The Easter Murders

Goodbye (moron)!

While walking through the market I met a couple I thought I knew relatively well enough for conversational purposes. 

I was explaining I'd just had my ears syringed and mentioned TWICE how the brain quickly comes to terms with deafness, compensates with hearing and balance, and was currently in the process of dealing with a clear ear'ole again.

Such was my amazement at the process and results of said ear de-gungification, they’d already said goodbye and walked off!

People cut the conversation short these days. Not all the time, but when it happens I'm still compos mentis enough to notice.

Several possible explanations come to mind:

1. I'm becoming [even] more tedious
2. Because I have dementia (=Alzheimers to most people) I won't remember how the conversation started or how long it's gone on for, so they can end it any time and no offence will be taken by yours truly.
3. I was always a complete twat and not worth any interaction with.

I can understand any or all of those. I don't even get offended, just curious as to what's really at the heart of a quick volte face from a potential conversation.

So I followed them for a while, and then I murdered* them.

That's just me though. 

You may react differently and that's your prerogative.

I blame it on the FTD. 

Unconscious whistling

I was walking up the High Street with Tomos the other morning, just like any other day, and a sweet old lady said “It’s so lovely to hear someone whistling. One never hears it anymore.”

But I wasn’t whistling at all, you deranged crone!

Oh shit - I’m not even noticing it now. Damn.

Rather like Austin Powers when he awakens in that scene, my internal monologue is now - intermittently - no longer reliably internal.  

This could lead to some complicated situations. Luckily at the time of writing, most people just see a mad person (me) warbling along and rightly ignore me.

Let’s just hope it stays that way for as long as possible.

Welsh-born

I just read an article on the BBC website referring to actor Matthew Rhys as 'Welsh-born.'

A few years ago I wrote an email to the curator of a particularly shit exhibition of photographs at the National Portrait Gallery featuring a number of performers at The Glastonbury Festival. One of them was of singer Tom Jones - the caption of which described him as 'Welsh-born'. 

I asked why the writer of the guff next to the images couldn't say 'Welsh'. The reply was that he'd spent so long in America that he wasn't really Welsh anymore.

Poppycock.

You see this as a Celt quite often. It's as though despite being relatively sub-human as a Welshy, an individual who's done rather well has transcended into a fully-formed human being and shuffled off the cloak of Welshness. 

They could even be English.

It would never occur to these people to refer to Michael Caine as English-born, would it? Or Hugh Laurie, James Mason, Helen Mirren or countless other English actors who earned or are earning their living in the US. 

Drives me nuts.

I murdered them an’ all.

The Time Team

My favourite programme of all time. All experts - all geeks - all passionate about archeology. Not a treasure-hunt, but an unpeeling of time to show how the land was used by people biologically and neurologically the same as us, but with the knowledge and beliefs of that specific time.

Endlessly fascinating, it ran from 1994 to 2012.

Most episodes are available on YouTube. The original characters were Tony Robinson the actor who presented, Professor Mick Aston in his rainbow jumper and black country accent, field archaeologist Phil Harding with his Wiltshire burr, Stuart the landscape archeology specialist, Victor Ambrus the historical illustrator, Carenza, Helen Geake, Mick the Dig etc. 

Wessex chic

It's charming,  gentle, funny at times and ultimately educational. These are real people who are able to communicate their passion and knowledge to the audience.

I wish I'd been an archeologist. 

Edwardian band names

Algernon and the Danglers

Forthright Bertie and the Pong

Marvellous Mucus Machine

Dr McGuthry's Vomitous Vituperations 

Billy Bolax and the Deep Dibbler 5

Gravel in't Gravy

Ebenezer and the Sneezer Geezer

Whoops! Where's me wobbler?

Jonathan Putrid and the Scrumping Guns

The Undesirable Altercation

Gladstone's Gallstones

Gene Splicer and the Mutations

*not really! 

...But I would say that, wouldn't I...?

Fizzy Brains

Pigeon Holes (or lack thereof)

I've heard barristers describing the brain working like a set of pigeon holes. Really clever people have more than others - each holding vast amounts of information and FACTS (remember them?) to be accessed on a need-to basis. 

As soon as they take on another case the pigeon holes they used for the previous case are emptied and filled with the new information so they become an expert in the new case. 

That's a well-oiled brain.

