An Insight into the Inner Workings of My Brain

Why do birds suddenly appear, every time I wear my birdseed overcoat?

2010-12-08T23:04:00.001Z

Why do birds suddenly appear, every time I wear my birdseed overcoat?

Answer here

Tumblr

2010-10-19T20:51:00.000+01:00

Ladies and gentlemen, the unthinkable has happened.

I have become drawn to another blogging website. Tumblr.
Now, don't start packing up all your belongings, burning all identification documents and heading for the border just yet, because things aren't as fatal as I just made it sound.

I do indeed have a new blog. And it is indeed awesome. And I do indeed love Tumblr for being awesome. But I am not going to abandon this blog. Well, no more than I do already. Ahem.
I am going to post more personal, introspective blog posts on my Tumblr blog (think 'dear diary'). The more entertaining, reader-oriented blog posts will be put onto here.
I will post onto Tumblr for my own benefit, while posting onto Blogger for yours.

Here's a rundown, just in case you're an idiot (it's possible - you're reading my blog, after all)

BLOGGER

Humorous stuff
Internet finds
Cartoons (both mine and other people's)

TUMBLR

Personal blog posts
Artwork
Project updates

Chin up. It'll be awesome.

Sometimes I do worthwhile things

2010-10-13T18:48:00.000+01:00

This is a piece of English Language coursework by Corrie Smith and me, teaching about the arrival of the Anglo Saxons to Britain and their subsequent impact on the English language. All very edu-ma-cational. Lap it up.

Me and my issues, eh?

2010-10-09T14:28:00.003+01:00

Rejoice, Planet Earth! Look to the skies, and praise the Heavens! For it was Mr Ross Milnes' 18th birthday on Monday! So happy birthday to Mr Ross Milnes for back then.
It's the subsequent birthday party tonight, which should be fun. Sightings of me at any social gathering are rare, and anyone who has seen me outside of school should appreciate how unusual that is. I am a bit of an introvert, admittedly; I enjoy spending my free time by myself, drawing, animating, watching TV, having one of my many Wikipedia sessions (did you know that Lee Mack's real surname is McKillop?) or just sleeping off the many insanely early mornings I have to endure on a school week. All that considered, I think I've developed surprisingly well as a human being - I don't suffer from low social comfortability, like being unable to hold a conversation with someone I don't know very well, and I enjoy the parties and days out that I do attend - but despite this stroke of luck regarding my relative adaptability, I still seem to place my alone time on a higher pedestal than my time with others, and I don't know why.
Well, I have a theory.

Human beings are strangely drawn to patterns. As an English Language student currently studying child language acquisition, this aspect of human nature is something I find rather interesting, as patterns help our brains to make complex information more palatable. Take rhymes, for instance. Children's books are full of rhymes, and it's easy to see why. If one word rhymes with another, the brain doesn't have to remember both words separately; it can remember the whole of one word, and just the different part of the other word. This understanding of similarities between certain things means that our young minds, absorbing information at a frightening rate, can compress all this new-found knowledge so that it doesn't get jumbled up and confused in our brains. Naturally, the more routines the child has in its life, the more organised its mind will be in later life.

Growing up, I lacked consistency. Now, before you picture me as some sort of liquid-y mess in a bowl, with two eyes floating on the surface, I mean 'consistency' in the other sense. I mean 'consistency' in terms of routine; in terms of my life having patterns, repetition, a recognisable sequence of events that I could grasp hold and make use of. I lived in the sleepy village of Scampton for a while, before moving to live with my mum above a noisy pub in Lincoln, after which I returned back to Scampton, to live with my dad again. Then, I moved back into Lincoln, to live with my mum on Burton Road, and then there was a lot of to-ing and fro-ing between Scampton and Lincoln for a couple of years, before I ended up at Scampton.
Now, this must have been playing havoc with my young mind. For a while, I wasn't sure where my definitive home was; it fluctuated so frequently, it baffled me. I had a bedroom at my godfather's house, also on Burton Road, that served as a sort of half-way house in slightly more organisationally-convoluted scenarios, so I was right royally bewildered. And I'm sure it's taken a toll on my mind - I'm terrible at organising data in my head.
But perhaps this is why I am so 'intelligent', as people hasten to call me. Never, in my younger formative years, did I develop this natural knack for sorting out, and prioritising, information. I can tell you how they get turkeys to go indoors when it rains in America, but ask me where I left my house keys and I will have to stop and mull it over for a moment.

Now, I feel that as a result of all that inconsistency, I fear change. I'm a bit obsessive-compulsive in that I crave routine - I sit in the same seat on the school bus every morning; I eat more or less the same lunch every day; the list goes on. Strangest of all, I have to have the volume on the television at seven, a multiple of seven, or a number three less than seven or a multiple of seven, so it has to be one of the numbers 4, 7, 11, 14, 18, 21, 25, 28, 32, 35, etcetera. Is that normal?
So when everyone else hit adolescence and started rebelling, the thought of change concerned me slightly, and as a result I never really rebelled. I don't shout at my parents, I rarely swear, and I do well at school. These are the good points. A bad point, perhaps, is that when faced with an invitation to a party or some other sort of social gathering, I panic. "It's going to destroy my routine," I think to myself. "I'll be lost and bewildered, and my carefully-laid plans, mostly involving sleeping, will be scuppered!"

As a result, with Ross' party in a few hours, I've been incredibly neurotic today. What if something bad happens? What if I dress too casually, or not casually enough? What if? What if?

Deep down, I know I'm going to have a great time, and that I'll come back from it smiling broadly and cherishing the memories. But God knows where I'm going to fit in that cancelled Wikipedia session on Sunday...

Look, I never lay claim to amazing poetic prowess, okay?

2010-09-26T22:21:00.002+01:00

If you're reading this on Facebook as a note, please read it on the blog. I've played around with word sizes and everything, and only on my blog will you be able to see it.

He sits beneath his worries
And lingers, ever lingers
And he drums his bony fingers
On the crooked coffee table
As the hours become the days
And the days become the weeks
He seeks, within his clouded mind
A way to solve his problem mind
And he wishes he could find
Some sort of remedy to what he calls
His 'troubles'.

He's read the latest books
And he knows the terms within
Like they'd been written down by him
But not a single complex word
Can put out the raging fire
And as his eyes turn scarlet red
And his face a chalky white
To spite the darkness of his eyes
There is a war behind his eyes
A civil war between his mind
For to acquire an end to what
He tends to call
His 'troubles'.

Piss off, you grumpy killjoy!
You're ruining my fun!
You're self-deluded moanings
Mean nought to anyone!
But yet you seek to make DAMN SURE
That your debilitating issues
MEAN MORE
TO THE REST OF MY SUBCONSCIOUS
THAN ALL THE HAPPY THINGS
I HAVE THOUGHT, OR BROUGHT TO THE WORLD
OR WITNESS, HAVE PREVIOUSLY WITNESSED
AND EXPECT TO WITNESS
PUT TO-fucking-GETHER!

He gets angry at his 'troubles' -
When he is, he's almost able
To do away with all the worries
But he lingers, ever lingers
As he sits beneath his worries
And he drums his bony fingers
On the crooked coffee table.

Extra! Extra!

2010-09-07T14:08:00.000+01:00

Here! Have some blog news.
The Milnesy & Wivell Blog: The Official Blog Of The Show, the official blog of the Milnesy & Wivell show, has been blocked by my school's wireless internet network. This makes me laugh; this is not a general blog-blocking procedure that my school employs, but a specific ban on that blog in particular. I know this because my blog hasn't been blocked (hence this - I'm at school right now).
So what has caused my school to block the M&W blog? I have a theory. Mr Ross Milnes, author of the rant-tastic Mind Of Milnesy blog, also contributes to the Milnesy & Wivell blog (hence its name - duh), and in a moment of passionate fury posted a furious and somewhat sweary rant, directed at Big Brother. By all means check that out - it's so hate-filled, it's funny. My theory is that the school network picked up on the blue language and blocked the blog (Ross' blog is also blocked, so this is highly likely).

This makes me laugh. You see? Politeness pays.

Twitface

2010-09-01T01:26:00.007+01:00

It's funny how we sometimes do things without thinking. Occasionally, the lack of conscious thought proves to be a disadvantage, like when someone crosses the road without thinking and becomes another road safety statistic. More often, however, we do things without thinking simply because the reasoning behind it goes without saying; the mentality of the decision is so seemingly straightforward that the brain bypasses 'ponder' mode and just gets on with the job.

Usually, such decisions come and go. Some, though, do not; the decisions where we opted not to do something, where the option to change our minds lingers, does not always disappear into obscurity as quickly as others. On the occasions when such decisions, made without thinking, are suddenly brought forward, once again, to the centre stage of our minds, it is interesting to explore the thought processes that initially occurred when the decision was first made. Sometimes we learn why we didn't dwell on it.

I say this because such an occasion recently happened to me, and I discovered that the reason I decided what I decided, without thinking about it, was because thinking it over would just get me unnecessarily angry and worked up. And lyrical. Hence this. Sorry about that.

The other day, someone asked me "Why don't you connect your Twitter account with Facebook so that your tweets will appear on your Facebook profile?" This threw me for a moment, as the concept, as constantly evident to me as it was and has been for ages, hadn't really jostled through, and to the front of, my hypothetical to-do list and announced itself as a practical and logical idea at any point; it sort of hung about, in the areas of my mind that teetered on peripheral, close to plummeting into the abyss of discarded ponderings, and never really drew attention to itself. Basically, what I mean is that without ever dwelling on my reasoning, I never considered connecting Twitter to Facebook as a good idea.

So I was taken aback slightly when this person - a real-life human being, with opposable thumbs and a digestive tract - suggested the idea to me again. This idea, something that I had always known about but had ignored because common sense told me to, was being dragged through the crowd of thoughts, into the spotlight of my conscious mind, by someone who showed no hint of irony or sarcasm in their facial expression or tone of voice. This person was being serious. And it caused me, for the first time, to take a long hard look at my decision and try to understand the subconscious reasoning behind it.

Twitter and Facebook are not the same thing. Not by a long shot. Sure, they 'borrow' ideas and gimmicks off one another, and some people (trying, no doubt, to be hilarious) say that it's getting harder to tell the difference between the two websites. Take a look at Twitter and Facebook; compare them for yourself and you can clearly see the differences.

Facebook, for a start, is MASSIVE. Not just in an 'everyone's got it' kind of a way, but also in the sense that there is so much to do on Facebook. You can not only post updates, you can play games, get in touch with long-lost acquaintances and... well, the list goes on. It goes on for a long time. So we'll leave it there.

Twitter, on the other hand, really only has one function: sharing. Whether it be sharing links, gossip, news, personal information (in a 'how has your day been?' kind of way, before you start thinking like that) or a funny joke, Twitter handles it exquisitely well, employing the brilliant 'retweet' and 'hashtag' functions. Sharing such things on Facebook, on the other hand, can result in a few 'wacky' friends commenting underneath with some barely-comprehensible attempt to be funny and no consideration for you, the poster. As the notifications go up, the aura of outward integrity of the thing you posted goes down. Tut, tut, tut. Best tweet it, then.

When you're on Facebook, you feel like you're in a kind of social bubble; no matter how eventful your time on Facebook may be, what happens in the bubble stays in the bubble, and outsiders are likely to never know it ever happened. Of course, with the amount of friends the average Facebooker has, and the amount of other friends those friends have, the closed-endedness of it all isn't as noticeable. But it is there. It's like being in the internet equivalent of a large village in Norfolk. That witty retort you posted, no matter how brilliant, will, if you're very lucky, be read by a friend of someone who 'like'd or commented on it, but ninety-nine percent of the time it will end there, if not much sooner. And your desperate attempt to be noticed grinds, as inevitably as ever, to a halt.

Thanks to the aforementioned 'retweet' function on Twitter, your brilliance can be seen by loads of people, people that neither you nor your friends have ever heard of, and thus the bubble of closed-endedness is popped. I once asked David Mitchell a question on Twitter, and he answered it! That would never have happened on Facebook, because if you're famous and on Facebook, the amount of notifications you are likely to get will probably cause your computer to explode. Well, probably not. I'm not a computer technician.

So in conclusion, I will not let Twitter post my updates on Facebook; I like my ability to post something on one website and not the other. Some things I come up with suit Twitter more than Facebook, and vice versa. There is no grey area, as far as I can see; they're unique and different to each other. And taking two bright splashes of creative and distinctly original brilliance and mixing them up into some sort of muddy, bastardised 'Twitface' seems a little unfair.

An Update: Not all these blog posts are witty essays

2010-08-10T23:03:00.000+01:00

I am proud to announce that the first episode of The Milnesy & Wivell Show has been completed. Now all I need to do is finish trimming the soundtrack of episode two, talk nonsense for the soundtrack of episode three, animate episode two, edit the soundtrack of episode three, and animate episode three. No problem.
Episode one will be released on September, so look out for that, then. Actually, I'll prompt you, so never mind.

As you were.

Bog Blog

2010-08-05T21:43:00.000+01:00

...
'Ere!

I was on the toilet a moment ago, and noticed that the toilet roll was the really cheap kind. My family are not posh people or anything - far from it - but we usually get slightly softer toilet paper; fairly cheap fare, but still quite soft. This stuff wasn't even trying to be soft. I looked at this abomination, this rough, unholy harbinger of seemingly inevitable arse pain, and sighed audibly. This wasn't going to be fun, I thought.

Well, it turns out that there's nothing to worry about. The difference between the 'quilted' bog rolls and this stuff is simply too minuscule to bother dwelling on. It did the job. I wasn't walking like a sumo wrestler afterwards.

In fact, my whole view of the scenario changed. My chief comfort-based concern permanently extinguished, I began to admire the cheap toilet paper. Here was a roll of processed tree whose purpose was to wipe arses. It wasn't embarrassing itself by exhibiting the delusions of grandeur that the more expensive brands clearly have. It knew its place, and didn't try to big itself up with adjectives like 'luxury', 'absorbent' or 'three pounds fifty'. Good on it, I say.

I appreciate that the past few paragraphs have probably baffled you somewhat; yes, it is an unusual topic for a blog post - it's not just you. It was just something that occurred to me, and if it keeps you blog-gogglers sedated for a few more days (or weeks...), then all is dandy and there be nary a quibble.

CYA L8R

Well. Here I am.

2010-07-27T07:38:00.000+01:00

So, what's happened to me recently?
I'm afraid not a lot has happened to me recently. The Summer Holidays are underway, and I have done precisely nothing since I left those school gates on Friday 16th June. This is the main reason for the lengthy space of time between the last blog post and this one, for which I can only apologise. Alas, I am the type of person that, artistic pastimes aside, does very little of any interest until something of interest comes my way; in other words, I don't go out looking for interesting things to do - I don't actively seek them.

Well, it just so happens that something of interest - of considerable interest - came my way last night. Well, the night before last, as it is now seven in the morning (yes, insomnia, you win this time) and so the past few hours now officially take the place of Sunday night as being 'last night', so... I'm sorry, I digress. Sunday night. Something of interest came my way. 'Sherlock' came my way; it's the new BBC series, written by Doctor Who's Stephen Moffat and Mark Gatiss, and it's absolutely marvellous. Sherlock Holmes, set in the 21st Century, done magnificently.
Benedict Cumberbatch: a man whose name is only equalled in terms of awesomeness by his acting.
So yes. I'm no television reviewer. Watch it, if you haven't done so already. If you did watch it, watch it again. I did.

Right. Elsewhere in my memory banks...
Oh! I'm currently animating the first series of The Milnesy & Wivell Show, which is the secondary reason for the aforementioned lengthy space of time between the last blog post and this on; I have been working constantly for the past week - more than is healthy for a typically productive person, let alone my good-for-nothing self - making the most of the lack of school to get as much animating done as possible.
The thing is with animation, the better you do it, the longer it takes. This goes for most things in life; a rushed cake may taste unsatisfactory, or a car made in a hurry might shed its wheels at an inopportune moment and unexpectedly introduce its driver to a nearby wall. Slow and steady wins the race. Good things come to those who wait. And so on, and so forth. I've been animating the M&W Show to quite a high standard of quality (if I do say so myself), and it has therefore dominated my life this past week. I have done loads, though! Episode one is nearly complete, which, for animation, is pretty speedy. So well done me.
Here is a little preview picture for you. Please note that the actual series is in colour - I made the photos in the picture sepia because that's how I roll (anyone who has seen my Facebook profile picture can vouch for that). So sorry if it's misleading in that sense.

Okey dokey then. Good day.

The funny blog entries are back!

2010-07-06T20:36:00.000+01:00

Hello. I use italics to make my greeting sound dry and edgy. Nyah.

Right, on with the blog thing. I was asleep a moment ago. Now, I know what you're thinking. You're thinking 'I bet he didn't do much if he was unconscious', and you'd be right. Unless I not only had an amazing dream but am also able to recollect it, how could I turn the concept of having a nap into a narrative worth reading? The answer, dear readers, is I can't. But it padded out the blog a bit, didn't it?

No, the interesting thing, the thing worth blogging about, happened before I was enveloped by the numbing duvet of slumber. I was laying on the bed (so you can see how close this event was to my falling asleep), and I could hear the self-loving strains of some young American band radiating from my sister's laptop in the other room. She doesn't, in my humblest of opinions, have a very good taste in music. She'll listen to music she likes the sound of (usually awful), but most of the time she'll spend every waking hour listening to tunes that are popular with her friends (usually suicidally awful).
You know the sort. The singer is invariably a bratty girl (that Lavigne lass falls under this category, fans of shit music) or a boy that sounds like he's been kicked so hard in the testicles, they have re-entered his body, are bouncing around in between his internal organs like a couple of Super Balls, and he's singing to keep himself from going mad. They sing about 'love' and 'emotions' and 'miscellaneous hormonal misdemeanours' (I made up that last one for comedic effect, by the way - I'd take my hat off to a group that managed to successfully place 'miscellaneous hormonal misdemeanours' into a song), and some occasionally burst into a tirade of shouting, accompanied by squealing electric guitars and whatnot. I suppose this is what constitutes 'music' nowadays, eh? Hm.

Anyhoozle, I was ~~listening to~~ involuntarily overhearing the music, too tired to do something about it but too awake to immediately evacuate myself to the Land of Nod. And then it happened.
There was a part in one of the myriad of endless droning songs that actually sounded good.
It was only brief, mind. Perhaps a line or two. But somehow, the music, the lyrics, and dare I even say it, the voice, seemed to fall into place and fit together into something quite nice. Almost immediately afterwards, naturally, the inanity commenced. But it rattled me somewhat.

TWO REASONS WHY THIS RATTLED ME

One of the artists on my sister's play list produced a moment of aural professionalism.
I noticed that one of the artists on my sister's play list produced a moment of aural professionalism.

