Birds of a feather

A spontaneous or random act of nonsense, that’s what this is.

Whatever I say is clearly not aimed at anyone in particular but there are some important factors that need to be considered such as geography, prior criminal activity, geography and that someone was emailing erroneous and bogus claims to me but a few weeks ago which he still hasn’t apologised for.

It seems as though someone else has been embracing the ideals of Office 2: the return of the killer office and carrying them forward into the 21st century. For those that don’t remember, Office 2 was located on the fourth floor of what is now The Core Shopping Centre in Leeds off the Headrow. It was the singular level next to the lifts that only had a very small space, big enough for two idiots and some food from Greggs. We would hang about and mock the onion hags for coming up to the fourth floor when really they wanted the third for the shops. You could argue, however, that it is the principles of Office 3, AKA locker 29, the locker that I kept putting arbitrary objects into which was located in the Baltic Centre for Contemporary Art. I “bought” it for a pound and repeatedly filled it with whatever I felt like because it was mine and the fact that it was all confiscated still leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. Mine.

Anyway, it seems as though someone has been keeping a copy of the film ‘Hellraiser’ on VHS perched on the top of a bus stop in South London for almost a decade. I took the following screenshot from Twitter because it spoke to me. This is the kind of ongoing “joke” that people like us have been perpetuating and it should be celebrated in all its glory. I only wish that there was some anonymous PO Box number that I could forward a copy to in case the person or persons carrying this huge task are running low on copies.

Also it’s clearly Chris because he lives in France which is near London.

Thank you! Good night!

You are such a monkey puncher

What would you think if I told you there was a video game called ‘Monkey Puncher’?

Would you think it was a simple game about twatting a monkey in the face over and over again? Perhaps it’s one of those free-to-play mobile games that you download, use once for a cheap laugh and then carry on with your life? Look at me now, neither of those options is correct.

‘Monkey Puncher’ is a game developed by Atelier Double and released for the Gameboy Color in the year 2000. I had never heard of this until a few days ago where it briefly appeared and then disappeared on the CEX website, no doubt snapped up by some lightning-fast robot desperate for his next gaming fix. The goal of the game is to train a monkey to fight in organised boxing matches in order to save the main character’s father and sibling. Then it gets stranger.

It sounds like a monster-collecting game but sprinkled with other elements. You train the monkey so he gets better at fighting then you *reads* send it out to the shops? It goes out and buys items for you. Huh. Then what happens?

“Sparring involves a normal match between the player’s monkey and a computer-controlled opponent, although without a clear winner or any reward beyond stat increases. All the monkey’s stats have a maximum limit. It is possible to date your monkeys either with each other or with a monkey from a friend or a dating shop within the game. After dating, the first monkey vanishes and is replaced with a new baby monkey.”

When I first read that paragraph I thought it said that you could date your own monkey which seems like a gross conflict of interest and not something that should be in a kid’s game. That said, none of what I’ve read should probably be in a kid’s game. You force the monkey to beat up other monkeys, you let it loose in the general public, you can whore it out to other monkeys to make better baby monkeys and this is all to save your family? I doubt Big Dave would approve of these methods to save his life.

There doesn’t appear to be a sequel, almost as if the world could not take and was not ready for an experience such as this. In a hundred years time when the alien overlords have taken over the world then possibly monkey punching will be a real thing. Given how prone the internet is to fads and everything extreme and extremist perhaps we may not have to wait so long before Twitch is chocked full of streams of trained monkeys beating up celebrities to raise money for charity. If I can make a prediction for the future within the next ten years, I would put money on that.

Book surprise

Surprises, eh? Lovely stuff. They come in all shapes and sizes from a fist in the mouth to a great big cake shaped like Vince Vaughan. What you do for your surprise is up to you, or not as the case may be. If you want a specific surprise you have to be very direct to the person you want the surprise to be… ach, I’m not making much sense. It’s too early for thinking.

When I returned from work earlier on this week I was greeted with a mysterious parcel through my letterbox. I knew three things:

The item was thin (the packaging was super floppy)
The item was from Amazon.
I hadn’t ordered anything recently from Amazon.