On a good day, I have probably 2 pigeon holes. Which is why when a task is undertaken and someone asks me something, I can be immediately derailed and the thing I was going to do is long forgotten, or the object I was holding lost, discarded.

I have to replay my previous steps and actions in order to find my iPad, book, keys or whatever it was I was holding, when , for instance, someone asked me a question that wasn't related to what I was doing.

A highly inefficient way to be, constantly looking for your stuff.

This is what my life was like in the last few years of work. It was just hopeless. Having to concentrate on the job in hand and remind myself what I was supposed to be doing. I needed to do everything with blinkers on - tunnel-vision - staring Linford Christie-like at the finish line. 

Any distractions and the vision and job in hand are lost. 

Start again.

People still ask me if I'm going to return to stonemasonry. It's difficult to explain to them how exhausting it can be just to get a job done as it requires so much more conscious awareness - concentration - to complete relatively simple tasks - and with that comes the mental tiredness.

I'm drooling more and more from the right hand side of my gob. This is a dementia symptom believe it or not.

So no, I'm really not in a position to return to work. 

Ever.

Goblins Reunited

Yesterday I went to Dragonmeet, which is the annual RPG and boardgaming expo in Hammersmith. I took the coach up from Wells, which terminates in Hammersmith bus station, and then walked the 5 minutes to the Novatel Hotel which hosts it.

The definition of convenience!

 Jono and I moved away from SW London roughly the same time. We were mainstays at Kingston Gaming Club. I was known for being bossy, but you have to be - if people don't make the commitment to coming on time every week, the group loses out, and it just dies a death. You have to be honest.

These days people think nothing of not turning up or texting they can't make it on the morning of the event. Bear in mind some people travel for at least an hour to get there, and would like to organise their social lives too.

I'm one of those people who was brought up to believe lateness was rude. And there really is no excuse for not communicating if there's a problem in this day and age.

Rant over.

So, Jono, Adrian, Larry and myself went around the place. One of the standout observations was the lack of official Dungeons and Dragons accessories on sale. WoTC (the owners) have never even had a stand there.

Mainly it's the smaller independent companies. These are people who write, produce and sell their own products. 

Truly labours of love. 

Mongoose, who produce Traveller, were there. All 4 of them. This is a global science-fiction RPG and it's a tiny, tiny company with a hugely loyal fanbase too. I saw the book they produce for physicists who play a maths based version, where they work out the velocity of a craft travelling at X which then slingshots round a gas-giant 3 times the size of Jupiter but with only 75% of the gravity...

Something for everyone!

I bought a D&D compatible adventure called 'Against the Faerie Queen' which is a role-play-heavy (rather than combat) epic fantasy adventure based in post-Romano Britain. It won't suit everybody, as it's more about lore, diplomacy, politics and role-playing.

It won't be for everybody, and people struggle when it comes to correctly pronouncing Welsh words. 

But I love the fact Celtic in this sense refers to Welsh Celtic rather than Irish Celtic, as it so often does.

I also had a kickstarter arrive the other day which is like D&D set in a gonzo future and televised...so much to read!

Tsundoku or what??

At Dragonmeet I met Ian Livingstone, co-founder of Games Workshop, who with Steve Jackson invented the Fighting Fantasy Gamebook which brought so much joy to my teenage life. I shook him by the hand and thanked him, then he struggled with the PDQ machine (I thought he'd have a minion for that) and signed my book.

I bought presents for my Thursday lot. I hope they like them!

Had a really good chat with Larry about socks, and why they are important. 

Met Tyrone, Peter and John Bryant too.

It was such a proper geek and nerd-fest. The sights, sounds and smells were just brilliant. Great to see younger people there too - not just us sad old beardies.

The overheard conversations were a joy to behold - '...of course I was just using the beta part of my brain in that scenario..."

-----------------------------

It's come to my attention recently that I am not playing nearly enough role-playing games.

Seriously. 

I have gone slightly doolally or at least higher up the doolally scale without it.

It gives me something to aim and work for in the week. It’s intensely taxing on my grey matter. It’s the most intense of social interactions with high emotions, adrenalin, arithmetic, acting and other things beginning with A.

It also keeps me out of the boozer.

If I don’t get my fix I get rather…grumpy, lazy, listless, depressed all of which is a virtuous circle. 

Good news is that Jono/Adrian/Larry will be running a Traveller campaign online on Wednesdays from that London/Plymouth.

