Penarth Doubling

Went to see Submarine (Moss from The IT Crowd's movie) with Sarah yesterday, and thought I'd use this update to flag up a rather unusual example of California Doubling.

California Doubling is the phenomena whereby Hollywood films and TV shows will very often be filmed in California regardless of where they're set. This is mostly due to the cost of transporting the cast and crew - usually a fair number of people on large productions - to wherever the story is supposedly taking place. A good example is Friends: set in New York, filmed in Burbank, CA.

Well Submarine is set in Swansea, and for the most part I was perfectly happy to believe that that's where it was filmed. But then, at the start of Act 2, there's a scene where the main character takes his lady friend to see Joan of Arc at some artsy-looking cinema. At this point, Sarah leaned over and pointed out that they were in The Paget Rooms, which is in fact a cinema in - guess where?

P-Town. It had had a slight makeover for the movie, but from the outside it was unmistakable. Sarah could even see the place where she gets her hair done.

There may have also been a scene on Sully Island, but we weren't entirely sure of that one.

Joel.

Blood of the Kings

So Cliffey's birthday is finally over. Don't fret, however - if for some reason you've particularly enjoyed the birthday-related bloggery, my brother's turning 15 (!) tomorrow, so we might be able to squeeze a couple of entries out of that.

However, today I'd like to take a break from the fun to talk about something serious - the art of saving lives.

That's right, Tom and I gave blood yesterday, and we're making sure everyone knows about it. For example, I am currently wearing a sticker that reads:

"I saved a life today
Achubais fywyd heddiw"

I can only assume that the second line is Welsh for, "I saved a life today".

But I'm getting ahead of myself. Let me tell you about our sacrifice in more detail.

The blood drive was taking place in Highfields Church, just down the road. The hall had a basketball court etched on the floor, but when you were lying on the bed you could just see the high wooden church ceiling. It was pretty gothic - if any of you have played Peter Jacob's level in Eternal Darkness, the one in the WWI field hospital, then you'll know what I mean.

And therein we were pricked and punctured with all manner of pins and needles. It's a miracle we survived, really.

Which, put-on pomposity aside, brings me to the real lifesaver of the day - Sarah Macleod, who bought us jelly babies and Rowntree's Randoms to ensure that we didn't collapse from...lack of sugar, I guess.

I mean the seventy bajillion Penguins we ate at the church probably helped too, but that's just par for the course.

Joel.

Cliffey's Card

"Yo CLIFFEY! Happy BIRTHDAY!"

Sorry to make three consecutive posts on the topic of Cliffey's 20th, but hey, that's what's been happening lately and besides, this should be the last one.

"Enjoy Everton!"

And the matter up for discussion this time is his present. This coming Saturday, myself and Tom will be escorting Cliffey up to Liverpool to watch Everton and Aston Villa duke it out for the title of Most Mid-Table Team in the Premiership. Cliffey was already aware of this plan - we had to make sure he kept the day free and didn't, say, go to Swansea - but as it was his birthday present we thought it would be nice to give him the tickets in a lovely birthday card with some sort of thoughtful message.

"I hope they lose 5-0."

So after work Tom collected first me from the Atrium then Sarah from Coleg Glan Hafren and the three of us proceeded to Tom's house so that he could change out of his work clothes. While he got on with that, Sarah and I played with his dog, Molly (who has grown substantially since last I saw her). She seemed wary of us at first - perhaps dogs hate green hoodies? - but soon we earned her trust and she shook our hands and let us stroke her and tried to hump me in spite of having recently been spayed.

"But they won't, 'cos we're there!"

After...that, we went to Tesco to a) get the card, and b) buy something for tea. We entertained the idea of buying him a "Happy Birthday, Grandad!" card just to make him feel really old, or perhaps an "It's A Baby Boy!" card just for the Dada value (no pun intended). But eventually we played it simple and got him a nice blue "Happy Birthday, Brother!" card, big enough to write loads of lovey-dovey crap in.

"Because that really worked for Hereford."

We got chicken and potato waffles for tea.

"DON'T RUIN THIS JOEL IT'S CLIFFEY'S BIRTHDAY!"

On returning home, we handed Cliffey the card, with which he was overjoyed, although I have a sneaking suspicion he might not have liked it as much had it not contained three tickets to an Everton match. Later on, Tom came back to the house, as did JR and "Dave from work", and they played FIFA long into the night. But I've learned not to take such risks. Sarah and I went to bed and watched Despicable Me, lest I should once again be beaten 5-0 and have to apologise on Facebook.

"Fuck you Tom."

Joel.

Strippin' On A Prayer

Friday was the pub. Saturday was the club. Yesterday, Cliffey's birthday weekend bonanza thing culminated in a rather disappointing karaoke session.

Allow me to explain. Having watched the musical episode of Scrubs earlier in the day I was in the mood for some singing, and as usual it didn't take much to convince me. After some deliberation I put my name down to sing There Is A Light That Never Goes Out, my version of which will now unfortunately never be heard because some bright spark decided that the Varsity crowd would rather see a woman perform a striptease to Living On A Prayer ("Woooah, we're naked I sweaaar/Woooah, livin' on a prayer!") than hear a Smiths classic butchered by my trembling baritone.

Tom was also upset - partially because the woman didn't get as far as taking her bra off, but mostly because we missed out on his rendition of Millennium. Perhaps it was the establishment's way of telling us that we should have pooled our efforts and done Independent Women instead.

