Is there a muse in the house?

I am having a bloody awful time writing today. The words just won’t come. Or is that the problem? Maybe, it’s the idea I’m stuck on. I am desperately trying to submit a few stories to the Black Library’s open submissions thingy yet I just can’t seem to come up with a good idea. I could damn well scream.

This morning I woke up with a fucking blinding idea. I thought to myself ‘This is the one! This is the one I am going to submit because it’s just so freaking awesome.’ I must have compiled maybe a page worth of notes in under five minutes. I’m not talking random ideas either. I’m talking a beginning, middle and end. I’m talking full plot outline baby. Everything was going to be alright, I could almost feel I was catapulting myself into a better life via my Trebuchet of awe-inspiring talent.


At some point after I had compiled my notes I went to take a shit. Nothing strange there. I took a book though. I mean I always take a book, but this one shattered my whole mornings work. Well, you know… that whole five minutes of notes. I have read just about everything I can get my hands on that has been printed by the Black Library. I was supremely confident I knew all of the major events in the 40K universe, all the major characters, plot lines, story arcs… the fucking lot. Yet, the book I sat down on my throne to read this morning was a collection of short stories only recently compiled by the Black Library. I started reading the first story and my world dropped out of my arse. Literally in fact.

That was my fucking story!

Well, apparently it was their fucking story. Imagine if I had sent the bloody thing off. I’m fairly sure I would have been done for plagiarism. They were that similar.


Oh well, there is always tomorrow. Hopefully I’ll be visited in my sleep by this elusive muse person/thing. We’ll have to see I guess.


That darn barn…

Me again!

Surprised? Well you shouldn’t be, I mean it’s my blog isn’t it? Dumbass.

The barn project is really starting to do my nut in. When we started, it seemed to me to be a wonderful idea. It’s a very intimate location after all, and it means a lot to us. Yet I don’t think either of us had any idea what we were letting ourselves in for. At least I’ve got this blog thing to thrash out my frustration on.

I planned to start this wedding thread with pics of the barn as it was before we started. Yet that didn’t really happen, and instead I posted pics after we had already started. You can check out that post here.

I will do a kind of timeline post eventually showing the various stages of development but for now you’ll just have to be content with me rambling.

The thing is, I thought it was the sheer volume of mess that would be the difficult part. You couldn’t even see the floor for junk when we started. Where the hell were we going to put all of that? You simply cannot imagine the amount of rubbish that has come out of that barn. Fucking decades of shit.

(On a slightly positive note, we put some of that old shit on eBay and made a tidy penny.)

Here is a list of just some of the crap we’ve found in the barn.

  • A double bed, complete with frame and mattress
  • Two dressing tables
  • A bookcase
  • A car (Yes, an actual car)
  • A caravan (again…yes)
  • Three complete sets of china dishes, plates & cups
  • Approximately eight chairs of various different sizes and design
  • Roughly two hundred books
  • A dozen plant pots (not plastic shit either)
  • A treadmill
  • Two bedside cabinets
  • A trailer
  • A tractors wheel complete with tyre (Have you any idea how big that is?)
  • A hole. A fucking big hole. A diameter of maybe five feet. Perhaps four feet deep and filled with water. Stagnant sticking water.
  • A TV
  • A Microwave
  • Three generations of children’s toys. Thats a fuck load of toys.
  • About a ton of bricks and masonry.

And we’re about half way.

This stuff isn’t too bad though. The hard part is finding somewhere for it all to go.

Yet this is all dull dull dull.

What’s really yanked my crank today is the utilities. For this project to work, not only does the barn need to be empty and clean (eat your food of the floor clean), it also needs power, and a water supply.

I tested the water with Jemma about maybe not bothering with electric and going like… really rustic and ye olde and having candles everywhere. She shat all over that idea.

And water? We don’t need that do we? I mean I’ve secured us maybe four hundred pints of booze and a boatload of wine and spirits. What the hell do we need water for? Ahhh… the caterers need it do they? Really?

What?! They want a new fucking sink too?

… the pipe work? What’s wrong with the pipes? They want new ones?


