Book Shelf V: The Epic Conclusion **UPDATE**

I've got a bumper posting of books for you today to round off my first attempt at a theme week.

From the living room we move upstairs to the shelves where I keep my favourite books. So steady yourselves people, because in the words of The Joker - here … we … go:

So here's my shelf full of Love and Rockets books. I've posted it up before, but I think it's grown a bit since then - maybe a couple more books, and certainly a few more comic books. Oh, and there's a small canvas of Spock that Big Bro got me for Christmas. I really need to put my pictures up. I've been living here almost three years, and I still have pictures leaning up against the walls. How lazy is that?  

Right, so here we have my collection of Mark Poirier books (I highly recommend both Goats and Modern Ranch Living), as well as John Kennedy Toole's A Confederacy of Dunces and The Neon Bible (both of which I really should reread), and Chip Kidd's two novels (which are excellent). There's some other stuff, as you can see, but I'd really like to point out the hardback prose novel It's Superman! which is a fantastic retelling of Superman's origins set in the 30s and 40s (and at the time of writing Amazon are saying they only have one left in stock, so you'll have to fight amongst yourselves for it). Moving down to the next shelf you can see my collection of Chuck Palaniuk books, which quite frankly are going to get relagated to a downstairs shelf because his recent output sucks massively is a tad disappointing, Charles Burns' wonderful Black Hole (Amazon stock check: five - plenty for everyone), my leather-bound collector's edition of Bone (look - still in the plastic shrink-wrap!), and my collection of The Complete Peanuts which just looks better and better on the shelf as more volumes are added. Oh, and on the very right are my Garfield TV special books; I am not afraid to say that I like Garfield. 

Moving further down my IKEA Billy bookcase we find my DC Absolute Editions (Absolute New Frontier? Awesome), and a smattering of other graphic novels including Michel Rabagliati's brilliant series of 'Paul' books. To the right of the picture you'll also see Rant, Chuck Palaniuk's 2007 novel (which I refuse to provide a link to); it was this book that completely destroyed my faith in his storytelling, and it's sat there since I finished reading it in disgust last summer. I'm unsure whether I should allow it onto a book shelf or just fling it out the window.

Last but by no means least, we come to the stack of books awaiting the attention of my eyes and brain. Since taking this picture I've actually finished reading William Shatner's Up Till Now (look at the picture on the spine - campest Shatty EVAH), and the next book down, Invasion of the Mind Sappers by Carol Swain. Beneath those you'll see (in descending order) Jaime Hernandez's latest book, The Education of Hopey Glass, The Shadow of the Sun (a freebie from barista dude in Starbucks after it was given away in The Times and I was too cheap to buy it), Freakonomics (which I actually bought The Times at the considerable expense of 70p to get my mits on), Steinbeck's East of Eden, The latest collection of Love and Rockets stories, Amor Y Cohetes, and the latest edition of The Complete Peanuts.

*Phew*

I'm reading Freakonomics at the moment: it's ace.

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**UPDATE**

At IDV's request, I'm adding a picture of my Calvin and Hobbes books because I initially forget about those. These are so big that they have to stand on the floor next to my bookshelf. And they are so heavy that when I read them I could only do so for 20 minutes at a time because they cut off the circulation to my legs. I do love 'em though.

Book Shelf IV: Down to the Floor

OK, so we're back to books today. Here are the lowest two shelves of the massive book shelf in my living room.

And with a couple of exceptions they're full of Star Trek books.

So here we have my big reference books (and two Rolling Stones biographies). The first Trek book on the left is my bible, The Star Trek Encyclopedia. I actually own two versions of this book - the other is a paperback and it's at work; it's well-worn, like it's been in a fight with a Mugato or something. The one you see here is my nice one. It's a hardback version, and it was one of the last presents I ever got from my grandparents on Sparky Pa's side before they passed away. As you can imagine, I'll be hanging on to this book for a while yet. 

Moving along past the reference books you can see the autobiography section, which includes William Shatner's two Star Trek Memories books (not to be confused with his new autobiography 'Up Till Now' which deals with his life outside of Star Trek. As well as some more of his life in Star Trek. As you might expect, Star Trek's played quite a big part in his life).

Also, you might see what appears to be a transparent Borg Cube. This is not, in fact, a transparent Borg Cube; it's actually a light from Habitat that I was given several years ago. It's supposed to be the 21st century equivalent of a candle, but it's rubbish if there's a power cut because, well, it needs electrickery.

Moving on…

Here's all my Star Trek fiction. I actually gave a load of old Star Trek novels to charity shops when I moved out because I knew I'd never read them again (they were *really* happy to receive them, let me tell you), but I did keep all the movie novelisations and the Shatnerverse books. Oh, and you see the novelisation of TNG's final episode, 'All Good Things…'? Sparky Pa bought me that when I passed my GCSE exams back in '94. 

There's actually a few more novels off to the right (the few Star Trek ones that I did keep), but I couldn't fit them in the frame. I don't think you're missing much by not seeing them.

Tomorrow: the final thrilling installment!

Intermission: "It's Richmond Park - there's trees *everywhere*"

We interrupt the regularly-scheduled Book Shelf theme week for a story of adventure and excitement in the wilderness of a West London park. 

(Oh, and it's my 600th post, so I thought it was deserving of something a little bit more special than a couple of pictures of books on shelves)

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Running club last night offered something a little different to the regular training activities: orienteering. I've never done orienteering in my life, but the idea has always appealed to me, perhaps because it reminds me of the classic Anneka Rice television programme Treasure Hunt (before Anneka left and was replaced by the hopeless Annebel Croft). Upon finding out about the orienteering evening a few weeks back I immediately began pestering Sweatband, certain that she'd be up for the challenge.

"No. I hate orienteering," was her response. 