There was that guy singing My Old Man's A Dustman. In a way that kind of validated the whole night.

Joel.

Cliffey's Birthday is the Best! Boomting!

We celebrated Cliffey's 20th birthday last night. It's not until tomorrow, but we celebrated it last night.

It was a strange assortment of characters who gathered at the house beforehand. I was Jesus; Sarah was The Devil. Soph was Christmas. JR was Chuck Norris. There was a CIA agent and a Colossus of Rhodes. Gaz claimed to be dressed as Cliffey, presumably from his best-forgotten Mariachi period. Cliffey himself was Top Cat. Hell, we had to leave behind a Chilean miner and a Dalek because otherwise our bunch of misfits would have been just too ragtag (also the Dalek had flu and her boyfriend, the miner, stayed behind to look after her).

We went to Lloyd's for some free entry pre-fun, and we were apparently prepared to pay a pound for it. There we rendez-vous'd with Mr. T, John Darling from Peter Pan, and...Tom in a Wales shirt.

Which presented a problem. Clubs weren't admitting people in football shirts, lest they provide the arena for some pissed-off Wales fans to have a scrap. So he rang his ever-faithful chauffeur Cihan, who took him home to get changed.

Meanwhile, the rest of joined the queue for the Welsh club. It was long, and this fact was only rubbed in my face by my chance meeting with Luke from uni, who had a queue-jump thingummy and could thus go straight in. Eventually we gave up and decamped to the Gatekeeper to rethink our strategy.

It should have been simple enough - just pick a different, less rammed club and take the party there. The problem was that several members of the party - most of them female, from Penarth, and dressed as Jammie Dodgers - were already in Clwb, and it proved difficult to coax them out.

So we went to Metro's, where the ceiling was dripping and Tarantino films were playing on silent TV screens, and hoped that Penarth folks would arrive sooner or later.

One of them did. Amy Harrison, the lone blue-haired police officer who had come all the way from Bath to wish Cliffey well, managed to conquer the Metro's door staff and join the fray; the rest did not.

Eventually Tom came back, too. He was now wearing a navy blue Hollister t-shirt and received a hero's welcome. Just as he arrived, a man in a Wales football shirt walked past.

Typical.

Joel.

#100

Welcome to Cutlery's 100th Post Extravaganza. I'd like to take this opportunity to thank my traffic sources - the websites who have brought so many thousands of readers to me via their generously-placed hyperlinks. To name but a few of them:

moredietplan.com
emailtray.com
remroom.ru
informationaboutmesothelemia.com

And, of course, many others. Thanks one and all.

Now, to celebrate this massively momentous milestone, here is something I wanted to do ages ago but never got 'round to:

Cutlery - Character Bios

The Core 8

Thom Cliffe
Ever the chirpy cheerful one, Cliffey spends his time working the bar at The Black Griffin, playing video games, and not doing philosophy essays. He will not be afraid to tell you when he disagrees with you, but since he supports Everton FC all of his opinions are automatically void.

Joel Dear

Dashing and witty, Joel is both the author and main protagonist of Cutlery, and is beloved by all for his writing exploits. Critics have always been particularly impressed by his unbiased style. Studies popular music, and is not afraid to remind his housemates of this fact by playing the mandolin at small numbers in the morning.

Peter Murphy
Formerly lauded as "the greatest thing to happen to evil since Tom Waits' voice broke", Pete's attitude towards wrong-doing seems to have become somewhat ambivalent lately. Perhaps all those slugs he killed back in the first month left him jaded, because he's traded in taking over the world for the vague thud of drum 'n' bass filtering through the kitchen ceiling. Nonetheless, he is worth keeping an eye on, even if nowadays he tends to carry out his murders on a computer instead of via hoards of loyal henchmen.

Sophie Jones
If you've ever been to a pub quiz in Cardiff, you've probably already met the artist formerly known as SoJo. Aside from her tireless work with Team DanGuy, she is also a regular at a number of karaoke sessions and club nights around town. Her car, Patsy, used to be a pretty key member of our team, but since Alex learned to drive nobody's really seen inside the little Seicento. Perhaps she's using it as some sort of drug greenhouse.

Gemma-Alecsandra Ward
Little is known about the occupant of Chez Awesome's master bedroom. She studies journalism, and Joel occasionally claims to have seen her around uni, but these reports are unconfirmed and their supplier unreliable. We just know that she likes it clean around here.

Sarah Macleod
As Joel's girlfriend and resident bodacious babe, Sarah has established herself as pretty much a permanent fixture around Tewkesbury Place, even going so far as to pay some of the bills. She can often be found taking pictures with her top-of-the-range camera, although those who see her photos often complain that she isn't in them.

Alex Smith

Alex is Sophie's boyfriend. They met at Boots and fell head-over-heels in love, perhaps because all of those Durex products are kind of a turn-on. He loves Chinese food and hugs. Here he is dressed as a penguin.

Joshua Robson

It's a good indicator of JR's character that he's managed to hold his position in The Core Eight in spite of living  about 250 miles away from Tewkesbury Place. His other achievements include being named Ultimate Man of 2010 through a combined strategy of muttonchops and dirty pints. His mum writes a food-based blog, which incidentally is another one of Cutlery's traffic sources.

