Bum cramp

In the two and a half years I've been practicing Bikram yoga various things have happened to me at points during class; I've felt dizzy, nauseous, light-headed, experienced pins and needles IN MY FACE, and felt like time has slowed down as I'm trying to move (a bit like the wormhole sequence in Star Trek: The Motion Picture; actually, a bit like Star Trek: The Motion Picture in its entirety). Despite that, what I've never had to do is leave the room, which is basically a big no-no unless you're on the verge of spontaneously combusting.

Until today, that is (I mean leave the room, not spontaneously combusting).

Because today, at around the halfway point of class when we were practicing Locust pose, I succumbed to what I can only describe as epic bum cramp.

I knew something was up from the moment I raised my left leg into the correct position, but I thought it was just a little muscle ache and it would pass quickly. It did not, however, and I was left with a pain that felt like I'd been repeatedly punched in the left arse cheek. Now usually with a cramp the best thing to do is stretch it out. Unfortunately, though, I don't quite know how you'd stretch out your bum at the best of times, let alone when you're lying on your stomach in a room full of around 50 or so people.

Instead I did what I thought at that point in time would be the next thing: I started, um, massaging it.

In hindsight, though, what it really looked like was me lying on my front kneading my bottom like some sort of sweaty, bottom-massaging pervert. And to make matters even more unsettling, it actually wasn't doing any good. So I did the unthinkable - I stood up and walked out of class (which sounds more heroic than it actually was because have you ever tried walking with a cramping bum cheek? It's REALLY difficult). Anyway, I wasn't exactly sure what I was going to do to rid myself of the cramp, so I hobbled into the men's changing rooms and walked in circles for a couple of minutes looking like I either had some weird OCD compulsion or I was practicing my Charlie Chaplin walk impersonation. Fortunately this had the dual effect of both reducing my spasming bum pain and making me miss one of my least favourite postures (erm, hurrah!).

And as if that wasn't enough of a WIN I subsequently returned to the studio and nailed the rest of the sequence *punches air*.

But that's not the end of it. Because I went back to the studio this evening for a posture clinic (which was brilliant, thanks for asking - I got to help out at one point; basically I was the Debbie McGee to my teacher's Paul Daniels), and as a result of me being rather brutally honest about my earlier ailment in reception immediately after class and subsequently across both Twitter and Facebook, it now appears that I have a new nickname. Yes, everyone appears to be taking incredible satisfaction in calling me Bum Cramp.

If it happens again I'll just lie and say it's a pulled hamstring.

Chessington world of utterly terrifying adventures

A couple of weeks back Glittering Lee emailed me and asked if I wanted to go to Chessington World of Adventures with him and a few of my other favourite people. I um'd and ah'd for a couple of days because, y'know, I really should be doing some work, but then I thought bugger it, I've been working pretty consistently over the last few months (even at the weekends - outrageous!) so I figured I deserved a day off.

And so off we toddled to Chessington World of Adventures which, due to a slight miscalculation on our part was packed out with squealing children as a result of it being half term. I mean, seriously, if you're not a parent how the hell are you supposed to know this? They should put up warning signs or something. On top of that, as we entered the park and I surveyed the white-knuckle delights awaiting us I suddenly remembered that I HATE THEME PARK RIDES.

How much do I hate theme park rides, you ask? Well, put it this way: a couple of us skipped off to the log flume (or Dragon Falls as Chessington call it, as if it weren't terrifying enough already) early to get on it before a massive queue formed, and when our boat arrived I stepped in it and then straight out of it before carrying on through the exit. The boys were less than impressed, but on the plus side I did then wander back and flirt with the girl on the gate.

Having wimped out on a ride that basically little girls will merrily line up for over and over again, I obviously wasn't too interested in going on things like Rameses Revenge, Vampire, Dragon's Fury, or Kobra (seriously, what evil genius names these things?!), although I derived much pleasure from watching the boys go on them (Skip's screams on Kobra were utterly brilliant and I genuinely felt like I experienced the ride vicariously through his incessant shrieking).

By about midday the boys were really looking at me like I should man up and go on something, so I said "oh, I'll definitely go on Black Buccaneer - there's a ride like that at Thorpe Park called Mr. Monkey's Banana Ride and I used to LOVE that."

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 An aside:

When I was about 18 I worked at a play scheme for kids under the age of 10 - basically a two week thing in the middle of the summer holidays where parents could dump their kids on us so they could have some time off. The final friday of the play scheme was always a trip to Thorpe Park, which the kids obviously loved and the parents obviously hated because it meant they were just days away from having to take responsibility for their offspring again. During one trip to Thorpe Park I basically made my group of kids go on Mr. Monkey's Banana Ride about 10 times by telling them it was pretty much the only ride they were all tall enough to go on.

I had a thrilling time.

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Turns out that I really should've paid more attention to the fact that the name Black Buccaneer sounds just a little bit more hardcore than Mr. Monkey's Banana Ride. As the queue snaked closer and closer to the ride I could feel a slight tightening effect of the scrotum that I really should've taken more notice of. Anyway, before I knew it I was settling in to the big fake pirate ship and eyeing up potential escape routes. Unfortunately, I didn't have time to act on these thoughts as by the time I decided that, yes, I think I will stand up and get off, the bars descended.

I found the following video on youtube to give you an idea of my ordeal. And to be quite honest there's no way I could've taken a video of this because my hands were clamped to the bars and my eyes were squeezed tightly shut.

Suffice to say when the torture was finally over I staggered away as quickly as I could.

To make matters worse, I was then manhandled back to the log flume where the boys surrounded me to prevent escape and sat me in the back of the boat (there was some discussion about making me go in the middle - and at one point, terrifyingly, at the FRONT - so they could keep an eye on me, but I pleaded to be allowed to go at the back so I couldn't see the horrors awaiting me). Despite having Skip wedged so close up against my gentlemanly region - something he's threatened me with several times before - I was actually quite grateful for his presence. I literally grabbed his arms (he probably still has bruises) and buried my face against his shoulder.

Here's another video I found on youtube.



If you watch right up until the end you'll see that to add insult to injury the last thing that happens on the ride is that you get pissed on by an elephant. Charming.

Anyway, it wasn't all doom and gloom. I thoroughly enjoyed the sedate monorail that takes you on a tour of the park from above and lets you see some of the animals (honking seals, gorillas, and two thoroughly bored looking lions), and I had a brilliant time on the dodgems with Skip; we identified a sweet looking mumsy lady and just kept smashing into her relentlessly. I also had a delightful chai latte in Cafe Nero, and the ferris wheel - sorry, Peeking Heights - was lovely, even if it was a bit chilly at the top.

All in all, then, it was a brilliant day. Next time, though, I'm suggesting we go to a nice stately home or a museum where the most troubling thing I'll be faced with is having to choose between the chocolate cake or the victoria cream sponge in the cafe.