Bugger.

Still, I'm nothing if not persistent, so I kept hassling her until she caved.

"OK, but I'm not doing any map work," she said.

"Fine," I replied. "I'll do all that."

And this is where I tell you that I've never done any map work in my life. Still, how difficult could it be? Sparky Pa reckons I've got a great sense of direction; he always used to say that if he dumped me in a field in the middle of nowhere he was pretty certain I'd find my way home again.

All throughout Tuesday I was mega-excited, even when I woke up first thing in the morning to hear torrential rain outside. It could only add to the fun, right? So I rock up to running club headquarters at about 18:40 to find a relatively miserable looking Sweatband skulking around outside. She started kicking off with excuses straight away.

"You've got to pay, did you know you've got to pay? I've got no cash on me."

As a gentleman, I naturally offered to pay for her - especially seeing as she was doing it for me. She looked crestfallen. 

"We've got to wait an hour until it starts…" 

I pretty much blocked out any other complaints by smiling, nodding, and hearing her voice as if she were talking like the school teacher in Peanuts - y'know all "whah whah whah…" That seemed to work.

With that sorted I dragged Sweatband into the clubhouse to sign-up. There was a choice between a 6km route, or a 10; again, seeing as Sweatband wasn't terribly excited by the prospect of orienteering, I agreed that we'd do the six. So I handed over the cash (12 quid, although the organiser dude decided to only charge me eight) and collected our dibber and map. The dibber was a little electronic tag thingy that we needed to press into a device left beside each marker around the course in order to prove that we'd followed the route correctly, and to track our time. Sweatband swiftly appointed me dibber custodian because she was refusing to take responsibility for anything other than putting one foot in front of the other. 

The map looked like this:

We immediately began studying the route - and I say 'we' because despite her initial refusal to even look at the map or acknowledge it even existed, Sweatband began to show a surprising amount of interest; perhaps because she hoped to be able to recognise some of the marker locations beforehand so that we could get the whole thing over and done with as quickly as possible. Encouragingly, I immediately knew where Marker 1 was located.

At about 1935 we wandered over to the start line, and within a couple of minutes we were on our way. Oh, and it started chucking it down with rain, which made the map a bit soggy. 

As expected, Marker 1 was located relatively easily; we overran by about 50 metres, and had to turn back and climb a hill to find it, but find it we did. And from there, I held the map out in front of me, literally imagining myself within it in order to to visualise the location of Marker 2.

"This way," I said confidently to Sweatband, pointing into the distance before setting off heroically into the bracken like a gazelle.

About 20 minutes later Sweatband was standing with her hands on her hips looking at me in that way that women look at you when they're deeply unimpressed. I, in contrast, had turned into assertive alpha male - you know the one, the type of guy who isn't actually 'lost as such,' but doesn't know exactly 'where you are per se,' and either won't admit it or claim that the map is wrong. Fortunately there was a clue on the map: the marker was located in a tree.

I began looking in and around various trees.

"It's Richmond Park," shouted Sweatband. "There's trees *everywhere*"

"I know!" I replied. "But we don't need to look in *every* tree - just the ones in the general vicinity."

I think I was *this* close to being a headline on today's newspapers: Hot young editor found beaten to death in park (subheading: Crazed local woman held by police).

After backtracking a … fair way, we finally located Marker 2. It was in a tree. As I gave Sweatband the thumbs up she looked at me with something unlike enthusiasm and said "I was going to give it two more minutes before giving up and going back to the clubhouse." I could be wrong, but I think she was actually a little bit disappointed that I found Marker 2. Anyway, with that devil of a marker finally out of the way, and the ragged remnants of our friendship just about holding together, I'm not afraid to say that I was on orienteering fire after that. Marker 3 was found just minutes later, along with an event organiser snuggled down by a tree.

"Don't worry," she laughed as I dibbed the dibber. "The sweeper's not been round yet!"

I smiled, and as we ran off towards Marker 4 I asked Sweatband what a sweeper was.

"It's the person who goes round to make sure no one is lost or left in the park when it closes," she replied matter-of-factly.

Marker 4 was found quickly and easily, and then we were off towards the fifth and final one, which I found after running on ahead after secretly fearing that I might have led Sweatband astray again, and not wanting to incur her wrath for a second time. From Marker 5 we could see down the hill toward the finish line, so tantilisingly close. And that's when Sweatband set off like a whippet on a beeline for the finish. 

If we'd really been paying attention, we probably would've noticed that what initially looked like relatively short grass was actually bumpy, untamed wilderness, but I really don't think anything short of an elephant tranquilizer could've stopped Sweatband as she barreled downhill, desperate to cross the line and bring the evening's events to a close. I followed a bit more carefully behind, which gave me a prime vantage point to observe her as she suddenly veered to the left, then to the right, then to the left again before ending up sitting in a big patch of thorns. I would've immediately offered a hand to help her up, but I was left speechless at her marvelous comedy fall. It was super-impressive.

After a few seconds of sitting in the thorns, Sweatband hauled herself up and showed me a cut on her hand, and some awesome-looking slices on her leg. Seriously, it looked like she'd gone one-on-one with a samurai squirrel or something. But do you know what? She totally laughed it off (and later showed them to everyone in the clubhouse as her "war-wounds"). 

As we finally staggered towards the finish line, the smiling, bleeding Sweatband turned to me and admitted that she'd actually quite enjoyed herself. "I think we probably added about half a kilometre to our distance looking for the second marker, though," she said. I checked my iPod, having recorded the run data using my Nike+ kit. "Hmmm." I replied. "Make that an extra two and a half kilometres."

Yes, we ran 8.59km. 

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Some stats!