Hoorah!

Official Dungeon of Dementia T-shirts!

I've been working on these for minutes.

Available in XXXM. 

Payment options: postal order only

103 Guineas per item. 

3 for the price of 4.

Disclaimer: Dungeon of Dementia accepts no responsibility for fights, hospital bills, loss of limb or any other negative outcomes incurred when wearing its apparel.

Optimum Girths

Comparing Nibs

I don't think many people hand-write much these days apart from shopping lists. I hand write lots - having written a diary since I was a teenager.

I mentioned this to Mark the other day on a video call and we got our nibs out and had a comparison.

He surprised me by getting out his vintage Parkers. Beautiful things, So elegant.

While some people love watches, I love stationery.

Here are 3 of my pens: 2 Rotring Art Pens and a Lamy Accent. I had a Cross which I wrote with for years but it recently bit the big one. So I took up with the Lamy Again.

Some pens

Post

I love getting things in the post and today was a very special day. 

In 1992 on the Tottenham Court Road I did a personality test. It said I was a very BAD person.

I didn't want to be a BAD person. Luckily they had a book which would make me into a GOOD person.

It was called Dianetics.

I bought it but didn't read it. 

32 years later they're still sending me these every few months.

Contains a lock of Tom Cruise's pubes, destined for Ebay

I love how desperate/persistent they are. They have less than 40,000 estimated people left in Scientology and as a result they are running out of money. 

One of the good things about the internet is now everyone can see how preposterous it is as nothing is hidden - they can't keep a lid on their secrets anymore.

We all know about hydrogen bombs and Thetans and volcanoes and Xenu. It's laughably-bad trash-sci-fi made into a religion. And we can all see it and make fun of it all, which of course they cannot bear.

Good.

And then my new pants came as well. 

State of the (f)art pant

What a day! Can't wait to wear these bad boys.

Think I'll get the letter framed.

Accents

I like accents

When I was at school kids were bussed in from surrounding villages I'd never heard of. Some of them had accents so thick I could barely understand them.

You never hear westcountry accents elsewhere - especially London. Everyone assumes you're dumb if you speak in the westcountry burr, so if you have one people tend to lose them.

People in London - especially public school types - also think that about the Welsh. Don't believe me? Having Welsh parents I'm particularly sensitive to these things, and people say the most extraordinary things they wouldn't dare say about West Indian or Pakistani people anymore, instead directing their bigotry against other minorities.

I realise the animosity works both ways.

But you get my point.

Now that I've returned to the town of my birth I seldom hear those very strong accents from 40 years ago. I think with decades of radio, television and now social media those accents have homogenised. 

The BBC has an archive of regional accents going back to the 1920s in remote parts of rural Britain, and most have disappeared.

Thanks to those awfully bright people who run the BBC, it's no longer available.

Anus is best said in a south African accent. The south African tongue around ‘anus’ is something to behold; something to savour.

“Yah. EYEnoose is my five-reet word.” (How to speak South African.)

“ ‘andy tups.” What you get from watching daytime TV.

The same person said:

"When I shout at someone, it's all over after that."

 Well, it may be all over for you, but it may not be for them.

Bloody cardigan-wearer.

The size of heads

I have a very large head. It is in disproportion to my puny frame. I take a XL in hats. 

Not a large - AN XL!!

Jacqui has a very small head. Think a lemon and a grapefruit.

As scientific as it gets

I wish I didn't have such a massive head. 

I wish I was a little bit taller...

Why I want to live in a Carry on world

I want Barbara Windsor to wiggle past to the music of Eric Rogers.

I want Charles Hawtrey to keep a hot water bottle under his kilt because it keeps his dangler warm.

I want Valerie Leon to work in a camping shop and show me how to get the [tent} pole up.

I want Terry Scott to be Tarzan.

I want Kenneth Williams to be Kenneth Williams over and over again.

I want Bernard Bresslaw to say 'I only arsked' in his high-pitched voice.

I want Sid James to be the lothario and do his laugh and go "Cor blimey!" when he sees a naked lady.

I want Joan Sims to be absolutely disgusted when the nude men turn around.

I want compulsory double entendres.

I want distinctive, infectious laughter.

I want silly to replace depression.

I want to be a highly repressed male surrounded by right dolly birds.

And what is wrong with that?

Oh. Okay.