Problem Child

2002-05-19T17:24:00.000Z

Her skin is like velvet.
Her face cut from stone.
Her eyes when she's smiling.
Will never reach home.

Oh but hear how she sings.

2002-05-19T10:37:00.000Z

I spent most of yesterday with Josh. We went to the cinema and waited in line for half an hour only to end up being the only people watching the film. We had M&M’s and crisps and drank soda till we popped. The movie was ‘Jimmy Neutron’ a Nickelodeon animated adventure. We thought it would be fun and ended up laughing till there were tears running down our cheeks.
The rain hit us hard when we stepped through revolving doors that turned us forever. The car seemed a lot further away in the wind and rain but we made it only to have Josh clowning around in pools of water that had collected in the pitted tarmac. It took forever for me to get him in the car.

On tables stained with rings from teacups. Josh helped himself to my lunch. I had ordered plenty knowing this, bringing an extra fork after he denied being hungry. Flared tempers rose around us as we overstayed our welcome while crayons and pretty pictures littered our feet and plastic fish on hooks dangled from tiny rods in our hands. We played some more then left the remnants of lunch stuck to the table behind us.

The afternoon moved quickly. Rage flared out through the gaps in the garage door as I ran the clippers over Josh’s hair making it neat behind the ears. Tears of frustration ran hot down tempered cheeks their path broken by the falling hair. Quick march to the shower and a wet bathroom floor and we had smiles again.

2002-05-16T16:47:00.000Z

I want to sit in the sunshine and dangle my feet in the murky waters of a river.
I would be so high in the air that I would feel sick to look for what’s below my feet
And the boy?
He would be here with me too, with dirty blonde hair and a stopping smile. Brilliance in the light of his eyes would brighten my soul under the shadow of the clouds on the moon.

I am hungry.
The food that is on my mind right now:
 Cheesy, Mayo, mustard and onion sandwiches
 Ice cream
 Tom’s regular dish
 Burnt bacon (oh god yes!)
 Humous
 Home made rice pudding

2002-05-08T15:58:00.000Z

OK, I wrote the last little ditty at about 2am. I am negotiating part ll with my web server (It's too big! God dammit!!)