Times between markers/total time:

Marker 1 - 11:49/11:49

Marker 2 - 25:15/37:04

Marker 3 - 5:52/42:56

Marker 4 - 13:08/56:04

Marker 5 - 7:24/1:03:28

Finish - 4:27/1:07:55

And here's my Nike+ graph:

See how consistent we were - except for that dip at the end which is where Sweatband fell over.

Book Shelf III: The Search for Books

And here they are:

The bulk of my Batman and Superman graphic novels here. Actually, looking at it this entire shelf is DC…

A scattering of Marvel books, some Dark Horse (the white-spined books are their great Star Wars Tales anthologies), and a few Alan Moore books (if you have never read From Hell, please ignore the atrocious film and read this incredible book).

Some quality stuff here - Watchmen (*so* excited by the trailer for the movie), my old Star Trek graphic novels (one of which I picked up years ago for 50p in a bookshop sale), some Daniel Clowes stuff (you probably know him best for Ghostworld, which unlike From Hell was made into a great movie), Bone, which is fookin' awesome, my treasured Dick Tracy Casebook from the early 90s (around the time when the movie came out), some Kevin Smith graphic novels, and some old-skool Ninja Turtles books (waaaaaay darker than the TV show).

More to come tomorrow…

Book Shelf II: Double trouble

Notice here how I've only just begun building up the second layer of books? There's some true gems here - World War Z and I Am Charlotte Simmons being the most obvious.

And… BAM! Graphic novels ahoy! We start here with some hardbacks - Liberty Meadows (awesome, an often inappropriately funny tale of … well, check it out here), Invincible, and some classic Marvel and DC stuff.

Book shelf I: The Motionless Pictures

I'm going to take my cue from Dinah and do something a little bit different for my next few posts - something with a theme. And my theme? 

Books.

I've got loads of books. Hundreds. And before I moved out I had even more, but I decided I needed to get rid of some of them, mainly because I knew I wouldn't read them again, but also because I needed to make room for the books I hope to buy in the future. There's something almost magical about a book. If you told me you were going to take away all different forms of media except one, I'd choose to keep books. Yes I love music, and I love movies… but books are different. With a book you can create your own vision of the author's world, unhindered by budgetry restraints. Your mind's eye can cast whoever you want in the roles of the individual characters.

I was reading an interesting article a few weeks back in which a writer was arguing how electronic book readers like the Amazon Kindle will never take off like the iPod has for music because we form emotional attachments to books, unlike CDs, which we're obviously quite happy to dispense with in favour of mp3s. I agree wholeheartedly. I have no problem buying music off the iTunes store instead of picking up a physical copy in a record shop. Similarly, I'm finding myself veering towards buying an Apple TV so I can rent and download movies from the iTunes movie store rather than buy DVDs that take up shelf space. 

Books, however, are different. I love seeing a shelf straining under the weight of books. The differing sizes, the designs of their spines all vying for your attention. Each book is different, from the feel of the paper to the – and this might sound weird - smell. Have you ever opened a book and just breathed in the smell? If you haven't, do it now.

So the next few days are going to be about books. I've been taking photos of my bookshelves (and believe me, there's a fair few of those at Sparky Towers), and I'm going to post them here for you to see. There's going to be some good books, and there's going to be some … not-so-good books. If you spot any titles on the shelves that you're intrigued by, let me know in the comments section and I'll post up the back cover blurb and a bit about what I thought of it.

Here we go then:

If you look carefully you'll actually see that the books on this shelf are two-deep. I'm actually not too sure what's hidden away at the back there, but I suspect there's some quality titles.

Pimp my iPhone

OK, how long have I had my iPhone? Almost six months, that's how long. And do you know what's really shocking? I've not bothered to change the stock wallpaper image that appears whenever you turn it on or wake it up. Yes, that's right - I've stuck with that ubiquitous image of good ol' planet Earth.

Time for a change, methinks.

And so, after rummaging around the digital archive at work today, I dug out a beauty of an image which was used on the cover of one of our magazines a few years back. I've always liked this pic, but it was always a bit of an odd shape to use for a desktop image. Fortunately it's the perfect shape for the iPhone.

That's obviously a mock-up of what it looks like, but you get the gist. Anyway, if I remember correctly the original CGI was created by this very talented fellow. I recommend you go check out his stuff.

Day-by-day

Word-up, peeps. OK, so not much exciting has been going on, so I just thought I'd give you a run-down of what I've been up to.

Brace yourselves: I wouldn't want anyone, y'know, falling out of their chairs or anything.

Monday

Um… bugger all happened, to be honest. And by that I actually mean I can't remember what I did. Something must've happened… Either I'm having a senior moment or Monday was exceedingly, crushingly dull. I know I watched One Tree Hill, but that was about it.

Let's move on. Nothing to see here.

Tuesday

Tuesday was running club day, and my group (i.e. the fair-to-middling group) was thrown in with the advanced group for reasons I shan't bother to go into here. We did something called 'triangles' which is basically a mega-intense up-hill/down-hill relay. It hurt. A lot. 

Actually, during the pre-triangles warm-up I seriously thought I'd done myself an injury. While doing a bunch of squat-thrusts I swear I felt something tear in my thigh, followed by an intensely warm sensation - almost like I'd sprayed an entire can of Deep-heat on my leg. My first thought was "shit, I've buggered my leg up," so I stopped doing squat thrusts and just flexed it a bit. Anyway, either it was nothing to worry about, or I've totally gone all Claire Bennet on ya, because within a couple of minutes the warm sensation had gone and I was in the midst of running up-hill like a complete nutter for my first triangles section.

Cue Claire Bennet-style cheerleader shenanigans:

Gimme a 'Y'!

Gimme an 'A'!

Gimme a 'Y'!

YAY!

