Part 8 is here.
As the humongous crow left Joel Fields once more, there was still no indication that the goats would be back in the Meadows anytime soon.
Goldberg sighed.
"We really need to get back, Pete," he said forcefully. "Why would you want to stick around here anyway? There's nothing."
Pete's plan may have been slightly flawed as far as location was concerned, but this was one part he had put some thought into. He looked away for a moment and, calling upon all the acting prowess he had garnered in his somewhat limited experience, shed a single tear.
Then he looked back to the group and said:
"I just don't believe it. Joel Fields."
Goldberg sighed again.
"I know, Pete."
"I mean, I know it's a wasteland but...it's Joel Fields, y'know? I can almost smell the dandelions."
"I know, Pete." Tears were now forming in the eyes of the other two goats.
"I mean look at it! No grass, no life.."
He trotted over to the sign.
"Even the sign..."
He bowed his head, stuck out his horns.
"Even the sign is rotten!"
And on that last word, he gave the decrepit thing an almighty wallop.
* * *
Pete wasn't sure what he thought was going to happen when he headbutted that sign. The only clue he had was what the monster had told him when he had fallen asleep in the forest:
"The 'Welcome to Joel Fields' sign. That's the key."
But he reasoned that his attack would provoke some hint as to the sign's role in uncovering the cave and, even if it didn't, he could at least disguise the attempt as an emotional outburst while he thought of something else.
Fortunately, something did happen. The monster had not been being overly cryptic; an evil goat-harvesting horror he may be but, to his credit, the sign was the key.
And once Pete had turned the key, it opened the lock, and once the lock had opened, so did the trapdoor beneath Pete's hooves.
"Pete!" he heard his comrades cry as he tumbled. It was not a very far fall, perhaps a little over ten feet, but it had taken him by surprise. When he got to his feet, his legs were shaking.
"Are you okay?" called Cliffey, peering down at him from above.
"I think so, yeah." His cover remained unblown. "Guys, I know you're all aching to go home but..."
"But what?" came the cry from above after a moment.
"...There's, like, a passageway down here. Goldberg, do you have a torch?"
Another moment passed before a beam of light confirmed that yes, he did. Goldberg carefully clambered down.
"Isn't this exciting? Get Cliffey and Sarah too!"
"Pete, I'm not sure about this. I'm as curious as you are to find out what's underneath Joel Fields, but I can't guarantee it won't be dangerous. And even if could, I couldn't guarantee it won't be boring. The three of you should probably hang back while I check it out."
"And let you have all the fun?" chimed Sarah, for whom the promise of new ground seemed to have erased the trauma of seeing the state of the Fields. She had quietly joined her friends in the rabbit-hole, and was now grinning expectantly.
Goldberg sighed, not for the first time. "Okay. Well. Just...keep your wits about you, okay? And stay close. Are you coming, Cliffey?" he shouted up.
"Sure..." said Cliffey uncertainly. He had personally had enough adventure for one day, but what can one do when swimming against the tide? Especially when one is a goat, a species not known for their strong swimming.
As he prepared to descend the trapdoor's shaft, he looked up. The crow was still there, and it looked like he was just flying around in circles over the Fields.
That's odd, thought Cliffey. He's free to go home. Why doesn't he leave?
He realised that he hadn't been polite enough to ask the crow's name yet, and resolved to do so if they met again.
* * *
Goldberg, naturally, led the way through the darkness, with Pete, Sarah and Cliffey - in that order - close behind.
The passage wasn't too long; it wasn't particularly twisty, and it wasn't at all turny. Goldberg hardly even needed his flashlight - the dim light filtering through the trapdoor would probably have been enough.
It wasn't long before they came to a thick metal door, fitted neatly into the walls of the cave.
"There's a padlock," muttered Goldberg, mostly to himself, "but it looks old. I can probably just bash it off with the end of the torch. Are you guys ready to see what lies beyond?"
A small voice cut through the suspense.
"Goldberg?"
"Yes, Pete?"
"I'm scared."
"That's understandable. But don't be. It's something new. Life - real life, not goat life where you lie around all day and eat and do nothing - life is made up of new things."
Until you find the one that kills you, thought Cliffey.
True to his word, Goldberg dispatched the padlock with ease. He gripped the door handle.
"Here we go, folks."
And in they went.
TO BE CONTINUED
Wednesday 23 February 2011
Monday 14 February 2011
Valentine's Message
So this is the first time I've been on the right side of Valentine's Day - cooing and swapping cards with my sweetheart instead of spending the day in my room posting scornful Facebook statuses - and it's quite the experience.