2002-05-08T15:56:00.000Z

Summer arrived overnight. I awoke to the smell of flowers and cut grass invading my dried up sinuses sending my energy levels through the roof. Swinging my legs out from under the warm covers I let my feet rest on the wooden floor allowing the blood to rush south towards my pale toes. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and listened for sounds of life from downstairs. I knew my mother was up and about for the back door was open sending the cool morning air drifting up the stairs and seeping under the bedroom door. I stood and stretched my lean limbs in front of the mirror and looked at the strange girl who, through discreet lashes, stared back with an unusual air of paranoia.
Stepping closer I examined my features, lanky arms to go with the lanky legs and long mousy hair that would never hold a curl. Moving my gaze lower towards the silhouette of my body I looked with scrutiny at my breasts, they were definitely there today no doubt about it
I could feel the small protrusions pressing against the palms of my narrow hands as I scrambled out of my cotton nightie. Maybe I’ll ask my mother for a bra today after all Nicola Brown from number twenty-two had been wearing one for three weeks now and she wasn’t even thirteen yet. I had been thirteen for over two months now and I was still in vests. Perhaps a pale blue bra with a bow, I thought as I struggled into my uniform. Nicola didn’t have one like that. I remember looking at her small collection of bras and there was nothing delicate about them still, they were certainly pretty.
We sat there two nights ago on her bedroom floor hiding under her brother’s duvet like a couple of criminals plotting our next heist. I had begged my mother to let me stay over at Nicola’s. She wasn’t too happy with me staying in a house with no rules and on a school night too, besides that ‘Brown woman’ has no dress sense and had brought salmon paste sandwiches to the Elliott’s last garden party, for goodness sake. She gave up though after watching me sulk at the dinner table for half an hour, the food untouched and my stomach protesting loudly. After making me promise to politely refuse any junk food offered and to uphold her social standing in the community by being on my best behaviour I was allowed to pack my school things and make my way over to Nicola’s. I felt excited running down the street, my bag winding me as it thumped up and down on my back. I felt differently however as I watched Mrs Brown erect the camp bed in the corner of Nicola’s bedroom. I stared at the thin, murky looking mattress with distaste and wondered what horror she would pull out for a blanket. I was to be denied relief when Sam’s quilt was tossed onto the makeshift bed with a breeze that sent dust into my eyes. With the weary breath of a woman twice her age, Mrs Brown picked up my shoes and left me standing in the middle of the room looking at the violent figure of He-Man that donned the tattered quilt.
Later that evening we sat huddled under his watchful gaze; the blonde of Nicola’s hair flashing in the torchlight like sparks from a flint, her grubby feet pressing against mine. The carpet itched against my thighs as we looked at those magic garments and giggled at how grown up they made us feel, but as I walked to school the following day I felt conscious of my vest pressing against my skin. I was so jealous of Nicola that my jaw hurt from frustration.
Pulling on my jumper I made my way towards the stairs listening to the familiar creaking of floorboards as I stomped on them. My younger sister sat on the middle step eating toast, the cat patiently sitting amongst stuffed toys beside her eyeing every bite with disgust. Sian tilted her head back with exaggerated effort and grinned at me as I started down the stairs, it was barely past breakfast and already she had several meals surrounding her chubby lips like time lines on a tree stump. Sian was six years old and epitomised all that could possibly be in every parent’s nightmare. People wrote books about bringing up children every day and every parent owned at least one of them, I was hardly a teenager and even I could think of a few titles like ‘How to be a better parent’ and ‘The joy of children’. I bet most parents-to be, with nervous laughter, skipped the section on ‘how to cope with the difficult child’. I know my mother did, I scoffed to myself. Climbing over my sister, I clamped a hand; hard on her head to keep my balance as I waded through her breakfast with the cat and her care bears. She yowled at the intrusion and kicked me on the shin with a fat foot clocking the cat square on the head at the same time. I launched into the air and landed hard at the bottom of the stairs. Wincing with pain I snatched up sleepy bear with one hand and in full view of my sister punched it in the stomach with the other. She promptly started screaming.
Listening to her tears of rage I made my way towards the kitchen with an air of satisfaction, the cat, naturally defecting followed me at a brisk pace. The hallway stretched eighteen feet down the centre of the house. Doors leading to various rooms, most of them unused in the summer months gathered in a circle around the main foyer, the white gloss of the paintwork reflecting across the floor like the moon on water. Towards the rear of the house the hallway narrowed leading to the kitchen at the end and the morning room to the left. I lined my self up with the entrance to the kitchen and propelled myself down the length of the hallway, the polished wood occasionally catching the soles of my socks as I slid towards the door. I stopped short by two foot. I had never reached the finish line yet. Everyday when I got home from school I would throw off my boots at the front door and charge down the hall, letting my feet slide the moment I reached the edge of the stairs. Leaning for optimum speed, towards my goal I’d surf the length, but two foot short, as always.
I stepped into the gloom of the kitchen. The smooth ceramic tiles seeped cold into the soles of my feet as I ventured towards the fridge. The kitchen was always cold even in summer. Copper pans hung from hooks on the maiden like pigs in a butcher’s shop, the high ceiling sending the slightest clatter ringing like church bells on a clear day. My father bought this house for the kitchen alone and spent months building it from scratch yet as I stood there staring at the contents of the fridge I couldn’t recall seeing him use it, not once. ‘What are you doing?’ the familiar voice cut through my thoughts. ‘Shut the door before you chill the whole house’ I looked up to see my mother unloading the washer, her long black hair brushing the floor as she stooped to retrieve a pink sock stuck fast to the rim.
Knowing what was coming next I quickly grabbed my packed lunch and tip toed towards the door.
‘What did you do to your sister?’ I winced at the tone of her voice stopping me dead in my tracks ‘You know that she eats her breakfast on the stairs and yet you just have to torment her’ she called.
There was no way she could have known, until now my mother was in the garden and I could hear Sian singing quite happily to herself on the stairs. I shuffled towards the dining room, chewing the sleeve of my jumper. Feeling angry I plonked myself on the chair and snatched up the frosties. I hated my sister.

2002-05-03T08:19:00.000Z

Has anyone noticed that my archives keep disappearing?
It's driving me mmmmad!

2002-05-02T15:15:00.000Z

Testing...again!