Wednesday

Went to see The X-Files: I Want to Believe after work, which was a well-timed screening because it looks like the cinema's giving it the heave-ho after this week, pretty much confirming the general consensus that it's a big ol' flop. I really wanted to like this movie, because I was a) a big fan of the show back in the day, before it went so far up it's own ass all it could see was bowels and colon, and b) because I like to support the underdog. And d'ya know what? I liked it. It's not a 'WOW!' movie like The Dark Knight, but it's an intelligent and gripping thriller that does ask you to engage your brain (which DK does too, admittedly). Therein lies the rub, though, people: it's not a summer blockbuster. It's a smaller film, much smaller in scale than the first X-Files movie; almost like an independent movie in fact, though I'd disagree with those who say it's just like a longer version of one of the TV episodes. I can't honestly recall any moments that required any kick-ass special effects, and at one point I wasn't entirely sure it was going to have that familiar X-Files twist - which would've been an interesting twist on the established format to say the least. I did think the end was a tad rushed, though. 

I genuinely think that if the studio had taken a real look at what Chris Carter and co had made, they could've made this a bigger hit. If it had come out around October, say, near Halloween or something, then I think it might've made a bigger impact. But putting it up against The Dark Knight? Dumb.

Thursday

Today will probably rank up there with Monday, which means by tomorrow morning it's doubtful I'll remember anything that happened. So let's list some things that happened so I can remind myself:

• Friendly barista-dude in Secret Starbucks gave me a copy of The Shadow of the Sun which he kept for me after it was given away free in The Times last week and I was too cheap to pay 70p for it. He must really want me to read it, so I'll add it to the book stack and give it a whirl at some point.

• Technical issues prevented me from doing some work I'd really wanted to do. Poopy.

• New-look Facebook troubles me. I'll be sticking with the old one, thank you.

• I am highly amused by these Batman y-fronts, which have 'BOOM!' and 'WHAK!' (tee-hee!) emblazoned across them.

• I am loading every Jeff Buckley track I own onto my iTunes. Good times.

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Right, that's me - what've you bitches been up to?

The Martians cometh

Jo and I went shopping to Woking today. Why Woking, you may ask. It's a good question, I'll grant you that. And the answer is because it's somewhere a bit different than our usual haunts. Variety being the spice of life, and all that.

It was all a bit shocking at first, because Jo immediately dragged me into a load of girly shops and started spending money like there was no tomorrow. I've not seen her like that before. She was like a woman possessed. I had to dissuade her from buying a revolting dress that even she acknowledged was revolting. 

I needed a coffee just to calm things down a bit. 

I soon hit my stride, though. I've recently rediscovered Topman, and there was a pretty decently-sized Topman hidden away in one of the shopping malls. And goddamn did I get my own back. I ended up going into a changing room carrying two t-shirts and three pairs of jeans, one of which was a skinny pair that Jo convinced me to try on. They actually fitted OK, and didn't look like they'd been painted on, but they had weird zippy pockets which went against the classic jeans-look I was after. Another pair was massively and unnecessarily-flared, so they went back on the shelf straight away. Fortunately pair number three was awesome-personified; a straight-fit pair that will go with my new posh shoes really well. 

As for the t-shirts, I ended up buying one - an extra-deep vee-necked affair that cost six quid and shows off my man-baps like nothing else in my wardrobe. We actually debated whether it was wise to show of that much chest, but for six quid it's no real loss if I end up using it as a duster. 

Jo was also on the lookout for man-jewelry for me. Not big diamond rings or chavvy stuff like that, more like bohemian-style wrist accoutrements. I quite like the idea, but I'd really need to find something I like before I bought anything - even if they were less than a fiver. Our conversation also strayed onto the topic of guyliner at one point, but I ain't going there unless someone stumps up some serious cash, even if it will accentuate the bottomless depths of my lovely eyes.

All in all, then, a rather successful afternoon. And look - the jeans and shoes are an awesome match!

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Shopping's not all we did in Woking, though. We avoided being enslaved by Martian invaders.

This is where they landed. Look what they did to the brickwork. That's just rude.

The Martians are coming - RUUUUUUUUN! Where's Tom Cruise when you need him!?

Ha ha. Just kidding, like I'd need Tom Cruise. But no, really, all this Martian stuff is set up in the high street because Woking is a key location in the Martian attack in H.G. Wells' The War of the Worlds. In fact, one of the reasons I love that book so much is that a lot of the action takes place in locations I know really well. I'd be well set if they actually did invade. With my deep-vee t-shirt, new jeans and posh shoes I'm pretty certain I'd simply dazzle the Martians with my on-trend fashion sense and sexy moves.

Bad start

At the time of writing, I'm less than a day into the weekend, and already I've faced three rather vexing situations.

It all started quite nicely, to be honest. Yazzle Dazzle and I decided over our lunchtime coffee to meet up for a post-work coffee, which we haven't done for aaaaages. And so, at 17:45 I met her outside her office and we trundled down to Secret Starbucks. Because it was rather warm Yaz decided to forgo the traditional Grande Misto and head down the Frappuccino route - and I decided to join her. 

About an hour later, and with so much chocolate spread over my hands and face that the nice barista lady  let me pop into Secret Starbucks to wash myself at the secret sink behind the counter (it looked weird being on the other side!), we toddled off our separate ways, both looking forward to weekend shenanigans.

I got home at around half seven after a brief stop-off at Sainsbury's only to find the private car park was … inexplicably full. And. Someone. Was. In. My. Space. And we all know how I feel about that. So I gesticulated at them to move, and as they did I realised that they were one of about four cars. All of which were full of teenagers. Doing drugs.

If I had've noticed this at first I probably would've gone and parked up in one of the visitors spaces just so my car was out of the way, but having asked them to move I thought it would've looked a bit weird to go park somewhere else. So I parked up, grabbed my stuff, and headed out of the car park without making eye contact. Because I had no intention of being stabbed-up by 12 teenagers. 