If I remember correctly, my own contribution to Facebook Bitterness Day last year pointed out that February the 14th was also the anniversary of the death of Dolly the Sheep, and my cousin Jon happily pointed out that it was also the day when Chip & Pin was first introduced. Actually, I think that these offerings represent relative optimism - I mean, it's nice that we found something to celebrate - so it's perhaps not too surprising that I've forgone the cynicism and jumped headlong into Valentine's Day.
Sarah bought me a Jools Holland DVD and perhaps the glitteriest card I've ever seen, I got her an alarm clock* and a relatively bland card, and we stayed up 'til midnight last night (yes, that's an achievement by our standards) to exchange these things. Already today, I have skipped my Cultures lecture (unless you're my parents, in which case it was...cancelled...due to...bears) so that we could meet for lunch, and when she's done in college we're going shopping, because I've decided that I need to start spending less and one can't start being prudent without a tremendous display of spending beforehand.** Tonight we'll probably watch The OC, that being our thing at the moment thanks to Cliffey.
So yes, at any rate, I'm embracing Valentine's Day this year, and here's why: because it's one day when you can be really soppy and corny and you don't have to be ashamed of it. Not that I ever am anyway but society dictates that I probably ought to be.
Except for today. So if you can't celebrate your love for your lover, then celebrate your love for music, video games, your mates, really delicious waffles, Pokémon, or, y'know, anything you have any affection for.
RIP Dolly. There's one less sheep in the world, but it's okay because there's still another sheep who's identical in every way, so it's alright. Unless that sheep is dead too.
Joel.
*Cliffey's friend Gaz told me that a clock is a silly Valentine's present, but nuts to him and his reasonably priced shoes.
**Also, Green Man tickets go on sale tomorrow, but that's DEFINITELY MY LAST BIG SPEND.
If I remember correctly, my own contribution to Facebook Bitterness Day last year pointed out that February the 14th was also the anniversary of the death of Dolly the Sheep, and my cousin Jon happily pointed out that it was also the day when Chip & Pin was first introduced. Actually, I think that these offerings represent relative optimism - I mean, it's nice that we found something to celebrate - so it's perhaps not too surprising that I've forgone the cynicism and jumped headlong into Valentine's Day.
Sarah bought me a Jools Holland DVD and perhaps the glitteriest card I've ever seen, I got her an alarm clock* and a relatively bland card, and we stayed up 'til midnight last night (yes, that's an achievement by our standards) to exchange these things. Already today, I have skipped my Cultures lecture (unless you're my parents, in which case it was...cancelled...due to...bears) so that we could meet for lunch, and when she's done in college we're going shopping, because I've decided that I need to start spending less and one can't start being prudent without a tremendous display of spending beforehand.** Tonight we'll probably watch The OC, that being our thing at the moment thanks to Cliffey.
So yes, at any rate, I'm embracing Valentine's Day this year, and here's why: because it's one day when you can be really soppy and corny and you don't have to be ashamed of it. Not that I ever am anyway but society dictates that I probably ought to be.
Except for today. So if you can't celebrate your love for your lover, then celebrate your love for music, video games, your mates, really delicious waffles, Pokémon, or, y'know, anything you have any affection for.
RIP Dolly. There's one less sheep in the world, but it's okay because there's still another sheep who's identical in every way, so it's alright. Unless that sheep is dead too.
Joel.
*Cliffey's friend Gaz told me that a clock is a silly Valentine's present, but nuts to him and his reasonably priced shoes.
**Also, Green Man tickets go on sale tomorrow, but that's DEFINITELY MY LAST BIG SPEND.
Friday 11 February 2011
Blank Canvas (Part 2 of 2)
"Oh, for fuck's sake."
"Hm?"
"I've just jumped in the water. I told you to do a backflip!"
Joel hands the iPod back to Cliffey, and unhappily awaits destruction. They are sitting in a bus shelter near the station, waiting for the arrival of the silver chariot that will take them home.
"I'm worried they'll get lost."
"Don't be. They'll get here. They just might be...late."
"What, like 1am?"
"Yeah. On Friday morning."
The show was phenomenally entertaining, littered with TV theme medleys and talking Jack O' Lanterns and between-song sketches and even an Outkast cover. Joel is pleased to have been able to shout "ICE COLD!" at someone in the course of his gig-going, even if it was decidedly not André 3000.
But in spite of this, they were glad to get out. Sin City was, predictably enough, packed to the rafters, and there was a bit of a squeeze when it came time to leave. Ten or fifteen minutes had passed in there without any movement whatsoever; Cliffey spent it pinned against the merch desk, all the while dodging the audience members who hadn't bought their The Blanks hotpants beforehand.
Joel passed the time by playing Which Famous Football Stadium Disaster Would The Eventual Inevitable Chaos Most Resemble? Given the crush, he reasoned, it would probably be Hillsborough, but hey! Maybe the band would come back on for a second encore and we'd end up with an Ibrox.