The Rest

Thomas Bonelle

Tom will be an official resident of 6 Tewkesbury Place next year, but frankly we probably won't notice the difference because he's around so much already. Works for GE and has a prodigious talent for making Joel and Cliffey behave like lads. Inexplicably single, so give him a call, ladies!

Meic Haran

Often found watching hilarious YouTube videos in Pete's room, Meic, with his girlfriend just down the road, is another one who might as well live here. He also has the honour of being Chez Awesome's Best Pizza Delivery Person In The Universe Of All Time, because hopefully after reading this he'll give us some kind of special discount.

Joshua Price

That t-shirt he's wearing is that of a band called Suckers. Josh has seen them, and lots of other bands, live, and we've all seen him live a fair few times, too. He's the hitwriter who brought you airwave-conquering gems like 'Mountain Man', 'Famous Men', and 'The Knob Song'. 

Robin Tamlyn

Together with Pete and Meic, he forms some sort of spaced-out triumvirate, and on most nights you're likely to witness the three of them trudging back and forth between Pete's bedroom and the back door, outside which they all like to enjoy a cigarette and a natter.

I've probably missed out a few worthies & notables but these are the faces you're most likely to see around the house on any given day/night. I probably should have included Gaz, but I couldn't find any photos so nuts to 'im.

Joel.

Ghost Windmills

I'm not really sure how to explain this one.

I was lounging around at home yesterday, and, being computerless, I was kinda bored. What could I do instead of going on the computer? Write my blog? Oh wait, no. Watch a DVD? Nope, needed the computer for that too. I could do some reading for uni, perhaps? But no, that's all on the internet too.

So when Cliffey popped his head 'round the door and asked if I wanted to go golfing with him and Tom...admittedly I was reluctant at first, but I soon realised that it would be much more fun than being at home on my own with nothing to do except *shudder* read a book. And hey, it's something new to try. Tom and Cliffey seemed to think that I would be a natural.

I was not, but that's beside the point. We were in Tom's car on the way to the golf course, rather forcibly enjoying Akon's new album, and we were just passing St. Teilo's when I spotted a windmill that I hadn't seen before. This was visible from outside St. Teilo's, a place I had the best part of seven years to get acquainted with, and I was pretty sure that this big looming thing was new information. I pointed it out to Tom, who still drives down that road more or less every day, and he confessed that he had previously missed it too.

As we went down the hill, it dipped behind some houses. It was Cliffey who first voiced his concern; "where's it gone?" At first I ignored him, assuming that once we passed said houses, it would once again become visible.

It did not. We were aghast. Not to put too fine a point on it, this was a bloody huge windmill, and it wasn't like it was way off in the distance - it had honestly seemed really close.

This may sound silly, but whatever. If anyone who still goes to St. Teilo's reads this, have a look for it next time you're outside school and let us know. Was it a collective hallucination? Did it move? Or is it - as I suspect - a disappearing ghost windmill?

A brief Google image search suggests that this is an actual phenomenon:

Perhaps it's a Don Quixote thing and they're going to murder us all. Keep an eye out.

Joel.

P.S. Tomorrow - assuming I update tomorrow - will be Cutlery's 100th post. Feel free to expect something special if you can deal with disappointment.

So Much For Lent

Yeah, I missed a day when I had solemnly resolved not to, but in my defense the computer seems to have come out in sympathy of the striking lecturers a couple of days early. So the possibility of a blog entry materialising yesterday was nulled by BSoDs, non-boots, flashing white hyphens, and people coming to the house and distracting me.

Still, as much as I want to tell you about a) JR and Hannah Tucker's attempts to best me at Mario Party, and b) our trip to Tesco with Tom in the evening, I have decided instead to discuss the impromptu visit of Sam Rees a couple of days prior, as I said I would on Facebook. If you're wondering about those other two things, a) they didn't, and b) he bought an extra-large pick 'n' mix and a copy of Nuts.

So Sam Rees spent Sunday night in our living room, and though I have gathered that he went to the pub quiz at the Cottage, I'm still unclear as to why he was down in the first place. He's gone back to Swansea now, as far as I'm aware, so it's not like he's finished for Easter or anything. Maybe he did just come down for the quiz.

I was surprised to see Sam in the house, as I think were we all. But we were all amiable to him - we haven't seen him in a while, and we all have our long, lonely nights spent longing for him to barge in and say something silly - with the exception of Pete.

Pete wandered into the living room at some small number a.m. and presumably saw Sam resting on the airbed. He was heard to exclaim, quite simply, "YOU!", before unleashing a lightning tirade of kung-fu pain upon his arch-nemesis. It took the combined strengths of myself, Sarah and Cliffey to peel him off, and as we dragged him back up to his room he cursed Sam to the last. Not everything he said was completely intelligible, but suffice it to say that the words 'vendetta', 'purge', and 'divine right' were all being thrown about.

This didn't actually happen, but I do distinctly remember mentioning that it would have been both cool and hilarious.

Joel.

P.S. In case you're wondering if our computer has recovered...no, it hasn't. I'm typing this in the Mac lab in uni.

@Bristol

Bristol, then. In case yesterday's joke about paying for the hotel didn't make any sense, I'll explain: we managed to find our way to The Washington Hotel - it was much closer to the centre of town than I'd expected - and upon checking in I was told, politely, that that would be £75, if I'd just like to pop my card in the machine. I tried to stay calm, explaining that I'd already paid online, but apparently they'd just taken my card details and, I don't know, translated it ino their lottery numbers for the weekend?