Now let's get this straight - I've never done drugs, and I never will. Not my thing. But I don't particularly care what people do so long as it doesn't harm or effect anyone else. If you want to do drugs, fine - do them. But do them in the privacy of your own home. Or in the middle of a field. Not in a private car park. At half past seven in the evening. There are some older people living round here - how intimidating would three or four cars full of teenagers be? 

Don't get me wrong - my area isn't normally like this. My road is quiet and hidden away (which probably explains why they came here). As far as I was concerned, though, they shouldn't be there. So I called the police. Admittedly I did debate whether it was a wise course of action because my parking space has a huge big number on it, but then I figured there were a couple of other people who'd come home and parked up, and there are plenty of houses overlooking the car park, so if they were going to take any sort of revenge they'd have to take it against at least 15 houses. Anyway, I thought it was better to nip this in the bud straightaway rather than let them think they have somewhere to come whenever they feel like it.

The police were very helpful, but ultimately the kids disappeared before they turned up. Still, I'm keeping my eyes open. Like a hawk. Or Batman!

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Problem the second was much less troubling, but still something of an annoyance. For various reasons - related to my book and another project I have in mind - I decided to buy myself a printer. A rather awesome printer-scanner combo. It looks funky, it was reasonably-priced, and apparently it's very good. Unfortunately, after getting it out of the box and setting it up, I discovered that Canon don't actually supply you with a USB cable to connect it to you computer.

*HELPFUL…*

So I'm sitting here with an awesome printer beside me (on the floor admittedly, because it is quite big) but I can't actually print to it. So I'll have to head out in a while to buy a cable. Although I'm quite tempted by the bluetooth adapter so I can print wirelessly. Decisions, decisions! What I do know, though, is that I don't want it sitting on the floor forever, which means I now have a valid reason to buy that red LACK I've always wanted! 

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Our third and final problem concerns my broadband. Back in June I arranged to change my broadband provider to one that literally halved the cost of my service and would provide me with a wireless router, which is cool because then I'd have Wi-Fi which means I could use my iPhone as a remote control for my computer. Unfortunately, though, despite emailing them to ask what was going on with my new service, I've heard little from them since June. As I woke up this morning I suddenly decided that I was going to leap into action. And as I came downstairs I noticed a letter on my doormat - from the new provider. 

I excitedly tore it open, hoping for some good news only to find…

Dear Sir,

Thank you for registering with us. Unfortunately, the MAC migration code you supplied us with has expired. Please contact your current provider to request another one.

WTF!?!?

Getting the Mac code from my current provider (which is actually a sister-company to the provider I'm going to) was a massive job in itself! I don't want to have to go through that again! So I adopted my angry voice and called the new provider, at which point I told them that the MAC code I originally supplied wouldn't have expired if they hadn't taken their time actually processing the order. 

I was so hardcore. I even used the phrase "pain in the arse," knowing full well that my call was being recorded for training purposes. I was that irate that I actually made the guy on the other end of the line stutter (which I admittedly feel a bit bad about). Still, a good result: when I do get a new MAC code they're going to hurry my order along AND waive the £30 set-up fee!

That's how I roll!

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Right, so Sparky Ma always told me that bad things always come in threes, so as far as I'm concerned my weekend should all be about kittens and rainbows from here on in. And what's planned? Dragging Big Bro to see The Dark Knight, because although he says he's not bothered about it I know he'll love it. And tomorrow Lovely Jo and I are off shopping. To Woking of all places! I haven't been shopping there since I bought a toy of the Enterprise-D from Toys R Us just after Star Trek: The Next Generation first began. In fact I've still got it - the saucer detaches and everything. Anyway, we're going clothes shopping, and I've already told Jo that I'm going to keep popping out of the changing rooms to see what she thinks - and if she's really lucky I might try some clothes on too.

A most unusual question!

So Yazzle Dazzle and I were having coffee outside Secret Starbucks today and there's this van parked up opposite us. I pretty much ignored it at first, but after about 20 minutes I got bored of listening to Yaz waffle on, so I read what was on the side of the van.

So my question to you is, based on this company's most unusual service, if you were going to insert a nipple anywhere, where on Earth would you insert it and why?

The wait is over

Running club III

I'd promised myself that I wasn't going to write anything about running club this week, but then I decided I would, because something wonderfully unexpected happened there, and a trilogy worked for Tolkien with Lord of the Rings.

Oh, and there might be a treat for putting up with all my running nonsense - of which there's been plenty recently, I know. More on that when you've ploughed through this.

Right, so tonight was my third time going to running club and I was totally flying solo because Sweatband wasn't there, and all the other people I've gotten to know over the last couple of weeks were either absent, injured, or only turned up to go to the pub after. That being the case, it was quite nice that there was another newbie there, and we ended up chatting - mainly because one of the other guys said "hang around Tim - he knows what's going on."

My reaction to that was kind of like "me!?" because I didn't have a clue what was going on and was just going to latch on to anyone I recognised and then follow them around until we started running. Turns out though, that I just needed to latch onto the woman who led the interval training last week, because she was leading another torturous session and I'm nothing if not a glutton for punishment. So I latched onto her, newbie latched onto me, and all was well with the world.