…No, I haven’t forgot the enormous hole your mum almost fell in either.

Well hey, if I ever get this done, and be assured I am taking pics the whole way through, I am going to make an album. The album, will be situated by the bar, and will be a written and visual record of the barn project for all to view on the day.

I will expect much praise, a few toasts, and perhaps a small statue erected in my name.

Right, I’ve jabbed on long enough now, and you’ve likely stopped doing whatever it is you should be doing too. So I suggest you sod off. I’m not in the mood to rant anymore.

M 😦

Wedding Bells

As some of you know, Jems and I are getting hitched this year in June. This is good news.

As time draws on and we get closer and closer to that big day, my betrothed is becoming increasingly excited. I often catch her staring into space, tongue clamped between her teeth – doubtless she’s dreaming of me and how awesome I am. She’s a lucky girl.

Yet, it’s not all fun and games. We have decided to have the reception on the farm in one of the many barns. When I say this to people I get lots of ‘Oooooh, how lovely!’ Or I might get ‘Dude! That’s awesome man.’

Then I’ll show them the barn as it is now…

Yeah so, I thought maybe the guests could all just kinda perch you know?

Or how about this one…

I'm thinking of having the band sort of in the car, all kind of playing out of the windows.

Then people have a very different response. Here are some of my favourites…

‘Shit, dude… You got a lot of work here.’ (My first words when Jems showed me the barn.)

‘Argh! Okay, okay… we got a lot of work here.’ (After Jems elbowed me in the ribs.)

‘……………………..’ (A silent stare, complete with gaping mouth. The old man has a way with words.)

‘You’re mad, quite simply barking mad’

‘A ha ha ha ha ha………..’

The thing is I know it’s a lot of work. It’s ours though. It means something to us, and we’ll manage. Only a few more weeks of solid graft. I mean if we work in shifts of say twelve hours each and don’t eat or go to the toilet (that be a waste of valuable time!) then I’m sure it will all come together won’t it? Hmmmm….

‘Jem’s hun? We need to talk….’

Nah, seriously. It is a challenge, but it’s one I’m prepared to meet head on. Who cares if it impinges on my writing time? I mean they’ll be another Bridport next year right? And the Black Library will have another submission window next year…

*Sound of quiet sobbing*

Okay, I have to go now. I have been at the farm all day again today and I’m fairly sure I stink like a beer shit.

Black Library Rocks Again

It’s back! At long bloody last the big BL is back.

I was so pleased when I discovered this that I accidently opened a bottle of wine and drank half of it whilst skimming through the pages.

I am pleased for two reasons.

1) I live in the middle of no where and find it difficult to get into town to buy my books. Instead I mostly buy them online. I especially like browsing the black library’s “upcoming titles” page and adding them all to my wish list.

2) This year they are accepting open submissions from aspiring writers. This is really great news. I will be forever writing now and poor Jems will never see me again.

Okay, well maybe she will. Maybe when I go make some tea or I dunno, get more wine perhaps.

M 🙂

Run for your life! (Yeah Right)

I went for a run tonight. I have not been for a run in a long time. As a rule I don’t tend to do anything that requires more effort than getting out of bed, yet…


… we must support the one we love. Argh, who am I kidding? She challenged me okay?!

I have been feeling a little tubby for a while now. Worse still is my increasing reliance on things like bannisters and er… chairs. I get short of breath just taking a shit sometimes. So when Jemma (who is much fitter than me) threw down the gauntlet I decided that…

A) Hey! I’m a man right? And you Jem, well you’re just a girl. That’s right… GIRL.

B) It’s a fact that men are better at sports than women. It’s true. The bible said so anyway. It’s true, just read this…

As regards the individual nature, woman is defective and misbegotten, for the active power of the male seed tends to the production of a perfect likeness in the masculine sex; while the production of a woman comes from defect in the active power….” Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theologica,Q92, art. 1, Reply Obj. 1

C) Okay, joking aside I think I actually need to do this, for my health or something important like that. I mean I’m not getting any fitter sitting in my chair of power downstairs, despite the fact that this morning I levelled up again. I am now a level 26 battle mage, bitch! I’m like a god now, and your just a salesman or a bin man.