I suppose I can't really complain. It's not like they'd charged me twice or anything. It's just that I was going to be on a tight budget for the next couple of months anyway and now it's going to be even tighter.

Still, that didn't stop me being typically loose with my cash in Fopp, where I purchased albums buy The Hold Steady, Explosions In The Sky, The Low Anthem, Tame Impala, and Broken Social Scene, although funds for the latter were generously donated by Sarah, love 'er.

As I've already mentioned, Interpol were awesomatic, an played all our favourite songs. We were right at the front, stood next to a woman in a very shiny leather jacket with numerous face piercings and one of Daniel Kessler's guitar picks hanging off her neck. Takes all sorts, I guess.

And, of course, the hotel breakfast was huge. My list went something like:

• Bowl of Coco Pops
• Three rolled-up slices of ham
• Slice of melon
• Strawberry yoghurt
• Croissant
• Two slices of toast
• Sausage
• Bacon
• Sarah's bacon that she didn't want
• Mushrooms

I think that's it but somehow it seems like there was more. We'd intended to eat enough to keep us satisfied all day, but as it turned out there is some really nice food to be had in Bristol so we ended up going to a patisserie and having cake.

Yum yum. At least we did a lot of walking to burn it all off.

Joel.

Upon Returning

Had a lovely time in Bristol, in spite of having to PAY for the HOTEL ROOM!

I KNOW!

But yeah, Interpol were excellenté, there are a few blurry photos which I was gonna put up tonight but for some reason the computer does not like my camera. The support act was a crazy electro-dancing man called Matthew Dear. I decided that he is my older brother; my parents had a baby when they lived in America and simply forgot about him. Or perhaps couldn't fit him in their hand luggage.

Yeah. I'll go into greater detail tomorrow perhaps. I just didn't want to miss an update.

Joel.

Six Words to Fill the Gap

As I said, to Bristol!

Joel.

Ostriches & Bears

Two things before I get to the meat of tonight's update.

1. First, some actual, genuine, "here's some stuff I did" blogging. Yesterday morning Sarah and I found ourselves up and about with nowhere in particular to be for a couple of hours, so we went into town to get breakfast/brunch and generally mill about. It was really really really nice and I wanted to make sure I mentioned it before I started making jokes about bears. We went to the café in Marks & Spencer's and got various foodstuffs. The guy serving us suggested that it was probably too early for a hot chocolate but nuts to him. Then we went to Boots so that Sarah could get some makeup to keep at home. I found a black eyeliner pencil and felt like a king.
2. Tomorrow we're going to Bristol to a) see Interpol, b) stay in a fancy hotel, and c) go to Fopp. I will do everything in my power to maintain my update schedule - perhaps I'll fire off a quick one in the morning - but don't expect Shakespeare. Not that you should expect that anyway.

Okay. Cliffey and I were looking at WikiHow earlier and stumbled across this article. Anyone who knows me well-ish should be aware of my slight distaste for large birds, and this could easily have been written by a more experienced me. Witness this line:

"An ostrich attack...is straight out of Jurassic Park. Like that movie's velociraptors, ostriches are fast--they can run at up to 45 mph--and they have a sharp nail on each of their feet that is capable of slicing a person open with one kick. Unlike velociraptors, however, an ostrich can reach more than nine feet tall and 350 pounds." 

Get that? Ostriches are worse than velociraptors. Cliffey isn't exactly a huge fan of the birds either and we are seriously considering purchasing an ostrich stick, just to be safe.

"Ma, there's sump'm goin' awn. Fitch mah awstrich stick."

The survival guide comes complete with advice from Teddy Roosevelt - former President of the USA, need I remind you - who apparently had his scrapes with ostriches and recommends playing dead. The guide goes on to explain that the ostrich will "likely stand on you" and may even "sit on you for a while", and while I suppose that's preferable to death, I'm still not about to try playing dead when running away still has a chance.

Elsewhere on WikiHow we came across this handy piece on how to survive a bear attack. To be fair it does include some genuinely useful tips, such as:

"DO NOT FIGHT A BEAR FOR THE SAKE OF FIGHTING A BEAR"

The more you know...

Joel.

A Britpop Rant

On Monday I had a lecture on British music. As I came through the door my lecturer, Mike O'Hara, stabbed a finger at me and ordered me to name a British band. For some reason the best I could come up with was Oasis (I was even wearing an Iron Maiden t-shirt ferchristsakes), but then I suppose Oasis are a pretty quintessential British band.

What followed was a dissection of Britpop, a category into which were lumped Oasis, Blur, Pulp, Suede, Supergrass, Elastica, etc. etc. All fairly standard. But I was somewhat offended at the implication, snidely exuded by both Mohara and the BBC documentary he was showing us, that the movement - and, by extension, the bands associated with it - were worthless and unoriginal.

I'd like at this point to refer to a few samples from my last.fm chart:

plank201's Music Profile - Top Artists

5. The Magnetic Fields
6. Supergrass

7. Manic Street Preachers

...

29. Arab Strap

30. Suede

31. Brakes

...