The second point, despite its numerical status as the secondary point here, is actually the key point, and the point that will drive my narrative further.
If I was just hating my sister's music because it was my sister and it was her music, as I have long suspected, I would have shrugged off that fleeting moment of musical mastery, and thought nothing more of it. But I didn't. I sat up (well, almost) and took note.
I can only conclude from this that I am secretly wanting my sister's music to be good. I am subconsciously listening out, in optimistic hope, for some good sounds to emanate from her speakers.

Now, not only does this mean that I'm not the stubborn, curmudgeonly bastard I had secretly suspected I was for so long, but also that her music, overall, is genuinely terrible. It's not just me.

So there!

Cursed to a life of aero-apathy

2010-07-03T12:25:00.000+01:00

It's the Waddington Air Show today. I'd go, as I have done most years prior, but... meh. Just meh.
I'm not an aircraft buff. All planes look the same to me, and people who can identify a plane by the shape of its nose cone, or whatever, nearly bore me into unconsciousness.

The only real appeal the Waddington Air Show had, for me, was the challenge of getting in without paying. Every year, my dad and I would devise a brilliant scheme, each one wackier than the last. I don't know why, but it's just lost its novelty now. And I don't give a crap about aircraft, so that was never going to be a redeeming strength of the show to lure me back.

I assume the Red Arrows will be their, doin' their thang. They practise over my village and have done for as long as I can remember, so they're of no interest to me. Seeing a group of professional aerobats creating a heart out of smoke, and then piercing it with a smoke arrow, is an everyday occurrence to me, which is a bit of a curse. I can't ever appreciate the Red Arrows in the same slack-jawed way the rest of the country can.
Ho hum. Might just slob out today. Or animate. Whatever.

So sorry, Waddo. No offense, but I think you're boring. And I suspect I always shall.

A few words on hypocrisy

2010-06-30T00:59:00.000+01:00

I was sat in the common room with a group of three other people today, during the uneventful hour I have on Tuesday afternoons prior to catching the school bus. These three were playing Magic: The Gathering, a card game I have never fully understood. I'm sure that if I invested enough time into learning it, I would come to enjoy it as much as any other game, but there are reasons why I opt not to participate in this particular pastime.

Firstly, there is, quite frankly, a social stigma associated with this card game. I'm not the type of person that desperately tries to fit in with the cool - or even socially-acceptable - crowds, as I respect those that do less than the social 'outsiders', as it were. But to risk whatever amount of social acceptability I currently have, in exchange for a card game with no distinct long-term merits, seems a tad foolish to me.

Furthermore, I have heard that it is extremely addictive. Once the rules are clear in your head and the game makes sense to you, it's apparently very hard to escape its allure. My Olympian procrastinating abilities mean that I have very little time as it is without such frivolous distractions, thank you very much!

So I took on the role of barely-conscious spectator, slumped in one of the corners of the square of sofas, glancing optimistically at the seemingly-random collection of cards on the table between fleeting, unavoidable moments of sleep. My mind, being in a perfect situation to do so, started to race.

For example, there was a theory floating around in my head that made perfect sense to me, but I found it impossible to verbalise it and explain it to other people. To be honest, I'm still not entirely sure I've completely managed to explain it all yet, but I managed to extract something from it that made sense, so that's satisfying. It may be the entire theory in a nutshell - it could be, however, just the tip of the iceberg. It's so wibbly-wobbly in my own head that even I can't be sure.

My ponderings concern hypocrites, and our tendency to shrug off criticisms, no matter how correct and valuable, if it transpires that they have been made by a hypocrite. As far as I can see, we are a compassionate species overall - if we see something that's wrong, we get the urge to remedy it for the benefit of other people. Sometimes, our remedial urges can contradict past choices we ourselves have made. If these past choices are known to the person we give the advice to, a response akin to 'what do you know?' is likely to conclude the exchange. But surely such a response is demonstrating a blinkered assumption of our mindset!

The general consensus regarding hypocrites is that they are wrong for offering advice because they can't criticise that which they have done themselves. The only logical conclusion to that consensus is that we think hypocrites are incapable of learning from their mistakes, which is ludicrous. In many situations, I would value the advice of a hypocrite more than that of someone who is basing their advice on secondary information, as opposed to personal experience. A hypocrite knows. They've been there. In many cases, they are there, which may make them an even greater hypocrite but could also give their advice even greater validity.

When we make mistakes, we immediately start thinking about how to shift the blame. This isn't necessarily a bad trait; it's a form of survival instinct. So when someone comes over and offers advice, we immediately target the 'self-righteous goody-goody', if only in our minds at first, and try to find some sort of acceptable motive to vent our frustration out on them. Hypocrisy is a popular excuse, and should the mistake-maker have any such ammunition against the adviser, it is more than likely that they will open fire.
It's a perfectly human thing to do in moments of weakness, but by cutting down the person giving the advice, we may miss out on a valuable nugget of information that could prevent such mistakes from occurring again.

So lay off the hypocrites. But just a little bit, mind. Use a bit of judgement in these matters, because some hypocrisy truly outweighs the value of the advice. In these cases, it is advisable to go with your gut and rip 'em a new one (metaphorically speaking...)!

Tally-ho.

Me and my opinions, eh?

2010-06-18T17:56:00.000+01:00

Old kids' shows weren't as patronising as kids' shows today. Nowadays, everything is much more money-driven. We cut corners all over the place to make a bit of a profit, and unfortunately it shows in this flimsy, blinkered era. Kids' shows are a perfect example of this.

Instead of boring you with a long rant about my opinions, I have fashioned them into a rather fetching, but moderately unfunny, sketch. Enjoy.

Darren: There's a slot opening up in the CITV schedule, and it's our job to fill it.
Vic: When's the slot?
Darren: Right in the middle of CITV, Vic. Smack bang in the middle.
Vic: If I can do maths - and I can - that's exactly halfway between the middle and the end!
Sandra: Good! Good! So we need a premise. What do kids like?
Darren: Kids like stupid things, mostly. Do we want to do a show about stupid things? Hyperactive nonsense to render them numb with adrenaline?
Vic: If they like it...
Darren: Yeah, I get that, but maybe our purpose isn't just to give the kids what they want. Maybe our goal is to develop them as people, to ensure that the fundamental mindsets of a functional society are secured in their heads.
Vic: I don't like the sound of that.
Sandra: No. A bit 'brainwashy'.
Darren: What? No, no. How about a show about a milkman?
Vic: What's interesting about a milkman?
Darren: What's not interesting about a milkman?
Vic: He's a milkman.
Darren: So what? He can be a milkman and be interesting. What would you suggest, then?
Vic: I had this idea of a ninja that has the ability to...
Darren: Can I just stop you there, Vic? I appreciate your input, but when do you ever meet a ninja?
Vic: I don't follow.
Darren: Unless the youth of today are going to grow up and become ninjas, I really can't see the merits of a show about ninjas. 'The moral of the story: don't get blood on your balacalava.' A story about a milkman can teach the basics about business, at least.
Sandra: Business is boring, Darren. Kids don't care about business.
Darren: So we should just cater to their every childish whim, and somehow hope that the notion of being good at business will just pop into their heads at some point in the future? 'Mummy, I'm ditching the cartoons and wish to pursue a career in accountancy.' What about social norms? Do ninjas socialise?
Vic: Well, not really. They keep to themselves, as a rule.
Darren: Do we want kids to keep to themselves? I don't think we should promote reclusiveness.
Sandra: This is Mary Whitehouse all over again.
Darren: This isn't Mary Whitehouse! I'm not saying that ninjas are a bad influence. I'm just saying that at such a crucial and formative time in a child's life, ninjas are a pointless influence. We should be making the most of the suggestibility of children to make sure they're fully functioning upstairs! Come on, at least one good show would make the world of difference.
Vic: How about a ninja milkman?
Darren: ... Yeah, that'll do.

END! THIS IS THE END! STOP READING THIS BECAUSE IT HAS ENDED!

Prepare to go 'hmm' in an interested way.

2010-06-07T19:37:00.000+01:00

I can't sleep, and by fighting it I usually prolong the insomnia because my brain starts working even faster than usual, almost mockingly so, pursuing the sadistic goal of making sure that I can never shut down. As a result, I'm simply going to wait casually for the drowsiness to kick in. This very blog post is my way of wearing out my hyperactive lump of grey matter. The very eloquence of this blog post is an indicator of the sheer fury with which my brain is churning away, thrashing against the walls of my skull, screaming for stimuli.

I think a fact chain is in order.
Yes. I'm calling them fact chains now.

There have been 24 expeditions to the International Space Station (including the current one).
An idea for a form of escape craft, or 'lifeboat', for the International Space Station, the Crew Return Vehicle, was scrapped when it was decided that the station should just have some emergency docked Soyuz spacecraft.
The Soyuz spacecraft was originally designed in the 60s by the Soviet Union, to help in the race to beat the United States to the moon in a manned expedition.
The word 'Moon' comes from the Latin mensis, meaning 'month'.
The idea of months as units of time was devised by the ancient Egyptians.
The ancient Egyptians prized the blue stone lapis lazuli, and had it imported from Afghanistan.
Afghanistan culture is heavily influenced by Persian poetry.
One of the most famous pieces of persian literature, the epic poem Shahnameh, was written by a chap called Ferdowsi.
Ferdowsi was born in Iran, in a small village of Paj, in the year 940.
The High King of Ireland Brian Boru was born in around 940.
Ireland is the third largest island in Europe.
The word 'Europe' may have originated from two Semitic words: the Akkadian erebu meaning 'to set', or the Phoenican ereb, meaning 'evening' or 'west', as the Sun sets in the west.
An average solar day on earth is approximately 24 hours.

After the Brian Boru bit, by the way, I fell asleep (hurrah!) and so the rest was done a day later, as was this bit of text that I'm writing now. It feels weird for me to refer to writing this text in the past tense, as it is in the present as I'm typing, but it will be in the past when you read it, so I'm referring to the present as the past to correspond with the inevitable future. Phew. Right. Get it? Got it? Doubt it.

Bye bye now!

2010-06-06T22:26:00.001+01:00

Peter Samuelson, interviewer. 29 April 2010.

The Milnesy & Wivell Show

2010-05-22T00:06:00.000+01:00

The Milnesy & Wivell Show - Coming Soon

2010-05-09T01:53:00.000+01:00

In summary: I need to get my act together.

2010-05-04T01:48:00.001+01:00

I'm blessed with having a four day weekend. Monday is a May Day bank holiday, and Tuesday is some special teacher assessment thing, I think. So I go back on Wednesday, which is pretty cool. However, my brain can't really cope with this mini-school holiday.

I have two general levels of industriousness - school level, which is the type I have at any time other than school holidays; and school holiday level, which is the type I have during the school holidays. The latter is significantly lesser than the former, but there is little mental plasticity available when I encounter a situation that requires a level of industriousness halfway between school and school holiday.
I encounter an extended weekend, and the lazy side of me overrides the responsible, hard-working side. My brain officially switches to school holiday mode, which means that my mind is preparing for a period of rest much longer than the period allotted.

It is now the small hours of Tuesday morning, so I have just entered the final quarter of the weekend - but God help me! I'm stranded in the mindset of a school holiday-goer, and as a result I haven't got any work done!
I'm just going to have to find some other time to cross off all the things on my to-do list, because I have literally done nothing since last Friday.

So that's my confession. Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned, etc, etc.

Bye bye, now.

BRIAN BLOODY BLESSED!

2010-05-01T01:22:00.000+01:00

I'm going to intersperse this blog with more anecdotes, little stories and musings about my day. It seems more like the kind of thing that should be in a blog; my entries tend to read more like a column in The Guardian or something. Not that I'm complaining about that - I'll still do those on occasion - but I feel that I should make this blog a bit more personal, a bit more up-to-date and relevant to recent occurances in my own life.

For example, today I was at school, and there was a two-hour period where I didn't have any lessons. I was sat in the common room, getting slightly bored. So I got the old laptop out, and mow me down and call me a haystack if I didn't find what I believe the youngsters today call an 'internet gem' on the BBC website.

Five words, people, five words. Well, four words and a number. Well, four words and a Roman numeral.

BRIAN BLESSED AS HENRY VIII.

Yes. Yes yes yes yes yes fucking yes. Yes.
Yes.
Just... yes.
And then I played the video, and my excitement was magnified further. It is just marvellous. It is essentially an excuse to film BRIAN BLESSED hamming it up, shouting and acting like a bearded child, and because it's BRIAN BLESSED, of course it's the epitome of magnificence.

Oh, just go and watch it. Now. Bye.

This Is A Poem

2010-04-30T09:11:00.000+01:00

I’m going to write a poem

I’m going to make it snappy

It’s going to be a jolly jape

That makes its readers happy.

I always start with short lines

They’re better – it’s been tested,

And an ABCB rhyme scheme

To keep them interested.

And then I make lines longer

And the rhyming becomes stronger

And they hunger for a pause

Of course I’ll punctuate the verse

But first, the verse idea has got to go

For this, dear reader, is harder and deeper

And verses are needed no more.

Furthermore, the lack of a split

Is a handy addition; it helps me to fit

More of it on the page, which is really

Really good.

Especially if you’re going to print it out.

In fact, you could say that I’ve done you a favour

I’ve given you one more spare piece of printer paper

Than I would have done had I continued

With the stanza break

But those are minor logistical technicalities

That don’t really require elaboration

In fact, it doesn’t really have any place

In this poem

But I thought it looked quirky

And professional

To include enjambment

At random

Intervals. And the illusion

Of a train of thought

That this poem resembles

Works better when the text

Isn’t broken up by stanzas

But it could be argued

That I’m just not trying any more

And I’m just typing words

Which poses

The question

At what point does intelligent

Esperimental poetry

Become structureless

Pointless

Drivel?

Ramblin'

2010-04-24T22:13:00.000+01:00

Now, I'm not a raving, chemical-toilet kicking environmentalist or anything, but I do think that those who say that the Earth is 'part of us' have a point. A good one, at that; in this incredibly technology-dependent age, everything boils down to the effective transferral of information. In this sense, we rely quite heavily on the Earth. Right down to the words we use.

Right, let's imagine the unimaginable. We knacker the planet. I mean, properly bugger up. And not only do we have to evacuate (if we can), but the actual planet itself is destroyed somehow (I'm no scientist, but I'm sure you can find some crazed boffin with a theory so complicated and intelligent-sounding that it's completely watertight against the moronic, uninformed arguments we dribble in cynicism, about how our blatant disregard for our planet could indirectly make it explode). The planet Earth, third planet from the Sun, sixth from Pluto, ninety-seven thousandth from The Almighty Lord Our Capitalised Creator, is gone. Completely and utterly. And the thought of our lost home sends us into spirals of depression.

Say we manage to restore the internet, wherever we end up - after all, it has become the backbone of modern society. What do we replace 'www' with? The first 'w' doesn't quite seem right. Sure, 'world' doesn't specifically mean 'Earth', but that's what you think of when you hear the word, isn't it? We won't want to hear the word 'world' all the time, because it will remind us of the incident. So that will have to go. I expect they would replace it with another word that has been known to have the suffix '-wide'.
All I can think of is 'nationwide'. The Nation Wide Web. I'll be honest, that sounds crap. Besides the point that it only refers to one group of people at any given time, it needs three identical letters; hence, 'www' worked. It was almost catchy. Well, as catchy as an acronym can be without spelling out BOLLOCKS (how about 'the Battalion Of the Loving and Listening Omnipresent, Creationist Killing Supermen', which certainly lives up to its acronym).
Furthermore, whatever word replaces 'net' in order to make the acronym consist of the same three letters should be roughly synonymous with the meaning of the original word. 'Net' was used to describe the mass of signals, criss-crossing all over, from lots and lots of different computers, like a web (hence 'web' - duh). So it should be some sort of complicated, intricate construction, preferably from the natural world.
So the template is:

1. A word to represent humanity as a whole, possibly in the possessive if we're going to be intergalactically social in the future
2. A word to demonstrate the sheer scale of the internet. The internet wasn't that big when the terminology was coined, so 'wide' initially sufficed. The destruction of the planet Earth would be a good chance to update the term to suit the massiveness of the modern internet (which, by the way, will be even bigger in the future).
3. A word to replace 'web' (see above paragraph).

Here's my idea.
'Humanity's Humongous Hive'.

There you go. Food for thought there.
Bye bye.

Late Night Blogging

2010-04-18T03:07:00.000+01:00

Mister Ross Milnes and I have started work on a new project. It's basically like a podcast, but animated, and it's a blatant rip-off of the Ricky Gervais Show.

On an unrelated note, here is a picture of a thinly-disguised plug.

I honestly think this project will go somewhere. I have so many other projects that I have shelved over the years, because my dedication to an idea rarely exceeds past a weekend.

There's my homage to Dr Seuss: 'Who's the Greatest Pie-Eater?' Asks Poom-Pa-Nom Peter, a story I finished writing, but stopped illustrating six months ago, five percent of the way through; a portrait commissioned by two friends (on the rare chance that at least one of the two people reads this and knows that this deliberately-vague mention is directed at them, I am so sorry for not getting it done - I'll try to get myself to continue it) and countless other animations that I simply don't have the drive to continue. I think there must be this constant, underlying depression, droning on in the very back of my mind about how pointless these projects are but frustratingly capable of controlling my motivations.

However, I'm really enjoying making this cartoon, so I'm optimistic (I'm currently at my mum's, away from my home computer and my animating software, and I'm getting withdrawal symptoms).

On a similar vein, I'm terribly sorry about the tent, Sam. One parent is a dithering idiot (it seems to be hereditary) and the other is constantly busy, so I haven't had the chance to rein one in and force them to take me to your place of residence for retrieval.
If you're not Sam, you won't understand that last bit. Well sucks to be you, and not Sam, then, doesn't it?

Anyway, I must go now because my back hurts. The only place I can currently get an internet connection is on my mother's kitchen window-sill, so I'm currently sat on the draining board, my back twisted ninety degrees to the left. I think my ribcage is squishing one of my kidneys. And I like my kidney. So bye.

A JibJab Video

2010-04-16T00:34:00.000+01:00

I found this a couple of hours ago. You can customise the videos with your own photos, and it's brilliant.

Personalize funny videos and birthday eCards at JibJab!

A downright pedantic little whinge

2010-04-09T22:03:00.000+01:00

Right.
I was perusing Google Maps, gettin' my Street View on, when I noticed something about the KFC sign on Nettleham Road, in Lincoln.

As you can see from this picture, the face of Colonel Sanders is obscured. Now, this seems reasonable - there is clearly a piece of software used by Google to identify faces (and car number plates) and obscure them to retain the anonymity of whoever happened to get snapped by the Street View camera. This software recognised the KFC sign as a face and blurred it. Fine. I totally get that.

But then I took a look from the other side, the north-facing side of the sign. For some reason, the software decided not to blur the good colonel this time.
Taking this, and the similar signs in the background, into account, one can only assume that the software opts not to blur your face if you're a posterised southern colonel who is facing north.

So cover your face in talcum powder, put on a pair of glasses and a fake moustache, face Scotland and say 'cheese'!