2002-05-01T21:48:00.000Z

I had a rummage the other day for some photographs. I have them in storage along with the rest of my measly belongings. I can’t say I was happy with what I found.
After spending half an hour pulling the garage apart at my parent’s house I was horrified to discover that most of the boxes were elevated about an inch off the floor by the rain water that had gathered there. With a surge of super human strength I ripped the last of the shelving apart, my muscles roaring with pain from fatigue and my breath tearing into my lungs. Oblivious to my body’s cry for help I dragged the first of the boxes out from the damp corner and with my heart drumming in my ears I tore the lid off. My worst fears were confirmed with the first tentative glance at the contents of the treasure chest. There, swimming in murky water were my most treasured possessions. My life in frozen images, an entire story untold in words but held in technicolour visions. It was always a pleasure to introduce someone to my past, all my emotional experiences ready to be shared. With time stopped forever there was never an excuse not to reflect and relive those moments. Now, drifting on the meniscus of rain, my past had disintegrated along with those photographs. Time stopped and was torn apart. I slumped on an old suitcase; it rocked slightly under the weight, probably due to the missing wheel that fell off while on holiday all those years ago. I clasped dusty hands to my face, grit pressing into my cheeks and exhaled long and deep. I couldn’t believe it. How could this have possibly happened? Knowing that it was going to be sometime before I was going to unpack the rest of my belongings, I had bought six rather expensive seal tight boxes. What went wrong?
I got up and moved towards the box; looking beyond the mush of photographs I noticed a glint of china in the mirk. I reached in and felt amongst the rubble. Withdrawing my hand I pulled out a small china plate, it was decorated with images of two small children eating fruit. I remembered the plate well; it had never been a particular favourite of mine. I would come down stairs in the morning and be greeted by it as soon as I entered the dining room. The plate belonged to my mother.
I stormed out of the garage, foot catching on the tool box sending me stumbling forward. I reached the back door leading to the kitchen in record time. Stomping into the kitchen I confronted my mother. Too many times this has happened and too many times I had moaned through stinging tears to my mother. She stood casually peeling potatoes at the sink, without turning she hurriedly explained how she needed somewhere to store her precious plates and how my boxes with their durability were the perfect choice, they just wouldn’t quite fit so she left the box open a jar. I was exhausted. I ran up to my room and threw myself on the bed. The tears came and I was lost to my fading memories.

2002-05-01T20:45:00.000Z

Aaand done! all should be well now.

2002-05-01T15:49:00.000Z

Testing HTML testing..testing

2002-05-01T15:43:00.000Z

I know there is a problem with the incredibly small font and I am tweaking the HTML right now. It does however take a while to kick in so stop biffing about it!

2002-04-23T17:03:00.001Z

Relax, the Wonder Years are killing me as it is!
I had a dream last night. I dream most nights and always I remember it
Andrew had caught me smoking. Many times dear Andrew has threatened to personally beat me to a pulp if he caught me smoking and always I have been good
Andrew caught me smoking in the garden and although I wasn’t aware of it I soon realised something was wrong when I started performing my monkey theatrics in the kitchen and I got stone walled. Andrew turned to me and started screaming at me for smoking. I was terrified. Cowering in the corner he continued to chastise me and declared our friendship over. Mortified, I started crying and begged his forgiveness but it wouldn’t come. I woke myself up from crying.
I felt bereft and suddenly lonely.