45. The Hold Steady

46. Pulp

47. Travis

Maybe Travis should be highlighted too, I'm not sure. Either way, my point is that I like Britpop and a few of the bands that came about in that era are, well, good.

We did go to the cinema last night - contrary to my predictions it was actually Tom, not Cliffey, who had to bow out, and that was due to genuine illness, not hilarious golf injuries. Pete ended up coming along too, as did Rob "Tammerz" Tamlyn, his chosen Orange Wednesday chum for the evening. The Adjustment Bureau was excellent, but I'm more interested in talking about the drive home.

Sarah, Cliffey, and I were being chauffeured back to the house by Andy, who as I mentioned yesterday is back for Easter. As we came turned onto Tewkesbury Street, Pulp's Common People came on the radio, and I (more or less jokingly) requested that Andy go around the block so that I could hear the first couple of verses.

Andy thought for a moment, and then, swinging the car around, proceeded to go one better. He had already proven himself a pretty brave man behind the wheel by virtue of a slalom in the John Lewis car park, so i suppose it wasn't entirely surprising when he took us for a quick - as in, he drove really quite fast - drive around the lake, while we all danced and sang and held on for dear life.

And a realisation that I had undergone in Monday's lecture came back again - you can't throw Oasis and Pulp in the same boat because a) Pulp songs are largely good, b) Oasis songs are largely notgood, and c) Oasis are proud of being working class, while songs like Common People are angry at people who think it's good to be working class because it's actually shit.

So thank you Andy for that lovely blob of daredevil driving and excellent music (even if it was the radio edit). And thanks also for squashing the cranefly in my room with my copy of Lawrence Lessig's Free Culture.

Joel.

Tonight's Predictions

Things I Think Will Happen Tonight:

1) We are expecting the arrival of one Andy Wright, and some assortment of us will proceed to the cinema to watch The Adjustment Bureau on this Orange Wednesday. There was some concern about finding a sixth person to make up three pairs; however, after Cliffey is killed in a Tom-based golfing accident, this need will be removed and Pete will be free to do what he wants.

2) Yesterday, Cliffey and I conducted a fridge-purge. Our harvest included at least five half-full bottles of gone-off milk, a few drops of which I spilled on myself while pouring the now cheese-like substance away. On our way to the cinema, I will begin to mutate as a result of exposure to this renegade strain of milk, and I will murder anyone who happens to be in the car.

3) If Matt Damon gets caught up in a thrilling conspiracy and none of us make it to the cinema to witness it, does he make a sound?

4) Later tonight, Pete, concerned after our failure to return home, will report our disappearance to missing persons. They will be uncaring, as most police are; as a result, Pete will launch a one-man mission to get to the bottom of the situation and bring whoever is responsible to justice.

5) Pete's mission will abort just over an hour later when he finds traces of the mutated milk and joins me on my own mission to kill all humans.

Joel.

The Goats From Gemma Meadows (Part 10)

Part 9 is here.

It was much darker behind that door. Goldberg was glad he had brought the torch, or they probably wouldn't have seen the horrible slobbering monster right in front of them.

He was huge.

He was toothy.

He was, fortunately, chained to the wall.

But he still scared the bejesus out of everyone present. Cliffey was amazed at how accurate Goldberg's description had been: teeth like carving knives, eyes like cannonballs...

Ugh. Breath like the month-old eggs of the dead.

And he looked hungry. His angry, black stare was flitting ravenously between each of three goats, and Cliffey suddenly felt uncomfortably delicious.

Goldberg stepped forward. "Are you the one who turned Joel Fields into the nightmarish postcard from Hell it is today?"

The monster made no sound. He ignored Goldberg completely, and went right on eyeballing the goats. Sarah was concerned that he seemed a little more interested in her than in the other two. She hoped that, if he did eat her, he would swallow her whole. That way she wouldn't have to deal with those gargantuan teeth.

"I asked you a question," said Golberg firmly, pointing his flashlight directly into the monster's eyes. "Was it you? Did you eat all those innocent goats?"

The monster squealed and turned its head away so as to avoid the light.

Pete, who wasn't as scared as his friends but considering he'd already seen the monster was still pretty scared, wondered why the monster didn't say anything. He wondered how the monster was going to eat Sarah and Cliffey, what with being chained to the wall and everything.

And he wondered where the Human-ator was. This cave did look a little different to the one in his dream, and he was sure it was around here somewhere, but it didn't look like there were many places to hide something like that.

He was about to ask the monster where he kept it before he remembered that the others didn't know anything about their little agreement and, well, it was probably best to keep it that way.

"You are the worst thing in the world." Goldberg was addressing the monster again, still aiming the torch at him with one hand, pointing an accusing finger at him with the other. He spoke in a whisper, but it had all the fury of a scream. "I don't know how you got here, but I'm glad that whoever's responsible chained you up in a cave instead of killing you there and then. This way you suffer more."

The goats had never seen Goldberg this angry, and they might have been scared of him were it not for the gigantic goat-eating horror using up most of their fear at that point.

"I suppose you're hungry?" Goldberg continued, and on the word hungry he thrust the torch at the monster as if it were a sword. More agonised squealing. "I suppose you'd like to eat one of them?" He motioned towards the two goats with his pointing hand. "As if you haven't eaten enough goats already. Well these are my goats, and if you want them then you'll have to answer to me! Is that clear? You won't-"

Wait a minute.

Two goats?

Goldberg checked again.

