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Rant

About Neil

(Also Known As: Overrated Writers I Hate #1. Maybe.)

I have no idea whether or not the allegations against our beloved, saintly Lord Neil of Gaiman have any validity. It wouldn’t necessarily surprise me, but I’m happy to be on the fence.

However, it’s not the worst time to indulge my view about his character and his work. I believe the two, being more or less inseparable, are best summed up with the word charlatan. I’ve spent 30-odd years being astounded (and quite disappointed) by the amount of praise and gushing idolatry directed at this insufferably smug, annoyingly fey, all-appeasing goon. His work is, without doubt, amongst the most shallow, meaningless, insincere and vacuous ever to be published to significant acclaim.
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I Didn’t Vote

No vote from me. Nope.

The Internet is nothing if not supremely obnoxious in its overflow of putrid effluvia focused on the whole EU Referendum bollocks. From both sides, arguing like the rival gangs of monkeys they are, flinging shit at each other and feeling all self-righteous and meaningful. I’ve seen more profound rows going on in a fucking schoolyard. What a miserable, ugly spectacle it truly is.

(And then, apparently without irony, she added to said overflow…)
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Dog Microchipping & Beyond

Compulsory since April 6th this year, the mandating of microchipping for dogs in the UK (and the rest of the EU, come to that) represents, to my mind, a step too far in this cycle of out-of-control Big Government.

There are a lot of pro arguments for dog chipping, parrotted from official propaganda—it’s ‘essential’ to combat the growing stray dogs problem, for instance, even though the numbers for such have dropped massively in the last 30-odd years (when did you last see a stray dog?); to not comply means you’re not a ‘responsible’ dog owner (classically idiotic, black & white, Us vs Them thinking), etc.

It’s all smoke & mirrors. The real purpose of this asinine, fascistic “law” is twofold: firstly, the big corporate interests manufacturing these techno-turds profit handsomely from it (a la many other unnecessary medical applications & drugs); secondly, it forms part of the acclimatising process that readies the public for HUMAN IMPLANTS.

Crazy? Improbable? Tinfoil hat territory? Not really. Since this law came into force, (not so) coincidentally we’ve already seen a literal raft of positive propaganda pieces about the medical benefits of chip implants in human beings. And the stories about this stuff just keep on coming……
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A Farce, You Say?

Hmmm… haven’t felt much like writing on here for a while. Real life gets in the way sometimes, have had a really, really weird three weeks, sometimes very depressed and generally disorientated.

Well, the move to Brighton happened. And about five seconds after, I realised it was a total, fucking mistake. You can’t begin to imagine what an amazing mind-fuck that is. This is what happens if you’re stuck in a too-expensive place on your own—you don’t think things through properly.

How can I detail my problems with Brighton? *sigh* Let’s try a bulleted list…

* I actually have friends in London.
* I miss them.
* It’s not as quick/easy to get to London as I deluded myself.
* It’s even harder to get to anywhere else in the country. Travel from here is just a total pisser.
* I got shit on by a bird for the first time since I was about seven years old within a couple of days of coming here.
* The coastal winds are utterly vicious, especially at night.
* And the nights are cooooooooold.
* Spiders and woodlice and bugs generally… lots of them. Everywhere.
* Nothing resembling a ‘proper’ city locally.
* Most of the buildings are ancient and in a shockingly awful state of decay. Even the really expensive ones. Double-glazing hasn’t been invented here yet.
* Living in an ancient, conversion-job building with a shared entrance and paper-thin walls really sucks. I don’t want to know when someone in the floor above farts, but I pretty much do.
* This Hobbit-hole won’t even allow a single divan through its doors. I still have neither a proper sofa to sit on or a bed to sleep on.
* Fresh coastal air, yes, but tons of earthy dirt and grime and dust nonetheless. Everywhere. Poor pooch Fred had a totally black belly within a week of being here.

And on and on and on. Think you get the idea. Brighton’s a beautiful place to visit, but man, living here is another matter entirely.
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White Space

Let’s talk about ambience. It’s by way of a ‘sort-of’ criticism of this house. It’s not a major problem, but what interests me is how so many people appear to disagree with my viewpoint.

Most of the walls are white.

Worst of all, for me, is the living room being all-white. I’m countering it to some degree—I’m filling as much wall space as I can with original artwork and prints. It improves things a lot. (Okay, so I might move. But the new place will 95% probably have white walls too, and I’ll be dealing with it the same way.)

I hate white walls. To me, it lacks atmosphere—it creates a feeling of sterility. Some people call it neutral but I call it sterile. If I had the autonomy to repaint this place, the living room would be a subdued purple or a reddish-brown. Whatever you hang on a wall like that really pops out, pleasingly, and the backdrop is so much warmer and friendlier.
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The Big Buzz

Oh, for the sake of balance: there is a huge, fuck-off Sainsbury’s round the corner. The clothes are rubbish and the Sound & Vision selection is about as tokenistic and paltry as you’d expect, but the food on offer (it is ostensibly a food store, after all) is nice and extensive.

And they sell Cote d’Or chocolate. *sigh* There goes the blood pressure again, but what the hell. I like it. It has a pretty little elephant on the wrapper (also embossed on the choc segments). The noir variety comes in 70% cocoa and nuclear-strength 86%. I’ve given in to temptation twice. I was awake for days.
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Want Some Fat With Yer Grease?

Another thing about London (well, this small pocket of London I’m in right now): fish and chips. Like, where?

I don’t have fish and chips often. A handful of times a year. But occasionally one does get the urge. And this is especially true if you can’t have said meal. In the approximately local vicinity, there are loads of eateries. Millions of them. Bazillions. But no fish and chip shop. What’s that all about?

By far the most common kind of eatery, around here, and perhaps London generally (I mean the cheaper bits of it, to be honest), is the fried chicken bar. You know, the one that offers stuff ‘just like’ KFC only half the price. Which is quite neat, because for half the price you get twice the calories, twice the cholesterol and twice the artery-hardening grease and fat!
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Milk!

One thing you London types don’t understand at all, and for completely different reasons us Brummie Provincials find hard to grasp, is the milk thing.

I really miss milk in glass bottles. Back in the stix, even if you didn’t have it delivered, you could stroll to your local corner shop, et voila, bottles of milk! Glass bottles. Loads of them.

London’s too ‘trendy’ and ‘high-speed’ for that. I have the most corner-shoppish corner shop you ever saw in your life down the road, but… no milk in glass bottles. It comes in plastic bottles. Very small ones, medium ones, huge ones. All plastic.
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