all of us I'll get a marinated spatchcock chicken, roast some veg and have some couscous with it. Other than that I'll eat on my own; pasta with a ton of spinach, or a pizza with a ton of chilli oil.

Might go for a walk in the afternoon but avoid the pubs. Don't want to start all that again. I want to keep the moderate drinking going.

Evening might be gaming online or I'll watch a film or some documentaries. Went to the local cinema last week with Nerys and watched A Complete Unknown with Timothée Chalamet as Bob Dylan. It was great. Must go more often.

Repeat.

Pushing Envelopes, pulling pints

Rupert visiting for the day, Suzy down for the previous weekend with her eldest daughter, playing online with Adrian, Larry and the other goblins as well as Sacha, Tim , Boyd and Eddie. 2 days of DMing with the kids in Pilton (see below) then writing a brand new adventure for the Wells lot for a one shot. 

Going to London to do a talk to 10-15 MSc students only 6 turned up and only one asked any questions. It was okay though.

Almost every day there was something on. And I just can't do that without paying the price anymore.

So on Tuesday 25th I woke up late with a cold. First cold I've had in 2 years. And it's a stinker. Still got it just as bad a fortnight (that's UK English for 2 weeks) later. 

I've barely left the house.

The oldies never got it. But I'm still very good with hand-washing and staying out of other humans' way.

So I'm off to see the duty nurse who, apparently, is very rude. And I'm so tired.

Too much gaming?

2 days of DMing in Pilton. The kids. You know. But there's a big age difference between 11 and 14, and it showed at times, with the older kids getting annoyed at the dumb stuff the young 'uns were doing.

It's supposed to be a collaborative, team effort you see.

One evening of playing on Zoom. We're playing D&D in realmspace. I won't go into details: it's all top-secret stuff.

One and a half days of writing a one-shot adventure. 

I wrote one the week before last, based on Wizard of Oz and Beauty and The Beast, with the screenplay in the manner of HP Lovecraft.

This week's was a time-travel extravaganza which I've always wanted to write. Being me there is zero method. I start at the beginning and bumble through to the end, changing stuff as I go, confusing the shit out of myself and writing the dialogue as the characters seem to emerge embryonically as I go.

The plot reveals itself as I overcome every hurdle. I would publish it but I nick everything so there'd be multiple copyright issues. Hitchhikers' Guide, multiple Alan Moore comic strips, Star Trek, evil toad-like tyrant (Trump obviously) and populated by the anomalous denizens of Drakkenheim, with a certain Hollywood blockbuster ending.

Run in one 3 hour session for Hannah and Katy.

They said it was probably the best adventure they'd ever played. But then again Carlsburg is probably the best lager in the world. (Hint: It's not.)

I particularly enjoyed roleplaying the AI Moulinex T3000 Food replicator.

You had to be there.

 Songs from the shower of insanity.

Singing "Oh Mr Grimble and his magical pants..." The theme song of a 1970s sitcom THAT NEVER EXISTED.

Interspersed with superfluous disclaimers/caveats of "I'm mad!! I'm mad!!"

What must the neighbours think? Lol

Shouting out "MY WINKLE'S SHRUNK!"

Well, it has a bit. But winkle-shrinkle is a thing at my age.

It's still scarily massive though.

Oh yes.

I'm 55.

That's my winkle, that is.

Direct, from the toilet of inertia!

Increase the sleep

Top tip for dementia people is sleep. I was only getting 7-8 hours of sleep last week. As a result I couldn't concentrate on reading or preparation very well.

Last night I got 9 hours. This morning I was able to read the Saturday Times  - obviously not all of it - but several of the articles, and was able to skim-read others.

Ideally I need 9-10 hours of sleep every night now, just to be as fully functional as I can be these days.

I still feel tired though. You just have to get used to that bit.

Thing is, I'd promised the 2 players who could make this week's D&D session that I'd have an adventure for them - a special one-off adventure. And I got myself in a right old tizz about I don't mind saying, cor lumme, stone the crows etc!

Dungeons and Dragons update

2 players only this week, so I cobbled together a Wizard of Oz meets Beauty and the Beast meets something or other. I added things, tried to keep it simple, added more stuff, crossed out some other things, and in the end completely confused myself.

I've been watching a few David Lynch films recently which contain a few Oz references, and of course  the darkness and horror you'd expect.

I tried to keep the elements simple, coherent, but it wasn't making sense in my head. Then I read some advice about stories, you need fantastic locations, a reason to be there, clues, some red slippers (2 odd shoes in this case) a fairy made of adamantine...and so I meandered off the beaten track as I do, and lost my bearings.

I read it over and over and under again. No map of the land, except the one in my head, and I didn't know if it was enough or not. Would it sustain an evening? Would it even just fall flat and everyone get angry as they wasted an evening when they could have done something that wasn't SHIT?

So I got to Seager Hall in Union St and there were Hannah and Luke, and we started, and it went okay. In fact, they seemed to love it. 