Goldberg took a deep breath.

"Okay," said Goldberg. "Where's he gone now?"

* * *

"Right then. I call this two-thousand, nine-hundred and sixty-fourth monthly meeting of the Troll's League to order. Peikko will now take attendance, please answer your names."

"Thank you, Jo-Tunn. I shan't read your name out, we can all see that you're here."

"Thank you Peikko. Proceed."

"Righto. T'pon?"

"Present, Peikko."

"Thank you, T'pon. I'll just mark you down. Okay. There we are. Now, who's next? Umm...Lesni? Lesni, are you here?"

"Present, Peikko."

"Thank you, Lesni. Let me just put you down. Theeeere we go. Right. Peikko? Oh, silly me. Of course I'm here. Haha!"

The giant crow stood in the corner of the room watched this scene with disbelief.

"I'm sorry, perhaps I didn't make myself clear. One of your number has gone insane. He's a clear and present threat to himself and others. Mostly others. We need to get out and find him!"

"Well quite!" exclaimed Peikko enthusiastically. "Let me just finish the register, and then we'll get right down to business. Now, where were we? Ahm. Lesni?"

"You've already done me, Peikko."

"Oh. Oh! Have I? Well, what a scatterbrain I am. Um...Peikko?"

"Oh, for goodness' sake. Don't you care that one of your men is out there, ruining the good name the Troll's League has made for itself?"

"Indubitably," murmured Jo-Tunn. "But the Troll's League has taken record of attendance at every one of its monthly meetings since we were founded two hundred and forty-seven years ago. Besides, my dear fellow...how are we to know which of our number is missing if we don't take the register?"

"Just look! There's only one empty chair - who usually sits there?"

All the trolls turned to look at the sole unoccupied leather seat. There was a moment of silence before an excited chatter arose from those assembled. The crow couldn't quite hear what any one of them was saying, but he though he heard the name 'Karl' one more than one pair of lips.

Then, suddenly, there was silence again, and the trolls stood up from their chairs.

"Right then. It has been decided that immediate action must be taken. Peikko?"

"Yes, Jo-Tunn?"

"...Bring the register with you. We'll finish it on the way."

* * *

Cliffey and Sarah wandered back out into the passage to look for Pete while Goldberg told the monster off some more. They agreed that they had each done far more looking for Pete today than they had intended to do in their lives, and decided that next time, it was Pete's turn to look for Pete.

It didn't take long to find him - there weren't many hiding places down here, and Pete would have had trouble climbing back to the surface on his own.

But neither of them were sure why, now of all moments, he had decided to take a nap.

TO BE CONTINUED

An Hypothesis

While I was walking the walk described in the latter part of Saturday's blog, I found myself listening to...well, Titus Andronicus, but once that album had finished I decided to give Busted's seminal sophomore effort A Present For Everyone a spin.

And you know how you go to certain bands for certain situations? This was in one of the books I looked at while I was trying to find some literature to review for uni; this one girl in a study never listened to Radiohead unless she was really angry at her in-laws ("We hope that you choke!"). I personally reserve stuff like Manowar for when I want to feel like I could take on the world, but I'm sure you all have your own examples. Well, Busted - while it's true that most of their songs deal with love and related topics - they pretty much have a song for any relationship situation you'd care to name.

For example:

"I am falling in love with you" - Falling For You
"As much as I love having casual sex with you, I want to take our relationship to the next level" - That Thing You Do
"I want to fuck you, but you won't let me" - All The Way
"I want to fuck you, but I'm afraid that pictures of said act will appear in a tabloid newspaper" - Air Hostess
"I want to fuck you, but the age gap is irreconcilable, besides which it may put a strain on our working relationship" - What I Go To School For
"I suspect that I may have been cuckolded" - Who's David?
"Our relationship is ending and I am sad" - Losing You
"Our relationship is ending and I am ambivalent" - Over Now
"Our relationship is ending and I am extremely upset, in a radio-friendly way" - 3am
"I like tits"  - Year 3000
"Alas, you I cannot bring you to climax" - Fake
"Due to our traumatic breakup, I have developed nyctophobia" - Sleeping With The Light On
"I love you, and I fell that my impeccable sense of timing more than makes up for my refusal to seek employment" - Crashed The Wedding
"As supportive as I am of the LGBT community, I am concerned that your recent sex change operation will really put a damper on things" - She Wants To Be Me

Let me know if I've missed any. Sorry Busted if I've interpreted any of your songs wrong, I did go on songmeanings, but that was mostly just people slagging you off.

And sorry readers for posting this instead of an actual blog. Basically I stayed in bed all yesterday.
Joel.

They Walk Among Us

Glancing earlier over the pile of junk mail that's currently carpeting our hallway I came across an envelope addressed to someone named "Fang Fang". This is the second piece of post that Fang Fang has received, and frankly it's starting to worry me.

And my worry is that there's a vampire in the house. You always hope the landlord will fill you in on things like this before you move in, but I guess the sell just comes first nowadays.

Even the letter's sender - S.P. Spyrou - has a pretty vampiric name. Spyrou & Co. claim to be chartered accountants but I suspect this is a cover for some sort of vampire cult. Spyrou is probably head vampire, and is trying to inform our lodger that the time has come to rise up and purge humanity from the Earth's wretched face. In which case humanity is damned lucky that I intercepted this.