I was completely surprised then to know that I was now in the possession of ‘Bedtime for the Burpee Bears’ by thoroughly nice person but also walking charisma vacuum Joe Wicks. I haven’t had a chance to read it yet but as I am about to go on holiday it would make sense to take it with me as a bit of light reading on the plane or in the hotel room. It’s an epic, 12 or 13 pages long, with additional exercise and recipe ideas which are, “perfect for sharing.” If anybody needs these things you know where to find me.

The mystery therefore stems from the question of whom would send me such a thing, who would be generous enough to send such a beautiful thing, and only two groups of people come to mind: my brother and my mischievous nieces, who are the most likely candidates, and Kevin and wor Ted.

I guess we’ll never know. I’m off to make a sunshine smoothie to wash down the banana pancakes.

Do I do the burpees before or after the food?

Where’s sodding Joe Wicks when you need him?

Shenanigans

Before Christmas seems like an age away now. Do you remember what you were doing in December? No? Do you remember what you did yesterday? That’s a worry. You should get that checked out.

It was a fairly relaxed afternoon in the office and I was on my own as the time ticked towards the end of the day. Being chief morale officer in our team, a role I assigned to myself, I decided it would be best for some harmless mischief. I cast my gaze in the direction of the helpful list indicating the correct terms for the phonetic alphabet. Within a few minutes I had come up with my own and replaced it, expecting it to be mostly ignored as nobody ever seemed to use it.

When we returned after Christmas, I had largely forgotten what I had done… that is until my boss turned to me and asked if I was responsible.

“Responsible for what?” I asked, playing dumb. She had, apparently, noticed immediately and because of my reputation for zany behaviour I was clearly the culprit. Luckily due to it being silly, nothing was said about it. Everyone had a laugh. Ha ha!

“You almost threw me because you don’t have a daughter and this one here mentions one,” she said.

This was the sticking point.

This was the focus of most people’s questions and not the fact that I had made up three new words, referenced an album by Steps and a TV programme with Jack Whitehall.

Christmas Beans

It’s that time of year again, again? Of course it is. What you want is festive and huggable and bright and THRUST right into your face. Christmas is an epidemic but it’s the loveliest epidemic you’ll ever meet.

Times are hard though. If you thought 2020 was bad then meet the end of 2022, a harbinger of doom and fifth horseman of the apocalypse, handing out lessons by the fistful. Now, more than ever™, you need a helping hand to get through this marathon of monetary madness. Luckily we have our relative financial expert, Bartin Bewis, on hand to offer his guidance, support and “award-winning” money-saving tips to ease yourself out of December, through January and into the warm embrace of February.

Decorations

In order to reach its full potential, you need to decorate your house in everything that has the smallest bit of sparkle. If you run out of tinsel and glitter, get the spare bits of cutlery out and shine a torch on them from your window. Save money on tree decorations by getting the kids to make them out of whatever you can find in the recycling bin. If it looks like a donkey shat it out, merely tell your friends and loved ones that it means more than little Timmy and Julie made them rather than some corporate whore machine, spitting out baubles made of baby’s tears.

Food

What you want is a non-traditional Christmas dinner; leave the turkeys and the hams in the supermarket for the chumps, what you want is a rabbit stew. If you have wild rabbits living nearby to your house, set traps up in strategic places and you don’t even need to pay for the main ingredient. Some terminal wanker living on your street will have ‘foraging’ as one of their hobbies so beat some herbs out of them to avoid a trip to Asda and a few hours stuck in a bush trying to work out the one stalk or leaf that won’t give everyone diarrhoea. If you’re living in a less rural area, well, that neighbour’s cat keeps pooping in your garden so perhaps it’s time to even the score? Once you garnish it up and add a bunch of spices, nobody will be able to tell the difference anyway. Really struggling? Use your own pets and replace them in the new year. It will give the kids an understanding about death that their school could only hope of teaching them.