2002-04-23T17:03:00.000Z

So, Matthew Bannister is back at the BBC. After resigning from his executive position at the BBC just over a year ago he has returned but not to meddle into the running of things down at the Beeb but to host his own weekend news show on Radio 5 Live. Many people will remember Matthew Bannister for the blitzing he inflicted on the BBC almost ten years ago. I myself recall Dave Lee Travis’ disappointed words flowing through my headphones and stopping me in my tracks, I was happily listening to DLT’s line up of music when he could not keep his feelings from his listeners any longer and with a weary voce told the nation about his refusal to accept the BBC’s vision for the future of radio and so resigned on air to a multitude of devoted listeners. I was stunned. The ‘culling’ as one national newspaper referred to the radical changes being made at the BBC involved the axing of such DJ’s as Simon Bates, Gary Davies and Steve Wright. It was true that by the early nineties Radio 1 were slowly slipping behind the times, Music had changed overnight and the dance scene had arrived.
Matthew Bannister felt that it was time to draw in the younger generations; after all Radio 1 was meant to be at the forefront of great British broadcasting wasn’t it? Even though the station had millions of regular listeners, they were of a much older generation, a generation that was faithful but would naturally dwindle over time. With the youth of the population gradually asserting themselves once more on the music scene with a fresh new sound, a sound that became the new foundation for modern music, then Radio 1 were going to have to grasp it and quick. With this in mind Matthew Bannister moved fast. Of course he would have to tread carefully he still had millions of existing listeners to consider before taking such a risk. Approaching Radio 2 he asked them to consider making new homes for the older DJ’s but they refused. He went ahead and made the changes anyway.
I was still at school when all this happened. As a passionate radio listener I was perpetually attached to my portable radio via my headphones. It was never unusual for my mother to come to bed and find me tangled up in my sheets, sweating and snoring loudly, radio still blasting with the voice of Janice long down headphones that were fixed firmly to my head.
After a traumatic day at school I would be sunning myself on a hot afternoon in the garden and listening to Steve Wright and the gang. Thinking back his show was not unlike the current afternoon slot, Chris Moyels. With Steve’s constant banter about absolute nonsense and crazy jingles such as ‘Steve Wright in the afternoon, so hot you’ll want to loosen your bra’ and purvey in the corridor I would be in fits of hysterics. However DLT was my favorite as a kid. That afternoon weekend show moved at just the right pace and made you feel good inside. It was a long time before I got back into Radio 1after the changes were made. Yes the show has moved on and quite successfully too. However it can seem a little silly at times, if you want to talk interesting then daytime Radio 1 is not the place, the topics are daft and have no real weight of purpose but admittedly can be funny at moments. The music is continuous and very ‘top ten’ but the evening does stir up some excellent shows like the essential mix and Lemack Live and not forgetting the granddad of radio John Peel. Radio 1 has launched some incredible talent both in the studios and in the music world. It’s bang up to date with the world music festivals and makes the listener part of the show. The ‘Smashy and Nicey brigade’ have had their day and no doubt the Radio 1 we know now will see an end also. Just don’t hold your breath.

Thanks to the Independent newspaper for keeping me informed. Some minor references to the report has been made

2002-04-12T08:33:00.000Z

Her face like a palace
With things you can't own

2002-04-07T10:44:00.000Z

Potentially life threatening or at least emotionally scarring injuries you never told your parents about.

(Relax, I’ll explain later)

1. Broken toe
2. Broken foot
3. Cracked rib
4. Nail in the head (I know!)
5. Ripped knees
6. Any deep cut (it is better to bleed to death than to get busted for breaking that vase/family heirloom)

There are times in a young individual’s life when it is better for your reputation as well as your life to keep quite about the results of mischief. Parents make rules that should be obeyed but as every well adjusted child knows, a rule means a challenge and a challenge should never be ignored. If a room is out of bounds then that’s the room to be in, if you’re not to play with Daddy’s rare coin collection then life will be dull unless you do. It’s that simple. The nail in the head for instance (I know your dying to understand that one) my family and I were staying with friends in the country for the weekend to enjoy bonfire night. The local farmer had offered the community the use of his land for the event, and with all that space on offer the locals built a bonfire so big my friends and I could no longer see the sun when gazing at its peak. Our nervous parents promptly banned us from going within a mile of such a hazard and threatened to turn our backsides a nice shade of purple if we did. The day before the torching of such a shrine of fun we decided to have just one more look and maybe a nosy at the substance of its creation. We played in the garden till we were sure we had been forgotten about then gathered our supply bag containing a torch, a penknife, a notebook (for scientific purposes) and plenty of sweets. The first rule of adventure is ‘Always be prepared for the mission of your life’.