But where is he/she/it (there's not even a 'Mr.' or 'Miss' or anything on the envelope; it just says "Fang Fang") hiding? There aren't exactly a wealth of hiding places in this house, and even if Fang Fang were taking refuge in the garage then Pete and Meic would probably have noticed him by now.

Or maybe they already have. Pete has started putting candles out there now - he bought a pack from Spar just yesterday - so perhaps he's befriended our undead stowaway and he's trying to make the atmosphere out there a little more Gothic for him.

I think that's probably it. So the only question that remains is thus: is "Fang Fang" a full name (first name Fang, second name Fang, like the Mario brothers)? Or maybe vampires don't have surnames, maybe they just have these aptronymic, one-word-twice titles.

Like Bam Bam from the Flintstones.

Joel.

After

After waking up on a sofa this morning, I went to Sturff with Sarah, as I often do. A woman came in at one point and wondered rather loudly:

"DO YOU HAVE ANY HOTPANTS?"

Apparently she needed them because her daughter is doing a "show" in Cardiff soon. As I said to Sarah, I tried really hard to think of something innocent that that could have been, but alas, to no avail.

After having lunch in Sturff (reduced BLT, yum), I caught the bus back to Cardiff to meet up with my parents and - this is something I didn't expect to happen today - go to see Guys & Dolls at the New Theatre. It was very good. Not, as my dad pointed out, quite as good as the St. Teilo's production, but still.

After leaving the theatre, I informed my parents that I would be coming home for dinner, but that I would first be popping back to Tewkesbury Place to pick up some CDs. My plan was to get the bus; I went to Churchill Way, but the service had been shuffled around because of the bloody rugby (which Wales didn't even have the courtesy to lose so that I could mock everybody). The notice in the bus shelter told me to go to Dumfries Place; a young African woman with three kids in tow asked me where this was, and I told her that I was terrible at giving directions, and to just follow me.

So I proceeded, with this wary mother and her confused children close behind, to what I hoped was Dumfries Place. It was, and sure enough a number 38 bus soon materialised. I tried to hail it but, well, the driver didn't seem to keen to stop. He made some kind of hand gesture that seemed to suggest I should 'go around', but I wasn't sure what that meant.

So I decided to skip picking up the CDs and head straight to my parents' house. Heading on towards Albany Road so as to avoid facing the family I had dragged to this busless wasteland, I soon realised that Albany Road wasn't where I thought it was in relation to Dumfries Place and ended up going to Tewkesbury Place after all.

Sometimes I genuinely worry that everyone I've ever given directions to has long since perished.

Joel.

P.S. I've decided I will update tomorrow (Sunday), but don't hold your breath because if I'm not feeling particularly lucid then it may just be a crap poem about a tree.

Self-Promotion

Ugh. We're only three days into Lent and already I can't think of anything to talk about. Everyone's already read every single Monthly Scandal, right? That was good, sometimes. It's weird that I called Pete 'Peter' in that last issue though.

But yeah, today marked the end of a rather torrid three-assignment week down at t'Atrium - Monday had me and two others giving a musicological presentation on Bjork, yesterday was a five-hour recording session (although I did bring Jelly Babies to that so it wasn't too terrible), and today was the deadline for our 1,500-word research proposal.

Which, had you knocked on my door at nine o' clock this morning, you would have found me rushing to finish. I could have probably done some work on it last night, but in my defense I'd just come out of a five-hour recording session and Tom and Josh were 'round and they were all like "Oooh Mario Party" and I just can't resist being a dick to Tom through the medium of N64 games so I did that and then I came last anyway so THAT was a huge waste of time.

Not that I'd left the essay 'til the last minute or anything; I was just being a little more daring than usual with my time management.

At any rate, I got it all done, bibliography and all, by about half past one, and Sarah and I promptly dashed (through the medium of a bus) to the Atrium, where I handed it in with time to spare. Sorted.

After that Sarah treated me to a film. We went to see Unknown, with Liam Neeson. I must admit that I was rather 'Taken' with it.

Oh Joel, do stop.

Joel.

The Return

Okay, so I'm back, and hopefully I'll stay back for a little while because I've given up not updating my blog for Lent. So that means delicious updates EVERY DAY from now until Easter (except perhaps Sundays; I haven't decided if Sundays count or not yet)!

Which means I'm going to have to start paying attention to what happens around here. It's going to be weird writing about the house's daily comings and goings again, rather than appearing once a fortnight to post some half-formed short story.

But hey, I managed it before. And it's not like I have any work to do or anything.

See you tommorow, if I can find time between today's five-hour recording session and the research proposal that's due in tomorrow to tap out an update.

No, sorry, no sarcasm. I will.

Joel.

P.S. That secret Tetris screenplay was totally nothing to do with me.

A Message from Blogspot

Howdy folks, hope you had a good Pancake Day. We here at Blogspot like to look after our users, and given the almighty schedule slip that has befallen Cutlery of late, we were concerned about its author, Joel Dear. Is he alright? Has he disappeared off the face of the earth? Perhaps these fears are uncalled for; perhaps he has just gotten lazy, or has decided to actually do his uni work for a change. Nevertheless, it is better to be safe than sorry, and we decided to pay Mr. Dear a visit just to make sure he's okay.