But fortunately they made it out alive, and having ignored the not-so-orderly queue to get back in - everybody wanted to meet Ted from Scrubs - they had ended up here, on the bus stop.
A young man asks if they are also waiting for the 4A; they are not. He skulks off into the night.
And before they know it, another game of Worms is over, and they're in the car, on the way home. Tom is driving.
"I can't believe you got me to come to Swansea."
Joel smirks.
"Well excuse me for only paying you £25. Next time I won't bother."
Sarah is smiling in the backseat, and their housemate Pete has come along too. They exchange tales of their evenings, how good the gig was, how they bumped into Sam, how that didn't really come to anything, and everything looks like it will be okay because nobody has to spend the night in Swansea.
"Hm?"
"I've just jumped in the water. I told you to do a backflip!"
Joel hands the iPod back to Cliffey, and unhappily awaits destruction. They are sitting in a bus shelter near the station, waiting for the arrival of the silver chariot that will take them home.
"I'm worried they'll get lost."
"Don't be. They'll get here. They just might be...late."
"What, like 1am?"
"Yeah. On Friday morning."
The show was phenomenally entertaining, littered with TV theme medleys and talking Jack O' Lanterns and between-song sketches and even an Outkast cover. Joel is pleased to have been able to shout "ICE COLD!" at someone in the course of his gig-going, even if it was decidedly not André 3000.
But in spite of this, they were glad to get out. Sin City was, predictably enough, packed to the rafters, and there was a bit of a squeeze when it came time to leave. Ten or fifteen minutes had passed in there without any movement whatsoever; Cliffey spent it pinned against the merch desk, all the while dodging the audience members who hadn't bought their The Blanks hotpants beforehand.
Joel passed the time by playing Which Famous Football Stadium Disaster Would The Eventual Inevitable Chaos Most Resemble? Given the crush, he reasoned, it would probably be Hillsborough, but hey! Maybe the band would come back on for a second encore and we'd end up with an Ibrox.
But fortunately they made it out alive, and having ignored the not-so-orderly queue to get back in - everybody wanted to meet Ted from Scrubs - they had ended up here, on the bus stop.
A young man asks if they are also waiting for the 4A; they are not. He skulks off into the night.
And before they know it, another game of Worms is over, and they're in the car, on the way home. Tom is driving.
"I can't believe you got me to come to Swansea."
Joel smirks.
"Well excuse me for only paying you £25. Next time I won't bother."
Sarah is smiling in the backseat, and their housemate Pete has come along too. They exchange tales of their evenings, how good the gig was, how they bumped into Sam, how that didn't really come to anything, and everything looks like it will be okay because nobody has to spend the night in Swansea.
THE END
Thursday 10 February 2011
Blank Canvas (Part 1 of 2)
"This isn't first class, is it?"
Two unshowered, unshaved young men board, and wonder if they've got the wrong platform. Given its destination, the train carriage seems too comfortable, too plush.
Hesitantly, they take their seats. The Guardian and all its various supplements are spread across the table. The longer-haired of the two picks up an article on pro-life organisations in America, and tries to pretend he's sure this is the right train.
The train lurches into motion. His companion fiddles with his iPod.
"Game of Worms?" he suggests.
Joel puts the newspaper down, and nods. While Cliffey sets it up, he tries to squint past his reflection in the window, hoping to work out precisely which direction they're going in.
"The next station stop," mumbles the man on the other end of the Tannoy, "is Bridgend."
The two travellers momentarily exchange a panicked glance, and then relax. That's right. That's the right direction. They begin their game.
About an hour later, they alight. Tramping across the darkened station, Joel comments that he feels as if he has gone wrong somewhere, to have arrived in this city. Cliffey chuckles, and they head out into the evening rain.
If Cardiff is the heart of Wales, then Swansea is its large intestine.
* * *
Back home, someone is looking at Swansea Station on a map. She examines roads, inspects postcodes. It's not her job to get there, but the guy whose job it is needs all the help he can get.
She scribbles down the station's postcode, pauses, and decides to play Baldies until Tom arrives.
* * *
The venue is called Sin City, and after a brief look at the map outside the station, Joel and his companion start working their way towards it. Down Alexandra, turn off at Orchard, carry on onto the Kingsway.
They stop at Co-Op to buy some food, and as they enter they are greeted by a recording of Brian Blessed.
They pass the largest Oceana in Britain, and thank their lucky stars that they came here tonight, rather than waiting two days for the show to come to Cardiff. There's an Oceana there too, of course, but it's just not big enough.
Sin City is one of the more toilety venues either of them have seen. Cliffey hands over the e-tickets, the name Thom Cliffe is crossed off the guest list, and they start up the stairs.
This will be fun.
* * *
Tom arrives at the house just after 10. Sarah doesn't hear him knocking, so he has to ring the house phone to get her attention.