D) Yeah… who am I kidding.

So, like I said I went for a run tonight. We ran the equivalent of three laps of the local sports field.

I feel like death.

My legs are so angry with me. They refuse to support me.

My spine is even screaming for blood. It wants to coil up on itself, forcing me to snap in the middle. My fat gut will protect me though.

My chest is the worst though. I feel like I ran around that field with my head inside a bag of fibreglass.

Jemma wants to go again on Tuesday.

I can’t wait.


Unleash the Magic…

Pool tonight… and I have  score to settle.

I play roughly once a month with a friend of mine down my local boozer. He’s winning overall about 10 – 5.

Tonight I will level that playing field. I have already had two pints of ‘Skill’, and in a short while I will be leaving my abode – armed only with my ‘Doom Stick’ and a crushing aura of unbeatable-ness. Yes, another word I just made up. What? Wanna make something of it??? Eh? Eh?

Thought not.

Right then (Glug….glug… glug… ahhhhhh), to WAR!!!!!

M 🙂

Hello?! Can anyone hear me????

A great start to the day.

This morning I received an email from a magazine in America. I had long forgotten that I sent anything to that particular magazine so it really was kick-ass when I opened my inbox.

You see, I have a few short stories that are just kind of laying about on hard disks or in my desk drawer. One day I thought to myself ‘Why don’t I try sending some of this shit off?’

So I did.

I’ve trawled freelance writing forums for months now. They are awash with the number of people who have sent things off and subsequently wondered if they have just mailed their work to a black hole. Suffice to say I thought I was one of them.

The email I received this morning however was most heartening.

While the magazine is not buying my work, they have suggested I try to send the same piece again in six months time.

‘What? Is that it?’ I hear you cry.

Yep. I can see how others would say that this news is nothing, that I have been perhaps let down gently but I would disagree.

I have had a response, and I am led to believe that those are few and far between.

For this reason, for this tiny insignificant victory, I rejoice.

I will try again in six months too and not only that but I will also send more work out to other magazines.

As Bill & Ted would say ‘Most Excellent, Dude!’


M 🙂

The Arched Eyebrow of Disdain

Today I will begin what I feel will become a long running theme of mine.

Every so often something happens during my daily grind that angers or irks me in some way. People are invariable the cause, though sometimes vegetables… and maybe a certain cat.

I have noticed I have a peculiar response to these frequent and often irritating moments.

I raise an eyebrow in the offenders direction. A single eyebrow I might add, which is often coupled with involuntary frothing of the mouth, gesticulation and an overall state of discontent.

Thus was born the Eyebrow of Disdain.

Today my eye fell upon those who attempt to drive their frost coated cars. You know the type. They are the ones trying in vain to reverse out of their drive on a cold winters morning. Both windows are open and the cars heaters are on full blast. A single small circle of windscreen has been scraped free of frost from which the drivers face can be seen pressed against the inside. Two beady eyes straining to see the road. These people anger me greatly.
So today I pulled up behind one such man. He lent out of his window with an expression that said ‘What?’

I unleashed the eyebrow.

To my great joy, he looked suitably shamed. I then drove off humming my “victory hum”.

It is my hope that people will adopt this method of showing others ones anger and discontent. I envisage a day when perhaps I will do something that is irksome to someone else and I look up to see an angry eyebrow aimed squarely at me. On that day I will know I have succeeded. I have succeeded in giving the world a method of letting others know they have upset someone. Imagine that?

No more middle fingers or shouted expletives. No, instead the offender will be shamed as the Eyebrow of Disdain falls upon them. They will immediately see the error of their ways and correct them, perhaps by hanging their head in shame. In fact I hope this becomes the accepted method of accepting one has been irksome.

Yes. Today is a good day.


Pancakes & Cameras

I have come up with a cunning way of making some money.

What? Tell me how! Now! Now! NOW!

Well, a little background if you please? Thank you.