It was all a bit Disney but with Bodaks, Helmed Horrors, Hags and other nasty things. Big huge walls of thorns the size of the Pentagon, scary castles, but a happy ending. 

Bramble Buttons, Nanny Grumbles and Grotbags

Got to have a happy ending.

So it was a perfectly good 'one-shot' as we call them. I just no longer have the clarity of thought to truly know if something is good or will even work any more. 

Luckily the improvisational skills are strangely still there to paper over the cracks!

The greatest interview ever

Peter Bogdanovich who was part of the new hotshot directors at the time (1970?) interviews John Ford - proper old school director of Westerns often starring John Wayne or 'Duke'. The new meets the old.

Don't worry - it's only a minute and half long.

Remembering the olden times

I've always been nostalgic at heart, and I have very fond memories of the television of my youth. Good, old-fashioned family entertainment, where generations could sit together and enjoy inoffensive entertainment without recourse to foul language and gratuitous penis shots just to be relevant and 'cutting edge'.

These days programmes have to be 'relatable', whereby a popular retard goes to look at Renaissance paintings which they've not only never encountered, but also don't care about, so we witness their ignorance and inanities in order to offset our own feelings of ignorance and/or stupidity.

I mean, look at these programmes from Channel 4. Family entertainment my arse.

Rylan learns...brain surgery.' But he only has 24 hours before his first patient. Can he remove the tumour successfully? 

String Theory with Joey Essex. Professional fuckwit gets lost in WHSmiths

Allan Carr's Top 50 Bumholes.

What ruddy nonsense! 

So it's time to look back to the Golden Age of British television! Where true entertainers - professionals - were the order of the day. Whether they'd learned their trade at Butlins or the old music halls, they'd all graduated from the university of hard knocks, and tough surprises!

Here are a few of the highlights, all of whom are sorely missed.

Shitting with Norman

We join popular entertainer Norman Vaughan on a toilet in mid- defecation where he interviews a variety of music hall stars, constantly interrupting his guests mid-sentence to answer for them. Occasionally punctuated with off-mike plops which Vaughan finds hilarious and grades with a thumbs up or thumbs down.

Jizz and Minge

Deirdre Jizz and Doris Minge, the old music Hall act whose real names were Arthur Tit and Reg Mump. Dressed as old ladies, they would sing unfunny songs around a harmonium played by a black and white minstrel, all the while goading each other about the other's personal hygiene or lack thereof, and end up directing their anger in the form of harmless race-based gags toward the minstrel.

Young Racialist of The Year

The annual event hosted by Katy Boyle and Gripper Stebson, to find the white supremacist of 1978: a golden year for Nazi youth as it turned out. The winner receives a Chelsea smiler, a life-time's supply of Wilkinson Sword razor blades and as many sweets as they can nick from Baldy's ice cream van without getting caught and duly receiving a buggering.

"And the title of Young Racialist of the Year 1978 goes to..."

"Give us 50p fatty or yer 'ead's going to down the toilet!"

Mike and Bernie's Celebrity Skid marks

Watch Mike and Bernie Winters race each other in a series of state-of-the-art British Leyland cars. This week Bernie's Austin Princess is up against Mike's Allegro Vanden Plas in some field or other in Lincolnshire.

If you listen closely 'Diddy' David Hamilton provides a completely inane and superfluous commentary which was actually meant for another programme entirely, but no one at the time noticed.

Guest stars Bob Todd, The Lovely Anna Dawson and The St Winifred's School Choir in the grand finale: "Mike's jump of Death". 

The series was banned after this episode. Which was for the best.

Nonce goes the 70s

There was a big 50s revival back in the day. Who can forget Grease, Showaddywaddy, Darts, Rocky Sharp and the Replays, or Dickie Tremble and the Reacharounds? All the while, hosted by a seemingly endless supply of loveable household paedos (Savile, Jonathan King, Chris Denning etc).

Children's TV was also a big thing back then. 

Who can forget Terry Spangles and The Winkle of Doom, which saw the eponymous hero... 

Right. I've had enough now.

'To shit is vulgar; to plop, divine!'

The best writer since sliced bread

The subtleties of language

I read in the paper, that pompous old curmudgeon Kingsley Amis in his book 'The King's English', bemoaned how illiterate the world had become that he was having to devote a chapter to the difference between 'he might' and 'he may',

I had to think about this and without having had an extensive education in English grammar (comprehensive education - in the UK sense) I had to think about the context and tone of the two phrases. 

If you think about a rich boy and a poor boy, the rich boy may get in to Oxford, but the poor boy might if he tries hard enough. 

Or you ask your uncle if he has a non-percussive drill bit. If he's a DIY enthusiast he may just have one. If he only dabbles now and again he might have one.

'May' is just the higher likelihood.

That's it. 

Aural hallucinations 

I always put on ambient music from the Calm app when I go to bed. I have to have absolute darkness as well, so I wear a silk eye-mask which every time I wake (at least once every night for a pee) is around my neck.