"Hello?"
"Can you open the door, please?"
"Oh."
She opens the door and in he comes, looking slightly fragile.
"Did he leave the money?"
"All twenty-five pounds of it."
She hands him two notes, a five and a twenty, and a thin smile plays across his face.
"Well, let's get this over with."
TO BE CONTINUED
Two unshowered, unshaved young men board, and wonder if they've got the wrong platform. Given its destination, the train carriage seems too comfortable, too plush.
Hesitantly, they take their seats. The Guardian and all its various supplements are spread across the table. The longer-haired of the two picks up an article on pro-life organisations in America, and tries to pretend he's sure this is the right train.
The train lurches into motion. His companion fiddles with his iPod.
"Game of Worms?" he suggests.
Joel puts the newspaper down, and nods. While Cliffey sets it up, he tries to squint past his reflection in the window, hoping to work out precisely which direction they're going in.
"The next station stop," mumbles the man on the other end of the Tannoy, "is Bridgend."
The two travellers momentarily exchange a panicked glance, and then relax. That's right. That's the right direction. They begin their game.
About an hour later, they alight. Tramping across the darkened station, Joel comments that he feels as if he has gone wrong somewhere, to have arrived in this city. Cliffey chuckles, and they head out into the evening rain.
If Cardiff is the heart of Wales, then Swansea is its large intestine.
* * *
Back home, someone is looking at Swansea Station on a map. She examines roads, inspects postcodes. It's not her job to get there, but the guy whose job it is needs all the help he can get.
She scribbles down the station's postcode, pauses, and decides to play Baldies until Tom arrives.
* * *
The venue is called Sin City, and after a brief look at the map outside the station, Joel and his companion start working their way towards it. Down Alexandra, turn off at Orchard, carry on onto the Kingsway.
They stop at Co-Op to buy some food, and as they enter they are greeted by a recording of Brian Blessed.
They pass the largest Oceana in Britain, and thank their lucky stars that they came here tonight, rather than waiting two days for the show to come to Cardiff. There's an Oceana there too, of course, but it's just not big enough.
Sin City is one of the more toilety venues either of them have seen. Cliffey hands over the e-tickets, the name Thom Cliffe is crossed off the guest list, and they start up the stairs.
This will be fun.
* * *
Tom arrives at the house just after 10. Sarah doesn't hear him knocking, so he has to ring the house phone to get her attention.
"Hello?"
"Can you open the door, please?"
"Oh."
She opens the door and in he comes, looking slightly fragile.
"Did he leave the money?"
"All twenty-five pounds of it."
She hands him two notes, a five and a twenty, and a thin smile plays across his face.
"Well, let's get this over with."
TO BE CONTINUED
Tuesday 8 February 2011
Mario Party 2 Drinking Game
MARIO PARTY 2 DRINKING GAME
Official Rules
- If you land on a red space, take a drink.
- If you land on a ? space, take a drink.
- If Baby Bowser steals coins from you, take a drink.
- Upon conclusion of a mini-game (including Duel and Battle mini-games), any and all losing players must take a drink.
- If you receive a star, all other players must finish their drinks. This includes bonus stars awarded at the end of the game.
- Upon arrival at the Item Store, or any other space which gives the player the option of exchanging coins for goods or services, that player must either pay for what is being offered, or take a drink.
- If a player employs the services of Boo to steal coins from a rival, then that player (the one who employed Boo) must drink for the duration of Boo's attack. Note that this includes use of the Boo Bell, and that Boo is also susceptible to Rule 5.
- If you employ Boo to steal a star from a rival, you must finish your drink as compensation.
- If, for whatever reason, you are sent back to the starting space, finish your drink.
- If Bowser appears on the board and steals your coins, take a drink.
- If you land on the Bowser space, drink a finger of each player's drink, including your own.
- Upon passing the bank space, take a drink.
- If a player lands directly on the bank space, all other players must take a drink.
- If you fail to receive an item while playing the item game, take a drink.
- If you receive a Bowser Bomb, drink a finger of each player's drink, including your own.
- Upon arrival at Toad's star space, if you do not have the 20 coins necessary to pay for the star, finish your drink.
- If you roll a 1 at any point during the game, take a drink. This includes the opening roll to see who goes first, as well as rolls bolstered by Mushrooms and Golden Mushrooms. It does not, however, include mini-games that involve stopping a dice, such as Honeycomb Havoc.
- If you lose coins or stars through Chance Time (including Bowser's Chance Time), take a drink.
- If you do anything in-game that makes the other players laugh for more than ten seconds, finish your drink. This includes events that incur drinking penalties under other rules.
- FOR HARDCORE MARIO PARTIERS ONLY! Take a drink every time you see Bowser (or Baby Bowser) on screen.