An Insight into the Inner Workings of my Brain

2010-04-04T16:13:00.000+01:00

Hello.

Yes, the title is the same as the blog's name. This is because, for once, I am genuinely providing an insight into the inner workings of my brain. It does exactly what it says on the tin.

Anyway, I have been feeling a little low lately. I won't go into detail about the ins and outs. The thing is, this down period has been really very fruitful in terms of creativity. Annoyingly, my brain is usually far too active for a single train of thought to develop into something more focused (this is why I have countless unfinished animations on my hard drive). The plasticity of my mindset means that I rarely return to a project without regarding it as old hat and somewhat pitiful, which, in the long run, is infuriating for me.
But it's interesting; when something gets me down, my rapid-fire mind becomes blinkered. It shuns any superfluous postulations and becomes rational and linear, without losing its flair for eccentricity. As a result, most of my best creative work happens during these moments. And this moment, this low moment, has been especially creative.

One of the problems I have as a result of my creative hyperactivity is that I struggle with plots. I find dedicating my brain power to developing a stoyline for one set of characters in a given scenario extremely difficult; I will suddenly think of another plot idea involving completely different characters, and the whole beastly thing starts all over again (again, hence the unfinished animations). This is a slight problem as an animator, and a major problem for an aspiring independent filmmaker. Being an aspiring independent filmmaker who specialises in animation and is also considering a career in writing, this is a developmental hiccup of galactic proportions.
You see, animation is like the flesh and the muscle of an animated film, and the storyline is like the skeleton. The animation can be beautiful and fully-formed and pleasing to the eye, but without a storyline, it collapses under its own unsupported weight into an inintelligible mess. My animations are mostly beautiful, unintelligible messes.

But every now and again, when my idiosyncratic sunny demeanour is dented by something or someone, everything focuses on a single idea - in this case, a story - and I am given the rare opportunity to run with it, distraction-free. I have thought of a wonderful, thought-provoking storyline (I'll keep it secret for now, just in case it doesn't amount to anything), and this is great because it serves as creative 'scaffolding' for an animation to build up around.

If I was near my home computer, I would start animating right away. But I'm not, so I can't. Typical, that is.
Anyway, never mind. I felt like reporting this on my blog as much as to have a personal record of this moment for myself as to provide you lot with some reading material over Easter.

Don't eat too much chocolate.

Will

A Posthumous Apology to Baird and Farnsworth on Behalf of this Televisual Atrocity

2010-04-02T16:42:00.000+01:00

This is depressing.
I don't expect that the makers of Deal or No Deal are ever going to apologise for what they have done. As a result, I have decided to take on the responsibility of apologising to the late John Logie Baird and the late Philo T. Farnsworth, inventors of the television as we know it.
It has nothing to do with me, but somebody's got to do it, for all our sakes. Nobody in Britain is getting into Heaven unless we are forgiven for Deal or No Deal: Easter Madness.

To Mister John Logie Baird [deceased] and Mister Philo Taylor Farnsworth [deceased],
I am so sorry. On behalf of Noel Edmonds, Deal or No Deal, Channel 4, modern television and the viewers of Great Britain, I apologise solemnly and resolutely for the frankly baffling spectacle of Noel Edmonds and a handful of unfortunate people, dressed up as characters from Alice in Wonderland, negotiating, through sheer luck, life-changing amounts of money. The revolutionary work you did was worth more than this.

The very least I can ask is that you pull some strings with the Big Man up there (if he exists, but that's besides the point) and ensure that Noel Edmonds, and Noel Edmonds only, gets judged for this in the afterlife.

Again, I am so very very sorry.

Yours sincerely,
William Wivell, Loyal Television Watcher

Talk to the Handbook, because the Facebook ain't listening. The Handbook of Common Sense, that is!

2010-03-27T17:54:00.000Z

If a drunk driver slams his car into a tree and is killed, would the authorities criticise the car manufacturer for not making the vehicle safer for drunk drivers?
No, of course they wouldn't. It's not the fault of the car; it's the fault of the driver. And yet it seems this type of hunting for easy solutions is all too common in today's society.

Now, I mention this because I was just reading a report about Facebook, slamming it for not keeping people, particularly young people, safe from dangerous strangers online.
When something terrible happens to a person, they, and their friends and relatives, are bound to harbour resentment towards the cause of the terrible happening. This is perfectly understandable - there always needs to be people who are on the side of the victim, it's only right - but sometimes it should stop with the close associates. Sometimes, whatever caused the terrible incident only did so through a lack of judgement on the victim's part. In these cases, less pressure should be put onto the cause. Especially if the pressure can negatively impact other people, people who are smart enough to cope anyway.

Facebook is merely a tool, a means by which people can communicate with other people at the click of a button. It is not an online community; the online community exists through Facebook. The site didn't come into being with already existing communities, because it needs people to do that. People make communities.
So it seems a little unfair to me that people read about other people being lured to their deaths through meeting people on Facebook, and go all Mary Whitehouse on the poor site (look her up if you didn't get that last bit).
Those who fall foul of Facebook only do so through a lack of necessary caution. One should exhibit apprehension when accepting friend requests from strangers. Make sure they are who they say they are, and that you don't put yourself in potential danger through associating with them.

Of course, the younger people may not have this developed awareness, but to blame Facebook for that is also ludicrous. If a child wanders onto a dual carriageway and is hit by a car, it is not the fault of the road for being too busy; either the child was not sufficiently tutored in the ways of road safety, or there was a lack of necessary signs or constraints in that area. Facebook is, in my humble opinion, excellent at warning you about potential threats to your online safety whenever possible. So these youngsters, innocently oblivious to the dangers of online strangers, are only being put in danger by those responsible for them. Those responsible should warn their children, imbue them with a deep-rooted sense of online awareness, and keep an eye on them when Facebooking.

Unfortunately, the world doesn't work like that. The rational people, those who understand the workings of Facebook, see the human errors of others and accept them as human errors, are often the ones who keep to themselves. To be rational is to step back and put everything into perspective, but you can't step back if you're smack in the middle of it all. The parents and close friends of the victims are bound to have this blinkered, blood-tinted opinion of Facebook, because it's either that or accept that poor little Timmy was being an idiot. These people, people with significantly more emotional damage than peripheral vision, are the ones who appear on the news and in the papers, ranting and raving about how 'the evil of social networking destroyed/took the life of my poor little under-experienced, unsupervised child!'

The media is far from rational itself. It all boils down to money. The news companies get money from ratings and purchases, and the ratings and purchases positively correlate with the amount of bad news there is. After all, good news happens all the time. Has your area been hit by an earthquake? No? Then bugger off with your good news, because neither have most places. Bad news is, from a global perspective, more interesting than no news at all, and good news is rarely any more interesting than anything you could discover by going for a walk.

The news loves sob stories. One of the only things it loves more than sob stories is the resultant support the sobbers receive. This invariably provides the news with even more money; they get to prolong the news story and they receive thousands of calls from easily-swayed people with a lot of time on their hands and higher blood pressure than IQ.
Meanwhile, the rational majority sit back with a justifiable apathy. But nobody with any power wants to hear from them. No matter how solid and sane their views are, they're just not very interesting.

Our growing ability to adapt to our consequently shrinking boredom threshold will inevitably be our downfall as a species.

Will

As is but one of the captivating series of outlandish adventures that constitute my life

2010-03-19T16:13:00.000Z

I just got a high-ish score on a game called Drop3. It's essentially tetris, but with a physics engine and different shapes. If a circular piece drops onto a triangular piece, for example, it will roll down its slope until it finds somewhere solid to stop. you have to get three or more colours to touch for them to disappear, and it's all really rather brilliant.
I got the rather splendid score of 169,800, which is the best score this week, the second best this month and the nineteenth best score of all time. Which is rather pleasing when you consider how many people play these games.

But what have I earned from this?
What have I been working towards? Why am I so pleased to have my name on the leaderboard? What have I actually acheived? I haven't really acheived anything, but I'm dizzy with adrenaline and euphoria. What's that all about?
I suppose games are tricking the body. The excitement of a simulated challenge is sending signals to the brain, which must interpret it all as genuine, because games of this sort have not been around long enough for our bodies to evolve to instinctively recognise them as games.
My brain probably thinks I'm tackling a mammoth or something. It thinks 'Bloody hell! If I don't do something, we're fucked!' and desperately tries to save its human host by increasing adrenaline levels and so on and so forth. Hence the dizzying glee that comes from getting a high score. To the brain, that's like not only avoiding the mammoth, but killing two of them, providing enough food for the whole tribe and earning respect from the elders... or something like that. I don't know.

Have I earned anything? Well, apart from the mild respect of anyone who glances at the leaderboard (which isn't anyone who gives a crap anyway), not really, no. But I think it helps to play these games. I think it helps to keep the brain exercised and on its toes, a brain that hasn't completely evolved out of the Stone Age.

But I'm still really rather pleased with the high score. Get in!

Will

New Background

2010-03-17T23:23:00.000Z

Yes, I've managed to crack the system and alter my background. It took long enough for me to figure out! It's not an option that's readily-available at the click of a button. There's a lot of copying-and-pasting image files into HTML scripts that goes on, and it's incredibly boring.

In fact, the only reason I've posted this is so that I have an online version of the image that I am about to paste into the HTML to become the background. By the time you read this, it will have all been sorted.

Ominously optimistic last words, methinks.

Will

UPDATE: This background, tiled repeatedly as the background of my blog, looks somewhat... hideous. So I decided not to use it. I'll find another background at some point. But not this one! Blech.

The Revenge of the Silly Titles

2010-03-10T19:01:00.000Z

'Sup?
While I was just reading some blogs, it occurred to me that I haven't updated mine recently. I think this is due, in part, to the fact that I have been on Blogger a lot lately, but only in a blog-reading capacity. Any absence of Blogger.com in my memory banks is an indication of a lack of blogging activity, but that means of identifying negligence doesn't work if you've been on the site doing things other than contributing. Silly brain.

Anyway, I'm back, and ready to rock! Well, type, at any rate. Type some awesomeness! Yeah!

Right. I have done another vlog recently; you might want to have a gander at that at some point.
Also, my black book of comic strips is nearing completion. By this, I mean that the unpublishable scrawlings in the back of the book are about to collide with the comic strips in the front of the book.
I may redraw the final collection of comic strips for the sake of neatness and continuity, but they will remain fundamentally the same as they are now, just more presentable for a published book. John Mahon and I have been pondering over possible names for the book, as the comics do not yet have a collective name. We were thinking about going down the Monty Python route of giving it a completely random and unrelated name, just for the sake of it.
I did a doodle a while back of a man with a completely deadpan expression, and a pipe. I then proceeded to draw his legs, at which point I decided to be silly and had him dancing wildly. The image of a man, seemingly stationary and calm from the waist up but dancing furiously from the waist down, tickled me immensely, so I gave the doodle its own title. That title might become the title of this book: 'The Nonchalant Prancings of Horatio McNargle'.
The only thing is, I wonder if it's a bit... too random. A bit too left-field for a first-time publication. I may just play it safe and call it something more relevant. It'll still be humorous. Just relevant at the same time. It can be two things! Why can't it be two things?

And on that slightly whining and exasperated note, I'll stop typing, post this, and get on with whatever it is that I do.

Au revoir for jetzt.

All Hail Our Glorious And Benevolent Leader

2010-02-28T21:50:00.000Z

A Message about Blogs

2010-02-21T01:51:00.000Z

I feel quite alone in the Blogiverse.
                                    ...wait, 'Blogiverse' is crap. How about...
         The Blogger System? No.
         The Land of the Bloggers? Maybe.
         The Land of Blogs? No.
         The Isle of Blogs? Good Lord, no!
                 I'll go with the Land of the Bloggers.

Right. Take two.

I feel quite alone in the Land of the Bloggers. I go onto Blogger, and it feels like a bit of a desolate wasteland. This is a shame, because I think it's a darned good website, and I think more people should blog. It really exercises your writing ability - I can honestly say that Blogger has made me a better writer. It develops your mindset, sets mental templates that help with other written pieces (that is, written pieces that actually have some sort of purpose), and lets you get your opinions out there, on the Internet.
True, there are about four hundred and fifty trillion people who do blogs, and it's very unlikely that the average person will stumble upon my blog (if my completely made up statistic from earlier is anything to go by, they have a four hundred and fifty trillion to one chance of finding it), but I like the notion that they could find it. There's a slim chance.

'But Will!' I hear you scream at your computer screen, 'If so many people have blogs, how come you find the Land of the Bloggers an oh so desolate place, as you mentioned earlier in your frankly marvellous blog?'
Well, I'm glad you asked, because the answer will pad this blog post out even more. Thanks, hypothetical screen-screaming blog-goggler!
I find it a wasteland because of the four hundred and fifty trillion people that have blogs (that joke statistic's getting a bit old now), there are only a handful of people I actually know who have them. I don't like to follow celebrities, because their blogs are all about promoting their new tour, or advertising their new book, or something equally as mundane and soul-destroying. Call me a 'something-a-bit-more-personal-reader' is you wish, but I like to read something a bit more personal that adverts. An anecdote. A confession. Anything that has been written by the person in question, (and I use the following cliché cautiously) 'straight from the heart'. None of this copy-and-paste business from their promotional website or anything. And certainly none of those blogs that are added to by the celeb's 'personal blog updater' or whatever dumb-ass job title they have. None of that. Just the odd story. Or a nice rant. As demonstrated here. [PAUSE FOR BREATH]

But I digressed slightly there. Of all the bloggers in the world, only about four of them are people I know personally. And though that would surely be enough to render this world, this Land of the Bloggers, a more engaging and interesting place, those four people seem to have stopped blogging.

Look at these.
Ross Milnes last posted something in January.

Now, that's not too bad, admittedly, but the blog is relatively new, and I'd hate for the novelty of having a blog to be lost on him already. Persevere, Mister Milnes! Your blog posts are wonderfully scathing and frank!

Miss Hayley Pardoe hasn't posted anything up in 2010 at all, her last post added at the start of December.

Hayley, your passion for music is infectious, and it's a pleasure to read your blog. Don't neglect your duties as a blogger too much - you're very good at it. Even I can't be arsed to sign out my blog posts with an official little sign - the fact that you go to the effort of putting 'Hayley xx' at the end of your posts is really rather nice. It shows you've put a bit of effort in there.

Next on this slightly cruel list (in retrospect, what on earth am I doing?) is the charmingly eloquent Emma Bowles.

It's been a while since Emma posted anything, and I miss those wonderfully structured and pitch-perfect blog posts she does. The last post was late in coming, and I'd hate for the whole blogging malarkey to cease. Come back, Emma! It's not worth... wait, it is worth it!

And last, by no means least, but definitely not the most, is Mister Josh Shaw.

July? Really, Josh, have you petered out already? There was a whole new fledgling authorial side to you that was demonstrated in this blog! I was so looking forward to reading your blog - don't stop adding to it.

After a while, these blogs become massive and intricate. You will refer back to old blog posts frequently; it's like a backup drive for all those ideas, theories and opinions that you come up with in life that would otherwise be lost.

Here are a couple of tips:

Don't feel pressured into adding to your blog.

I realise that I sound like a bit of a hypocrite after making that list, but hear me out. Don't get into the habit of writing for the sake of it, of typing bland rubbish, just so that you can say you've added to your blog. That's not the point of a blog. Try to get into the much more constructive habit of blogging whenever something worth recording pops into your mind, or into your line of sight. These things happen more often than most of us take credit for - a funny road sign, an invention idea, even a moment of anger or despair. These things are valuable sources of material - it's getting into the habit of remembering to record them that's the trick. It took me many months to develop the 'blogger's knack' - a slightly rude-sounding term that I've just made up and will probably never use again. Oh, who am I kidding. Of course I will.

Don't feel disheartened by the high quality of the blogs of other people.

Every blog was crap at one point. Well, every first blog was crap at one point. It takes time to polish a blog, to learn the tricks of the trade and to build up an impressive catalogue of entries. These things take time; don't feel rushed or intimidated by the superior blogs of people who have clearly been blogging for much longer than you. I still see blogs with all sorts of clever effects and gadgets that I've never seen before and haven't the foggiest how to recreate. They used to make me look at my blog, a 'paltry affair' by comparison, with its inanimate title and lack of visitors' book, and feel a bit stupid for even trying to compete. It's worth remembering, therefore, that your blog is an extension of your personality and your soul. Each blog is as individual as the author. I look at my blog now with a mild sense of paternal satisfaction; I cultivated it, and am proud of how it has grown and how it represents me. It doesn't need all the bells and whistles. It's unique, as are everyone else's.

Ross has decorated his blog with a few cartoons, and has a knack for using funny pictures to emphasise the points he brings up in his posts. Josh has opted for the black look, which adds character to his blog, and adorns his title with a photograph of himself, which is a nice personal touch. Hayley cuts to the chase, and relies, successfully, on her writing ability to make her blog appealing. Emma has the whole 'Bridget Jones' thing going on, with the introductory list of things like weight and the amount of tea she has drunk that day (or, as I like to call it, a 'Tea Total' - you can have that one, Emma, free of charge), which makes every post engaging and unique to those of other blogs.

Well, I have exhausted my brain for one night, brainpower that could have been spent doing some last-minute homework. But then I look at my homework. A couple of pieces of work that I have been forced to do (see first tip). I think about how how much I would value these documents in, say, forty years time. Not much at all, I'd wager. I then look at my blog, at all the posts I have made - including this one - and think about how much 2050 Will would value those.

And I must say, the blog trumps the homework. Completely and deservedly.

Will xx

Wednesday already.

2010-02-17T21:35:00.000Z

I can't believe it's Wednesday already. Christ, this half-term break has flown by. And up to now, I have totally wasted it.
But at the same time, I can't find the motivation to do anything, nor can I see myself getting up off my arse to do anything for the remainder of the holiday. And that realisation knocks the wind out of a person. I can see myself wasting the rest of the holiday. I can clearly picture myself doing all my homework at the very last minute and getting incredibly stressed out in the process. I've still got loads of time to get everything done, but I know I won't do it. It's like being able to see a train wreck before it happens, but not being able to do anything.
And surely that is maddening.
I bet someone claimed to predict the Belgium train collision. There are always a handful of crackpots who claim to be able to see the future. They never do anything about it, though, do they? They seem to sit back, full of knowledge, and when a train crashes, or a plane slams into a building, they just say 'I knew that was going to happen.'
Call me cynical, but I just don't believe all that psychic nonsense. And that's coming from someone whose mother claimed to have psychic powers at one point.
By 'at one point', I mean 'she had powers at one point', and not 'she claimed this at one point'. She still tells me of how she knew about the Lockerbie bombing before it happened. Well, she remembers watching it on the news, and thinking 'I've seen this before...' and getting frightened by the whole thing.
Personally, I don't think she predicted anything. Before witnessing the news report, I don't think she would have been able to predict anything. Just because she felt like she knew it all along doesn't mean that she did. The brain can make you think anything - it seems reasonable that it can make you 'remember the past' when the memories have just been made up. I have often woken up from a dream to believe what I've dreamt, simply because I have past memories of the same thing which intertwine with my history in real life. The brain can mess with you in ways you cannot imagine. Because imagination is all part of the brain, as well. Your brain has complete power over your thoughts, and can become your worst enemy if you don't treat it right.
So don't do drugs.