Rochelle

Jesus. Even the thought of what I'm about to type makes me feel a bit uneasy…

So. I was out on Saturday night with some yoga pals bidding a fond farewell to a couple of brilliant yogi people who are leaving our sweaty little corner of West london for, ironically, the warmer climes of Australia in the next couple of weeks. After a bit of a get together at the studio we headed over the road to a pub that I've driven past loads over the last 10 years (it was on my route to work) and always thought I should check out but never did. Turns out it's a lovely pub with a massive garden and free wi-fi (BONUS).

On the downside, it turns out it's also home to Rochelle.

I say 'home,' but she was actually a patron just as we were. At least I think she was. Anyway, Rochelle … well, Rochelle was a treat in the loosest sense of the word.

Basically, at some point soon after we rocked up this middle-aged, very drunk woman named Rochelle latched on to a member of our group and apparently, although I did not witness this, started ramming her tongue down his throat. At some point he fended her off, and came and sat next to me.

Rochelle, seemingly oblivious to the fact that none of us knew who she was, followed and sat on the other side of him.

From that moment on the evening pretty much consisted of three of us verbally sparring with Rochelle, from attempting to answer her shouty question "WHERE IS THE SCRIPT?!" to her singing loudly (she actually wasn't too bad), and listening to her rabbit on about how she was friends with the actor Rufus Sewell to how her hand had appeared in an episode of the television show Bad Girls. She also made jewellery and was due in the south of France the next day, apparently. Throughout this, the poor chap she'd orally assaulted earlier in the evening kept turning to me and whispering "erm, will you help me?"

At some point during the evening I turned to speak to someone to my right and when I looked back the aforementioned chap had somehow slipped away from Rochelle's side and was now sitting opposite me grinning. I turned to my left to see Rochelle staring at me. "WHA' DOOO YOU DO?!" she shoutily slurred at me.

I don't know why, but at some point between my ears picking up what she said and my mouth answering I decided I was going to lie massively to Rochelle. "I'm an astrophysicist," I said.

I think my reckoning was that she'd have no interest in this, but it actually led to her going off on some sort of extreme rant about astrology and God with massive flailing arm gestures. I tried to diffuse the situation by saying something about the Hadron Large Collider, but that only resulted in me thinking I might end up wearing her pint at some point. Around this time I turned to look at the lady sitting next to me and with a broad smile on her face she said "I've never seen you look so scared."

Anyway, between a few of us I think we coped admirably under difficult circumstances. Unfortunately, as the evening wound down my cohorts in Rochelle containment managed to say their goodbyes and skip off rather quickly. As I stood up to leave Rochelle looked at me, sneered, and said "ain't ya gonna give me a hug goodnight?"

"Er, no." I replied with no uncertainty.

"Why not?!" she shrieked, understandably so when turned down by a testosterone-infused slab of man-meat such as yours truly.

"I have personal boundary issues," I lied.

Alas, this did not deter Rochelle and the next thing I know she'd thrown her arms around me. The woman was like the human equivalent of a Boa Constrictor, crushing my manly frame more and more with each breath. And to make matters worse her unnaturally strong bear-hug went on for an uncomfortably long period of time. I don't know what expression Rochelle had on her face at this point because I'd turned my face the other way, pleading someone to pry her off me. Unfortunately, no one came to my aid, and the next thing I know one hand had released itself from my upper body. Was she about to release me?

No.

With her free hand she forced my head around and planted a massive, almost hickey inducing smacker on my left cheek (facial, I hastily add). Only then, after a further 20 seconds or so of her attempting to suck my life force out through my face did the alcohol-fueled harridan let me go before vanishing into the night.

So while the pub certainly was a lovely venue, I doubt very much I'll be going back there anytime soon for fear that I might encounter Rochelle again. The mere thought sends a shiver down my spine.

And we never did find out where the script was.

Tron Corgi, of course

Don't ask me why; I can't even remember why I did this and it wasn't that long ago that I actually put it together. Regardless, may I introduce to you: Tron Corgi.

There you go, Disney;  that's your merchandising opportunity for Tron 3 right there.

Spider nipple

So I wake up this morning in a bit of a rush because it's half eight and I need to leave the house by nine to get to yoga for a 10 o'clock class. While getting dressed, though, I pause and find myself staring at my bed. There's something black and lumpy there.

I initially dismiss it as a piece of soil because for reasons I shan't go into here I was repotting a plant at 10 past midnight last night as you do (which probably explains why I was a bit late getting up), but on closer inspection I realise it's *not* dirt because there's … ewww … a couple of legs scattered around it.

Yes, it's a spider. Or rather was a spider. Again: Ewww.

To make a bad situation even worse, apparently when I rolled over onto the spider I did a rather marvellous job of … we'll say 'grinding' down on it, and I now have what looks like a rather fine poo smear arcing across the bottom sheet. Still, at least it didn't CLIMB INTO MY MOUTH or anything.

Having disposed of the body of my nighttime companion (and how many gentlemen in the audience have used that line before?) I grab my bag and head off to yoga.

So when I go to yoga I usually turn up early enough that I can have a solid half hour nap quiet moment of reflection and meditation in the studio before class begins. That being the case, and as unbelievable as this might sound, I don't sit there checking myself out in the mirror. If I had, I would've spotted … well, IT.

As it was we kick-off class with the familiar breathing exercise and that's when I notice IT: a bright red, very visible spot on my right pec that looks terrifyingly like a burgeoning third nipple. Basically, like Scaramanga from the James Bond film The Man With the Golden Gun. I'd put a picture of Scaramanga's nip here but to be honest the sight of it makes me feel a bit queasy so if you want to see it just click away to your heart's content here.

Anyway, once I've noticed this huge thing I can't take my eyes off it. We go into the first posture of the series and I genuinely wanted to drop out, step closer to the mirror and get a better look. Probably while saying something like "OH MY GOD, HAVE YOU SEEN THIS?! IT'S LIKE THE SIZE OF MY HEAD OR SOMETHING!" But then there's also another part of me that doesn't want to draw any attention to it because it's massive and people are SURELY noticing it and I don't want to admit to an entire class - or quite frankly anyone - that a spider bit me on the tit.

The first thing I do when I get home is race to the bathroom to take a closer look because while I'm massively disgusted that I was violated in this way while I slept, part of me just wants to poke it while wondering if I should go to A&E for a tetanus jab or something.

To give the spider its due, it did a bloody good job of spending its final moments somehow managing to breach my hairy chest defences as I rolled around on top of it. Kudos.

As I've now poked and prodded it ad nauseum, I can only wait and see what happens to this thing. Ignoring the two obvious options - it either just heals or I die - I can't help thinking that the spider could've at least had the good grace to be radioactive so I develop superpowers like Spider-Man or something. Although seeing as there are literally only two high-rise buildings near me I'd be pretty limited in swinging options. I don't imagine swinging between the same two buildings would be anywhere near as fulfilling as whooshing through New York.