But I've recently been hearing music in white noise, and the other night just as I was dozing off a trumpet fanfare. 

Bear in mind this was at 1am and despite it coming from the music room - and we do possess a trumpet - no one was minded play it at that time.

Luckily it only lasted a second, but it was a little startling.

Coupled with my slight visual hallucinations of white objects in my peripheral vision suddenly pinging into existence like a like they've just been switched on, this must be a taste of things to come.         

Pilton psychos

I just spent 2 days Dming in Pilton for the older kids. It was good fun, but as usual utterly exhausting. I realised on Thursday that the adventure I'd hoped would last the 2 days was almost complete, so I spent another couple of hours on Thursday evening setting up a concluding part. 

It was a bit of an obvious adjunct to the first part but their parents had paid for the time so that was all that was important. 

The whole premise was the party had met up as the only non-goblins at an ancient citadel. One of the party had found a large oval crystal on a dead goblin. They fled the citadel with the goblins in pursuit, fleeing into a valley. But the goblins eventually caught up with them and a battle ensued, ending with a stray arrow hitting a hornets' next and scattering the gobbos.

The main part of the quest was a whodunnit as 2 warring families in a vibrant market each accuse the other of sabotaging their respective businesses. 

Initially the traders were reluctant to talk to strangers, so the party had to endear themselves to the locals by taking part in 'It's a Knockout'-style games, and the locals would more readily impart clues that would lead the party to come to a conclusion.

The lad to my left was getting frustrated as he just wanted his character to kill everything then set fire to what was left, so for the last part on Friday I put in a ton of extreme violence to satisfy him. 

We were like that at his age too, and look how well we turned out!

Kids, eh?

I guess this is how writers of sagas set things up - have a bunch of threads which you don't know initially where they’re going to go, but which you can work out later. 

It's better to have unresolved threads which can become plot-hooks, than none at all.

Not having them means you have to start again with a brand new adventure each time. 

3 days later and I'm still absolutely wiped out by this 2 day session.  

What I'm reading

Earth to Moon - by Moon Unit Zappa. Autobiographical tale of growing up in a counter-culture family with a workaholic artist for a father and a long-suffering wife for a mother. 

I'd read the real frank Zappa Book which was pretty dissatisfying. This is far more honest and thorough as to how Frank’s behaviour affected his family. For instance, he would sometimes return from long tours with a groupie to sleep with - leaving his wife Gail upstairs to sleep on her own. Nice. 

Then he’d be in his recording studio in the basement for the rest of the time, sleeping during the day.

So we see the flip side of the artist - the solipsistic, narcissistic, self-indulgent, tyrant. The art comes first; everything else is secondary. The genius must be tapped.

The parents would wander round naked, and shout at each other, there were murals of orgies the kids hated and all the while her mother got increasingly frustrated and angry.

All Moon wanted was to spend time with her dad and get a hug from her mum, which were never forthcoming.

Moon writes brilliantly and I'd give it an 8/10.

I'm also reading another autobiography, this time by Adrian Edmondson, called 'Berserker.' It's supposed to be funny but having been a fan of Rik and Ade back in the day, the humour feels so familiar that I feel I've heard all these jokes before. 

I'll plod on with it as I'm still at the beginning.

What I'm watching

I was watching multiple YouTube videos on politics, but it's just an endless loop of the same shit. 

So then I started watching interviews with the very out-there maverick film makers I really like - David Lynch, Russ Meyer, John Waters and Werner Herzog.

Great Russ Meyer montage from Beyond the Valley of the Dolls, but may be a bit rude for Alison...

Waters and Herzog are just brilliant speakers and I could listen to them for days. I do a pretty good Werner Herzog impression. He is a one-off and his early works like The Enigma of Caspar Hauser are like a Bruegel painting come to life. He doesn't make films like other people. His documentaries are also wonderful.

John Waters is a great raconteur and there are a ton of interviews on YouTube which are hilarious. The 'Pope of Trash' started off making films with all his misfit friends in the late 60s and ended up making Hairspray (the original - not the musical), Cry Baby and Serial Mom - the latter which I've never seen. 

Herzog shares a joke with his leading man

It's nice to see people like this succeed, especially when cinema is dominated by the likes of James Cameron and Michael Bay🤮.

I've also watched Silo season 2 on Apple TV which is terrific. And I'm currently rewatching the totally unique Severance, created by Ben Stiller, in preparation for season 2 which premiers on January 17th.

The most original programme in years

Plans for 2025

The usual: drink less, exercise more, go to the cinema, theatre and take some walks in the country. 

What's more important than the above is to improve my rather crap social life by visiting friends.

So ideally all of the above but with an emphasis on getting out and about - which is precisely what Frontotemporal Dementia (FTD) prevents you from doing! The old executive functions being offline and all that.

I shall have to battle forth and keep going.

VERDICT: Must try harder!