Presents

If you’ve been observant over the year, pick out the five toys, things, items of clothing or whatever else you have noticed that hasn’t been used too much. When the mark, sorry, loved one is out of the house, go and put it somewhere they’ll never find it. Wrap it up and present them with it on Christmas Day. Hopefully they’ll have forgotten they already own it. If they call your bluff, make a point of telling them that you spent good money on that train / aftershave / skirt the first time around and to have to bear witness to it being neglected over and over was too much to bear, so this lesson of being thankful for what you’ve already got IS the present this year. If it’s still not working, throw a bowl of nuts on the floor and spend the evening crying in your bedroom with the door locked. Make sure to secret a six pack of beer and some sandwiches in the wardrobe so you have something to do in-between sobs.

A lifetime’s worth of tips there, ladies and gentlemen. Be sure to use them wisely.

What a party

What’s the best party you’ve ever been to? Was it one of your own or possibly a friend’s? Was it laden with so many cakes that afterwards you had to invest in a new pair of teeth because you ate so much sugar and dissolved your original pair? Did you dance like a maniac when ‘We Close Our Eyes’ by Go West came on, accidentally span round into an elderly man and sent his pint flying across the room?

I can guarantee you that no matter how great a party it was, it cannot compete with whatever kind of party Dr Owl is throwing.

Not that I could tell you exactly the kinds of shenanigans that go on. This particular book was on sale in a lovely bookstore called ‘Barter Books’ in Alnwick. It was so special that it was behind glass; no common chubby funsters could go flicking through the pages. If you wanted to know what Dr Owl was getting up to you needed to cough up a stonking £24.00 for the privilege. It wasn’t even a first edition or a special version with a foreword by some famous owl who loved the book, merely a simple reprint. I don’t have those kinds of Newcastle pounds to do blowing on secret insights. A man can dream though, a man can dream.

A sound investment if ever I saw one.

Woodworking: working with wood

My birthday present this year was a two-day workshop using traditional woodworking tools to turn some freshly cut logs into a beautifully finished stool, complete with a hand-carved saddle seat. Yesterday I had the first day of the workshop, which was enormously enjoyable and satisfying. I’m going back next week to finish my masterpiece.

I sustained a number of blisters while using an axe, making these the most manly injuries of my life.

Anyway, I thought you would enjoy learning about some of the traditional woodworking tools that I used to work the wood.

Froe

This is a long blunt metal blade on the bottom of a big stick. You place it on a log and then smash it with a huge wooden club. Several such macho whackings will force it through the log and split it in two. This is highly enjoyable. If hammering your froe isn’t sufficiently noisy you can cast it aside and use an axe and a metal lumphammer instead, which will cause everyone’s ears to ring.

Axe

This is a sharp thing on a stick and you’ve seen one before. By putting a bit of wood on a block, and holding on to it with one hand, you can swing the axe at alarming speed towards the wood, and your fingers, causing bits to splinter off in all directions. If you are the sort of sturdy gung-ho chap who runs a woodworking course, you will do this with unbelievable force and precision, turning a log into a chair leg in a matter of seconds. If you are me you will spend ten minutes ineffectually chipping away at it while giving yourself blisters.

Shaving horse

For obvious reasons the mention of this device terrified me, but once I had been coaxed back into the room I discovered that it is a wooden apparatus, sometimes called a woodland vice, that you sit on. By bracing your feet against a footplate, you pivot a bar down onto your piece of wood, holding it in place while leaving both hands free to tinker with it. The wood can be released, moved and held down again with great speed by using your legs. I much preferred this device to both normal vices and normal horses.

Drawblade

This item has a name in two parts. “Draw” refers to the action of pulling it towards you. It has two handles, so you can grip it in both hands, and you pull it forcefully towards your stomach. “Blade” refers to the fact that, mounted between the handles, is a foot-long very sharp blade which, as mentioned, you are pulling forcefully towards your stomach. You can use this to shave slices off a piece of wood, turning an ineffectually chipped-at log into something resembling a chair leg.

Spokeshave

Once you’ve drawn your drawblade enough, you will have a roughly shaped piece of wood. To finesse its shape you can use a spokeshave, which is a little bit of wood, big enough to grip in both hands, with a razorblade mounted in the bottom. You use it in the same way, but get a much finer slice, enabling precision smoothing. It can also be used across the end grain to produce a surface as smooth as if you’d spent all day sanding it. I achieved a state of zen mindfulness while using this tool.