The only other thing I can think of is that the spider had its wicked way with my face like a face-hugger from Alien and as I type there's a xenomorphic zygote thrashing around in my stomach. It's almost too much to bear; does anyone have Sigourney Weaver's phone number?

Massive swears ***sweary update***

It's been a weekend of cinema trips for me, going from VERY GOOD to UGH, WHY DID I BOTHER. In reverse order then, I have seen:

• The Inbetweeners movie. I loved the TV show but hated this film. It just felt like it was a boring episode stretched too thinly across 90 minutes or so.

• Final Destination 5 (or 5nal Destination as I believe the studio initially called it before they realised it looked like they were calling it Anal Destination). I'm a big fan of this franchise of completely dispensable but highly entertaining horror movies, and this latest one lived up to the ridiculous precedent set by its predecessors. Particular kudos for an awesome opening theme, and a fantastic and totally unexpected tie-in to the first Final Destination (or should we rename that F1nal Dest1nation now?).

• South Park: Bigger, Longer & Uncut. Yes, I know this movie is 12 years old, but I ended up going to a special screening of it at the Prince Charles Cinema (the brilliant cinema where I saw a couple of Star Trek movies last year). Special why, you ask?

We were even given lyric books to help us sing/swear along.

Although I'll be brutally honest, I actually didn't swear along that much as when the lights went down I couldn't read the lyrics, and I was laughing too much; there was a woman behind me with a pitch-perfect singing voice merrily singing along to songs such as 'Kyle's Mom's a Bitch' and 'What Would Brian Boitano Do?'

You'll be pleased to know I did get some singing/swearing action though; before the movie started, the guy that had organised the screening took to the stage to lead us in a quick practise. We had a loud group "FUCK!" followed by us screaming "BIG FLOPPY DONKEY DICK!" We even sang a couple of songs.

Since the screening, I've finally gotten around to putting the South Park: Bigger, Longer & Uncut soundtrack on my iTunes. Admittedly, I probably should've done this before seeing the film, not least because I'm incredibly amused by the fact that I now have a song in my library that is performed by Saddam Hussein.

Anyway, I can only hope that on the strength of their South Park screening, the PCC now organise a swear along to Team America, because that would be AWESOME.

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SWEARY UPDATE!

The PCC have posted a video of some choice, um, moments from the evening, including the aforementioned group "FUCK!" and "BIG FLOPPY DONKEY DICK!" And they're doing it all over again on October 8th; if you can, I highly recommend going along.

Making an ebook is fun!

As I mentioned in my last post, one of the main things I decided I needed to do when I finished work was to finally pull my finger out and get my book (yes, that one I've been harping on about ad nauseam) on sale, or just shut the hell up and forget about the whole thing. My original idea years ago was to have 100 copies printed up and then try to find some way of flogging them to people because as I've said countless times, I do love a good ol' dead tree book. But then ebook sales exploded and while I can't say I'm a massive fan of ebooks personally, it would be arrogant and quite frankly just plain stupid of me to ignore their success.

As a result I began to look into it and discovered that Amazon just make the whole thing so damn easy for self-publishing authors, so I thought what the hell, I'll go Kindle. And before anyone says "but you're an Apple whore, what about iBooks?" yes, I am an Apple whore, but kindle is just easier, doesn't have any set-up costs, and to be honest Amazon have got the market completely collared at the moment; seriously, I read some interesting testimonials about author experiences and they all sold way more on the Kindle than on iBooks. And it's not like my book won't be available for iPads and iPhones because Amazon handily have an app for that. You can get it for free HERE. (They also do apps for Android, Mac, and PC, so you have no excuse not to get reading)

Now, when it comes to ebooks everyone always harps on about ePub, which is a file format that both Amazon and Apple will accept. Great! I thought, I can generate one file for both bookstores so if I do ever decide to go the iBooks route it's ready to go. I was even recommended a piece of free software that promised to convert a word file or PDF into an ePub file without any fuss. Yay for me, I thought; this will be piss-easy.

At this point I was feeling pretty smug.

Turns out, though, that by 'piss-easy' I actually mean 'a really rather frustrating experience.'

Basically this piece of software did generate an ePub file (it even had that cool page curling effect when I popped it on my iPad), but it also had some … Let's say ANOMALIES. Such as turning drop caps into little smiley tiger faces. Yes, TIGER FACES.

Isn't that just adorable?

As cute as that is, however, I thought it might just knock readers out of the drama of the story.

So I fiddled and farted around and tried different variations and different formats, each of which had their own peculiarities; one, for example, only put one sentence on each page, instantly transforming my breezy little novella into an 800-page epic to rival War and Peace. Eventually I just got massively frustrated, released a barrage of swears, and went for a run.

I decided to have another bash at it on Sunday afternoon, on the understanding that if I couldn't work it out I'd just pay someone to do it for me. And that's when I discovered that Amazon let's you upload your book as a word document and then preview it in a mock kindle screen. So I did that and … well, it looked quite good.

This is what the cover would look like as shown by the 16 shades of grey used by the Kindle's e-ink screen. This actually reads like a VERY SERIOUS CAPTION.

OK, so it had lost all the italics and some page breaks at the beginning, but a quick look on the Kindle community pages helped me work out how to rectify that - you just download the converted HTML file, fiddle around in the code a bit, then upload the amended version.

VOILA!

You can now purchase a little piece of me just for yourself. Look - it's cheap. Like me.

And just like that I was the proud father of an ebook, which went on sale Monday morning for the princely sum of 86p (I'm pricing low as it's short and I figure people will be more willing to take the risk of trying a new author if it costs mere pennies). It's a slightly surreal moment when you search Amazon for your own book and BOOM! there it is (also, if you look over there in the right-hand column, just under the 'about me' bit, there's an ad box. I think if you click it I get paid, so go on - give it a click, eh?). It's the culmination of years of work, and while I'd like to think I will at some point return to it for a limited physical print-run, my work on Waiting on a Friend, those characters I created and dropped into a storyline, is effectively done. How exciting is that?

Now, do be so kind as to go buy it while I get cracking on the next one, eh?

Freeloader

I'm now in my third week of fending for myself as a work-shy freelancer, and I'll be honest with you: I've not been terribly busy in the traditional sense of the words. That's not to say I'm not keeping busy, because I have been: I've written what I can only describe as a shit-load of letters to various publishers, and I've actually, 100 percent, honest-to-god finished work on my book. Yes, THAT book. The one I first mentioned on here about, oh, I don't know THREE OR FOUR years ago.

Admittedly I had thought it was finished a long time ago and it was just a case of me pulling my finger out and doing something with it, but then I let a chap from yoga read it whose opinions I trust greatly (he's an actor, don't you know, so I reasoned that he reads stuff for a living and thus has a keen sense of what's good and what's not), and who made no qualms about telling me that if he thought it was rubbish he'd tell me so.