How the f**k did I get onto that topic?

Anyway. I'm done. Goodbye.

This was all made online, believe it or not

2010-02-06T16:16:00.003Z

What scandalous jests we fellows play

2010-02-04T20:32:00.000Z

I was being rather childish and writing on the school bus window today. There is a chap on the bus (who I will call Franklin for anonymity) with whom I often have good-natured but intense ridiculing sessions.
Today, I wrote on the window:

YES!
Franklin is
a fool!

I put the 'YES!' in just to make my window insult extra noticeable. There were explosion lines coming off the 'YES!' and everything.

From where he was sitting, Franklin could only reach the word 'fool' and so rubbed it out. I then added this:

YES!
Franklin is
a PRODUCTIVE MEMBER OF SOCIETY

It all turned into 'find the fault with the back-handed compliment'. Franklin noted that it looked as though I was replying to someone, as if they had said that he wasn't a productive member of society. So I rubbed of the 'YES!'

The best thing was the fact that he was still paranoid. The window now read

Franklin is
a PRODUCTIVE MEMBER OF SOCIETY

but he wanted me to rub it out more than before I edited it for him.

Oh, how wide and interesting this psychological battlefield is.

A good ol' fashioned movie review. Jus' like mama used to make

2010-01-24T22:43:00.000Z

I went to see Avatar in 3D on Saturday. It was good.
And yes, that is an understatement. To make any attempt to successfully put into words the awesomeness of that film would be ultimately futile, so I'm simply not bothering.
Impressed? Yes, now you mention it. I was, rather, yes. Not disappointing at all. No, sirree.

Not only was the three-dimensionality of it all just magnificent, the CGI itself was beyond belief and the story, despite mild slatings from obsessive critics, really wasn't bad at all. I tended to get carried away with watching how things in the foreground really seemed nearer than things in the background to really scrutinise the effects and the story (at one point, I took off the glasses just so that I wasn't being distracted by the 3D - the CGI suddenly struck me as stupendously brilliant), but I suppose that's more my fault than the movie's.
The ideas and the imagination of the film is on a scale few films can ever hope to match. I particularly liked how every species of creature on Pandora was compatible with each other. They all had these neural tentacle things that could connect with those of another, regardless of species, so that they could 'merge' minds. They were essentially inter-species organic USB plugs, and it's a brilliant idea.
Oh, and there are some amazing scenes with some mechas (massive robot suits that the pilot controls from a cockpit - think The Matrix trilogy, or Aliens), which were brilliant enough without appreciating the link between them and Sigourney Weaver. Which I did. Why? Because I'm passionate about movies.

Really, just see Avatar if you haven't already. Where - and when - else are you going to get to see it in 3D? Those polarised glasses only work with the special projection system at the cinema - you can't get a 3D DVD, unless you want to suffer the indignity of using the dated blue-and-red headache-tastic technique of the Neanderthals (there's an inadvertent and hilarious image - a Neanderthal with old 3D specs).

I'll leave you with that thought.

Food for thought

2010-01-24T22:05:00.000Z

Listen up, world.
Take life. Weigh up its pros and its cons. Then cheer the f**k up!

That's all I have to say on that matter.

Would you like chips with that? (giggle)

2010-01-24T15:49:00.000Z

Hello there, people with little else better to do. I am the cure!

I just saw an advert promoting an online casino. Now, the way I see it, advertising your online casino with a combination of 'potential' winnings and slick special effects is a bit paradoxical. Their main selling point is that you, the viewer, could possibly, if you were really lucky, win some money. But they gloss over the statistics because they don't really do much to promote the website. So roll up! Roll up! Over 2,000 people won money last year! Now, that sounds like a lot, but when you consider how many people must have played in that year, and that anything from 1p upwards counts as 'winning money', you realise that the statement is vague and misleading. Or it could be that I'm horrifically wrong - you are very likely to win money, and those 2,000 winners are a large fraction of the overall yearly players. But hold on - if the website's so good, why so few players? That makes no sense, now, does it? Must be a bit of a scam. Shock! Horror!

Anyroad, I'm drifting slightly from my initial point. They make these claims, claims that sound optimistic and encouraging if you're an idiot (or a gambler - oh, I see now), but spend inordinate amounts of moolah on the advert itself. They are pretty much waving money in your face.

"Look at all this cash! Where did all this come from, I wonder? It can't be yours, because we're literally giving away cash here at SuperTiltCasinoJackpot.com!"

I would put more faith in my potential success rate when playing on their site if they made the advert with National Accident Helpline actors, the roulette wheel from the 'Go For Broke' board game and edited it together on Windows Movie Maker.

Telly and Toilet

2010-01-17T15:57:00.000Z

It's a Sunday, there's nothing on the telly, I have my laptop on my lap (rather appropriately) and so the time has come for me to add another contribution to my pointless, yet perpetually expanding, blog.

Well, I say there's nothing on the telly. I haven't checked. Let's see.
Guide...
EastEnders... God, no.
Masters Snooker... I'm already within swiping distance of going comatose, thank you very much.
Columbo: An Exercise in Fatality... mmmmm, nahhh. Maybe as a last resort. Wait, this is the last resort. Scratch that, then.
T4: The Simpsons... bingo! Ooh, and a classic! That'll do! I can enjoy its wit whilst continuing this blog!

Right, onwards!
Have you ever noticed how moments of inspiration seem to mostly happen in the bathroom? I can be on the loo, or brushing my teeth, or having a shower, and I'll inevitably start to daydream furiously. I couldn't even start to come up with the notions I do in the bathroom right now, because my brain simply isn't working as quickly. I think it's the solitary sense of security and peace, the sense that as long as you're in there, you are entitled to be completely alone, and the bathroom is the only room in the house that has that sense.

...

Erm... I can't think of anything else to say on that matter.
Well, point proven.

Bye, then.

Edwin Numblehaye's Buoyant Trouser Press

2010-01-04T21:34:00.000Z

Happy New Year!

I decided not to put 'Happy New Year' as the title, because that would have been the obvious thing to do, as would a rant about Christmas (I got mine out of the way already), and far be it from me to conform to your petty little unwritten guidelines and expectations. 'Edwin Numblehaye's Buoyant Trouser Press' sounds like a better title for my first blog post of 2010. Even if it doesn't make any sense.

My friend Ross Milnes has gorn and gotten himself in the blogging game. See it.

Right. Next on the agenda, laptops. Those foldy things that beep and light up and you can do spreadsheets on them. Yes. Well. I have one of those things now. A Dell Something-Or-Other Superfandango 4002.6 Autowotsit-Deluxe or something. It's about the size and thickness of a science textbook, but without the equations and chemical reactions and whatnot and I like it very much and I can do vlogs on them. The problem that I had in the past was that I had to wait for a convenient time to film a vlog when there was nobody around, and I could be sure that I wouldn't be interrupted or listened to. Now, I can gallivant off to wherever I see fit and vlog till my nose starts bleeding if I want to. However, I'm not a dedicated vlogger, not one of those fellows who religiously posts a new video up every day, so there will still be long pauses between some videos where I just can't find the time to vlog. At least now I have ruled out a lack of privacy as a deterrent. So yeah.

I logged on to Blogger with nothing, and have left with a blog containing... essentially nothing. Sorry.

I'll put more effort into the next post. I promise.

In the meantime, here's a picture of a kitten.

The 'My Pictures' Top 20

2009-12-22T02:37:00.000Z

In my seemingly unending vanity, I have decided to to a top twenty of the pictures in my 'My Pictures' folder. I've been toying with this idea for ages, and it's only now, as Blogger has improved its user-friendliness when uploading images, that I have resolved to quit jibber-jabbering and get on with it like a good little boy. There will be a lot of images of me; this is because I'm the only readily-available model I have when I get some of these photo ideas, and because many of these were made so that I could have a cool Facebook profile picture. You should learn a lot about me. Expect weirdness.

20. Where's Will?

This picture was made for this blog, quite literally. I placed myself into this picture using a dated piece of photo-editing software called Adobe PhotoDeluxe Home Edition 4.0. I like it because it's hard to find me in, but when you do, you're unable to ignore my grinning face leering at you. Hee hee hee.

19. A downright creepy picture.

I must have been a bit down when I did this; sometimes, when I'm feeling depressed, I like my internet accounts to reflect that. It's a bit unnerving to look at, to be honest - I think I was genuinely miserable when this picture was taken, because there's nothing staged about that expression. The bleakness of the image. The shadow obscuring the eyes, sucking any possible emotion from the face like two black holes. Sorry, I got a bit carried away there.

A lot of these pictures might be slightly grainy, by the way; my webcam is responsible for that. I personally like the effect, which is why I haven't binned it yet.

18. Another weird 'self-portrait'.

This picture has a bit more of a sense of humour. That crazed look in my eyes isn't real (that I can recall). I just felt like doing a funny picture for Facebook. Check out the little beard, though! Now that's real. I have grown a bit of a moustache since, just so's you know. I doubt you care, but to blazes with what you care about.

17. Fraser Kerr.

(NOTE) If, like this picture, there's too much wasted space on either side of this picture by giving it its own line, I'll just bung it to the side, and type next to it.

Fraser Kerr. The one chap I knew from Year 7-Year 11 that I couldn't find a fault with. By this, I don't mean to say that I'm a nitpicky old critic of a pessimist - you know how nearly everyone, even the nicest people you know, has some sort of flaw, some unimportant chink in their armour, that you usually ignore? Fraser didn't. Well, not to my knowledge. An all round nice bloke. Everyone I know, who knew Fraser, misses him.

He's not dead, by the way. Sorry - the last paragraph sounded like an obituary. He just didn't join us in Sixth Form. But he was an all-round nice chap, and I think it's about time he was given the recognition he deserves. Hence this article, in a blog that hardly anybody reads. Ahem.

If you look closely, you'll see that his face is ever so slightly weird-looking. I was trying to trace over the photo in Paint, but thankfully gave up while that ludicrous project was still in its infancy. Unfortunately, I forgot to save a backup copy of the original picture. It still looks like him, though, so I used it for this.

If you miss Fraser, comment on this post, and I'll try and pass them all on to him somehow. As a sort of Christmas present.

16. Dance, Monkey Boy.

The only reason this isn't nearer the #1 spot is that my head was superimposed somewhat haphazardly, so the man's hat doesn't seem to be sitting on my head properly. I'm a bit of a perfectionist when it comes to these things, and that got on my nerves. I absolutely adore the picture this is based on, though, so that's here too, at the #8 slot. The original organ grinder was my Facebook profile pic for a while, even though I wasn't in it, I loved it so much. I think that's what made me do this.

I actually did this one today, on Adobe PhotoDeluxe, but the age of the program meant that it was difficult to save the cropped head for future editing. Possible, but difficult. Too difficult for me to waste my time doing. Not wasting time, says the blogger. Hah!

15. Here comes Ross!

Oh, he's going to hate me for doing this. But I do it nonetheless, and laugh heartily whilst doing so.

Ross Milnes is as much of a friend as a colleague - through working together, in and out of school, we have both developed our comedy and our collective sense of humour to impressive levels. I will work with Ross in the future. That's a dead cert.

I made this on Microsoft Word, believe it or not. Cue the completely uncalled for 'photo editing made easy' tutorial...

I took his photo, put it into Paint, coloured over the whole picture in bright blue except his face, saved the image as a BMP (bitmap) image - that's very important - and imported the image into Word, where I used the 'set transparent colour' tool to make the blue area transparent. I then made a body with the 'AutoShapes' tool, copied and pasted it all back into Paint, and saved it as a JPEG image. I uploaded this image onto an amazing photo-editing website called Picnik, where I tweaked the contrast, added a vignette and slightly caricatured the face, and hey presto!

I'd better add a disclaimer:

DISCLAIMER: Ross is better-looking than this picture portrays him. But only slightly.

14. Aw, bless.

The smile in this picture is contagious. I can't help smiling whenever I see this - it's a proper Stan Laurel smile. This is deliberate, because I love Laurel & Hardy and I wanted the picture to have an essence of them in it. This is not the reason for its black and white, Picnik-vignetted nature. I'm just old-fashioned like that. The slightly-too-small hat probably inspired me to pull this face, as Stan's hat never fit properly.

13. My first 3D render.

You'll have probably seen this before - I posted it up not long ago. I made this on a glorious little gem of a 3D program called Blender (I can't be arsed to create a link - find it yourself), using a tutorial I found on the internet (again, sod the link). However, I did deviate from the tutorial at one stage, denting the spherical head slightly to give the man some sort of face. Well, it makes my hat-wearing stick man with his arms up unique from all the other hundreds of hat-wearing stick men with their arms up that that tutorial has spawned, doesn't it?

12. The General and I.

Usually, I would correct the grammatical incorrectness of the title and change it to 'The General and Me', but it's actually a subtle reference to 'The King and I'. Well, not very subtle any more.

The little yellow chap on my shoulder is General Bertram B. Brunswick, a close friend of mine. Want to know more about Bertie? Check out his Facebook profile, and ask him anything. I can't be bothered to write about him here (sorry Bertie, but this blog post is long enough as it is).

Tweaked in Picnik.

11. Distinctly arty.

Literally all of this was done in Picnik. That's how awesome that website is. Check it out.

By 'arty', I mean that the picture seems to have a point, a message that its trying to convey. Well, I say 'seems' - I know it does, 'cos I did it. It's a very frank portrayal of how I see myself - a clown, forcing a mask of jollity to hide the darker aspects of my personality. I wanted to make it look like a black and white picture, possibly on a wall, with the colours, the clown elements, spray-painted on like graffiti. It makes the picture look defaced, as if it's not entirely self-inflicted.

There's a lot going on with this picture and I could go on for paragraphs and paragraphs, but I won't bore you. I won't bore you, says the blogger. Hah!

10. Sweet, yet slightly sinister.

I love my gormless, child-like expression here - this was my Facebook profile picture for ages. However, it does look like a police mug-shot; once viewed from this angle, this picture doesn't seem so friendly any more. The concealed evil the picture implies is really rather disconcerting, in a 'Hannibal Lecter' sort of way (see #6).

9. Monochrome me.

I really like this picture, because it was taken with a really good camera, which meant that during the editing process, details such as the eyes and the hair suddenly took on a harsh but beautiful clarity. It almost looks like it was drawn with a pen. I achieved this effect using - yes, you guessed it - Picnik.

8. The Organ Grinder.

You'd be forgiven for thinking, based on the last twelve images, that this 'top 20' is for images that have been created by me. Well, that isn't the case - well, it wasn't the case before my self-obsessed narcissism got in the way - for the only parameter for the nominations is that they are in the 'My Pictures' folder of my computer. This lovely little picture escaped my selfish discrimination by being such a wonderful image. An organ grinder, complete with a little monkey, complete with a little hat. Just... glorious.

7. A 'professional' photo.

I believe it was Miss Emma Bowles who said to me on Facebook, regarding this picture, albeit the colour version, 'you look rather earnest in it'. I like that description. 'Earnest' is a word that I don't use nearly as much as I should, and it sums up this picture nicely.

This was not done professionally. I got a digital camera, put the timer on, and sat against my blank bedroom wall. Et voila, as I believe they say in France.

The initial detail and definition was so professional-looking, I popped the pic onto Picnik and played around with it, removing the colour (I looked very pink) and upping the contrast, until I got a really nice-looking portrait photo. Earnesty is the best policy!

Except that joke doesn't work because it's actually 'earnestness'. Yes, I tend to piss on my own bonfires, as it were.

6. Hello, Clarice...

It was a creepy photo before I altered it, but this is still the product of one of the longest Picniking sessions I have ever put myself through. I wanted to get the oil painting effect of that iconic Hannibal Lecter picture (right). However, I didn't want the similarities to be too obvious, so I resisted adding little simulated paint cracks and the crimson eyes. Instead, I went with faint, irregular vertical stripes, with very slight changes in tone in these areas. I'm not entirely sure what the stripes are meant to resemble, but they make the picture look more old-fashioned and less like a photograph (let alone one done on a crappy webcam).

Picnik, you've done it again!

5. And you thought 6 was scary.

Now, this one wasn't done in Picnik. It was created using a fun interactive promotional tool for the film 'Zombieland'. I usually detest the thought of doing something creative on something as vulgar as that (I spent an inordinate amount of time trying to think of an alternative word to 'vulgar', but couldn't, so sorry for sounding like a pompous tit), but the 'zombify-yourself' tool is actually rather good. I spent a good couple of hours on this, honing and perfecting my zombie double, putting far too much thought into aspects like 'how did that injury occur?' and 'which part of the face would be the most vulnerable to grazing?' Overall, a cracking picture.

My only query is this - how are the remains of my glasses staying on?

4. The Boy Who Quotes.

Not a real book. Just thought I'd clear that up first and foremost.

I strive for an authentic look with most of my art, and this is no exception. I had a creepy picture of a certain John P. Mahon, made it even more frightening on Picnik, and then decided that it looked like the cover of a horror novel. Hence this.

The text was just added on in Word, using WordArt. I often use Word for simple photo editing - it's surprisingly good at it, considering it's not its primary function and providing you know what buttons to press.

3. Ross & Will.

Not so much a picture in its own right as a screen-capture of a video, this nonetheless deserves a place in this line up because I love it. This one image single-handedly and effortlessly demonstrates why I believe Ross and I show so much potential as a comedy double-act. There's so much expression and character in this picture.

2. The Gang.

I'm the one on the far right.

Yes, that really is me. I went to great lengths to make the superimposed version of my good self look in-keeping with the style of the rest of the picture. My attire was suitable anyway (I tend to dress like that), and there happened to be a person where I ended up placing my cropped Will, in a similar pose to mine. This helped make me look like a natural inclusion to the picture, not disrupting the composition or looking at all out of place. Therefore, I decided to merge myself with the original chap somewhat - the trousers, from the knee down, belong to the fellow I usurped, as does the right hand (blackened to match my gloved left hand).

A bit of tweaking in Picnik later, and I look as though I was in the picture all along. Except I'm wearing a coat, scarf and bowler indoors. Maybe I walked in just as the picture was being done, and decided to hang around for a bit - I don't know.

1. Will Laurel.

Just look at it. As far as superimpositions go, it's magnificent.

I went to extra-special lengths to achieve a realistic image with this one. I examined how Stan Laurel was lit in the original photograph and took a photo of myself from exactly the same angle, with exactly the same lighting. That was the trick, really - everything else was just the routine crop-and-stick. But there is just something so unsettlingly realistic about this one. It requires you to zoom in on the picture to see the join - the resolution of my face is slightly higher than that of Mr Laurel's head.