Well, there I was sitting at the table happily eating my pancakes (Pancake Day Woo hoo! Yeah! Alright…) when my faithful moggy Loken started to tug on my leg. Again, no that is not code for some feline wank fest. Jeez…

I eventually relented and teased him by holding a small piece of my delicious pancake mere inches from his slavering gaping mouth. He began to nash his teeth and I don’t know maybe because I was scared I dropped it. It fell onto the end of his nose and he recoiled his head backwards at the same moment it made contact with his face. It was so funny. For a split second it looked as if he had a really, really heavy piece of pancake on his face that was forcing his head down between his shoulder blades. Truly awesome.

Anyway, if only I’d had a camera available to capture that split second. It was worth it just for the fact he scrunched his face up into a sneer and was staring at the pancake cross-eyed. Fucking ace.

There is no way I can ever repeat that moment. Believe me I tried. Furthermore, as you can never have a camera on standby with you like all the time I have come up with a novel solution.

I give you the Third Eye…

Wouldn’t this be great? You’d have to wear it all day obviously but I dunno with a few tweaks it could be the next “Alice Band”  or something.

I envisage it with a pull cord or maybe like it’s somehow linked to your thoughts. Fantastic.

Also, with a few minor adjustments it could double as personal protection device. Yeah! You heard me. I mean, it’s probably only got like a one bulb for a tiny flash but….. what if you modified it so that it had like a hundred hidden bulbs. Then, if you were gonna be mugged or something you could zap em! Imagine that. He’d think the fucking world had exploded or something, and as he’s rolling round on the floor wondering why he’s got a crisp for a face and no eyes you could quietly make your escape.

Anyway, I must away. Apparently there is pancake all over the dining room floor and its my job to clean it up? Mine?!

Loken… you’re so bloody ungrateful.

M 🙂

Bashing One Out

No no no no… you filthy bastards.

I am not doing what you think. I am not a one armed typist regardless of what some might say.

I thought, as I have nothing to do at this particular moment that I’d come and randomly post something on whatever comes into my head. You must appreciate the fact that this could be quite surreal.

I know! I’ll write about what the rest of this week is going to bring for me. I can do this because I am psychic now.


This will be a great day. Work will ring me to say there is no need to come in for rest of the week. I am their best and they can’t risk exhausting me by sending me out on “emergency calls”.

Then after I put the phone down I will drive to the local Tesco and pick me up a copy of Aliens Vs Predator for my xbox360.

Drive home.

Insert disc into xbox360.

Secure and arrange a massive pile of munchy food and a cup of tea.

Spend twenty minutes trying to decide which character to play. The Alien? Could do, but lack of a gun would make me wish I had a gun. Marine? Yeah right. So I get munched by an Alien or have my skull ripped out by a predator? Gay marines. That leaves Predator then. Or as I call him El Diablo Coolio.


Leave house and secure more munchy food.

Play Aliens Vs Predator a bit…

Go to bed after playing a bit. Say about Midnight then.


Get up and go check the xbox is still there and working correctly.

Maybe go out at lunch time to secure munchy foods.

Come back and make cup of tea.

Assess Aliens Vs Predator’s ability to be played hard.


Might go online and see if anyone wants to play Aliens Vs Predator.

Drink tea.


Discover Wednesdays lottery ticket. It’s a winner!

Celebrate with tea.

Call up work and tell them I will longer be coming back as I am now a full time Predator.


Do some writing. I really should do this. Perhaps I shall instead keep a log of my best kills throughout the week? If I was really good…

Because I am so freaking good, I shall write a guide to any nOOb predators out there. They will read it an be in awe of my amazingness. Yes that is a word. Its predator speak and translates as Fucking Awesome.


I doubt I will be able to play this day as Jemma may rip my sack off like a paper towel. Instead I shall likely stalk the house like a predator and hunt the cat. I even have my own laser pen! I could point it from odd angles and leap out from behind stuff. She better not give away my hiding places…

‘I don’t care who you are back in the world. You give our position one more time, I’ll bleed you, real quiet . . . leave you here.’

She’ll just have to accept it as the new me. I’ll not have her saying anything about my predator costume again either.

Sounds like a pretty awesome week to me.

Face it, you’ll probably not have as much fun as me this week.

M 🙂