Well, we went to Tewkesbury Place and...he wasn't there. Rest assured we are making serious enquiries into this, but in the meantime, we found a few bits of paper on Joel's desk and we decided to post them here to tide his many fans over until he returns. It seems to be some sort of screenplay in the making, so enjoy. And don't worry; we're sure he's fine...

* * *

NAIVE GRAVITY

We begin our story in a service station café. A hooded figure approaches the counter, where a young female barista has just entered hour eight of her shift. She is clearly in no mood to be trifled with.

Barista: (forcing a smile) What can I get you?
Customer: I don't want any coffee. I just need you.
Barista: I beg your pardon, madam?
Customer: You are Eleanor Gill?
Barista: (smile disappears) ...Nobody's called me that for a very long time.

Cut to an establishing shot of a student house. In the kitchen, we find Joel Dear preparing some sort of delicious meal for two.

Joel: Crap. Our chicken burgers aren't cooked at all, but these potato lattices are already starting to burn.
Stranger: Maybe you should...take the lattices out of the oven.
Joel: But then they'll get cold! Dammit, I am NOT cut out to be a chef.
Stranger: Then perhaps I could offer you a different job. Something...blockier.
Joel: What-

Joel whirls around to find a hooded figure in the kitchen with him.

Joel: What are you doing in my kitchen? State your business!
Stranger: Easy, easy. I'm here to ask you a favour.
Joel: Why should I help you? I don't even know you!
Stranger: You know me, Joel. We've had our...talks in the past.
Joel: I don't remember ever meeting a hooded stranger.
Stranger: Then perhaps you'll remember...(removes hood)...your Head of Sixth Form.
Joel: Miss Mills.
Mills: Mr. Dear.
Joel: You always thought I was useless. What's changed since we last crossed paths?
Mills: The goalposts have moved. Come back to St. Teilo's with me, I'll explain on the way.
Joel: (smirking) Perhaps I don't want to go with you.
Mills: Joel, please. Our altercations are in the past. Besides, we've already got Ellie on board.
Joel: Who's Ellie? I don't know an Ellie.
Barista: (appearing in doorway) Grow up, Joel. This is important.
Joel: ...Herbie?!

Herbie nods.

Cut to interior of Herbie's car. Joel is riding shotgun; Mills occupies the bitch seat, explaining the situation into the front.

Mills: So I guess the first thing I need to do is apologise.
Joel: Really.
Mills: Well, yes. You know how you always spent every spare minute of your time playing Free Tetris instead of revising?
Joel: I don't know why you had that computer in the common room in the first place if you didn't want us to-
Mills: Well it turns out that it wasn't a waste of time. In fact, that was time better spent than any of your lessons.
Herbie: You would say that, you history teacher. We both took arty subjects.
Mills: It doesn't matter what you took. Tetris was more important, even than history.
Joel: What about-
Mills: Even more important than Key Skills.
Joel: ...
Herbie: ...
Mills: It's that important.
Joel: I'm all ears.
Mills: Well, St. Teilo's has been low on funding since the new headmistress came - personally I don't rate her at all - and we're facing closure. We've begged and pleaded with the governers, shown them what good work we're doing, examples of the best students' best work...we've displayed art coursework, held school concerts, one of the sixth formers even gave a maths lecture to a university class-
Joel: And they weren't impressed?
Mills: No. And even the ticket money from the concert is only enough to save...(shudders)...D Block.
Joel: (shudders)
Mills: The head governer's a bit of a gamer, and he's said that he'll only be swayed if we can show him that we produce excellent Tetris players.
Joel: So we just have to beat this old guy's high scores, and the school stays open, is that it?
Mills: It's not just the old guy. He's an old Llanedeyrn alum, you see, and he was so thrilled at the opportunity to close his old rivals that, well, he wanted to make sure he didn't get it wrong.
Herbie: So he's hired a Tetris representative.
Mills: Well actually Ellie...that's not quite correct. I wanted to wait until Joel was here to tell you this, but-
Joel: But what?
Mills: He's got a whole team of them.
Joel/Herbie: (in chorus) What?!
Mills: A crack team of Tetris players. Johnny the Line, Shriekin' Marie Square, both Squiggle Twins, Ess and Zed, Big Bad Bertie Block...he's got all the big names from around the world. Plus this new kid that no-one's ever heard of. But talk in the corridor is that he once cleared five rows with one block.
Herbie: Impossible!
Mills: That's what we thought. But we can't afford to take any chances against these guys, and that's why we came to get you two.
Herbie: Okay. So we're assembling a team to take on his. Who else are we picking up?
Mills: Who else? It's just you and him, my dear girl.
Herbie: Just Joel and me?
Mills: Yep.
Joel: Against...what, six of them?
Mills: You're the school's only hope. I've seen you two play. If you had silly Tetris-related monikers, he'd probably ask you to be on his team as well. You're amazing, and this is your chance to prove it.
Joel: The odds are against us.
Mills: You spent the best part of two years practicing for this, Joel. Don't bottle now.
Joel: ...Herbie? Are you in?
Herbie: I hate to help her out even more than you do, Joel. But it's not for her.
Joel: Well then who is it for?
Herbie: The school. Everyone there. And more than that- it's for the glory.

* * *

And that's where it stops. Maybe we'll see the rest when Joel returns from his hiatus, which we're sure was completely voluntary and will be over before you know it. Personally, I can't wait.

Blogspot Bill.