Jesus Christ, is that the time? I'll be wrapping this up now, then.

Yes, I actually bought gifts for other people this year.

2009-12-21T20:08:00.000Z

Snow, ladies and gentlemen, there has been snow.
Snow, I say. Snow, fellows. There's snow! It has been snowing!
It's only the 21st, but I'm excited at the potential for a white Crimbo. That Bing Crosby song is playing on a constant loop in my head, and I'm all giddy, like.
Furthermore, I haven't slipped yet, which is good for me. I'm a fairly clumsy sort of chap, and ice is never a good surface for a person like myself to walk upon. Funny as f**k, but not good. Not good at all!

Anyhow, I took this opportunity to cram in a bit of late Christmas shopping. I'll keep it vague, to insure against the possibility of my gift-receivers reading this: among other things, I got for my father a suitably ironic present; for my sister, I got a daft, annoying present (it suits her, you see); and for my aunt and uncle, I'm giving them a gift of my own creation. Yes, it's a drawing. Of sorts. I'm sure they'll love it - it just needs a frame. Fortunately, they're away during Christmas, so I have until New Year to get a frame. It's an A3 canvas, and finding a frame for it is really hard. But to obtain one I shall endeavour!

I wore my trademark long grey coat, a pinstripe suit, and my trusty old bowler hat. I looked very festive. I liked how the snow collected in the brim of my hat - it really did accumulate. There was an inch-thick layer of snow around my hat when I caught sight of myself in the window of Ruddock's. I did chortle, I don't mind telling you.

Ah, Christmas. Looking forward to it already.
So should you. Forward.... look!

At ease.

This is just wonderful.

2009-12-06T16:59:00.000Z

Have a look.

Why wait? Let the goodwill commence immediately!

2009-12-03T22:53:00.000Z

Hey chaps and not-chaps!
Hello, that is to say. I greet you, and shake you warmly by the cyber-hand.
I bet you're thinking 'why all the bonhomie, homie?', except you probably don't say 'homie' because my blog tends not to attract 'gangstas' and the like. Probably more along the lines of 'I wonder why Mr Wivell is acting so genial?'

Anyway, I digress, with a rapidity and blind disregard for audience that few can successfully pull off. The reason for my jolly joviality is because Christmas is here at last. Yes it is. It is, I tell you.
I live in Lincoln. This, rather appropriately, is the setting for the Lincoln Christmas Market, and it started tonight. So I have spent the evening in a great big Christmassy wonderland. That's why Christmas has arrived.

I don't like the attitude people adopt towards Christmas, even during the market. We get really hyped up about it in, like, August, and spend the whole ruddy time anticipating the 'big day', which inevitably fails to live up to the pant-wetting excitement the nation spends waiting for it. Our problem is that we narrow Christmas down to the one day. Sure, we shop 'til we're literally blue in the face (it's winter, after all) and put up the decorations, but deep down, but we don't really adopt that Christmassy mindset, that loving, jolly mindset of goodwill and appreciation. For some reason, we save our goodwill up, for that one day; that one, poor Christmas Day that has so much to live up to. And it never does - we're British, after all. The very nature of a British Christmas is sprinkled very lightly with melancholy, the generally ignored but constantly nagging knowledge that it's nearly over, that the clock on the mantelpiece above the roaring fire is ticking away, and we will soon have to go back to whatever dreary, tinsel-less activities we do for the rest of the year.

What we need to do, what I am going to do, is consider the entire month of December as Christmas. The twenty-fifth is still the big day, Christmas Day, the climax of it all, but that shouldn't limit the lovely Christmas spirit to there and then. I said 'Merry Christmas' to a random stranger during the market, and he looked at me as if I had wiped my nose on his scarf. He gave me that look that seemed to express the message: 'What the hell are you talking about - it's the third of December, you dipstick.' Well, sir, I say you are the dipstick. The dippiest stick in the... stick box, because the third of December is Christmas. As is the first, the second, the fourth, the fifth, the sixth, the seventh, the eighth, the ninth, the tenth, the eleventh, the twelfth, the thirteenth, the fourteenth, the fifteenth, the sixteenth, the seventeenth, the eighteenth, the nineteenth, the twentieth, the twenty-first, the twenty-second, the twenty-third, the twenty-fourth, the twenty-sixth, the twenty-seventh, the twenty-eighth, the twenty-ninth, the thirtieth, the thirty-first and the good old twenty-fifth of this twelfth month of this year Two Thousand and Nine.

Merry Christmas, one and all. Have a wonderful month.

Sofa, so good (I am so sorry)

2009-12-02T18:47:00.000Z

Blogger has only gone and made itself awesome. Good show.

It's made the post-creating element a lot more user-friendly. It looks like Microsoft bloody Word! I'm loving this rather muchly. But you know me - any old excuse to waffle on about everything and nothing on here, and I'm typing away, going like the clappers to entertain you lot.

You know what really grinds my gears? Sofa adverts. They frustrate me quite a bit, you know. How is it that these sofa-selling companies and whatnot have so much cash to blow on slick, special effects-saturated cheese fests? I can't imagine the sofa business being that lucrative. How many people buy sofas more than once every three or four years? Now, I'm no domestic-sittables expert (as you can probably tell), but it seems to me that in order for them to have the money that they seem to have, they need to sell the few sofas they do sell at astronomical prices.

And it's not as if they even appear to be trying to boost profits! You turn on the telly and find me a furniture advert that doesn't brag about some sort of sale. It's probably not going to happen, because they are always having sales. I've often been tempted, when seeing an advert that says 'ENDS THIS SUNDAY' to go on a Monday, just to see what it's like then. But maybe leaving it 'til Monday would be too late. Maybe by then, they'll be having yet another sale, twice as punchy and unusual-sounding as the last. It has reached the very zenith of its potential ludicrousness: it's actually a more interesting experience to witness the goings on of these places when there isn't a sale. Instead of it being the traditional 'sell at normal price for ages and ages, and then have a brief, cut-price period' it seems to be 'sell everything dirt-cheap for ages and ages and ages, and then have a brief period of consequently unsettling normality.'
Well, that's what it seems like. The truth of the matter, in my humble opinion, is that they're selling the sofas at insane prices in the first place, palming them off as 'cut-price sales' to pull the wool over our eyes, and then they spend a couple of minutes a year with the prices increased twofold, shrugging it off as the 'normal price'.

The reason they get away with this being that the average human being, with opposable thumbs and a digestive tract, does not have a sofa-price database in their head and is therefore unaware of a rip-off if they are handed one, leather-upholstered. If you are ever in the sordid position of needing a sofa, it's probably because the old one's broken, so you're going to be pretty grief-stricken and desperate when you stagger into DFS the following day to replace 'old Sophie'. You see the word 'SALE' on a poster, and your panic-bludgeoned, fragmented mind can only assume that something good can come of this.
As a result, you end up re-mortgaging your house for a 'stylish white leather three-piece suite' that is freezing cold to sit on in the morning and that makes tremendous farting noises as soon as flesh touches it.

And then Christmas comes along. You know what? The one thing that really frustrates me about Christmas is the collective amnesia of the world when planning the festive celebrations. The precise number of chairs in the house becomes lost in the glee-addled vortex of tinselly euphoria that is the average homeowner when preparing to have the family over, and someone ends up potentially chair-less. If only, I scream on occasion, if only there was something that could be done to remedy this pandemic!

Well fear not. Those jolly old furniture companies are on the case. Every year. Selling us sofas. Deep joy.

Well no, actually! There are many things that really frustrate me about Christmas, but chair quantity is never one of them! I'm hardly at an age to care, but as far as I know, there has never been a moment in my life where, at Christmas, someone has had to sit on a beanbag, or a computer chair wheeled out of the other room. And the people I'm related to/affiliated with are most certainly not the most reliable or organised people in the world.
If I concentrate really hard, shut out all background noise, and enter a meditative trance, I can, after about an hour, begin to slightly appreciate their angle. Okay, so it seems like the rest of the world does have this problem (if they do, there should really be some psychological tests conducted to pinpoint the cause of this) and they need seats. Right. Okay, I can just about appreciate that. But beds?

I'm sorry, is it just me, or is buying a bed the least appropriate thing to do at Christmas? You can't wrap a bed up in paper and pop it under the tree, you can't really reveal it to the person receiving it during a party, and nobody, as far as I know, eats Christmas dinner whilst sat on a bed. Mental, that's what it is.

Well, I have literally exhausted the hate-filled portion of my brain for one night. So go away.

Bwn pkk iqyd bnaa peia.

2009-11-18T21:48:00.000Z

Oooh, this is interesting. My blog entry rate is increasing a bit. I've caught the blogger bug again, and you know what that means.
More pointless blogging! I know you like it really.

Right, on with the talking about things and such. I have just realised that the latest episode of the 'Simpsons Comics', which I have had for a couple of weeks now, has a super-cool decoder watch with a little rotatable wheel with letters on, and a little piece of rolled-up paper and a pencil in special compartments. It may very well be the coolest thing I have ever obtained without paying. Well, apart from that lump of plasticine from the Science Museum, of course. Excuse me while I reminisce...

Okay, I'm back.
Anyhoo, yeah. It's a great watch, and I love it. It doesn't actually tell the time though, so I have to wear my normal watch as well, and that just looks silly. Well, you can't have everything now, can you?

Also, I have appeared as a guest in a collaborative vlog with my dear pal Ross Milnes. I did this a while back, but I forgot to mention it here. I'm remedying that now. So quit your whining. See it.

Three dimensions now. I kid thee not.

2009-11-18T00:20:00.000Z

This is my very first 3D render. Ever.
Taking that into consideration, the fact that I have never done this before in my life, I'm jolly well impressed with the fruits of my labour.
Feedback, if it's not too much trouble, would be greatly appreciated.
Oh, and if you're reading this on Facebook and the picture isn't here, just click 'view original post' and look at the actual blog, you lazy sods!

Winter is surely here, ladies and gentlemans

2009-11-16T17:23:00.000Z

I wish I had more things to talk about when I get round to blogging. It must get jolly well repetitive for you lot, constantly reading blog posts where I natter on and on about not having anything to say. I promise to put a bit more effort into these blogs in the distant future. Possibly.

But for now, you're just going to have to settle for the fact that I have provided you with another blog post, and surely that's enough. Surely that should assuage your raging impatience.

I am so very tired at the moment. I've been at home for about an hour (I get home at half four - yes, that is stupidly late time to get home at) and I am absolutely cream-crackered, not half, cor blimey guv'nor. Positively pooped. To use the word exhausted would be a job half done. I am absolutely, irrefutably, one hundred percent dead on my legs.
...And yet, I can blog. I must have gotten a calculation wrong somewhere along the lines, because I'm clearly not as tired as I'm making out. Oh, what a moaning Michael I am. Ignore me. Ignore me and my moaning whingeables.

My cats have gotten colds. Yes, you heard me. They're sniffling and sneezing and wheezing and burning up, and it's quite sad to see them suffering. Two are on the mend, but the third, who caught it a bit later than the rest, is still tucked up in a blanket, by the fire. Bless her little cotton socks.
I'll keep you lot updated on their progress. Well, I've little else to do. Apart from sleep.
Actually, that sounds like a nice idea. Sod this, I'm off for a kip.

Cheerio.

Speaking of which...

2009-11-03T19:36:00.000Z

I... haven't a clue what to write about.
Tonight being Tuesday night, and tomorrow being Wednesday, and Wednesday being a good day, and a good day being one where I have only one proper lesson, I don't have any homework that needs doing for tomorrow. So when I got this sudden urge to write, I grabbed the opportunity with both hands.
Aaaaaaand... that's the story leading up to this post. Now I'm here, I don't actually know what to write about, and I don't want to do what I sometimes do, and waffle about my inability to write anything (creating a good paragraph or two of crap-filled padding).

...Oh, balls. I just did, didn't I?
Ah, well. It's kick-started me somewhat. I've been typing for long enough now; an idea has popped into my noggin.
I am currently reading a wonderful book called 'Joined-Up Thinking' by Stevyn Colgan. It's a book full of interesting facts, split into thirty short chapters, or 'rounds'. Within each round, the facts are linked to each other, so instead of having sub-headings and little boxes of info, it's all in one big, fasciniating piece of text. But the best bit is that at the end of each round, the facts manage to link themselves back round to the first fact, creating a literal 'round' circuit of trivia. Most of the rounds are linked to each other by a certain name, place, fact, etcetera.
Most amusing. I liked 'QI: The Book of General Ignorance', and this book is in a similar vein, right down to the quirky style of the cover. It even has a glowing review from Stephen Fry and John Mitchinson on the front (respective QIMaster and Co-Creator of QI).

Anyhoo, I have decided to have a go at this myself. I will create a trivia chain. Tight here, right now. I won't go into as much detail as Stevyn, but I'll provide you with enough.

-Ahem-

Cats can only see blue and green.
Blue and green are the background colours of the national flag of Easter Island.
The natives of Easter Island worshipped a god called Makemake.
Makemake is also the name of a dwarf planet, the third largest known dwarf planet in the Solar System. It is three-quarters the size of Pluto.
Pluto, Mickey Mouse's pet dog, first appears in the 1930 Disney cartoon 'The Chain Gang' as a watchdog.
The world's largest prison is the Twin Towers Correctional Facility in Los Angeles, California.
In 2001, two hours after being convicted of attempted murder, Twin Towers inmate Kevin Pullem walked out of the prison through an employee exit, using a cut out newspaper photograph of Eddie Murphy to alter an identification badge he used to escape.
Eddie Murphy got into comedy because of his father, an amateur comedian, and through being influenced by stand-ups Richard Pryor and Bill Cosby.
Bill Cosby spent four years as a Hospital Corpsman in the United States Navy.
In the years following the Cold War, the United States Navy's F-4 Phantom II and the F-14 Tomcat became military icons.
Tom or tomcat is the name given to an un-neutered male cat.
Cats can only see blue and green.

...and so on.

Well, that took far longer than I wanted it to. I'm going to end this blog entry now. Hope you enjoyed that little educational journey. I most certainly did. I may do it more often.

The important thing to take away from this lecture is that I now have four hats.

2009-10-29T12:34:00.000Z

Afternoon, guv'nor.

I've been a bit lazy as of late, regarding my blogging duties, and for that I apologise. It's the same for my vlog and my webcomic. The thing is, I don't get paid for any of it. So yeah.

Anyhow, a lot has happened to me since my last entry, nearly a month ago. I went to London (twice), and have purchased two hats. I have started a new series of comics, and I've got some new pyjamas. I have befriended two bulldogs, and have lost a game of football with an eight-year-old girl.

But first things first.
Right. London.
London was, as ever, magnificent. The first time I went this month was for an Art school trip, so it only lasted for a day, and most of that time was spent wandering around galleries. Now, don't get me wrong, I like art, and I appreciate all types of art, but I could not help feeling a little bored, wandering around the National Gallery. Each painting was a masterpiece, a truly wonderful work of art, but there were simply too many paintings. I couldn't help adopting the 'seen one, seen them all' attitude as I ambled down the massive rooms, lined with Van Goghs and Rembrandts and Holbeins. I would pass one painting, a truly fantastic masterpiece, that the artist probably spent most of his life perfecting, and would go "mm, that's nice," as if I was browsing carpet samples at Floors To Go. You just can't appreciate the paintings when there are so many of them. You feel obliged to look at every single painting, and it stops you from really enjoying the visit. This was made worse by the fact that we walked everywhere, even though we were given a daycard for the London bloody Underground, and the weather was incredibly humid, so we were knackered by the time we reached the National Gallery. We'd walked from the Tate Modern, two miles away, and we'd enjoyed the Tate. It was quirky, it was interactive, and we weren't sweating buckets and breathless at that time.
Well, I gave up trying to see the whole of the National Gallery. I found that painting by Hans Holbein the Younger, with the French Ambassador and the Bishop (the one with the stretched skull), and sat on a nice, comfy leather bench, 'analysing' that for the whole half an hour I had before we had to meet up again at the entrance.

After that, though, we got to go off on our own, and I had a lovely milkshake in a cafe with my pal Owen. So the day wasn't too bad. And no trip to London can be regarded as anything other than magical.
I took some nice photos, and found a hat stall selling trilbys for a tenner, so I got a trilby. A jolly nice time.

The second trip to London was a birthday present from my aunt and uncle, but I had to bring my sister along. Nevertheless, we had all weekend to explore London, and the weather was nicer than last time, and we didn't have to go to any galleries, so it was certainly the better visit of the two.

On the first night, we went to the Royal Albert Hall to see the London Philharmonic Orchestra play Verdi's Requiem, which was wonderful. My sister spent the whole evening on her mobile, chatting to her friends on Facebook. Tut.
Turns out that the night after we were there, Robbie Williams was performing as part of the Electric Proms, which really helped hit home where we were. This was freakin' London!

Day Two found us at the Science Museum, exploring that 'Wallace and Gromit's A World of Cracking Ideas' Exhibition. I did enjoy that; most of it was for small kids, but they had some of the actual sets from the Wallace and Gromit films, so I got a few pictures of those. There was a section of the exhibition with benches and shelves, with lots and lots of lumps of plasticine for people to mould and sculpt and leave on the shelves. Being a bit of a plasticine connoisseur (I kid you not), I noticed how good their plasticine was, and asked a man if it was the same type of plasticine Aardman Animations uses (the company that make the W&G films). The man said yes, and so we sneakily pocketed the biggest lump we could find. I treasure that lump.

After the exhibition, we took a train down to Camden Market. This was on a Saturday, so it was absolutely packed. We spent pretty much the rest of the day there, but I found exactly what I wanted in the very first shop we went in. A bowler hat. In my size. And I haggled it down from £45 to £20. And the market itself! Bloody hell! It goes on forever! We went under a bridge, the underside of which was covered with stalls and food stands and eccentrics. It was hard to find the exit. You couldn't see sunlight in some areas. These places seem to be a law unto themselves - the market is like an abandoned garden, everything growing to extraordinary sizes and consuming the entire area. What a great day. A great day, punctuated by a slap-up Chinese meal in Chinatown. Yum.

Day Three was going home day. We had to leave our rented apartment early in the morning, so the only interesting thing we did was stop at a diner on the way home. It was fantastic - it was like stepping into America, in the 1950s. They had everything: Fifties music playing on a jukebox, antique attractions in the entrance, old posters promoting Elvis gigs, and unlimited coffee refills. When I first heard about this phenomenon a few years back, it was met with the response: 'Yeah, but the coffee's awful.' Well, I must say, the coffee was lovely. Proper, Douwe Egberts coffee. And I could have as much as I wanted. I had three cups, and I still feel thoroughly disappointed that I didn't exploit this wonder further.
And the pancakes! Wow! I had a breakfast that consisted of bacon, eggs, hash browns, toast and pancakes covered in syrup. On one plate. I nearly fainted from excitement, but that may have been due to my immense hunger at the time.