Nine of us gathered at the base of that mountain of junk. Staring at it with wide eyes, we could see the discarded remnants of people’s lives amongst heaps of wood, old prams, cheap furniture and broken toys. We cautiously picked our way through crap looking to see if it was useful, keeping the odd wheel and old shelving to make exiting things with on rainy days and tossing what was useless back on the heap. It was Stephan that made the first move into the bonfire. At first we teased him thinking he would chicken out and only peek between the wreckage but when he completely disappeared, we just stood there wide eyed and chewing on our bottom lips, looking on we all felt the first tingle of real danger. As if in unison we leapt onto the bonfire with a scream of delight and started tearing our way through. I was half way to the top when Gillian, the local brat, grabbed the sleeve of my cardie and through panting breaths challenged me to the finishing line. Wrenching my arm free I wiped the snot from my face and with nervous laughter clawed my way over the debris towards the summit. I was almost to the end when my left foot sent an avalanche of rubble tearing down the side of the bonfire and me into its heart. I crashed through to the bottom bumping my head on what felt like a brick wall, in a blind panic I dug my way out into the open and crawled to my feet. My friends looked at me with ashen expressions, exchanging worried glances. One or two even started to cry. I felt stupid and started to run, my skin on fire from cuts and grazes I couldn’t in my mind locate. Peter caught up to me first and grabbed my arm, I spat at him screaming in his face to leave me alone I was embarrassed and frustrated but he just kept pointing at my head blubbering incoherently through tears. I raised a shaky hand towards my crown and felt it immediately, sticky and warm. By then the others had reached us panting and red in the face. Stephens’s house was nearest and we reached it in moments. I crashed through the back door and ran into the kitchen; Stephen’s older brother was sat at the table picking his nose. I had always had a crush on Paul he was nineteen with dark hair and gentle eyes one green, one blue. Those eyes looked at me now with absolute horror and disbelief. He leapt form the table, sending the chair skitting across the stone floor, and dragged me to the kitchen sink. I kept crying, fidgeting with my head as he ran cold water over my numb scalp. By now the kitchen was crammed with kids staring at the protrusion peaking through my wet hair, Paul barked at them to back off then swiped my hands out of the way. The nail extending from a small piece of wood was firmly attached to my skull and with clumsy hands he prized it out and let it drop into the sink with a resounding clatter. I was lucky that it hadn’t gone deep and that it was only a fine nail the type used for picture hooks. I sat on the kitchen counter noisily drinking warm lemonade, tasting the salt from tears on my lips and sniffing violently. I tortured Paul with my pleading until he agreed not to tell my parents I then started off home with the beginnings of a headache.

I broke a rule that day and I paid for it but it didn’t stop me doing it again. My parents never found out about my little adventure, I’m sure if they had they would of given me something to cry about for sure. My injuries aside, the fun we had on the bonfire was a real experience and is often the subject when old friends meet up. Standing there the following night with the glow of fire adding colour to my cheeks I thought about being on top of a mountain of scrap, of being the last to touch what was now a hurricane of flames and a wave of blistering heat. I couldn’t help but smile.

2002-04-05T14:45:00.000Z

Teenagers are really quite delicate and their sensitivities naturally go unnoticed by the adults. The problem is the longer the situation goes unnoticed the more dire the situation becomes. For the teenager this is the end of the world. When your young your in jeopardy of blowing things out of proportion and wishing all too easily that you would just curl up and die just to teach your parents a lesson. Many times I have flung myself on the bed wishing through salty tears for some horrible death to be inflicted on me. I would enact my final death throws in full colour over and over imagining what I would be wearing and the expression on my face when my parents find me. Of course I would feel foolish and full of regret an hour later when it was time for tea or my mum called me down to watch a film.

The fact that Dawn wished for everyone to be around her and to never leave her again is a strange one on me, usually teens in distress want nothing more than to be alone wishing they would disappear. Dawn however was so desperately alone what with her sister out patrolling the neighbourhood for nasties one minute and shacking up with spike the next it’s no wonder that the youngster is feeling the way she is. Consequently without the guidance of Buffy, Dawn is susceptible to corruption. Dawn is stealing, staying out late and spilling curses on Buffy and the Scooby gang. The cry for help and attention is ringing loud but Buffy is at a loss to help as Dawn, in that oh so teenage pouty strop, is refusing to share her feelings with her sister.
When the whole gang club together for Buffy’s birthday party Dawn is feeling complete again and cheerfully presents a rather expensive but obviously stolen birthday gift to Buffy. Buffy is naturally pleased although slightly concerned about the gift but all that is tossed aside literally Dawns way when Buffy sees her gift from Anya and Zander. Clearly upset Dawn secretly wishes that everyone stays with her forever and hey presto it comes true, nobody is able to leave the house and when it becomes apparent that something is ‘mystically’ wrong people start going a bit stir crazy. Suddenly friends turn against each other in frustration and feelings are provoked to the surface, willow’s determination not to use magic is put to the test and several people are hurt when a spell cast to lift the curse goes horribly wrong. All this time Dawn is sulking and frostily refusing to talk to anyone because ‘‘nobody cares anyway’’. It is not until Anya finds stolen goods in Dawns possession that she talks about her problems and begs for forgiveness and understanding. The fact is that teens always make life much worse for themselves before learning that the only way to make life better is to talk about the initial problem. I can say all this only with hindsight because I know I have done a lot worse (without the mystical cosmic thingy) to get attention and now I look back and think what a stupid and immature thing to do, but lord it felt good!