Tonight's session consisted of running through Richmond Park to the polo field where we separated into pairs. Each member of the pair then had to run half a lap of the field, before tagging their team member who would then run the other half - kind of like an ongoing relay. We did this – I am not kidding you – for 25 minutes. Initially me and newbie were hanging around the middle of the field, but then that wonderful thing I mentioned took place - we started moving up the field. OK, it wasn't a race or anything, but we were a good, consistent team. I was certain that it was my teammate who was doing all the work, but then I realised that I was definitely holding my own. Before I knew it, we were in third. Then second. Then in the very last segment I found myself pacing the leader, mere footsteps behind him. And as we rounded the last corner onto the straight I realised it was now or never - so I mustered every last ounce of strength and really went for it. I pulled one of my now almost-legendary sprint finishes out of the bag, and overtook him. I heard him laugh in a "I-can't-quite-believe-it" way as I headed toward the line and - yeah, I know I said it wasn't a race, but y'know… - took the victory!

Two relative newbies taking victory over established club runners - hurrah for us!

Unfortunately, as this was just a training session there were no medals or anything, but in my head this goes down as one of my finest running moments so far. Ruined only by the fact that I've just realised I've been wearing my vest inside out all evening. 

*sigh*

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Right, I promised you a treat, didn't I? Come back here tomorrow and I might just show you the cover of my book…

"I don't like it": Sparky and Big Bro hit the motor show

I'd not actually intended on going to the British International Motor Show this year. Not because I've turned into a raving environmentalist and gone off cars, but because I know what I want for my next motor, and I don't see that changing at any point in the near future. Still, Big Bro got some cheapo tickets and asked me if I wanted to go, so I thought 'it's something to do' and said yes.

The day did not start well.

Let me pause here to say that Big Bro is in the market for a new car, but is dithering. Rather a lot. He's actually been in the market for a new car since the last motor show in 2006, and depending on which day you ask him, he wants a new VW Scirocco, a VW Golf GTI, a Renaultsport Clio 197, a Renaultsport Megane R26, a Mazda MX-5, a new Seat Ibiza Sportcoupe, a Seat Leon Cupra, a Ford Focus ST, or maybe a new Fiesta when they do an ST version. There's probably a few others that I've forgotten about, mainly because there's only so many things I can hold in my brain. He definitely does not want a new Alfa Romeo Mito, though.

With this in mind, we set off for the Excel Centre in the East End of London.

Where were we? Oh yes - things did not begin well. 

The first port of call was the Ford stand because, well, it was massive and both the new Fiesta and the Focus ST where there. I don't know if Big Bro was suffering from some motor show tension at first, but he seemed a little reluctant to get in a new Fiesta. So I did instead. It's interesting… quite sexy looking on the outside, but the dashboard is based on the design of a mobile phone. A mobile phone from about eight years ago, apparently. It's certainly nothing like my iPhone. After a bit of cajoling I managed to get Big Bro to sit in the driver's seat. His expression pretty much suggested that someone had farted in it, and as he got out he very loudly said "I don't like it" - straight at a nice Ford lady who'd come to ask if we wanted any information.

I am not kidding when I say that the look on her face made it seem like he'd called her mother a prostitute then punched her in the boob. I thought she was going to cry. Fortunately she recovered rather quickly and professionally, and set about trying to convince Big Bro of the Fiesta's charms. He wasn't having any of it, though - even when she said that he should go sit in the Titanium model because that has "all the goodies." Slowly coming to the conclusion that she was flogging a dead horse (admittedly one with a 1.6 litre engine in Zetec S trim), she tried to convince him to go sit in the new Ford Kuga, but Big Bro likes sporty cars, not four-wheel-drives, so he just smiled at her and eventually she just gesticulated towards the back of the stand and told us they were handing out free ice lollies there.

I was having much better luck, however. Now, in years gone by I'd go to motor shows just to perve over Porsches and Ferraris and the like, but since I actually started driving I've realised that I really like small cars - hence my infatuation with Minis. Small cars are cool; there's some really nicely designed small cars around with great little design touches. And in this day-and-age of high petrol prices, exorbitant running costs, and crowded roads, I'm more impressed by cars that can get 50 miles to the gallon than cars that can hit 200 mph and look like they were designed by someone armed only with a pencil and ruler. 

And so it was that I arrived at the Citroen stand and ended up sitting in a little C1 hidden away at the back behind all the bigger shinier, newer models. This little city car has been around for a couple of years now (I actually sat in one at the last motor show), but for a six grand motor I think they're pretty cool. I know someone who owns one and she loves it (even if the gearbox did just fall out of it); I think it's a characterful little car with the sort of cheeky personality that's missing from a lot of modern motors. 

Just I was about to get out, though, one of the Citroen ladies came up to me. Uh-oh, I thought, she's going to try and collar me with brochures and stuff!

"Do you want to drive it?" she asked.

And so five minutes later I was out the back of the Excel Centre about to get into a little black five-door Citroen C1, with my six-foot-something tall brother squeezed in the back (although he claimed there was more room back there than in my Mini) and some guy named Adrian sitting in the passenger seat to make sure I didn't try to steal it. I started it up, and headed off around the test track that was set up in the grounds of Excel. I expected Adrian to spend all the time trying to sell me on the virtues of the C1, but instead he just said "it's built in the same factory as the Peugout 107 and Toyota Aygo…" then started telling us how he'd been getting into all the concerts that had been taking place at the show in the evening, and that the Alice Cooper gig had been awesome with lots of fake blood and vampires sacrificing a baby or something. "Does he actually do any singing?" Big Bro asked. "Oh yes," replied Adrian. "He was singing while he was sacrificing the baby." He then proceeded to stick his head out of the window, claiming that he'd barely seen daylight since the show started five days ago. Then he let me do another lap, which might've been a mistake because by that time I was revving that little three-cylinder engine quite happily and crying with laughter. And when we finished he gave both me and Big Bro free road atlases worth £6.99. Bonus - but admittedly a bit of a pain that we had to carry them around for the rest of the day. On the other hand, they did give us the opportunity to map-slap any annoying people who got in our way.