LONDON STORY OVER

Linking back to what I said earlier about not getting paid for any of this, I am doing requests for money. You tell me what you want drawing (within the realms of decency), and I draw it for you. I work in a variety of mediums: pencil, pen, digitally,... no, wait, that's about it. I work in three mediums, and it's up to you which medium you want me to employ when doing your picture.
I charge £5 for fairly basic stuff, like portraits or one-picture cartoons, but I charge more as the level of complexity increases. Quite reasonable, I'm sure you'll agree. I'm sure my prices will skyrocket once I actually need money in my pocket, so grasp this opportunity while it's still affordable!

In a similar vein to that last shameless self-promotion, I have started a new series of comic strips. By this, I'm not referring to the webcomics; those are public domain, and I demand no cash for them. I'm referring to a series of cartoon strips that I intend to publish in a book at some point. I have only showed them to friends, for feedback - they are not on the internet. The only place most people will be able to see it will be in this book when it comes out, whenever that'll be. So when you see it in the shops, buy it. It won't be for a long time - I'm still adding to it, and I haven't thought of a title for the series yet, so it's still in its early stages. I'll keep you posted on that.

The other things about getting new pyjamas, dog-sitting two bulldogs and losing a game of football to an eight-year-old aren't worth elaborating on. I'll just let the thought of me, in my pyjamas, being slide-tackled by a little girl and mauled by dogs, entertain you as I bid you adieu.

Who let the vlogs out?

2009-10-02T22:01:00.000+01:00

'Sup there, my dearest peeps.

I have literally spent the last ten minutes with my cursor hovering over the 'New Post' button, waiting for inspiration to hit me. That's how dedicated I am to providing you lot with something to read every now and again - I have taken to sitting motionless for literally minutes at a time. It's a tough job, but somebody's got to do it.

Anyhoo, I decided to write this blog post to inform you dear readers as to why I haven't posted a vlog up in a while. I haven't given up on the idea, if that's what you were thinking - the last episode, 'Photographs, Chipolatas and Housewives', got overall positive reviews - but I haven't really been busy, either. It's just that what with school and such, rare is the occasion when I can sit at home and do a vlog, safe in the knowledge that my dad isn't peering 'round the corner of the living room door with a stupid grin on his face. And nothing unnerves me more than people watching me as I work. I simply cannot function in that situation. Except for when I'm at school, obviously. That would be a disaster, if the presence of teachers made me incapable of working.

But I digress. The point is, I will be doing a vlog soon. I've had some splendid responses for Word of the Day, so that's staying as a running... thing... in the episodes. It's funny - I've had loads and loads of potential Words of the Day suggested to me, whereas for the second episode I had about three suggestions, all from people I knew personally. It just shows how quickly you can attract attention on something like YouTube.
The trouble is, I'm a terrible decision-maker. Faced with all these words, all of which are top-notch, I simply cease to be able to pick a favourite. There's also the small factor of my insufferable niceness. I feel really awful, having to reject lots of perfectly good suggestions for one fairly random choice for Word of the Day. It's probably going to be random because I find every nomination not without its own unique quirks, and I'm far too spineless to pick one that is superior to any other. I might choose a word that is easy to base a section of the vlog around - we shall see.

So farewell for now, blog-gogglers. I part with this quote from Barry Goldwater:
'If you don't mind smelling like peanut butter for two or three days, peanut butter is darn good shaving cream.'
I'll let you mull over that one.

Oh, how creative I am

2009-09-29T20:31:00.000+01:00

I have invented a new word. I've been using it quite a lot recently without realising it, and I think it's time the word got a bit of recognition.

GIGGLESOME

Isn't that a heart-warming word? It sounds gigglesome as a word, which makes it all the more appropriate if you're trying to describe something that makes you giggle; something that makes you laugh, but in a lovely, harmless way.

Dear whoever edits the Oxford English Dictionary

Please can you add the word gigglesome to the English language? I promise that loads of people use it, and it's a really good word and I don't think you've got it in your dictionary, although I hear it is massive. The dictionary, that is, not the word, although gigglesome is a quite long word. But that's besides the point. Please can you add it in please? To help, I think it goes between the words giggle goo and giggly.

Yours sincerely,
William Wivell

P.S. I love your work.

Ah, chess. How I have missed you.

2009-09-23T22:39:00.000+01:00

Today at school we were forced into doing recreational activities. This was a little unnerving at first, but the concept grew on me. Especially when a friend of mine devised a board game club.

Now, I had already signed up for an activity - creative writing. But here's the thing. The recreation wotsit took place during the last two periods, so that those people with a lesson during one recreational period could sign up for the other. This is a good idea. I, incidentally, have two free periods on Wednesday afternoon, so I could pick when to do the creative writing. I chose the last period, period 5, because the not inconsiderable distance between my school and my home means that I can't really leave early as my school bus is the only way home for me, and I could use period 4, which would still be occupied by loads of people, as a free period.

Creative writing, by the way, was splendid. It was lovely and laid back, but without the distractions that are all too common at home. This meant that I got a lot of writing done. My fellow creative writers are all splendid people, too. There's the lovely Ling, who is a wonderful person to have on any team; the mildly insane but oddly endearing John, who didn't do a lot of writing but chose to help me with my writing (which was nice of him); Eleanor, who I don't really know too well but seems intellectual enough to be an excellent colleague; and Rory, for whom any attempt at a successful description would be futile (in a good way). Quite the motley crew, I'm sure you'll agree.

I expected no less, and was duly distraught when I realised there was a board game club. Will I have to turn down creative writing, or turn down Mr Ross Milnes, who wanted to play chess with me? Fortunately, I didn't have to do either - I just used my free period 4 to play board games, before embarking down the corridor to do a spot of writing. Lovely.

Now, I go back to the point of this blog entry now. I used to love playing chess. I still do, but I used to both love it and actively participate in games. As of late, the active element has drifted away from my routine, and I'm a lesser person for it. No activity stimulates my mental processes quite like a good game of chess, and it turns out that Ross is an excellent player.
I didn't end up playing him, by the way. Somehow, we ended up teaming together and taking on two other friends of ours in a chess game. Now, this didn't work all the time, as we tried to take it in turns, and it meant that any drawn-out strategy could be swiftly undone by a rash manoeuvre by your colleague. But we got into the swing of things eventually, and it all became rather competitive. I was really rather elated by the whole experience, as this was what I used to love about chess - the levels of intensity it can reach - and that hour of semi-compulsory recreation re-kindled that passion.

I will certainly be playing chess more often. It really sets you up for a good long writing session.

Deep joy.

Can't concentrate enough to think of a suitable title

2009-09-15T19:20:00.000+01:00

Well, ladies and gentlemen. It appears that I have swine flu.

It has its pros and cons...

PRO - My immune system will be a little better prepared for the predicted mutation of the strain come winter.

CON - I'm missing a lot of school.

PRO - I'm missing a lot of school.

CON - I feel like s**t.

Now, I haven't seen a doctor as of yet, but I compared my symptoms over facebook with a past sufferer of the virus, Miss Harriet Foyster, and they're virtually identical. Which means that if it is the same illness, I will also be unwell for another week or so. Ho hum.

I'll probably try to justify my unproductive week of convalescing by contributing to either this blog or my webcomic blog. So that's a fairly good side effect of my illness.

I won't be doing many vlogs, if any, because you lot don't want to see me struggle through five minutes of video when I feel about eighty years old.

Well, that's about all I have to say on that matter.

Cheerio!

I want to add to my blog.

2009-09-14T21:03:00.000+01:00

...

Nope. I got nothing. -sigh-

Another internet peculiarity to waste your time perusing

2009-09-09T00:23:00.000+01:00

Hey there, gang!

I have decided to harness all the strange and surreal ideas, floating around in my noggin, and transfer them into comic strips that I will post up on the internet. I have created a new blog for the comics (gasp!) to stop this one getting too full, and it already has a comic strip posted up, to give you an idea of what's in store in the future. It's a rather funny cartoon about Jesus (hardcore Christians are going to love me for this). I politely but firmly insist that you check it out.

Go on.

Would you like fries with that?

2009-08-31T13:01:00.000+01:00

Hello there!
Having woken up early today (that is, before midday), I have decided to add to my blog.
The thing is, though, I haven't really planned anything for this blog entry. No notes, no topics, nothing. But then again, that's never stopped me from blogging.
Well, once it did.
Anyway, the improvisational nature of this here post means that it falls, reluctantly, under the category of 'ramble'. I don't really want to ramble today, as they tend to go off in strange directions and leave a trail of bewilderment in their wake. What I really want to do is think of something intresting, and write about it.
But here's the thing. It's now 11.48, and I still haven't thought of anything.
...
Aha! The time is now 12:06 in the afternoon, and after two hours of pondering, I have a topic!
In the news, there have been reports about South Korean scientists 'claim[ing] to be the first in the world to have successfully cloned a pet dog for commercial purposes.'
Now, I would never be patronising towards my readers. You're a clever bunch; after all, you read my blog. I therefore assume you understand the humorous side to this story. A humorous side that I expect many people would have picked up on.
Just in case you don't get it, imagine if France claimed to have cloned 'pet' frogs with extra-long legs.
Pets? Don't make me laugh.

Anyway, I'm going to have to cut this blog entry short, 'cos I'm going into town! If anything interesting happens, I'll report back with the info.

Over and out.

Good old Graham!

2009-08-14T21:19:00.000+01:00

He may look like Brian Blessed crossed with a Proclaimer, but he's smart.

2009-08-13T22:48:00.000+01:00

Hyello there, blog-gogglers.
Is 'blog-goggler' like my catchphrase now? I'm using it quite a lot.
Today being Thursday (well, for another ten minutes), I was watching the wonderful 'Mock the Week' earlier. What a funny, funny television show that television show is. Funny, that is to say.

Of course, MTW would only be another moderately funny attempt at a panel show without frightening Frankie Boyle and the delightful Dara O'Briain. Their instinctive wit and phenomenal improvisational abilities allowed MTW to develop into one of the funniest programmes- if not the funniest programme - on telly at the moment.

No, wait. I just remembered 'You Have Been Watching'. That's absolutely brilliant, faultless comedy, and it's certainly a worthy competitor against 'Mock the Week' for the title of funniest thing on the box since the most recent series of 'TV Burp' finished.
Anyway, you know what I mean. 'Mock the Week' = bloody funny stuff. Laughter echoes throughout my house when it's on. So yeah.

I have made an interesting observation whilst watching this current series of MTW - at the end of every episode, there is a round called 'Scenes We'd Like to See', and Frankie Boyle always manages to get the last joke in before the round, and the show, ends. I'm not sure how he does this - I suppose it's all down to clever timing - but it means that his last joke is the one freshest in the viewers' minds after the show has finished, which is very clever. People, when asked about what happened on 'Mock the Week', are more likely to immediately mention the comedic antics of Mr Boyle. Tonight's episode certified my theory that this is deliberate - for the last three episodes at least, he has managed to fit in his best joke of that episode at the end. Good on him.

Last week, his ending joke, based on 'things you don't want to hear from your flatmate' was:
"Well, there's one way to find out who ate my 'yoghurt'. An AIDS test."

This week, his ending joke, based on 'things you wouldn't hear on a TV talent show' was:
"That was a beautiful song... until you fucking sang it."

No wonder he's become so popular, so quickly!

I'm still not sure about his beard, though.

Tally-ho.

Great Minds Think Alike

2009-08-11T23:58:00.000+01:00

I was watching 'You Have Been Watching' on Channel 4 earlier, with the brilliant Charlie Brooker (please note that the italics I employed just then were for emphasis rather than sarcasm, believe it or not - I genuinely think that Mr Brooker is nothing short of a comedy genius), when my jaw almost dropped in happy surprise.
They were slagging off Deal or No Deal. Almost exactly as I had done a short while ago. Right down to the comparison I made between Noel Edmonds and a lion. Remarkable.
I was tempted to stick to an outlandish claim that 'they stole my bit!', but I desisted, because they did a much better job at it than I did. Besides, it was only a matter of time until the merciless critical eye of Charlton Brooker cast its gaze over the 'Dream Factory' (shudder). Again.
Well, I say 'again'. Did he take the piss out of DoND on 'Charlie Brooker's Screenwipe' as well? Oh, I don't know. Bah.

...

Sorry, I lost my place.
Right. So Edmonds, with his stupid hair, stratospheric trousers and shirts that look like they could pick up freeview with a few nob adjustments (oh, dear God! What am I talking about? Aargh! Abort!) was more than likely to appear on this television programme.

Oh, and Frankie Boyle, whose facial hair I noticed gradually increasing in length every episode of the new series of 'Mock the Week', was on 'YHBW' (that's an abbreviation for 'You Have Been Watching' - although the added bracketed explanation means that it would have been easier to have just typed 'You Have Been Watching' in the first place) and has a full-blown beard now. As it's quite a ginger beard, I'm not sure what to make of it. There's only so much Scottish a man can take.

Nevertheless, I have grown a little beard of my own. Nothing as extravagant as Mr Boyle, oh no, but just a little goatee. It's barely visible, to be honest. It's only just past the 'very long stubble' stage, and I don't intend to grow it much longer. As I said on Facebook (and am saying again on Facebook, I suppose), I just want something to stroke during moments of deep contemplation. I usually like to stroke a cat, but they are damned temperamental beings and have the rather annoying habit of going out when I need them. Furthermore, a goatee can be taken anywhere without it complaining or hissing or needing to be put in a special carrier, and be put to good use whenever and wherever a moment of deep thought hits me.

I am actually surprised at how long this blog post has become. I only really wanted to talk about 'Deal or No Deal' on 'You Have Been Watching', and briefly mention Frankie Boyle from 'Mock the Week' (what is this, an article for the bloody TV Times?), but I drifted onto the subject of beards.
Well, I suppose this makes up for the fact that I have been neglecting my blogging duties as of late.

I hope you're happy.
Seriously. I mean that.
No sarcasm here, no sirree bob.
Nope.
Honest to Darwin, I am being sincere when I say that I want you blog-gogglers to be happy. It's just that I tend to sound incredibly sarcastic. But then again, I do get a bizarre amount of pleasure in pretending to be sarcastic whilst simultaneously trying to prove I'm being serious, so all all that 'no sarcasm here' malarkey was a teensy-weensy bit deliberate.
Why? Because I love to screw with your heads. And I mean that in every possible definition of that phrase. Mwah, hah, hah.

Oh, and anyway, thanks for voting on my poll, those of you who voted. I think by the end, the poll received well over five votes overall!
By that, I mean I got six votes.

-Cough-

But you, the six members of the General Public, decided, in a landslide victory of five to one, that I should purchase for myself a bowler hat. So thank you. My dear old mother likes the idea (I'm lucky to have someone like her, I really am), but my cautious old father, who prefers to stick to the norm (or his radio-obsessed, checked-shirt-wearing vision of the norm), isn't particularly fond of the whole bowler hat notion. Hopefully, the results of this poll might make him see the light.

Ta, you six superb people!

ENDING

Faceblogging

2009-07-29T21:43:00.000+01:00

This blog is now available through my Facebook profile. Every time I post something up here, Facebook turns it into a note. This means that by clicking a few buttons until you get a full list of my notes on Facebook, you essentially have my blog. Rather nifty, I expect you'll concur.

I did this the other day, but as I needed an excuse to post something up on this blog o'mine, I looked back over the past week's events. The only two vaguely interesting things that happened of late were the blog/Facebook team-up (that sounds so cool; 'Faceblog... UNITE!') and the phenomenally persistent spell of rain that Lincolnshire has been experiencing (along with the rest of England, I'd wager), and as I didn't want to fall into that British stereotype and drone on about the weather (as much as I really want to), I decided to resort to the Faceblog approach (I like that word now).

Sorry, I just realised that I kept cutting my sentences up with bracketed interruptions.

Too many brackets spoil the... er... broth. No, wait. Too many soups spoil the br... breakfast... no.... Too many sentences spoil the cooks... Hang on, I'll get this in a moment.
Too many... brackets... spoil the... sentence? That'll do.

My worst fears are coming into fruition: this blog post is disintegrating into gibberish at an alarming rate.

Abort! Abort!

NOTE: This blog post has been prematurely terminated due to a psychological implosion on the part of the blogger. Normal service will resume in due course.

Noel flaming Edmonds!

2009-07-27T15:26:00.001+01:00

The more astute of you blog-gogglers may have made some assumptions about this blog post, based upon the title. You assume that just because I entitle the post with an angry exclamation directed at Noel Edmonds, this blog post is going to be a continuation of the earlier rant about Deal or No Deal. You and your bloody assumptions.

Well, you're right. I am going to continue to slag off Deal or No Deal.
Part two of this rant comes two blog posts after part one because I couldn't think of anything to complain about. I had effectively exhausted my ammunition on the first rant.
But then, like some Arsenal shirt-wearing angel, Mister Josh Shaw did descend from the heavenly clouds of Facebook, and he did provide me with a shiny new reason to despise DoND. Thanks, Josh!

The Deal or No Deal: Seaside Specials.

What was THAT all about? I kind of understand the thinking behind having a seaside special, what with the seaside being synonymous with summer, but did they have to dress up all the contestants in stupid costumes? There were sailor suits, straw hats, stripy swimming costumes and inflatable armbands all over the ruddy place.
...I think Noel was wearing a stupid costume as well, but you can never be sure with him...
Furthermore, the one person with the most embarrassing costume, a chap wearing a swimming vest, swimming shorts/trousers and the aforementioned armbands, was 'randomly' chosen to play the game! He seemed like an enthusiastic fellow, but I bet he wished that he was chosen a few weeks later, when he could have negotiated life-changing sums of money in slightly less ridiculous attire. I felt sorry for him, even if he didn't feel sorry for himself.
The sight of all these people, people who look like captive vaudevillians forced to play this insane game and pretend to like it, is truly something that will never leave me until the day I die. They stand there, staring at the player with such intensity and concentration. They're just doing that because they're on the telly, and they want to look like they give a toss about the financial future of Bernard from Basingstoke.

Furthermore, they use this as an excuse to get a little extra money from a company that provides them with holidays to give away as prizes to certain contestants. But these contestants aren't just given the holidays, oh no. They have to pick between two flavours of ice cream, one of which will give them the holiday, the other of which will enable the Banker to see what the player has in their box, potentially shifting the nature of the offers. This is hardly a game of skill. It's just more guesswork. The whole game is guesswork.
Guess which boxes have the small money in!
Guess what stage you should accept the Banker's offer before the offers drop!
Guess what flavour of ice cream will get you a holiday in Costa Rica!
There is no skill involved in Deal or No Deal, and these Seaside Specials, instead of taking this opportunity to inject a bit of actual skill into the game, just slap on another few dollops of guesswork and put the kids of the people running the costume department through college!

Pitiful.
I still watched it, though. And furthermore, I've come up with a better metaphor to describe why I watch Deal or No Deal. It's like a freak show. Simple as that. "Roll up! Roll up! See Noel, the Man-Lion, as he tricks simpletons with boxes into thinking they're making complex business negotiations!"