Anyway, long story short, and fortunately for my fragile little ego, he actually really liked it (I swear to god he used the phrase "potential to be a proper little indie hit," which led to me needing a bit of a sit down), although he did have a few little comments and suggestions that he thought might strengthen the narrative a bit. And to be honest, those comments just reaffirmed some niggling doubts I'd had about it. That being the case, the last week has pretty much been dedicated to sorting all that out, as well as going back through the whole thing one last time so that 33 year-old me can tighten up the bits that 29 year-old me glossed over back in the day. So, essentially what I'm saying is that - YAY! - the whole thing is ready to go now. FOR REAL. My main intention is to pop it up on the Kindle store for the world to download to all manner of digital devices, but, y'know, I *may* have sent it off to a couple of independent presses too - SO KEEP YOUR BLOODY FINGERS CROSSED OR I'LL HAVE TO POP ROUND AND CUT 'EM OFF.

Basically, then, freelancing has been a very enjoyable experience so far (although that might change when I actually have to do some proper work). What I like is that I'm pretty much free to do as I please. I popped to Richmond last week, spent an hour in Starbucks writing on my iPad like one of those insufferably pretentious tits who insists on writing in public, and then because the weather was so lovely I ended up doing some topless sunbathing on the green.

Self-portrait of a freelancer in repose.

There was another photo of my vest draped across my legs, but as everyone on Twitter said it looked like I had my underpants round my ankles I'm loathe to post it here.

It's not all sunning oneself in public spaces, though: Friday afternoons are now exclusively dedicated to going to the cinema. Week one was Captain America (good blockbustery fun), while last week was Super 8 (which I loved; the fat kid in it might go down in history as this generation's Chunk from the Goonies); this week is Rise of the Planet of the Apes, and next week is Cowboys and Aliens. Good times.

On the downside, when I'm not galavanting around the countryside I am spending a considerable amount of time just sitting at my desk. And bearing in mind that I'm no longer getting a lengthy lunchtime stroll and my commute pretty much consists of walking down 12 stairs, I'm beginning to wonder if I'm at risk of developing deep-vein thrombosis. I might have to instigate mandatory midday runs on those days when I'm not indulging in, as one of my yoga teachers dubbed it, 'job-seekers yoga.' I'll tell you something though, it is nice getting to have a bit of a cheeky lie-in every morning.

He needs TP for his bunghole

Am I the only one seeing this? C'mon, he's a total shoe-in if they ever do a live-action Beavis and Butthead movie.

Lord knows beggars can't be choosers now Potter's done and dusted.

Arts and crafts

So the one thing you're obligated to do when you leave a company is steal stuff, right? It's an unspoken rule. And don't sit there looking all holier than thou shaking your head - I saw you emptying boxes of propelling pencils and paper clips into your bag on your last day.

Anyway, so while the average person might raid the stationary cupboard like biro-hungry locusts (and in hindsight I should've gone straight for the post-it notes because lord knows I actually had to BUY some this week; on the plus side - tax deductable!), I pinched something a bit different.

I stole a tranny.

And no, I do not mean a transvestite. I mean a 35mm slide - you know, a photograph.

While looking through the thousands of images we had a couple of months back, I found a picture of William Shatner taken during the filming of Star Trek VI that I'd never seen before. Which is pretty remarkable because, trust me, I've seen A LOT of Star Trek pictures in my time. There wasn't anything particularly special about this image - from what I can tell it just shows Shatner chilling out between shots - but I liked it. I thought it was cool.

Here's Shatner on the set of Kirk's quarters, chilling out, maxing, relaxing all cool; possibly about to go shoot some b-ball outside of the school.

So anyway, as I was boxing all the Star Trek stuff up a couple of weeks back I came across the pictures again (not literally; I don't like it *that* much). My first instinct was just to scan it in so that I could use it as a desktop image on my computer or iPad, but then when I mentioned it to a friend, who will go unnamed to protect her identity (it was Yazzle Dazzle), she said "why don't you just take it? It'll only go into storage otherwise."

She made a good point, so I stuffed it in a little bag and nicked it.

Since finishing work, however, I've been looking at the sad little tranny sitting in the bag and thinking 'what the hellpiece am I going to do with that?' I mean, it's not like I can pop it in a frame because a) it's tiny, and b) being a tranny it needs light shining through so you can actually see what's on it.

But then during one of my increasingly frequent and in hindsight somewhat ill-advised when you have no income shopping expeditions I found the perfect solution: a freestanding solid glass lump frame that you slot your picture in the middle of. PERFECT! So I bought one, some black card to engineer a framework to hold the tranny in, and a new scalpel to allow me to precisely cut the card.

And in BONUS NEWS FACTS, lady on the till confessed she almost asked me for ID before she let me buy the scalpel; you have to be over 21. Utter, utter WIN, I think you'll agree.

My first attempt at my arts and crafts project was mounted on Friday evening. Unfortunately I was a little bleary eyed because I was tired, so my efforts were little more than an unmitigated failure. On the plus side, I managed not to chop off any fingers with my awesome new scalpel, so there's always a positive, eh?

Attempt number two took place this afternoon, and was considerably more successful.

Admittedly there's a bit of a bigger gap around the tranny than I'd hoped (which is mystifying because I took really precise measurements; I know this because I stuck my tongue out the side of my mouth while I did it), so I might go back and have a little fiddle at some point to try and rectify that, but I think you'll agree it shows the image off way better than a manky little plastic bag ever could.

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In all seriousness, I think I do know why I like this image so much. There's a scene in Star Trek VI where Valeris is looking at a painting hanging in Spock's quarters and she says something along the lines of "I don't know what this painting represents," to which he replies "it's the depiction of the the expulsion from paradise - it's a reminder to me that all things end."

Dear non-Star Trek fans: yes, it's the slaggy one from Sex and The City.

At the risk of sounding like a broken record as I harp on about leaving my job, I think this image - of Shatner on the set of the last original series movie - serves as a reminder to me that, indeed, all things do end. It's healthy not to get too comfortable doing the same thing over and over, so with a bit of luck every time I look at this transparency it'll spur me on to do new things and 'boldly go' where I've never been before.

Jesus, that was such a wanky sounding sentence, wasn't it? Let's just stick with 'I thought it looked cool and I wanted to steal something,' eh?

Dapper

So I went to that wedding reception I mentioned a few weeks ago at the weekend. It was lovely; awesome venue, a nice chance to catch-up with some friends I hadn't seen in a while, and an all-too-rare opportunity to throw down some phat moves on the dance floor.

And in an amazing turn of events, the lovely Em managed to get a photo of me where I look relatively normal. Seriously, chances are if you aim a camera at me I'll either gurn like a special, do the OMG Cat face, or put on some sort of allegedly sexy pout that kind of looks more like a severely-constipated James Franco.

So anyway, kudos to Em for getting the picture I'm shamelessly pasting below in anticipation of lots of ego-boosting compliments. Despite having a mid-afternoon wobble where I thought I'd just wear a regular old tie, I think you'll agree I totally ROCK that bow-tizzle.