Returning to the show we started talking to some Vauxhall dude who told us about the Platinum Lounge hidden away somewhere which contained lots of exotic supercars like a Mercedes SLR and a Bugatti Veyron. It all sounded rather wonderful until he told us that to get in you needed to show a key from a car that cost over 100k, which admittedly made it sound like a swingers club for the super rich. The Vauxhall dude nevertheless suggested that we should try to sneak in, but always one to walk on the right side of the law we asked if we could borrow the keys to enough Corsas and Astras to add up to the required 100k figure. He said no, so we headed off. 

After spending half an hour outside in the sunshine watching a number of awesome classic supercars be pelted round a small test track, we reached the Mini stand where I spent plenty of time hugging various Minis, but failed in my attempt to convince Big Bro to let me go into the Mini owners lounge where they were offering free drinks. I think he was worried that he'd be left outside while I chillaxed in a Mini-branded oasis. Then we headed over to the Alfa Romeo stand, where Big Bro was fully prepared to diss the new Alfa Mito, but curiously ended up thinking it was pretty awesome; I'm not sure, but it may have had something to do with Letitia, the lovely Alfa lady in the low-cut dress who stopped to talk shop with us while we queued to sit in it.

All-in-all then, it was a pretty cool day. And a successful one for Big Bro, whose list of desired motors now consists of … well, pretty much all the cars he'd been interested in before, but with the Mito taking the place of the Fiesta. And me? I'm still gunning for that Mini Clubman.

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Some photos? Some photos!

Apparently Ford's engineers were told to bear in mind the environmental angle of the mental new Focus RS - so they painted it green.

Just about to head out for a drive in the Citroen C1. Skinny tyres, a tiny three-cylinder engine … it was actually a quality, characterful little car!

It looked like there'd been a hit and run on the Vauxhall stand.

The Mazda Furei is a definite contender for the next Batmobile.

I'm not sure if Big Bro is down with appearing on my blog, so I've pixelated his face to protect his identity.

I tried taking a picture of a Ferrari F40 at the outside classic supercar track - and missed.

Vrooooom! He was going even quicker on the second lap…

Big Bro was a bit quicker off the mark with his camera - James Bond's motor, anyone?

Big Bro made me pose by a Renault Megane R26R like a cheap piece of motor show totty.

Just look at the dopey expression on my face as I check out the new John Cooper Works Mini.

For some reason I've developed a fascination with cubby holes and glove boxes. Most new cars have tiny gloveboxes - what's that all about!?

Checkin' out the concealed boot floor in the Mini Clubman for reasons that are neither interesting nor immediately apparent.

OK, even I'll admit it's a little bit weird to just stand there stroking a Mini.

D'ya see how cumbersome my free atlas was? Still, it was free so I shouldn't complain too much.

I look like Han Solo about to boot the Millennium Falcon into light speed here. In reality I was fiddling with the new ceiling-mounted toggle switches in a Clubman.

Alfa's done a damn fine job of carrying design touches over from the 100k+ 8C Competizione supercar to the new 13k Mito. Let's just hope they've worked out how to put a car together so that bits don't fall off, eh?

The Toyota IQ was one of my stars of the show - it's an unbelievably tiny, chunky-looking urban runabout that can carry three adults, but is barely bigger than a Smart ForTwo. I'm not kidding - this is the car of the future.

This is my 'do hurry up' face.

The Dark Knight

Saturday was quite possibly one of my most eagerly anticipated days in living memory - because it was time to see The Dark Knight. 

Now this was quite a big deal to me. Tim Burton's first Batman film was probably the first movie that really grabbed me and sucked me in. In the summer of '89 I went from being a kid who hated Batman (to this day I still *loathe* the Adam West series), to being someone who totally got the dark, gothic look of the film. One of my strongest memories of that time is buying the novelization in Richmond and reading it all the way through - all 220 pages of it - in the same day. The next week I pestered Sparky Ma into taking me back so that I could buy the official making of book. And the comic book adaptation. In fact, I still have all three.

On the day we finally got to see the movie I wore a Batmobile t-shirt and a Batsign baseball cap. There was little doubt what film I was there to see. I was paranoid, though, that I wouldn't actually get into the cinema because the film was rated 12, and I was actually three months off that birthday. Still, I slipped in under the radar and I loved it.

The Joker was a big deal for me. I totally got Jack Nicholson's take on the character, and I think his absence from the subsequent movies was one of the main reasons they paled in comparison - Batman Forever and *ugh* Batman and Robin in particular. Nipples on the Batsuit? I ask you…

Then, in 2005 Batman Begins came out. I was excited about this movie, but not overly so. I saw it and thought it was a great film, but it didn't rock my world like Batman '89 did. I put it down to being older and less likely to succumb to the blockbuster movie hype machine. One of my main criticisms was that while I thought the level of believability was great, and they did a fantastic job of making Batman fit into the real world, I didn't necessarily need to know how he got his suit and all his equipment together. The first half, with the flashbacks to Bruce Wayne's childhood and his training, though brilliantly told, kind of bored me; for me, it dragged a little until the second half.

In preparation for The Dark Knight, however, I set myself a bit of Batman revision, and revisited both Batman '89, Batman Begins, and for the first time, Batman: Gotham Knight, an animated special made up of six short films that bridge the gap between Begins and DK.

Curiously I actually found myself a little bored during the '89 movie. Maybe it was my utter familiarity with it; maybe it was because beneath all the grime and darkness it actually is just a little bit campy. On the other hand, I completely reappraised Begins and thoroughly enjoyed it; it's a superbly crafted movie. Letting the side down a little, however, was Gotham Knight which was a bit hit-and-miss, and seemed to have little in common with the two movies it was supposed to share a commonality with.

And then… The Dark Knight.