At ease.

Ramble Time!

2009-07-27T01:19:00.000+01:00

I haven't posted up a good ramble in donkey's years. So here's one.
Just to explain the term 'ramble' based on its application in this blog, a 'ramble' is a blog post that is one hundred percent improvised. I have to rely on my writing abilities to keep the blog post going for as long as I can without it descending into unimaginative drivel.
I explain this because quite a few people have started to follow my blog since I last rambled. I think it's about time that these newbies were introduced to this wonder.

Right, so off we go. Well, I suppose I could start by referring back to the beginning of this post, where I used the phrase 'donkey's years'. Now, what is meant by that phrase? I know it means a long time, but when inventing this phrase, why did they pick on the donkey? To my knowledge, they aren't that slow - disgruntled donkeys have been known to lash out with lightning-fast rapidity. Is it something to do with the speed at which they age? Do donkeys age particularly quickly? I know that people refer to a dog year as one seventh of a human year (which, by the way, is a method founded on bullshit), but is a donkey year any shorter? I assume that is what they were getting at with the phrase, that there are more donkey years in a human year and this allows for some clever-sounding hyperbolic time-based exaggerations.

You know what? I'm going to look it up. Right now. I'll look the phrase up, and get back to you.

...

Well, it turns out that the phrase may have originated from rhyming slang, as one alternative to the phrase was 'donkey's ears', which rhymes, of course, with years. This could have been the original pronounciation. So it would appear that at some point, people just couldn't be arsed to rhyme any more, so they went for the more direct approach (defeating the objective of rhyming slang...) and just used the word 'years'.
Oh, those lazy olden-days people!
Then, when people started to say 'donkey's years', they may have thought it to be an allusion to the lifespan of a donkey (which, in direct contrast to my theory and more logically, is quite long). The source from where I obtained this information mentions a Blackpool donkey by the jolly old name of Lively Laddie, who died aged 62.

Heh. You learn something new every day. Now you can't say you don't learn something from this blog! Nyah!

Anyway, must be toddling off now. Auf Wiedersehen, etc.

Great Grimsby, Summer Holidays! What are you doing to me?

2009-07-25T20:17:00.000+01:00

It's now officially the Summer Holidays. Not just the extra-early holidays that we post-GCSE students got this year, but for everyone. The Holiday has officially begun.

And that just seems to make everything duller.

It shouldn't really have any effect on me, as I've already been off school for weeks and weeks. But the knowledge that the six-week slog has only just really started hit me as hard as any four-to-fifteen-year-old. Time just seems to slow to the pace of a sloth with sciatica, and the days never seem to end. Ever. I have only just come to accept that all previous days actually ended at some point, but am still coming to terms with the fact that this very day will also reach an end eventually. Apparently, the clock says it's half eight in the evening, so things look hopeful for the arrival of tomorrow. Roll on Sunday, I say, and don't spare the horses!

Anyway, I'm dilly-dallying to an extent, so I apologise, and grab myself by the shirt collar and drag myself back onto the road, again to tentatively venture forth to a valid point to ever making this blog post.
With the the Holidays bludgeoning me with the boredom stick every 20 minutes, I have to find something to do. So I started to do two things. ...No, not including that.
The first thing I started to do was read books. This is a nice change, as I really like reading. Unfortunately, reading falls under the category of activities that are very easily, and unfairly, dismissed as boring by even the most loyal of book-readers, given enough time away from them. In this sense, they are a bit like Pringles or Who Wants To Be A Millionaire (I have fallen in love with that show all over again).

Speaking of gameshows hosted by blond people with strange voices who needlessly terrify their contestants and engulf their audiences in darkness, I have also taken to watching Deal Or No Deal. Less because I admire the quality of the show, more because it's a trumped-up pile of exaggerated guesswork and is absolutely hilarious.
Noel friggin' Edmonds is a wonder, that chap. Honestly. He baffles me. Here is a man, a very successful man, who not only rivals Simon Cowell in trouser altitude, but has hair like a lion, wears shirts that could trigger epilepsy in Stevie Wonder himself, and also - here's the kicker - he seems to genuinely believe that Deal or No Deal is a game of skill. I mean, I ask you. I bet the contestants who are chosen to appear on that show are initially intelligent, level-headed people that know that they are going to go home with more than when they arrived, and don't care if they have £250,000 box and except a 'paltry' £24,000 or whatever. They have to appear on every episode until they're chosen to play, opening boxes over and over and over again, and I think this softens their brains. By the time they are picked to have a go at 'beating the Banker' (or, as they've started to say, 'spanking the Banker' - blech), they're nothing short of clinically insane, and are easily moulded by Mr Edmonds into thinking that there's a lot of skill involved in playing the game.
Noel says things like "This game is taking a turn for the worse," or "Yesterday, Suzie left the game with 50p. The day before, Nigel from Ipswitch diddled the Banker out of £63,000. Before Nigel, old Gwen unfortunately won £50. I like the pattern that's emerging. See you tomorrow." What the hell is he blathering on about? He himself tells us at the beginning that the quantities of money (or should I say 'signs with numbers on') are randomly assigned to the inside of the lids of the boxes, and yet he has the idiotic audacity to claim that patterns emerge in the gameplay, and that any coincidence that happens to occur in a gameshow that is broadcast every day is suddenly an almighty sign, a method by which we can predict the future!

...bugger off, Edmonds.
Saying that, I do like to watch DoND. In the same way that I like to watch when a car is hit by a van over the road from where I am standing.

I will continue my rant about Deal or No Deal another time. For now, it's 8 out of 10 Cats, and I'm missing it.

Ciao.

Good Golly.

2009-07-19T01:07:00.001+01:00

see more Fail Blog

God, I need to grow up.

2009-07-17T01:48:00.000+01:00

But until then, look at these freakin' dogs! They think they're people!

The Mind Boggles.

2009-07-17T01:38:00.000+01:00

We are so damn small!

Any Old Pap

2009-07-16T16:49:00.000+01:00

Will reclined dismissively in the computer chair, and groped his glass of cola. 16:46, and twenty-nine seconds.
Thirty.
Thirty-one.
Thirty-two.
Thirty-three.
The distant sound of the front door opening awakened Will from his comatose state, but returned to the stupor just as swiftly as he had left. His glasses slowly slid down, encountering no resistance, until they perched impatiently on the end of his nose.
Facing the ceiling, Will looked down, past his nose, through the dirty lenses of his glasses to the computer monitor, scanning the screen for any possible stimuli.
Behind, his sister glided noiselessly past the door. Will noticed.
There was nothing to do. Absolutely nothing on this godforsaken planet that he could do without exerting himself further than he was comfortable with.
Fuck all.
Zilch.
Oh, Christ. Is this what he had wanted from his Summer Holidays? Will had looked forward to this long period of rest for so long, but there's only so much rest one person can manage before he starts to experience brain death.
The sun shone, the curtains were drawn, and melancholy engulfed Will's sanctuary.
He reached forward, and rested his hand on the mouse. He was taking far more time than he needed to. He paused for a moment of quiet reflection.
Internet.
Bookmarks.
Will > Blogger. That might do. That might pass the time. That might provide a momentary source of creative expression and self-satisfaction in what has been, all in all, a completely wasted day. Maybe, just maybe, adding to the blog will provide an excuse, a reason for this day to have ever existed.

Okay. Here we go. New Post. Right... What to call it, what to call it...
Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.
Oh, I'll just put any old pap as the title. I can come back to that later.

William sat, in his melancholy sanctuary, brushed the lank locks of hair from his eyes,
and pondered.

THE END

The 12th Street Rag

2009-07-15T20:33:00.000+01:00

What a joyous little tune. I specifically picked this one because it had a nice, tinny, old-fashioned quality that I really like. Think of the end credits of 'Spongebob Squarepants' - it's that innocent, Hawaiian-sounding style that I find really addictive.

And lo, a new blog came into fruition

2009-07-15T16:58:00.000+01:00

A chum o'mine, Josh Shaw, has followed my blogging example (did that sound rude to you?) and has created his own blog! It's still in the early stages, but I think it will be quite good.

And why does the spell-check function on Blogger try and correct words like Blogger and blog and blogging and blogger and frabjous and supercalifragilisticexpialidocious? Most peculiar.

Well, I know when a blog post is losing its way. I'll end this now.

Tally ho.

Bloody School! (Part Two)

2009-07-14T20:32:00.000+01:00

Well, yes. Bloody school indeed. Today was the second of the two days I had to attend school during the holidays (there must be laws against that sort of thing - I may look it up), and as I had radically less things to do today, boredom reared its ugly head.

One thing that was bloody interesting was form time. No, wait, interesting is the wrong word altogether. No. Entertaining. Well, it was certainly a new experience. Different, if you catch my drift, as to say. For I have the Grand High Sultan of Bumbling, Mister Kevin Frimston, as my form tutor. Oh, what fun. And I say that with an unusual level of honesty. I like Mr Frimston, and expect him to be a lovable, terrible but generally entertaining tutor.
He arrived about fifteen minutes late, but we expected no less from a man such as he. He then proceeded to get nearly everyone's names wrong. Unfortunately, he didn't trip over the litter bin, something that I very much expected him to do. This lack of slapstick on Mr Frimston's part imbued me with a slight wistful melancholy that lasted all day. I wanted to see him fall.

The only real lesson I had today was English Language, taught by my English teacher from last year. Miss (or Ms) Adlam is one of the best teachers I know, and I was therefore thoroughly chuffed when I read my timetable yesterday and found that I would be having lessons with her in the future. Now, at the time, I didn't know that these induction days weren't an accurate depiction of who we would have for certain lessons and what not, but more of a way of getting to know the ropes and what have you. But my false sense of glee at the thought of Miss Adlam teaching me English Language was verified in the actual lesson, when she mentioned that it was most likely. So whoop-de-doo on that front. Fiddle-de-dee and so forth.

Besides from that jollity, I had a lovely free period between break-time and lunchtime, clocking my time spent slouching on a big leather sofa in the common room to a grand total of two wonderful hours. Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh, bliss.

Despite the large quantities of relaxation I got through today, I was still knackered; my body clock is still in Summer Holiday mode, and as a result I rarely got more than three and a half hours sleep prior to each of these two bizarre days. This didn't work for me today; most of the day (when I wasn't slouching, anticipating inevitable failure on the part of a notorious teacher or discussing alternative meanings to newspaper headlines) consisted of talks about 6th Form and what we are to expect and what there is to do. I am sorry to report that by period 4, I was involuntarily slipping into minor comas. Which is a terrible affliction when you are sat in the front row of the hall, with Mr Newbold (who looks a little bit like Jim Carrey half-way through his prosthetic transformation into Count Olaf) literally a couple of yards away. It was a small miracle that I wasn't caught.

What was really nice was that the debriefing, during the last period of the day, only lasted half an hour, and I was able to retire with my chums to the common room for twenty minutes or so before catching the bus home. Jolly pleasant. Puts a fellow in good spirits, you know.

Not much else happened. So I'm finished. You can leave now.

Bloody School!

2009-07-13T17:09:00.000+01:00

I had to go back to school today. The title 'Bloody School!' was what was going through my mind this morning, but the day got increasingly better and then, at the end, slightly worse. I have to be in today and tomorrow, to get to know the ropes about next year (6th Form), and then it's back to the devastatingly long Summer Holidays. This little (ha!) blog entry will attempt to entertainingly relay the events in the life of me, William Wivell, on Monday the Thirteenth of July on this year Two Thousand and Nine.

The first thing that happened was the bus; a necessary stage in every school day of my life, the bus being the only possible mode of transport to school for me at such an early hour. The fact that it was the first thing that happened also proves to be constantly invaluable, as it handily provides me with a school backdrop later, within which the later stages of this tale will be recounted.
But I digress. Horrendously. Sorry. Right, cutting to the chase, I love my bus trip to (and, indeed, from) school. It is so relaxing, because I am the first person to get on the bus in the mornings and it is nice to be able to sit in an empty bus, trundling through the early morning countryside. These bus trips always instil a sense of peace within me - a lovely way to start any day, I think you'll agree.
Whenever I sit on this bus, pottering about the outlying villages on a rickety old bus, searching for passengers like a great metallic bee hopping from suburban flower to suburban flower, I start to meditate. And during these moments of meditation, I often come up with some pretty profound observations and conclusions that I never make otherwise. I had one of these epiphanes as I was soaring past Dunholme this morning...
I noticed that the reason I am so calm, sedate and good-humoured at school is due to my non-aggressive start to the day. Whereas many people are driven to school, thrown into the hustle and bustle of school life at the gates at 8:00 before they know what's hit them, I am eased into it gently. About a quarter of an hour passes before the next person gets on the bus after me. And then, shortly after that, a few other people join the bus. Gradually, the people who make school what it is, my fellow students, surround me, until I am fully immersed in academic life and in the correct mindset to tackle another school day. It's like being gently lowered into a bath, instead of being dropped into it from a great height every day, which would no doubt trigger hostility in some people.

I feel that I must speed up the pace of this blog, if only temporarily, and skip ahead to the arrival at school. We started by getting our timetables for the following two days at the 6th Form common room. I didn't have any free periods today, but I have shedloads tomorrow, so that's nice.
We then listened to a slightly haphazard introduction to 6th Form by our new Head of Year, Mr 'Built Like a Brick Shithouse' Clark. He seems competent enough, albeit with a constant air of vague confusion. I'm going to miss Mrs Grant, our HoY for Year 11. She was always in control.
The day got off to a flying start (yes, I know, I have only just started talking about the lessons) with a jolly old art lesson. Bloody good, it was, despite the teacher's uncomfortable attempts to be pally with us. I then had a psychology lesson, which could have started better - we spent about twenty minutes in the wrong classroom, due to a room change that never reached the ears of the class. Furthermore, the new classroom was at the other end of the school, so we missed a hefty chunk of that lesson. Despite this, our psychology teacher (whose name escapes me) was a darn nice fellow who managed to cram a ton of fascinating info into our noggins in a radically compressed lesson. Kudos to him, I say. Bloody kudos.

Not much happened after that for a while - period four was an unusual 'session' which was exactly like a free period in every way imaginable, right down to the fact that it was set in the fantastically comfy and jolly old common room and absolutely no work was done. I think it was an opportunity for people to change their A-Level options, but that didn;t apply to me, so I just kicked back for an hour.

And then along came period five and the exacerbating Mr Frimston. God help me, I love Frimston - he seems to know his stuff, but at the same time never quite seems to know what's going on around him. Things rarely, if ever, work in his presence. Evidence of this was to be witnessed in our Art and Design: Photography lesson, where most of the computers wouldn't log on.
The frustrating thing about this session - especially for me - was that the original plan was to practise a process called 'pixillation' where a series of rapidly-captured photos are played back as an animation, giving the captured subjects a jumpy, manic sense of movement. This sounded like tremendous fun, and I was really looking forward to it. Unfortunately, of the six or so cameras Mr Frimston issued out to us, only about two managed to get working with the remaining working computers, leaving most of the class, including me, impatiently twiddling their thumbs. In the end, the lesson plan was revised, and we looked at sketchbooks of former students. This saved the lesson, and Mr Frimston's bacon, but nonetheless, I really wanted to animate someone spinning in a computer chair as we had been promised...
Combined with the fact that rain had been incorrectly predicted today, meaning that I had to lug a massive raincoat about, and the fact that I am having KFC in a couple of hours (hip hip, hooray!), today has been quite a mixed bag.

Tuesday should be interesting...

This is the end of this blog post. Go away.

Charlie Chaplin Bloopers

2009-07-12T21:33:00.000+01:00

This is my favourite version of the Universal logo

2009-07-11T14:52:00.000+01:00

Universal (1940)
Uploaded by CPvGc90 -

King King King King

2009-07-11T00:56:00.000+01:00

As my chanting, repetitive and slightly confusing title put it, I am now the Priory Academy LSST 2009 Prom King! And fellow blogger Emma Bowles is, quite deservedly, Prom Queen! It just shows - blogging improves you as a human being.
It was flattering - and slightly befuddling - to hear that Emma and I won by a landslide. People who didn't know me were voting for me, which gives me a lovely warm glow in my stomach, like the feeling of the first swig of Ovaltine or Horlicks or hot chocolate or whatever your hot drink of choice trickling down your oesophagus and into your digestive tract. Jolly nice.
Apparently, people liked my campaign e-mail I sent round the school, which I only did as a bit of a lark; I noticed that people were either sending out silly, mock campaign e-mails or taking a really embarrassing photo of someone and e-mailing it with a fake campaign slogan. Nobody was really taking it seriously, but far worse in my opinion was the fact that none of these people sent a genuinely funny e-mail. I decided to do a polite but humorous campaign e-mail, to see if that would trump the stupid e-mails. And apparently, it did. So hurrah.
I got a crown and everything! Jolly nice it was, albeit a bit on the small side. It wasn't until about half an hour before the end of the prom that I realised that the crown size was adjustable. It fit much more snugly after that, which made the whole experience nicer.
It has been but one hour since the prom ended, and already I am dressed in a t-shirt and jeans, blogging. As the prom ended at midnight, I may be awake for quite some time to come. I may not even bother going to bed.

Good morning.

Prom Prom Prom Prom

2009-07-10T12:13:00.000+01:00

As my chanting, repetitive and slightly confusing title put it, I have a prom coming up. Tonight, in fact. For those of you who don't know what a prom is, it is a big social event at the end of the last official year of school where all the boys and girls dress up as penguins and lampshades respectively, and then eat, and maybe dance. Should be a lark. I'll keep you posted on how it goes.

It just occurred to me that most of the followers of this blog will actually be at the prom tonight. Oh, wait, there's Mister Mahon. Well, I'll post up a prom update either tonight or tomorrow especially for you, John.

'Cause I'm nice like that.

Over and out.

SteveWatch #1

2009-07-06T02:22:00.000+01:00

Due to my insomnia and increasing awareness of an inner evil, I have decided to dedicate some blog entries to logging the appearances and developing knowledge I have of my alter ego, 'Steve'.

Steve is my repressed dark side. For unknown reasons, my dark side developed a malevolent sentience, and every now and again, he emerges from his mental prison and has some fun, using my body as a vehicle of sorts. Now originally, Steve went by my name, and through the greatest of good fortune only took over my body at moments unlikely to capture the attention of others. As my mind entered a sleep-like state during these invasions, I often returned to my physical form with no recollection of what happened during Steve's 'visits'. As a result, I was oblivious to his existence, and casually assumed my blackouts to be a side-effect of my frequent migraines (to which I am now sure these manifestations are linked, but in a different way - more on that later). My suspicions were ignited when I discovered a crudely-drawn picture, signed William Wivell, in the pictures section of my Facebook profile. I didn't know what to think.

About a day after that, one month ago, 'Steve' manifested during an actual Facebook session. He astonished and frightened numerous online friends with his contributions, such as lewd comments, and even a webcam photo of himself (I was relieved to see that his appearance was identical to mine; the transitions were simply mental, and that was a comfort). All of this being on my profile, I was able to revisit these contributions later. These contributions were the first pieces of useful information I could gather about my very own Mr Hyde.