The undiscovered country

Well I'll tell you something - if the reaction to my last post is anything to go by, Star Trek fans (particularly those in the US) are *desperate* for some new non-fiction publications. In the five years or so I've been writing this blog I've quite literally never had as many hits in the space of just a handful of days as I did earlier this week.

The reaction to what I showed of Build the Enterprise was incredibly positive, which went some way toward cushioning the blow of the product's untimely cancellation. Hey, everyone likes a compliment, right? On a purely personal note, however, the ramifications of the project ending go a bit further than what I said in those videos.

Basically, I lost my job.

God, that sounds a bit dramatic, doesn't it? To be honest it was all very amicable, but the reality of the situation was that I found myself as a Star Trek editor with no Star Trek magazine to edit. In years gone by my boss - an utterly brilliant, lovely man - has done everything he can to hang on to staff when their projects come to an end; just after the Fact Files finished in 2003 I had a couple of months where I just spent my days looking at the internet and shuffling things from one side of my desk to the other. That may sound brilliant, but it was actually soul-crushingly boring. This time around the situation is a bit different - the company can't afford to have me sitting around twiddling my thumbs, and quite frankly I wouldn't want to.

That being the case I told my boss that he should let me go.

You might think that sounds crazy, but it's really not. I've been at the company for 12 years now - literally almost to the day. It's been the longest commitment of my life; in fact, I've been there over one third of my life. To quote Captain Kirk in Star Trek VI: The Undiscovered Country, I've done my bit for king and country.

To be honest, I actually expected to be sent on my merry way soon after the Fact Files came to an end. I could never have foreseen the multitude of successful spin-off products we'd do after those 304 issues. It's been a brilliant job at a brilliant company. I once told Scanner Dave, our IT guy, that I never go to work expecting to make friends, but it's a pleasant surprise if I did. At this company I've met some of the most wonderful people you could ever imagine, and it's my privilege to count many of them as some of my closest friends. People like Yazzle Dazzle, El Deanio, Scanner, and WillowC. But they all left long ago, and now it's my turn.

And d'ya know what? I'm looking at this as one of the most positive things I could possibly do. Over the last couple of months I've developed this new kind of sensibility - don't ask me where this came from, but essentially I just break things down into 'will this have a positive impact on my life?' or 'will this have a negative impact on my life?' Bitching and moaning and worrying incessantly about losing my job would be a massive heap of negativity, so I'm just looking at it as a major positive instead. For a long time now I've thought about going freelance, and this door closing gives me the opportunity to give that a go. Being free of my day-to-day routine frees me up to go try some other things.

Sitting here writing this now, exactly one week away from leaving that office in leafy West London for the final time, I'm not nervous or worried. I'm more excited than I've felt in years. One of the things I found, particularly by the time I was running the Fact Files, was that the higher up the chain you went, the less editorial work you actually did. As an editor, then a managing editor, I found a considerable portion of my time was dedicated to administrative tasks - liasing with contributors, commissioning stuff, reams and reams of paperwork, etc. I want to get back to just writing and editing text. Playing around with words. I've already got some ideas on the boil; I'm just waiting for the time I need to get them underway.

To return to Star Trek again, the day I found out I was going to be made redundant I had the most bizarre thought about how William Shatner must have felt when the original series came to end in 1969 after just three years. The show had been his biggest role to that point … but he went on to forge a hugely successful career beyond it. When you think about it, I got four times as long out of Star Trek as Shatner ever did, so I should certainly count myself lucky in that respect.

I'm sure there will be bumps and uncertainties along the way, but I'm excited. I'm ready for what comes next.

Build the Enterprise

As a rule I very rarely talk about work here, but I've decided to make an exception to that rule with this post. Basically, as anyone who's been reading this blog for a while (god help you) will know, for the last 12 years I've been working on Star Trek partworks. Partworks, for those of you who don't know, are collectable magazine series that build up week by week to form a comprehensive reference work on a particular subject - something like real-life crimes, wildlife, or aeroplanes, for example. Think of it as something like buying an encyclopedia in weekly instalments.

When I joined the company it was to work on The Official Star Trek Fact Files - a partwork that built up to create a definitive reference guide to (as the title might've given away) the Star Trek universe. I think the Fact Files was originally scheduled to last around 90 issues; I joined at issue 150 or thereabouts, became editor of the thing at 200 or so, and saw it through to its conclusion at issue 304 in, I think 2002 or 2003 (I forget exactly when it ended). I think it still ranks as the world's most successful partwork.

Incidentally, while the Fact Files was never sold in the U.S. (partworks don't work in America because it's such a big market), much of the material created for it did turn up in Star Trek: The Magazine, which ran for 48 issues from around 1999 to 2003.

Following the enormous success of the Fact Files we produced a number of spin-off products; some, such as Star Trek: The Collector's Edition - a DVD and magazine series collecting the Star Trek movies and episodes of TNG and TOS - proved very successful in their own right, while others didn't and failed at test (we tested all our partworks prior to committing to a national launch to get an idea of how they would do).

What all these other products had in common, however, was that they were essentially made up of material taken from the Fact Files, albeit revised where necessary (such as if an episode of Star Trek: Enterprise added something to canon - first contact with an alien species or something like that that would make a nice trivia point).

Running in parallel with these spin-off projects, we also started producing Star Trek stuff for Japan. They got their own edition of the Fact Files, which covered several topics the original UK version missed out on such as the entire run of Enterprise and the movie Star Trek Nemesis, and as a consequence ran 10 issues longer than the UK edition, eventually stopping at issue 314. We also produced a DVD magazine series for the Japanese market called Best Episode Collection, which essentially plucked the very best episodes of all the different series, tied them together under various headings such as 'Captains,' 'Klingons,' 'Space Battles,' etc, and popped them on sale along with a magazine covering behind the scenes stuff, interviews with the cast and crew, and trivia pages. That too was a great success; originally scheduled to run 70 issues, it ultimately went on for 135. I occasionally joked that it wasn't merely Best Episode Collection, but was in fact coming perilously close to being Every Episode Collection.

So, what you can gather from all this, then, is that Star Trek has enjoyed fantastic success as a variety of different partworks.

About 18 months ago the Japanese team who I worked closely with to produce the Japanese Fact Files and Best Episode Collection came to me with an idea they'd had for a new Star Trek partwork. The project was called Build the Enterprise, and as you might guess, the idea was that you would get to build a model of the Enterprise (the TNG version) week by week. Bearing in mind I'd been working on these sorts of things for a decade by this point, I was surprised to find that my fanboy side completely and utterly pushed to the fore; I thought the idea was amazing, and I was very keen to get going on it.

What I should say here is that the Japanese team don't do things by halves. They literally threw everything bar the kitchen sink at this project. In addition to building an incredibly-detailed, highly accurate, whopping great model of the Enterprise, if you bought this thing you'd also get a magazine that would grow with every issues to form a massive 500 page reference work on the ship (think of it as a massively expanded TNG Technical Manual), with another 100 pages covering behind the scenes stuff - interviews, concept art, that kind of thing. And you'd also get a huge blueprint sheet covering the exterior of the ship from various angles, every single deck, and key rooms (many of which had never been seen on the show).