These rules can be applied to any Mario Party game, although they were written with Mario Party 2 in mind so some issues may be unavoidable. Add your own rules as you see fit, and remember: play to win.
Joel.
Monday 7 February 2011
Should Have Gone To Heli-Beds
It's fair to say that Tom, Cliffey and myself enjoy a spot of football now and then.
We usually satiate our soccerlust by playing various editions of FIFA, cheering on our fantasy teams on the Sky Sports website, and occasionally even going to Varsity to actually watch a game.
Last week, however, we decided to step it up a notch.
We decided that we would go to a proper football ground and watch a proper football match like proper fans.
The hard part was deciding which team to see. Cliffey lobbied for Everton vs. Blackpool, but the tickets would have been expensive, and the journey long. And I wasn't too keen on taking a pew in Goodison Park anyway.
Perhaps, then, we could go and see Cliffey's other team, Huddersfield Town, in action? They were in Exeter this weekend, and though Devon was a fair jaunt away, it would surely be a grand day out.
But no, too far. So we eventually settled for Hereford United vs. Lincoln City; Tom had family in Hereford, and as such he'd been to a few of their games before. He promised cheap and plentiful tickets and a relatively short drive. Plus, in all the games he'd gone to, he'd never seen his beloved United score a goal, so that would be nice for him.
So on Saturday morning we set off. Cliffey and I made it fairly clear that the music we wanted to listen to didn't feature anyone from N-Dubz, and so it was a relatively pleasant drive. We stopped at Tesco to get some food for the road, and my insistence that real men didn't buy pre-made sandwiches lead to rather a lot of crumbs in Tom's car. This is mostly due to my method: tearing off chunks of french bread and wrapping them in slices of discount ham, while tasty, is admittedly a slightly flawed way of doing things if you want to keep the surrounding area tidy.
A couple of hours and many, many jokes about Hereford later we arrived at Edgar Street. It took us a while to find a parking space - it must have been peak time at Heli-Beds - but we eventually found a spot, paid our £14, squeezed through the turnstile, and took our place at the side of the pitch.
Unfortunately, in spite of all the sportsmanship ("Booooooooo! Ya fat shit!"), witty and creative chants ("Come on Hereford!") and the opportunity to be amongst other people who really appreciate fantastic football ("What a shit kick!"), the game ended 0-0 so it was a bit of a waste of time really.*
But in spite of this dull performance**, we still enjoyed ourselves. Which just goes to show that the joy is in the journey, not whatever it is you're going for.
Unless you're on your way to any match that doesn't involve Hereford United. The Huddersfield and Everton matches were both veritable goalfests, with Huddersfield thumping Exeter 4-1, and Everton coming from 3-2 down to beat Blackpool 5-3 in what was probably a very exciting match.
And, to top it off, Tom has still yet to see his favourite West Country team score. On the plus side, he did get to drown his sorrows in an ice cream sundae and some illegal salad at Harvester afterwards, so he was in a good mood for the Mario Party 2 drinking game.
More on that another time.
Joel.
*The 'official' sources will tell you that Lincoln won 1-0 but I was looking at my programme when the 'goal' was 'scored' so as far as I'm concerned it was goalless. The BBC, as well as both clubs' official websites will tell you otherwise, but you know what? I was there.
**The only one who was really making any effort at all was the old man running back and forth with half-time snacks. He was a HERO.
We usually satiate our soccerlust by playing various editions of FIFA, cheering on our fantasy teams on the Sky Sports website, and occasionally even going to Varsity to actually watch a game.
Last week, however, we decided to step it up a notch.
We decided that we would go to a proper football ground and watch a proper football match like proper fans.
The hard part was deciding which team to see. Cliffey lobbied for Everton vs. Blackpool, but the tickets would have been expensive, and the journey long. And I wasn't too keen on taking a pew in Goodison Park anyway.
Perhaps, then, we could go and see Cliffey's other team, Huddersfield Town, in action? They were in Exeter this weekend, and though Devon was a fair jaunt away, it would surely be a grand day out.
But no, too far. So we eventually settled for Hereford United vs. Lincoln City; Tom had family in Hereford, and as such he'd been to a few of their games before. He promised cheap and plentiful tickets and a relatively short drive. Plus, in all the games he'd gone to, he'd never seen his beloved United score a goal, so that would be nice for him.
So on Saturday morning we set off. Cliffey and I made it fairly clear that the music we wanted to listen to didn't feature anyone from N-Dubz, and so it was a relatively pleasant drive. We stopped at Tesco to get some food for the road, and my insistence that real men didn't buy pre-made sandwiches lead to rather a lot of crumbs in Tom's car. This is mostly due to my method: tearing off chunks of french bread and wrapping them in slices of discount ham, while tasty, is admittedly a slightly flawed way of doing things if you want to keep the surrounding area tidy.