2002-04-04T15:19:00.000Z

I am looking at photographs. Distorted ghosts of snaps I took long ago. There are images here that I am certain never made it to film, immaculate images of strong moments that clutter the mind. Hold on while I turn the page. Can you see the wall? No? Pity. I can see it clear as day; only the face steals into the focus. Now I am distracted, the face is sweet and unbearably lovely with the curl of lip, a half smile that commands my flesh to tingle all over. I want that smile always. That lazy gaze to settle upon mine and his touch to burn my flesh with terrible desire. I adore him to the point where my tears disobey me, flowing freely and without retraction. My tongue taps his name letter by letter, over and over till it deafens me and I can no longer hear my own voice begging it never to stop. He is with me always, I am stained with his every being and I have lost to him my very soul.

2002-04-03T16:06:00.000Z

So Tim, you made it then ya cheeseball. Heh!

2002-04-03T16:04:00.000Z

Caroline Whitworth. Its funny what names crop up in your mind, names that are long forgotten. I went to school with Caroline. I can’t say that I liked her much; I didn’t dislike her just that she rarely played a part in my life. All that I can remember is that we shared a friend, a friend so naturally versatile as to entertain, with pleasurable ease, two characters that couldn’t be farther apart. I met Andrea towards the tail end of secondary school; I had gone to grammar school in York and didn’t arrive in Manchester till late in my school career. Andrea was the sweetest most cynical thing I had ever encountered. She had a pound coin gap in her front teeth and saucer blue eyes set in a chalk complexion. She carried the nickname ‘dragon’ like the weight of a hundred voices. I thought her beautiful. I would spend most of my time, when I should be listening, watching her form words with vibrant animation. Our whole thirteen years together were spent with her fantasizing about far-flung places and me watching her with wide-eyed fascination. We are no longer friends. Three years have passed, hundreds of days and thousands of hours and not more than a handful of words spoken. People come and go in life that much I accept, the constant switching of lanes with not even so much as a warning glance or map to guide you. Andrea is one of the lost, or rather I am lost. I doubt very much that my name crops up in her mind now and then, but with the memory of her face and the sound of her passionate voice ringing in my ears, she is constantly in my thoughts.