To accomplish this they'd recruited Rick Sternbach, who if you don't know (SHAME ON YOU!) was a key figure in designing a load of the technology that appeared on everything from TNG through to Voyager. He designed the U.S.S. Voyager, for crying out loud.

And rather than just pull text, images, and artwork from the Fact Files (which by this point had only just finished its run in Japan), they asked that everything to be used in this new project be newly generated.

As you can imagine, it was a MASSIVE undertaking, but an incredible one, because under Rick's guidance and watchful eye, we had the opportunity to actually add to Star Trek canon for the first time, rather than just reporting on what had been seen in the various different episodes and movies. We did this by planning out a load of previously unseen elements - lifeboats, rooms, hardware, components used in familiar items such as communicators, all that sort of stuff. It was basically all your Christmasses come at once if you were a Star Trek fan who wanted to know everything about how the Enterprise worked, and what technology (no I'm not going to say Treknology; oh, wait, I just did. *tut*) was to be found aboard a Galaxy-class starship.

As with all our other partworks, Build the Enterprise would be tested prior to a national launch later in the year. Testing almost seemed like a formality, though; there was an almost palpable buzz around this product - everyone who saw what we were doing was amazed. Jaws dropped. Even non-Trekkies wanted it. It was just - excuse my slightly fruity language - effing awesome.

And then we tested it in May and … well, it failed.

Didn't. Expect. That…

What's really upsetting about this is that there's little - nothing, really - wrong with the product; what was mainly responsible for the product failing was that we launched it in the wake of the terrible earthquake and tsunami that struck Japan back in March. After experiencing something like that, people understandably just weren't in the mood to start buying into a collectible magazine/model series. We were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.

In total seven issues of Build the Enterprise went on sale, and we'd completed work on a further four before it was shut down. Going back to that buzz I mentioned earlier, Rick had mentioned to me that a few Star Trek fans in the States had somehow heard about the project and were eager to know more so, despite the fact it's no longer in production, I thought I'd try to give Build the Enterprise its own little moment in the limelight and do a video run through of the first issue. Because, y'know, I'm extremely proud of what we did.

So, below you'll find four videos. In total, they'll take you about an hour or so to get through, so maybe skip 'em if you don't like Star Trek (seriously, though, you read this far and you DON'T like Star Trek?! What's wrong with you?). Apologies in advance for the reasonably crappy quality - these were shot very late (very, VERY late) at night on my iPhone, and I'm not, sadly, quite as talented behind the camera as JJ Abrams. Apologies also for the fact that I don't have the most interesting voice to listen to; maybe if over 1000 people watch these we could get Patrick Stewart to re-dub them. That would be cool.

Speaking of cool, watching these back it became apparent to me that I say "cool" and "um" rather a lot, so sorry also for that. Maybe you could turn it into a drinking game or something? Y'know, every time I say "cool" you have to down a shot of tequila. That would be cool awesome.

Anyway, enjoy the videos (no I'm not being sarcastic), and if anyone has any questions or wants to know more about the project leave me a comment and I'll do my best to answer them for you.

Hanging out with some chicks

OK going, going, gone

Try saying that heading 10 times in a row with an everlasting gobstopper in your mouth.

So yes, as you might gather from the title of this post, I toddled off to deepest darkest Camden last night to see OK Go live. Now, while you might know them as That Band That Did That Video With The Treadmills, I've been a fan of theirs ever since they released their first album way back in … *furiously Googles* … 2002. Wow, really? That long? Blimey. Anyway, I've wanted to catch them live for *ages* but have always been thwarted. A few years back I wandered past the Shepherds Bush Empire only to see their name out front the day AFTER they'd performed. And then last year they played a show while I was balls deep in the midst of my 30 days of yoga. This time around, though, I heard about the gig months in advance and booked tickets EARLY.

This was my first concert since May's epic MONTH OF GIGS, so it had a lot to live up to after the life-changing Sufjan Stevens show at Royal Festival Hall, and the adventure of Panic! At the Disco way out in the sticks of Norwich. And do you know what? I couldn't have wished for a better show. They absolutely nailed it.

Here's some buzzwords for you: Awesome tunes. Suits in primary colours. Confetti canons. A gold Ming the Mercilous costume. Hilarious banter. Swears. LED jackets. Furry guitars with lasers. Audience participation. More confetti.

Some pictures?

The massive face on the backdrop is lead singer Damian Kulash's mug, projected onto a screen from a video camera mounted on his microphone.

Kulash performed an acoustic number amongst the great unwashed masses, although he did warn them not to rip his clothes off. Remarkably, they didn't.

LED jackets. WANT.

Some videos? BECAUSE I'M NOTHING IF NOT THOROUGH.


Here's the band performing their song Return using God's own instrument: HANDBELLS.


Guitars with lasers, people; GUITARS. WITH. LASERS.


And finally, a quick video of the confetti cannons in action.

So, yeah, I think you get the idea that this was an awesome evening. OK Go officially just got added to my list of bands I will go and see whenever they're in town. Heck, I think I'd even go to Norwich to catch them given the chance.

Just one thing, though. As we entered Koko we were given a pair of old-skool 3-D glasses … and yet there wasn't any part of the show that required us to wear them. They did make me look sophisticated and awesome on the tube home, though.

SEXY.

Oh, and at the risk of sounding like Steve Jobs at an Apple keynote presentation: one more thing. Damian Kulash took a photo of the crowd that was later posted to OK Go's Facebook page, and which I have shamelessly stolen here. Bonus points if you can find me amidst the heaving throng.

From the sublime to the ridiculous

A couple of weeks back I wrote about how in an effort to shake up my wardrobe a bit I threw off my trusted belt and snapped on a dapper pair of braces that I and the world around me loved (and not just for the purposes of comedy twanging). Well, buckle up, because things just got even more exciting.

So I'm now at that age where everyone around me is getting married, and in a few weeks I'm toddling off to some do at a swanky hotel in the countryside. As soon as the invite arrived my mind immediately turned to thoughts of what I would wear, not just because I'm essentially a bit of a girl but because I'm going to the reception not the actual service. If I was going to the service I would of course wear a suit, but correct me if I'm wrong but by the time of the reception isn't everyone dancing on the tables with their ties around their heads, their trousers around their ankles, and red wine all over the bridesmaids?

The fact that by the time of the reception everyone is a bit more … how shall I put this … 'relaxed' than they were earlier in the day means that while I still want to go smart, I want to bring a more relaxed, more casual vibe to my attire. I presented my dilemma to Best Mate Jo, who is herself going to a wedding in a couple of weeks and has thus been faced with a similar situation (albeit of a more lady-based attire nature).