A couple of hours and many, many jokes about Hereford later we arrived at Edgar Street. It took us a while to find a parking space - it must have been peak time at Heli-Beds - but we eventually found a spot, paid our £14, squeezed through the turnstile, and took our place at the side of the pitch.
Unfortunately, in spite of all the sportsmanship ("Booooooooo! Ya fat shit!"), witty and creative chants ("Come on Hereford!") and the opportunity to be amongst other people who really appreciate fantastic football ("What a shit kick!"), the game ended 0-0 so it was a bit of a waste of time really.*
But in spite of this dull performance**, we still enjoyed ourselves. Which just goes to show that the joy is in the journey, not whatever it is you're going for.
Unless you're on your way to any match that doesn't involve Hereford United. The Huddersfield and Everton matches were both veritable goalfests, with Huddersfield thumping Exeter 4-1, and Everton coming from 3-2 down to beat Blackpool 5-3 in what was probably a very exciting match.
And, to top it off, Tom has still yet to see his favourite West Country team score. On the plus side, he did get to drown his sorrows in an ice cream sundae and some illegal salad at Harvester afterwards, so he was in a good mood for the Mario Party 2 drinking game.
More on that another time.
Joel.
*The 'official' sources will tell you that Lincoln won 1-0 but I was looking at my programme when the 'goal' was 'scored' so as far as I'm concerned it was goalless. The BBC, as well as both clubs' official websites will tell you otherwise, but you know what? I was there.
**The only one who was really making any effort at all was the old man running back and forth with half-time snacks. He was a HERO.
Wednesday 2 February 2011
Are They A Fan?
DISCLAIMER: The cantankerous weed-smoking metalhead featured in this story is a fabrication, and in no way based on the real Zane Lowe, who is probably a lovely man.
Zane Lowe frowns as he leaves the studio. "What I need," he thinks, caressing his beard "is a spliff."
It's going to be a pretty crappy show tonight. Zane has just acquired an early copy of the upcoming Eyehategod album, and he's spent the last hour and a half begging the suits to let him play a track off it.
"We've told you before, Zane. No sludge metal."
"It's just one track, you fucks. Four minutes. Nobody will notice, nobody pays any fucking attention to the radio anymore."
"That's not really the kind of attitude we want to see here at Radio 1." Sarcastic bastard.
"So what can I play?" he growls.
"Well, you've got Liam Bailey on tonight, so he'll want to hear his track. And maybe that Chase & Status song too."
"Great. And will there be anything with balls?"
It's not hard to get these stuffed shirt radio bastards flustered.
"You can play some Bullet For My Valentine if you want."
"Brilliant."
Zane takes a long drag on his joint. He prefers his other job. Nobody tells him what music he can or can't listen to when he's working his other job.
Ever since that bout of flu around this time last year, Zane has found that his body doesn't seem to need sleep like other people's bodies do. He can go for a week or more without so much as a power-nap. For some reason he can just keep going.
The radio stuff pays pretty well, and even with two kids he can still afford all sorts of fun for himself. So money is no issue; he doesn't need the extra cash. He just needed something exciting to fill up those extra hours.
So he went into the assassination business. It's pretty easy. Someone, usually someone pale and looking as if they were having second thoughts about it, tells him a name and gives him a fat wad of notes. He drives to their house, Acid Bath screaming from his car stereo, knocks on their door, and silently does away with them.
Sometimes he wears a mask and gets it over with quickly. But whenever he is given a new quarry, he always asks the same question:
"Are they a fan?"
And if they are, well, he gives them a treat before they meet their maker.
"Hi, I'm Zane Lowe."
"Oh my god! What are you doing here?"
"Are you ________?"
"Yes! Oh wow! How do you know my name?"
A cheeky grin.
"A little bird told me."
And then death. He thinks it's quite a good idea, actually; a lot of people would probably pay good money to be killed by a celebrity. Teenage girls screaming in ecstasy as one of the Jonas Brothers tightens his hands around their neck. Nerdy 30-year-olds who live in a basement clambering over each other to be the first person to actually be slaughtered by Uma Therman (in full Kill Bill outfit, of course).
Hm.
Zane takes one last pull on the joint before letting it fall to the ground. A girl with a harajuku haircut and her one-earringed boyfriend pass by on the other side of the road. They see him, whisper to each other, exchange oh-my-god-is-that-Zane-Lowe grins, and walk on.
Zane checks his watch. Ten to seven. The radio bosses will be waiting for him.
Oh well. Time to go to work.
Zane Lowe frowns as he leaves the studio. "What I need," he thinks, caressing his beard "is a spliff."
It's going to be a pretty crappy show tonight. Zane has just acquired an early copy of the upcoming Eyehategod album, and he's spent the last hour and a half begging the suits to let him play a track off it.