2002-04-03T13:47:00.000Z

I paid a visit to the cinema last night. Watched Blade II. I made sure I went in there with the right frame of mind, not too psyched up. I deliberately avoided the media attention the film had received so far and ignored discussing the subject without being rude. You could say I was free from contamination, well ok, so I looked into the cast of stars, writer, director and a little of the plot. Come on, I at least have to know what I’m watching. I immediately came to the conclusion that this was going to be a total gore fest from the opening scenes, five minutes into the film and people are getting their throats ripped out, only these aren’t people their vampires. Yep a bunch of bloodsuckers get the smiles wiped off their faces by a new breed of horror, cue the story line. In the meantime the big man himself, Blade, is feeling confident that he has things under control as we cut to him enjoying his favorite destiny in life, or shall we say living death, slaughtering some not so innocent vampires riding expensive two wheelers. Blade is then introduced to the darker world of his kind when he is paid a visit by a high speed, kung fu vampire chick in a tight suit. Thus recruiting Blade to help his nemeses in the pursuit and good riddance of this new and frightening pest called the Reapers. Blade now has a bunch of highly trained killer vampires as well as his old friend and newly resurrected ex-vampire Whistler. The old man, Whistler, finds himself challenged at times by Blades new super brain, a young and well traveled techie who can create dazzling explosive devices in a matter of seconds. Armed with this odd collection of talent, Blade seeks out the Reapers and with a show of well-choreographed and super cool knife twirling, fist flying and foot spinning, finds that these things are indestructible. The reapers at times resemble foetal like zombies with their hairless, translucent skin and ‘nobody behind the wheel’ stare. The feeding habits of these Reapers are what’s causing all the fuss, their taste for vampire flesh and the viral contagion that is a gift to the victim, are sending the vampire nation hysterical with fear. The only problem is they have evolved to withstand almost anything you throw at them, almost anything. Blade and his ever decreasing clan are at their wits end until they discover the unnerving secret behind the Reapers very existence, and you can bet your bottom dollar it has nothing to do with old mother nature. The film continues in very much the same way as the original although slightly less story and a whole lot more action. It seems a shame that the writers have thought to drop the sassy and rather helpful haematologist who was a key character in the first Blade. Her role would have worked well in the sequel, besides didn’t Blade need her to tweak that pesky serum that was gradually failing to keep his thirst at bay? Well, not anymore. There were some key issues in the original that were also left unresolved, Blades character was one in constant pain with the reality of his very being, someone who detested his existence and sought revenge from bitterness. In the sequel this feeling was lost and his character became one who seemed to enjoy all the slaughtering and mayhem, a character who almost felt cool. The film provided some great performances especially Luke Goss who, I suspect has done very little acting after his singing career in Bros., a 90’s chart topping collaboration with his brother Matt. His performance as the dark and ok, not very talkative Reaper was great to watch. Wesley Snipes delivered yet another great performance as Blade, a role he was obviously born for. As for the rest? Yes, they were ok too. This movie is definitely an all action, high CGI martial arts flick. One for the hard-core Blade fan and not for the faint hearted. Blade crashes his way through his enemies with style and effortless glory and all this without once losing his shades.

2002-03-28T17:42:00.000Z

I'm sitting here, itchy. There's a problem with this dis-jointed state of reality. I'm thinking back to a moment spent in wonderful company, things were said and things were left untouched but with such little effort the world was twisted till my head hurt. People wonder through, dissipating before the very air is permanently stained with their aroma, nevertheless some linger and even though they crowd your senses to suffocation, you are joyful for it.
Things seem real only when they become uncontrollable and you find yourself day dreaming of the ideal once again if only to deal with them. I find myself rapt between these two states. Shredded with pain, torn with blissful contentment.

That evening was all this. That short time that poured away like water and left me short of deliberation.

2002-03-26T17:38:00.000Z

Actually I got thrown out of the girl guides for setting fire to a dusty set of drapes, which set fire to a nearby bookcase, which took forever to put out. We were toasting marshmellows over a Bunsen burner (it was raining on the day we intended to do the camp fire thingy out doors.) when some little snot flicked a melted marshmellow at me and it stuck to my crisply starched uniform. That meant war!!!! I then flicked one back not knowing it was actually lit, ho hum, the little git ducked and it landed like a bullet in the curtains. Fire, smoke, screaming leaders, snot streaked kids, alarms, sirens, boot up bottom. The rest is history.

2002-03-21T16:34:00.000Z

Stuffy Lectures with Dave

Today has been a paradox of weirdness. University can be a heap of shit at times, with minimal support and teachers who spend more time pulling up their pants than actually filling your little bonce with anything useful. Come exam time and your stuffed, teachers will whine at you about how useless you are and you start talking to yourself in class.
Ok Adam is now standing behind me like a spare part and it's creeping me out!!!!!!!!
Tonight I'm going to enjoy my usual stint with the Buffster and the lovely Angel. Those programs rock!!!!!! Hey if your looking then check out scrubs later on aswell

Dave is looking rather perplexed at his computer assignment...Give it up man!!!! Perplexed maybe but damm fine all the same,gay boy!.
I will include some pictures at some point to mark the simply excellent and only satisfactory times spent with these people at Uni

2002-03-20T16:01:00.000Z

In some serious strife which, incidently is entirely my own doing. I just pick myself up and plonk me in the middle of the shittiest situation I can find, and if I can't find one, I make one. Heh. There just arn't enough hours in the day to make the absolute best of it though. I'm currently chewing the scabs off my top lip causing it to bleed, I landed flat on my face two nights ago trying to impress some guy with my bad gymnastics.I succeded in making him laugh which is a winner, although strictly at my expence.