BMJ (who doesn't like acronyms?) immediately said I should wear a white shirt with one of my waistcoats, which was a brilliant idea, although she baulked at the idea of me wearing jeans, however smart they may be. "It's a wedding," she said. "People don't want to see…" and then she waved her hands at my lower half like I'd just dropped a fart of epic proportions.

An easy solution, then, was to pop to Topman and buy a pair of trousers that perfectly match my waistcoat. But the ensemble definitely needed something else. My solution? A bow tie!

I can't say BMJ is 100 percent impressed by this idea, but she's known me long enough to indulge me in such matters. So anyway, I bought a bow tie, and subsequently spent a considerable amount of time trying to learn how to tie the bloody bastard thing (I refuse to wear a pre-tied one; it's like wearing a clip-on tie or velcro shoes).

And finally: SUCCESS!

Jaunty, I think you'll agree.

And before anyone says "oh, you look like Dr. Who!" Piss off! Like my braces, if I was influenced by anyone it was more likely Panic! At the Disco, although seeing as I read last week that their lead singer also likes shopping at Topman you could just say we're both whores to the whims of Topman's clothes buyers and seasonal trends.

Anyhoo, after all that Best Mate Jo told me that she had a present for me. At Christmas BMJ went out to Mexico to see her niece who lives over there, and I asked her to bring me back a sombrero. Turns out, though, that she couldn't get a massive sombrero in her luggage so she resorted to buying me a tiny one. It's awesome, but not terribly practical to wear.

This was taken at Christmas, obviously; I don't have decorations up in June.

Soon after, and I can't remember who mentioned it or why, someone said that she should've got me a Mexican wrestler's mask. The mere mention of those three words made my little eyes light up and I practically demanded that she get straight on a plane and go back to get me one.

Anyway, long story short, her sister went out to Mexico the other week and BOOM:

HOW AWESOME IS THIS?! It's a real Mexican wrestler's mask, from Mexico, chosen for me by a genuine Mexican!

Worryingly, though, I've just remembered that I made an off the cuff remark months ago about how if I actually got a Mexican wrestler's mask I'd pose for a new Facebook profile picture wearing only it and a pair of Speedos. I'm going to hope no one remembers that.

A sterling effort

Have you ever compared yourself to a character from a television show? I guess I have in the past - I mean, Captain Kirk is a charismatic leader whose skills can be applied rather well to a multitude of office-based situations (as long as you don't send any colleagues dressed in red to their doom), while Spock's logical approach works equally well when pressed into service during those more trying times.

Elsewhere I suppose I was impressed by Lorelai Gilmore's chipper attitude in even the most trying of times, and her ability to get a small business off the ground and make it into a success. Very worthy attributes, I'm sure you'll agree.

More and more in the last couple of months, though, I've found myself bringing qualities from this character into my life:

Sterling Mallory Archer.

On the face of it, Archer has plenty of commendable qualities: he's a dashing man in his thirties with a sophisticated dress sense, a secret agent, and a hit with the ladies. On the surface he's all round awesome.

On the downside, though, he's an alcoholic man-child with an overbearing mother who frequently gets himself into trouble and who is surrounded by bumbling idiots.

Since I started watching Archer (I blitzed the season one boxset in an afternoon) I've found myself picking up on a lot of his catchphrases (as often happens with a nerd like me); it started with a chuckle and a random "awesome," progressed to a frankly outspoken "whatever" when confronted with someone telling me something I had no interest in, and has now progressed to me randomly singing "daaaaaaaanger zone!" in a falsetto voice like this:

Which can sometimes be a bit awkward when you're in the middle of Hammersmith. I said it one time and the lady sitting at the table next to me outside Secret Starbucks got up and left.

I have also started making slightly inappropriate comments about 'tips,' which I think might get me in trouble at some point if someone gets the reference.

*wonders if woman outside Secret Starbucks got the reference and thought I was one step away from making a tip comment to her*

Heh heh. Awesome.

At this rate it won't be too long before I start wearing black turtleneck jumpers.

The only way I know my transformation is not yet complete is that I haven't started daytime drinking. But, y'know, that could happen at, like, any time.

Whatever.

Yo, Warner Bros. - you can have this one for free

Are we all excited about the Green Lantern movie then? No, me neither. Which is a shame because I used to love the comic. I *hope* it turns out to be one of those films that you think is going to be a bit underwhelming but which really knocks you for six when you actually see it (a bit like X-Men: First Class did when I saw it this week), but from what I've seen so far it just looks a bit too … CGI-y and … dull.

As well as the trailer not really doing anything for me, I took one look at the poster the other day and kind of just went "huh." I mean, I suppose the image is … OK, and yeah, it makes sense to use part of the Green Lantern oath as the strap line - but truth be told that oath is a bit po-faced and doesn't really mean anything to anyone who doesn't read the comic.

A strap line needs to be punchy and awesome and grab the attention of cinema-goers; 'in brightest day, in blackest night' says NOTHING. If anything it just sounds like a weather report. And so, bearing in mind how powerful and bad-ass Green Lantern is supposed to be, I thought I'd have a stab at it.

I think you'll agree this one is far more entertaining.

Brace yourselves

So, last week I did something I haven't done in years: I wore a pair of braces (that's 'suspenders' to my friends across the pond). The reasons for this essentially boil down to the following:

• I've been trying to shake my wardrobe up for a while now.

• This seemed like an interesting way of doing it.

• I may have gotten the idea from having seen Panic! At the Disco several times recently.

The last time I wore braces I think I was about four years old and they were red and yellow striped with little red and yellow cars on the clasps. I distinctly remember that the cars - I believe they were VW Beetles - made me very happy; on the downside, I possessed a distinct inability to attach or detach the cars clamped to my little trousers which led to several urine-based incidents and a parental vow that the youngest son would only be wearing belts or trousers with an elasticated waist until he was old enough to know better.

Seriously, why I felt the need to undo them completely rather than just unhook them from my little shoulders I'll never know.

So anyway, yes, last week I thought I'd give braces another go. Sadly no little red and yellow cars this time, though; instead I had to make do with an all black pair (I know: DISASTER). But you know what? I loved them. They made me feel particularly sophisticated and masculine (something I doubt little cars would do, however awesome they might be). What's more, I received lots of compliments throughout the day from swooning colleagues, and only had to contend with two 'witty' remarks comparing me to Cannon and Ball, both of which came within 30 seconds of one another, and both of which I dispatched with an arched eyebrow, possibly a swear, and definitely a threat to take off my braces and beat those responsible with the metal ends.

I also managed to resist the temptation to twang them for comedy purposes, which would've no doubt resulted in a painful laceration to the nips - and even better: I didn't pee myself.

All in all then it was a successful sartorial experiment, and one I shall happily repeat.

Month of gigs: part 4 - road trip edition

OK, so I've given this some more thought and I really want you to be reading the words MONTH OF GIGS like how they said PIGS IN SPACE on The Muppet Show. Got that? Right - let's crack on with the final part of MONTH OF GIGS!