"We've told you before, Zane. No sludge metal."
"It's just one track, you fucks. Four minutes. Nobody will notice, nobody pays any fucking attention to the radio anymore."
"That's not really the kind of attitude we want to see here at Radio 1." Sarcastic bastard.
"So what can I play?" he growls.
"Well, you've got Liam Bailey on tonight, so he'll want to hear his track. And maybe that Chase & Status song too."
"Great. And will there be anything with balls?"
It's not hard to get these stuffed shirt radio bastards flustered.
"You can play some Bullet For My Valentine if you want."
"Brilliant."
Zane takes a long drag on his joint. He prefers his other job. Nobody tells him what music he can or can't listen to when he's working his other job.
Ever since that bout of flu around this time last year, Zane has found that his body doesn't seem to need sleep like other people's bodies do. He can go for a week or more without so much as a power-nap. For some reason he can just keep going.
The radio stuff pays pretty well, and even with two kids he can still afford all sorts of fun for himself. So money is no issue; he doesn't need the extra cash. He just needed something exciting to fill up those extra hours.
So he went into the assassination business. It's pretty easy. Someone, usually someone pale and looking as if they were having second thoughts about it, tells him a name and gives him a fat wad of notes. He drives to their house, Acid Bath screaming from his car stereo, knocks on their door, and silently does away with them.
Sometimes he wears a mask and gets it over with quickly. But whenever he is given a new quarry, he always asks the same question:
"Are they a fan?"
And if they are, well, he gives them a treat before they meet their maker.
"Hi, I'm Zane Lowe."
"Oh my god! What are you doing here?"
"Are you ________?"
"Yes! Oh wow! How do you know my name?"
A cheeky grin.
"A little bird told me."
And then death. He thinks it's quite a good idea, actually; a lot of people would probably pay good money to be killed by a celebrity. Teenage girls screaming in ecstasy as one of the Jonas Brothers tightens his hands around their neck. Nerdy 30-year-olds who live in a basement clambering over each other to be the first person to actually be slaughtered by Uma Therman (in full Kill Bill outfit, of course).
Hm.
Zane takes one last pull on the joint before letting it fall to the ground. A girl with a harajuku haircut and her one-earringed boyfriend pass by on the other side of the road. They see him, whisper to each other, exchange oh-my-god-is-that-Zane-Lowe grins, and walk on.
Zane checks his watch. Ten to seven. The radio bosses will be waiting for him.
Oh well. Time to go to work.
Tuesday 1 February 2011
The Goats From Gemma Meadows (Part 8)
Part 7 is here.
"You'll be going home now then?"
The crow seemed eager to leave, and who could blame him? This wasn't the kind of place that made you want to stick around.
But no-one was going anywhere yet. Not until they'd found Pete.
"You're welcome to leave," said Goldberg, addressing the crow. "We have to find Pete."
"You can find your own way back, then?"
Goldberg nodded. "I think everyone will fit in the van."
The crow nodded, and said nothing. He simply turned, flapped his giant wings, and flew away.
Goldberg watched the huge bird until he had crossed the horizon. Then, blinking, he asked Sarah if she knew who the crow was or where he had came from.
Sarah didn't know.
* * *
All Pete had to do was find the cave.
But that could be harder than it sounded. Joel Fields was so barren that, even when stood on the very edge, you could see right across it. And Pete could see straight away that there were no caves in Joel Fields.
So he headed back into the forest.
Which was silly. He had just come out of the forest, and were it not for the crow he'd probably still be in there, hopelessly wandering around in circles.
Actually, scratch that. Were it not for the crow, he'd have beeen eaten by a troll.
But he had a plan, and for some reason that made him forget this. True, he knew his way around the forest about as well as he knew how to play the tuba. Yes, he could well be on the inside of some vicious monster faster than he could say "comeuppance".
But he had a plan, and so he was confident. Everything would be wrapped up within the hour, and he could go off and be human and live the good life.
It was so close he could taste it...
* * *
"I owe you an apology."
"What?"
"I mean, I told you the whole big backstory, formulated a plan for you, convinced you it was a good idea, and I didn't even tell you where I was!"
Pete was back in the cave.
That's odd, he thought. I don't remember getting here.
"What a scatterbrain I am."
The monster was here too, but he wasn't chained up like he'd said he would be. He was pacing around, chuckling to himself.
"It's a good thing you fell asleep or you never would have found me."
Oh, thought Pete. That explains it.
"But anyway. How's it all going? Are you nearby?"
"I think so," Pete replied. "Last thing I remember I was in the forest, trying to find your cave."
"The forest?" the monster laughed again. "No no no. I know I wasn't too informative, but I'm pretty sure I mentioned that I was in Joel Fields."
"But there aren't any caves in Joel Fields!" protested Pete. "Not that I could see."