'Steve' took his name from a friend of mine, a Mister John P. Mahon of Lincoln, who, for reasons known only to himself, worships a god called Steve. In an exclamation of surprise upon encountering my alter ego on Facebook, Mr Mahon made a comment similar to 'Oh, God', but with 'God' replaced by 'Steve'. Assuming that Mr Mahon was addressing him, my alter ego adopted the moniker, and Steve has been his name ever since. Fortunately, his appearances have died down, along with my migraines.

I write this blog entry because I recently stumbled upon a Word document on my computer that shook me to the core. It was in my folder, under the ominous title 'StEVE'. Although I was pretty sure who wrote this, the random switching between capitals and single-case type, a trademark style of Steve, was the factor that convinced me and also terrified me. I was unsure what to make of it, so I opened the document. Would it be a letter to me? A warning?

It was a warning. And I'm scared now. Here it is...

But that's not all. As you can see from the vertical scroll bar to the right of the screen, this document goes on for quite some time...

Twenty-four pages, size 8 type, repeating the same child-like but undeniably evil message: I want to come out now.

This concerns me for a number of reasons, the first being that if Steve tries to escape his mental captivity again, my migraines may resume; you see, I have come to the conclusion that my migraines, which started shortly before the blackouts, are caused through trauma to my brain, caused by Steve trying to break out and take over my body. During his brief but prolific chain of manifestations recently, he had clearly developed a knack for manifesting himself, so less effort was required on his part, and my migraines subsided.
I had hoped that the recent lack of both migraines and Steve meant that I was finally free. But apparently, I was wrong. That Word document was new. Two days old when I found it, yesterday. It seems that, through sheer willpower, I had generated a strong mental barrier stopping Steve from returning. This appears to have annoyed him a bit, and he wants out.

But how long can I hold out to his growing rage?

And how the bloody hell did he manage to type on my computer during this time?

I'll post up more info when I find some. This has been SteveWatch #1.

David Mitchell's Soapbox - Tv Rudeness

2009-07-05T17:55:00.001+01:00

Well, if Stephen says so...

2009-07-03T20:16:00.000+01:00

I was casually browsing the Internet, looking up the chief food of the flamingo (as you do), when I happened upon this mention of Stephen Fry on Wikipedia. Surrounded by solid facts, this 'matter-of-fact' sentence seems to postulate the theory that the powers-that-be (by this I mean the random bloke that decided to contribute to the article) consider the word of Stephen Fry, a notorious intellect, to be itself a perfectly valid argument against a documented fact. How flattering that must be for him.

I decided that in order to preserve the visual impact of said sentence, I would not annotate the following screenprint. By finding it yourselves, the humour and unusualness of it should be as great as it was when I first stumbled across it.

I love the fact that his name is not even linked to the corresponding 'Stephen Fry' Wikipedia article - whoever wrote it appears to think that everybody knows of Stephen Fry.

As a fan of Fry's popular comedy quiz QI, I know that the fact in question was originally questioned on that show. I'm not sure whether that particular factoid arguing against the feeding methods of zoo-keepers was a personal contribution by Stephen himself, or just supplied by the researchers, but if I was Mr Fry, I would be extremely proud, albeit a bit selfish, about taking all the pride for a theory about the artificial colouring of wading birds.

Wivell out.

I adore this tune.

2009-07-02T12:59:00.000+01:00

2009-06-28T15:21:00.001+01:00

Ahmad by WillWivell

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Riddle me this, blog-gogglers.

2009-06-21T16:13:00.000+01:00

What is the point of motorsports?

They are such pathetic excuses for sports, it's dazzling. Basically, what it boils down to is the reflexes and skill of the driver. But so does any other sport. So why splash inordinate amounts of cash on these expensive cars and make a sport of it?

Some of you (the bloody race-car buffs) will be reading this, thinking: 'Ah, but there is more to the sport. There are the crashes, the variations of the different vehicles, the potentially dangerous weather." Well, I tell these people to fuck off.

Every sport I can think of (except indoor sports, but there aren't many of those) involve the potential for a dangerous game brought about by the weather.

Football...

Golf...

and even croquet...

...so that's that argument for motorsports thrown out the window. And it's the same for the crashes argument. People get injured in every other sport from time to time (see above), and although it may be more of a spectacle to see a car crash, it's not as if they're trying to crash. These cars are stupidly expensive, and if you crash it, you not only blow a significant amount of good money but you also lose the race. As a result, crashes are rare, and shouldn't really be taken into account as a valid reason to watch racing cars.

And that leaves us with the final supportive argument for motor cars: 'the vehicles themselves'. Oh, I see, you car boffins consider the individual design of the cars to be an important and interesting factor in car racing, a factor that no other sport has? Well, you are all flaming idiots, because that's the essence of every bloody sport in existence.

Permit me to explain. You see a lesser-known footballer dribbling the ball towards the goal, but David Beckham is closing in from the left. Becks has a reputation, a higher set of physical statistics (no crude jokes, please) and experience, in the same way that a good car has. Some of the excitement comes from seeing if this player can outsmart the legend himself, in exactly the same way that you car boffs wait to see if anybody can beat the leading car type, be it McLaren, Ferrari, or whatever.

So surely you see my point now - motorsports are the same as any other sports. The only difference is that motorsports cost a shedload of cash to set up, and spectators re-mortgage their houses for tickets to the event, only to sit around on their arses for hours, seeing a few cars rocket by every five minutes. It's pointless crap, if you ask me.

I write this because my dear ol' papa is an avid follower of the motor racing, and he forced me to watch the WHOLE OF TODAY'S FORMULA ONE RACE with him. I nearly went insane.

Pity me.

I'm Back, Baby

2009-06-11T20:18:00.000+01:00

So there I was, reclining in my computer chair, not a care in the world, when all of a sudden, it occurred to me that I haven't contributed to my dear ol' blog in ages. Sure, I've popped up a few bits of art, but not a fully-fledged article, a blog post into which a lot of effort has been put.

Naturally, this distressed me. I care about you lot out there. I do. Honestly. No kidding. This sudden pang of terror at the thought of neglecting my duties to you spurred me into action, hence this very blog post.

...

I wish I'd thought ahead now. I wanted to do a blog post, so I did. I logged in, clicked 'New Post' and began typing an intro. Now that's out the way, I don't mind telling you that I haven't a bally clue as to what I'm going to talk about.

...I suppose I could tell you what's happened since the last post. Yes, that'll have to do. Well for a start, I am now on Facebook. Hip hooray, tra-la-la, etcetera. Actually, it's quite good. Being a popular site among my friends, it provides me with a valuable opportunity to exchange information with my buddies and show off my art and films. You see, as much as I love YouTube, the problem with it is that it's bloody massive, and the chances of a random internet-goer finding my videos are as likely as Avon selling lipstick in Baghdad. Facebook, on the other hand, goes to the effort of bringing together people who are likely to know each other; within a week, I had over seventy friends, all of which I actually knew as friends (hint hint, YouTube). It's fine having a totally open website where anyone can discover you, but you need a sense of belonging, a sense of community, and quite frankly, Facebook tramples all over YouTube in this category.

Now, I know what you're thinking (but not in a creepy, 'get out of my head you psychic pervert' way). You're thinking that my slagging off of YouTube as a social website is unfair, as it is primarily a video-sharing website. Indeed it is, and to add salt to the wound I myself inflicted upon YouTube, it is possible to share videos on Facebook as well. Not only that, but Facebook does it bloody well. Sure, it doesn't have the ability to recommend similar videos, or have a 'featured videos' section (a section that really pisses me off about YouTube, by the way), but the fact that more people know about you on Facebook means that you get more feedback. Furthermore, the feedback is more personal, because the commenters know you. This is nice. All the 'constructive criticism' from impersonal strangers, of which YouTubers are so used to, tends to get a bit boring after a while.
But wait! I'm not done. Not only are the videos easier to upload onto Facebook than YouTube, they are of a higher quality when playing back. Now come on, YouTube! It's as if you're not even trying!

So in summary, go Facebook. Yeah. Woo.

Moving on, how about that expenses thing in the news recently? Naughty politicians. Wasting our money on duck islands and stuff. Tut. But look at what's-his-face! David Cameron! Jesus bloody Christ, he's done well out of all this! He grabbed the scandal by the scruff of the neck and wrung all the heroic goodness he could get out of it. As much as I hated that posh, lycra-wearing, plummy, eco-friendly tosser, I must take my hat off to the fellow. He's smart. And I respect that.
Everybody laugh at Gordon Brown! Go on! He must be kicking himself for missing out on this golden opportunity to win back our respect!

I think Gordon Brown should wear an eyepatch. Loss of country's respect = sorted.

That's about all I can think of writing about for now. If I think of anything else, I'll let you know.

Over and out.

2009-05-29T00:18:00.001+01:00

The General is in. by WillWivell

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2009-05-29T00:14:00.001+01:00

William Wivell's Book of Doodles and Ponderable Ramblings - Pages 4 & 5 by WillWivell

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2009-05-29T00:11:00.001+01:00

The Grouchos by WillWivell

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2009-05-29T00:09:00.001+01:00

BIG GLASSES IS WATCHING YOU by WillWivell

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2009-05-29T00:02:00.001+01:00

Self-Portrait by WillWivell

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I am now, to the relief of my impatient friends, on Facebook!

2009-05-19T21:47:00.000+01:00

William Wivell's Profile

Create your badge

What a great joke.

2009-05-19T20:11:00.000+01:00

A two-seater aircraft crashed into a cemetery in Ireland. So far police have found 100 bodies, and expect the number to climb as digging continues.

AAAAARRRRGH Episode II

2009-05-19T19:25:00.001+01:00

You know who else I hate? Idiots.

But not just any idiots. People who lack intelligence but have enough personality to get by in life are fine with me. Good on them, I say. But people who, during their life, can't be arsed to learn about the world, those people who develop into blank-faced imbeciles devoid of any personality, are the kind of people I want to mildly bludgeon. Approximately one in five people is like this, and I think we, as a nation, could easily get by (if not radically improve) by shoving one fifth of our population down a big mine and promptly detonated. I'd contribute towards those government funds!

These people are usually perfectly capable of doing well in life, but simply can't be bothered to make an effort, shrug indifferently at the many constructive criticisms thrown at them, and, more often than not, adopt a fashion.

Well, it seems we have come full circle and are back in emo territory. Ooh, scary, a moody night sky, we're in a graveyard, there's the sound of sobbing..
Wait one cotton-picking minute! This isn't a graveyard - it's a creatively-wallpapered bedroom, and the sobbing is coming from the exasperated parents in the sitting room! Oh, now this is more like emo territory.

Emos are idiots. I hate both these characteristics. If you are an idiot, or an emo (idiot), please leave this blog.

...Put your hand on the mouse, right there... no, no, not that mouse... there we are, - you might want to get that bite looked at - so now move the mouse across the mousemat, left, up a bit, down a tiny bit, right a tiii-iiiny bit... there. Now click on the mouse. No, left-click. There you go.

Now stay out!

-SLAM-

Another edited photo

2009-05-19T04:39:00.000+01:00

Come up with your own interpretations.

AAAAARRRRGH

2009-05-17T23:35:00.001+01:00

I hate emos.
By 'emos' I mean the plural form of 'emo', pronounced ee-mows, and not ee-moss, as its pluralisation-obscuring spelling suggests.

They're just so - uuurrrgh. What a false, deluded, annoying, selfish, self-righteous load of f**kwits. Blech. Nasty, nasty people.

And that bloody film 'Twilight' didn't help. A book, fine. Got nothing against that - books come in many forms, can silently entertain people of all religions, beliefs, interests and, to a lesser and more pathetic extent, fashions, and a book that doesn't appeal to you is easy to ignore and get over. But a film is much more intrusive. It enters the public psyche. It influences so much more people than books, because we, as a species, are lazy and will often prefer to sit on our arses and gawp at a screen than sit on our arses and read a book. People, mostly teenage girls, watched the film 'Twilight' and became overnight emos or goths (who I don't mind as much - most of them are lovely people). Many were emo before they saw the film, but a lot were not. A lot of young girls went to see that young actor in it who was in Harry Potter or something for about two seconds, because he's (sick bags at the ready) 'gorgeous'. They also became emos as a result. Damn you, 'Twilight'!

I mention this hatred because I happened to mention the emo culture on my Twitter page (shameless plug - http://twitter.com/WillWivell) and started to rant. I soon realised that because you have a limit of 140 letters per update, I needed to continue ranting on something that would provide me with limitless word usage without having to split the rant into short chunks. So now you know why, and also have a website recommendation! What more do you want, a bloody peanut?

Bugger off.

I love Stephen Fry.

2009-05-14T22:39:00.000+01:00

Listen!
Wish I was in the QI audience, chanting mockingly. Ah well.

Oh, and there may not be many updates on 'The Flood' any time soon as I have lots and lots and lots of exams to revise for/recover from at the moment, and as a result my poor little labour of love has been temporarily shelved. As soon as the next school holidays start (in a week or two), I'll commence with the animation, and post up more updates and screenprints and things and stuff and that. Because I know you love it.

Toodles.

On a bit of Blogger/YouTube frenzy at the moment...

2009-05-05T21:50:00.000+01:00

Here's another great video - a clip from a recent episode of 'Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles'. The lively folk song sounds so eerie and melancholy - they did a really good job with the latest series of this show.

I love this song.

2009-05-05T21:28:00.000+01:00

Never went to the effort of finding out what song this is until now. It's just so relaxing. Ahhh.

Been a bit under the weather as of late.

2009-04-30T20:06:00.000+01:00

Yes, as my good friend Mister Title just mentioned, I have been feeling a bit unwell recently. I did what everyone with the sniffles is doing recently and wondered if it was swine flu (admit it, fellow paranoid snifflers), albeit only briefly. I then decided that swine flu was a somewhat far-fetched self-diagnosis.
At this point, like some unearthly master of bad timing, my dear ol' daddy sauntered in and casually, and rather suddenly, announced that in order for swine flu to take out as many Mexicans as some sources would have you believe, it would have had to start months and months ago. He then, like some oblivious harbinger of terror, reminded me that his mate came back from Mexico a couple of months back and is a bit under the weather. After this frankly terrifying announcement, father dear proceeded to blow his nose.
...I mean, I ask you, what were his intentions, with me standing there, off school with a the flu, him effectively declaring that this reportedly 'deadly' disease was already here, plotting its first kills in Britain?

Okay, maybe I'm exaggerating my reaction. I, like most sane people, consider swine flu to be a trumped-up pile of media-excreted hyperbole. But I was still a bit fazed by my dad's 'innocent' remark. Perhaps the Mexicans are not as hardy as the British, and through a rich blend of poor health care and malnourishment are more vulnerable to illness.

After all, people in Mexico die of flu all the time. We can draw two possible conclusions from this fact: the first being that we Brits rarely, if ever, die from the flu as we have flu jabs, and our self-made protection from normal flu could protect us from this new strain, and the second conclusion referring to the fact that it turns out that Mexicans can't tell normal flu from swine flu. If they can't tell what's wrong with them, how can Mexico come up with all these death tolls? They can't, that's how, and as a result, swine flu has actually clocked up a phenomenal seven confirmed deaths. Derisive snigger.

But anyway, I digress. Because of my terrible case of the sniffles and IMMINENT DEATH, I was unable to continue work on 'The Flood', so sorry about that. I really wanted to, as well. I'm getting really, really impatient with my immune system and my school for diverting me from the one project I am passionate about. In fact, I shouldn't even be on the computer right now. My head hurts and the glare of the computer screen could easily trigger a migraine (hardly anyone appreciates how awful migraines are, so to sympathise with my plight, look up 'migraine' on Wikipedia, you callous bastards). Because of this, I'll end this post now. I just felt that I needed to let you lot know what's going down in Willsville, especially my schoolmates, who were probably wondering where I was today.

Well, wonder no more!

---TRANSMISSION-TERMINATED-AT-20:42-GMT---

'The Flood' Update #2

2009-04-21T23:08:00.001+01:00

I haven't done much lately to the animation, as I've just returned to school after the Easter holidays and the GCSEs are kicking off straight away. They've worked me like a dog (even more than a dog - I have yet to see a dog cutting out and gluing paragraphs onto a coursework sheet at midnight), but rest assured that I have really been wanting to crack on with my labour of love. This surprises me, as I tend to lose commitment very easily with even the most promising of projects. I suppose it may be because I have been creating a storyboard on Flash as well, and that means that when I'm animating, I don't need to think about where the story's going to go, because it's all figured out. I will have to remember that in the future, as my commitment problems have been a cause for serious concern when I think about my future career as an animator. If I plan my animations out meticulously, I stick to it to the end. What a fantastic breakthrough! Between pressing the keys to form this post, I am patting myself on the back.
I have now reached the part of the animation where the old man sees the weather forecast (that was piss easy to animate, see) and starts to get up to phone his friend. Quite frankly, it's not worth forming a screenprint of just that moment. When I've done a lot more to the film, I'll include a clip of this bit with the rest. If you're going to post screenprints, post loads of them - that's what I say!

Cheerio for now.

New Project

2009-04-14T02:56:00.000+01:00

I've just started a new project - an animated silent film, set to classical music. It's called 'The Flood', and here are a few screenshots of it so far:

This is the title card for the film. Pretty much sums itself up.

I 'hand draw' all of the backgrounds in this film. Well, actually I use a piece of very realistic drawing software called ArtRage. It provides the look and feel of a classic animated film.

This is the hero of the film. A nameless hiker, who through a series of events, saves a village community from a terrible flood caused by the bursting of a nearby dam during a storm. His personality isn't yet defined - he'll develop instinctively as I animate him more. As you can see, this isn't a film that relies on tweening to animate people. I wanted to go old school and draw each frame by hand (of course, things like panning scenery will use tweening, but only because that looks no different to old films).

A good example of the power of ArtRage to capture that hand-drawn look that I wanted. Note the first signs of the approaching storm!

I was going to do it with no dialogue at all, but I have already set myself so many challenges with this project that I decided to make it into a proper silent film and add the classic caption cards. As you can see, our hero is lost.

That bloody cottage took ages to do. I got the shadow wrong, but couldn't undo it without undoing the whole cottage, so I had to rub it out and then 'mix' loads of different shades of green for an hour to replicate the green used for the grass to cover up the rubbed out area, and so on, and so on... However, I like how it turned out. The cottage belongs to an old man who hears about the storm during the weather forecast on the telly. He phones up his friend, who lives near the dam. This seemingly irrelevant old man has therefore provided the audience with a reason to see the dam and figure out what'll happen. Clever, eh?

Well, I've run out of possible screenprints to tantalise you because I've only just started this project. And judging by the amount of effort that's already gone into what is only a minute of film so far, this is going to take bloody ages to finish. But God help me, I'll give it a go...

Wivell out.