(you did it, right?)

So last time we spoke I mentioned that MONTH OF GIGS was supposed to end with Monday's Cold War Kids show at the Shepherds Bush Empire, and then I mentioned the immortal words 'road trip.' What happened, basically, was that I'd just happened upon Panic! At the Disco's website one evening and noticed that after a few dates in Europe they were popping back to the UK for a few shows they'd rescheduled from April. And one of those shows - Norwich, to be precise - still had some tickets available.

Now, I never do things like spontaneously drive 140-odd miles across the country to do anything, but I found myself sitting here thinking 'that's doable,' and 'it's not actually that far,' and 'I have plenty of holiday to use,' and 'I *really* enjoyed their Shepherds Bush Empire show and who knows how long it will be before they come back again?' Then I was googling directions and finding out about nearby accommodation for the night.

And then before I knew it, I'd bought a ticket and booked a room at a Travelodge, all for less than 70 quid. I'll happily admit I surprised myself with such spontaneity.

Spontaneity personified.

So, the day after seeing Cold War Kids, I faffed about at home in the morning, bunged some stuff in a bag, and just after one in the afternoon, under the firm yet plumby guiding voice of satnav lady, set out on my little adventure.

The journey took just under three hours, and by around four o'clock I was ensconced in a comfortable Travelodge room, sipping the worst cup of tea I've ever made.

Yes, it was comfortable enough, but the TV remote didn't work, nor did three of the lights. The bed was well squishy in a 'it'll-be-exciting-for-one-night-but-I-wouldn't-want-to-live-with-it-permanently' kinda way.

With nothing better to do I spent just over two hours spread-eagled on the bed reading my book. I was half tempted to do something rock 'n roll like throw the telly out the window, but it was quite a bulky TV and the windows didn't open all the way. Plus, I was on the ground floor, so it would actually have looked more like someone had just put a telly outside, which wouldn't really be what I was going for.

Anyway, at about half six I decided to head for the venue, which was the UEA LCR - basically the student union at the University of East Anglia. Never having gone to uni, this was definitely VERY EXCITING. I was soon queuing with lots of student-type people and bizarrely not feeling at all out of place despite being an entire teenaged person older than most of them.

The queue was long but shuffled forward quite quickly so before I knew it I was handing over my ticket and I was in.

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An aside:

I don't know about you, but I like to hang on to my gig tickets as a souvenir of the event; I've got a drawer full of them that I some day intend to assemble into some sort of immense ticket collage or something. Annoyingly, though, the dudes on the door of the venue took the complete tickets off everyone rather than just tear the stub off. This is actually doubly annoying, because writing this post I discovered that the LCR has a capacity of 1550 people, and my ticket was number 1550 (seriously - go back and look at the photo). Yes, it looks like I actually got THE LAST TICKET.

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I soon found myself a decent spot just behind the mixing desk, and began tweeting, texting, and facebooking furiously on my iPhone so as not to look too much like Billy No-Mates.

After a short time, the support act came on. They were actually the exact same support that Panic! had at the Shepherds Bush gig just 13 days earlier, and I found it kind of weird that I'd been standing beside the guitarist outside the stage door while queuing in the alleyway alongside the Empire. Not only that, but I actually quite enjoyed their set this time round, having found it a bit ho-hum previously.

After that it was another half hour wait before the lights dimmed once more (at a surprisingly early 8:30), and Panic! At the Disco bounded onto the stage.

Bearing in mind this was the third time I've seen Panic! play this year, my enthusiasm at seeing them perform again was undiminished. And, it seems, their enthusiasm for playing to a crowd was every bit as potent as when I saw them on those two previous occasions. This was the last gig of the UK tour, and here was a band who were clearly enjoying themselves and having a great time playing - which was in turn reflected by the audience's reactions. They bantered with the crowd and with each other, and they played some unexpected and obviously spontaneous cover versions - from an uncannily accurate John Mayer track to a hilarious version of James Blunt's 'You're Beautiful' (don't ask me how Panic! knew that track, but suffice to say I preferred their version to the original). As the show went on we were also treated to versions of the Friends and Super Mario Bro. theme tunes, 'Panic' (ha, fitting) by The Smiths, and a version of the Kansas song 'Carry on Wayward Son' because they'd been playing it on Guitar Hero.

I like this picture. I know the quality is crappy, but I like the colours and the raised camera held up in front of me.

And then, just a little before 10 o'clock, they took their bows and bid us good night. Shortly after I joined the heaving throng of sweaty students as we shuffled out into the cool night air (and on the way managed to snaffle a ticket from the pile collected on the way in; it's not my original number 1550, but it's a souvenir of the evening nonetheless). To be honest, if I'd known the gig was going to end at this time I would've seriously thought about driving home instead of staying over; I mean, seriously, can't these students party late?!

Still, I'd paid for a room for the night, so I headed back there. By 22:20 I was plonked on my squishy bed, texting and tweeting mercilessly while reflecting on the gig. Oh, and posing sexily to remember my post-Panic!/end of MONTH OF GIGS face:

That's a look of slight bewilderment/over-excitement there, people.

I woke up this morning surprisingly early, so sat in the room and read my book for an hour or so while listening to two of the maids loudly discussing their sex lives while cleaning the room opposite. Then I packed my stuff, grabbed my bag, stole three sachets of coffee in an attempt to make up for not chucking the telly out the window, and checked out. Before heading home, though, I decided to grab some breakfast at the Little Chef attached to the Travelodge. For just over seven quid I got a surprisingly tasty pancake breakfast, a pot of Earl Grey (I cannot function in the morning without it), and an orange juice.

The only downside was that the pot of sauce was 'maple-flavoured syrup' rather than actual maple syrup. Not that I could tell the difference, though.

And then following the stern instructions of satnav lady, I headed home.

Sitting here now, I actually sort of can't believe I did this little road trip just to see a band play. I've never done that before - something that was highlighted when the singer of the support act shouted "good evening Norwich!"; I've only ever heard "good evening London!" before. But d'ya know what? I had an awesome time, and I got to see one of my favourite bands play somewhere totally unexpected just by acting on a whim.

And that, I think you'll agree, was a fitting end to MONTH OF GIGS.

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Some videos! I think I was standing next to a speaker or someone who gave off strange magnetic vibes because the sound in these videos is pretty atrocious. So, like, apologies for that. On the plus side, it should give you an idea of what the gig was like.

I got a snippet of their cover of George Michael's 'Careless Whisper' - despite appalling sound quality you can just about hear the guiter part. At one point the guitarist was playing his guitar behind his head. AWESOME.

And finally, here's 'New Perspective,' which begins with the tail end of the cover of the Super Mario Bro. theme, complete with the 'getting coins' sound effect - all done on guitar! It was good to hear 'New Perspective' played as they didn't do it at the Shepherds Bush show - possibly the only omission from that earlier gig.