"Exactly."
"What?"
"You won't be able to see the cave," explained the monster. "Of course not. It's underground."
"Underground," repeated Pete. "How do I get underground?"
"Well. Those awful trolls used to send a man down every so often to check on me, make sure I hadn't broken free. They stopped after a while; I suppose they decided that it was never going to happen, so why bother? But anyway, it was the sign."
"What sign?"
"The 'Welcome to Joel Fields' sign. That's the key."
"Okay," said Pete, nodding. "So what do I do?"
"Your friends are looking for you," boomed the monster in a voice quite different to the one he'd been using so far.
"...I beg your pardon?"
Pete awoke to find the biggest crow he'd ever seen staring him in the face.
"I know you've had a long day," said the crow. "But this is a dangerous place to fall asleep. Come on, everyone's worried about you."
Pete sighed. Oh well. At least he had a clue.
Once more he hopped on the crow's back, relieved that, once again, he wouldn't have to find his own way to Joel Fields.
* * *
As they flew, Pete felt a pang of guilt. Cliffey and Sarah had been his friends since he was just a kid. And now he was going to sell them to a monster who was quite open about his intentions to eat them.
Didn't he care at all?
...
No, he decided. Humans don't really care about goats.
TO BE CONTINUED
"You'll be going home now then?"
The crow seemed eager to leave, and who could blame him? This wasn't the kind of place that made you want to stick around.
But no-one was going anywhere yet. Not until they'd found Pete.
"You're welcome to leave," said Goldberg, addressing the crow. "We have to find Pete."
"You can find your own way back, then?"
Goldberg nodded. "I think everyone will fit in the van."
The crow nodded, and said nothing. He simply turned, flapped his giant wings, and flew away.
Goldberg watched the huge bird until he had crossed the horizon. Then, blinking, he asked Sarah if she knew who the crow was or where he had came from.
Sarah didn't know.
* * *
All Pete had to do was find the cave.
But that could be harder than it sounded. Joel Fields was so barren that, even when stood on the very edge, you could see right across it. And Pete could see straight away that there were no caves in Joel Fields.
So he headed back into the forest.
Which was silly. He had just come out of the forest, and were it not for the crow he'd probably still be in there, hopelessly wandering around in circles.
Actually, scratch that. Were it not for the crow, he'd have beeen eaten by a troll.
But he had a plan, and for some reason that made him forget this. True, he knew his way around the forest about as well as he knew how to play the tuba. Yes, he could well be on the inside of some vicious monster faster than he could say "comeuppance".
But he had a plan, and so he was confident. Everything would be wrapped up within the hour, and he could go off and be human and live the good life.
It was so close he could taste it...
* * *
"I owe you an apology."
"What?"
"I mean, I told you the whole big backstory, formulated a plan for you, convinced you it was a good idea, and I didn't even tell you where I was!"
Pete was back in the cave.
That's odd, he thought. I don't remember getting here.
"What a scatterbrain I am."
The monster was here too, but he wasn't chained up like he'd said he would be. He was pacing around, chuckling to himself.
"It's a good thing you fell asleep or you never would have found me."
Oh, thought Pete. That explains it.
"But anyway. How's it all going? Are you nearby?"
"I think so," Pete replied. "Last thing I remember I was in the forest, trying to find your cave."
"The forest?" the monster laughed again. "No no no. I know I wasn't too informative, but I'm pretty sure I mentioned that I was in Joel Fields."
"But there aren't any caves in Joel Fields!" protested Pete. "Not that I could see."
"Exactly."
"What?"
"You won't be able to see the cave," explained the monster. "Of course not. It's underground."
"Underground," repeated Pete. "How do I get underground?"
"Well. Those awful trolls used to send a man down every so often to check on me, make sure I hadn't broken free. They stopped after a while; I suppose they decided that it was never going to happen, so why bother? But anyway, it was the sign."
"What sign?"
"The 'Welcome to Joel Fields' sign. That's the key."
"Okay," said Pete, nodding. "So what do I do?"
"Your friends are looking for you," boomed the monster in a voice quite different to the one he'd been using so far.
"...I beg your pardon?"
Pete awoke to find the biggest crow he'd ever seen staring him in the face.
"I know you've had a long day," said the crow. "But this is a dangerous place to fall asleep. Come on, everyone's worried about you."
Pete sighed. Oh well. At least he had a clue.
Once more he hopped on the crow's back, relieved that, once again, he wouldn't have to find his own way to Joel Fields.
* * *
As they flew, Pete felt a pang of guilt. Cliffey and Sarah had been his friends since he was just a kid. And now he was going to sell them to a monster who was quite open about his intentions to eat them.
Didn't he care at all?
...
No, he decided. Humans don't really care about goats.
TO BE CONTINUED
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