I'd actually stopped into Shepherds Bush cinema on Friday afternoon to pick up tickets for this, having spontaneously decided to take the afternoon off work. This was actually a bit of a foolish move because I was very tempted to head into the half-two showing that was just about to start. I was good, though, and just bought the tickets and walked off. 

Twenty-four hours later I was back, and ready to see the film that I'd been looking forward to since the first trailer appeared towards the end of last year. My excitement level for this was unexpectedly high, the only reason being, I think, because The Joker, one of my very favourite villains, was back, and Heath Ledger seemed to have put an interesting new spin on it.

And I was not disappointed. This is no word of a lie, one of the THE best movies I've seen in a long time. There's so many storylines in play, genuine twists and turns, fantastic acting throughtout… it's simply stunning. And with all the origin story done and dusted in Batman Begins, The Dark Knight could truly focus on telling a wonderful tale unhindered by any backage that comes with the character. In fact, I don't think Bruce's parents even got a mention.

There were so many fantastic moments in this film, and I really urge anyone who's wavering to absolutely go see it at the cinema, on the big screen where it deserves to be. And the highlight of the whole thing? I'm going to join the crowds of admirers and say that it has to have been Heath Ledger. He completely dominated the film as The Joker - so much so that he appears to become lost in the character. When he's not onscreen the other characters are talking about him - The Joker casts a loooooong shadow over the whole thing, and Ledger deserves every bit of praise directed at his wonderful performance.

At two and a half hours it's a long film, but it never feels it; and it is gruesome and disturbing in places - not gratuitously so, but definitely not one for the kids. The best Batman movie ever made? I really think so. I have to see it again.

A tale of two Tims: The Wedding Day 7k

Of all the days and times to do a club run, Friday night at 19:30 might seem like a bit of an odd one. But to be honest it wasn't, and actually turned into a rather lovely evening. In fact it's been a rather lovely day full stop because knowing that I'd need to sort myself out for the run I decided to take a half day at work so was home nice and early.

So, by about half past six I'd parked up in Hampton and at Sweatband's instruction met her outside the United Reform Church – which is tragically the best offer I've had since the last run we did when she said "see you under Twickenham Bridge at 8:20." I do lead an exciting life, don't I?

We then strutted into Bushy Park where, after learning it at Tuesday's running club warm-up, I gave Sweatband a crash-course in how to do the plank, as I'm now an expert in it. Obviously. Abs of steel. Soon after that we started bumping into other members of running club - including a lovely lady who's got a dog. Called Tim. 

I am not kidding when I tell you that every time someone called that dog I instinctively turned round. One of us seriously has to change their name. I've always been partial to Wolfgang.

Anyway, shortly after that we all lined up at the start line. There were loads of people - waaaaaay more than at the Dysart Dash 10k, and our times were being recorded by snazzy computer chips that we had to attach to our shoes. And this is where I'm going to digress for a moment, because the chips were pretty freakin' large, and looked a bit like a cream cracker.

WTF…?!

And just how did this miraculous piece of technology attach to my shoe? With two good ol' fashioned wire-twist pipe-cleaners, of course. That's the future right there. How advanced. Anyway, between this chip and my Nike+ running sensor, my feet are seriously beginning to look like they're getting bogged down by technomalogical gubbins. I wonder if this has any bearing on my time? 

Compliments on my legs should be sent to the usual address.

Let's get back to the run, eh? Where were we? Oh yes - so we were at the start line, and some dude was shouting out some important information but wasn't using a megaphone so we couldn't hear him. What we did hear moments later, though, was a klaxon signaling that we were off. My intention was to stick pretty close to Sweatband, but there were just so many people that this quickly proved impossible. That and the fact I'm running faster than her these days*.

I was really glad to be off, to be honest, because although it's been a lovely warm sunny day, Bushy Park is quite open and there was a bit of a chill; within moments of starting my hand grazed across my chest and I felt something cold and pointy. I'm still not sure if it one of the safety pins holding my number on, or my right nipple.

Anyway, it was a really good run - the course was awesome (and thankfully virtually flat), and although I think I probably started a little too quickly and grew a little fatigued around the halfway point, I persevered and just. Kept. Going. And as the finish line came into view I pulled one of my notorious sprint finishes out of the bag; I actually felt a little bit bad about this at first because I zoomed straight between two people I'd been pacing behind over the last third of the course, but then I figured you snooze, you lose *snaps*. 

I'd guestimated (and hoped) that I'd probably finish around the 40 minute mark, but *drum roll please* I actually did it in 36:24, which I'm really pleased with. Here's my sexy graph because my Nike+ widget is still all FUBAR'd, apparently:

I think you can see where I grew fatigued, but checkout the sprint finish!

After that it was just a matter of cashing in my timing chip for my official Wedding Day 7k t-shirt!

I'd model it but it'd get all sweaty.

It kind of looks like the runners on the t-shirt are naked. I'll have to check that out more closely. 

So with the run bit out of the way it was just a matter of chillaxing in the summer sun. There was a whole picnic thing going on, and I got chatting to a few people I've gotten to know at running club, and bizarrely enough a lady I know who goes to running club, but who works at the company where I park my car at work. Small world, huh? Sweatband spent a bit of time trying to cajol Tim the dog's owner into being my new running trainer seeing as I've outgrown her, and I have a horrible feeling that I might end up a broken man if all these ladies have their way *grins*.

As the sun set and the evening drew to a close, however, things looked like they might've taken a rather unfortunate turn; "Oi!" I heard from a group of people just a little way away from us. "Tim's just pissed on my bag!" I immediately put my hands up and shouted back "No I didn't!"

Turns out it was the dog.

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So, what else am I doing this weekend?

THE DARK KNIGHT OF COURSE!!!!!!!!

I've already bought my ticket!

And yes, that photo was taken post-run. You may send compliments on my chest to the usual address.

*My how the tables have turned!