Adze

These tools vary between terrifying and precise. The axe was, for me, at the terrifying end of the spectrum until I met the adze. It’s like an axe, but with a longer handle, and its blade is curved and at right angles to the handle. You use it to carve curved shapes out of a piece of wood, and you do this by standing on the wood with your legs apart and then swinging the adze, with as much speed and force as you can muster, between your legs. Ideally you will hack lumps out of the wood without damaging your shoes or removing your own toenails.

Also this week, I used a hand drill to put a one-inch drill bit through a solid piece of ash. Next week I will have my first encounter with a travisher, which I expect will be used for extensive amounts of travishing, and I will then form a mortise and tenon joint using means I cannot yet explain.

I will, assuming I am successful, allow you to sit on the stool, and I will repeat to you the story about getting blisters.

Gaming Historian

Look at me and be inspired. What have I done for the last 38 years of my life? Good question. Next please.

What I have done is devoted my life to the very simple practice of picking up a thing and playing an imaginary thing on it. Some people have chosen to call these ‘video games’. I refuse to adopt this because I do not believe it accurately describes the thing. I call them ‘gamebopolies’. Only the most hard-core and committed members of the gaming community follow my lead because, yes, I am a leader.

Today’s topic is something close to my heart. As a child I would spend hours upon hours upon more hours playing gamebopolies on this most sacred of systems. What am I talking about? Why, young scamps, of course I’m referring to the Gamestation. Pull up a Tiktok and I’ll spin you a tale:

Photos of the console itself are not permitted under the Geneva Convention

The Gamestation was released in April 1995 by the Icelandic tech giant, Pony. The Pony Gamestation was released as a direct competitor to Shintendo’s upcoming Shintendo 54 and Trega’s Shattern consoles. Nobody expected Iceland to be capable of manufacturing such a complicated piece of electrical equipment as prior to this they were only known for ice, ice cubes and the DNA double helix (both the physical structure that exists in the human body that contains the information for creating and operating living systems and also the bitchin’ sound system capable of producing 100 decibels of might that has caused the hospitalisation of over one hundred and fifty people).

The Gamestation hit hard. The games were cheap to produce as they used playing cards for games instead of cartridges tat the previous generations had adtoped. For example, if you placed an ace of clubs, you would be greeted with ‘Grand Theft Auto’ whereas a simple three of hearts farted ‘Bubsy 3D’ in your general direction. Shintendo’s choices during this era of gamebopolies was noted as being a little short-sighted and they lost the war for the moment. They would have to wait ten years before they regained the momentum of the previous decade. Trega had already been losing ground for months prior and the Shattern did nothing to persuade the casual gamers of the age to set sail from Pony’s hallowed lake of sweet, sweet goodness.

PC gaming at the time was expensive. Only billionaires could afford a PC and therefore what little gamebopolies were released could only be played by Bill Gates and whatever other billionaires existed back in the mid-nineties. Hugh Heffner? Yeah him. And the two women from the ‘Philadelphia’ adverts, they must have had a giant wad. For example, Doom II on the PC only sold fifteen copies. It was a brilliant game by all standards: brooding, dark, quick of pace and maliciously violent. The only way little Jimmy was playing some Doom II though was if his older brother was a rich Texan oil baron.

I remember coming home from school and reaching straight for my Gamestation control nodule. I would be lost in the realistic 3D graphics, amazing music and tight controls and gameplay. Sometimes my friend Chevin would come round and we’d play two player deathmatch on the Gamestation’s flagship title, ‘Carmageddon’, where you scored points for mowing down civilians and blowing stuff up. Occasionally we’d play ‘Grand Theft Auto’ where you scored points for moving down civilians and blowing stuff up. It’s a shame ‘Postal’ was never released on the Gamestation because it was so wildly different from everything else on the system at the time; you scored points for only moving down civilians, you couldn’t blow anything up.

It was a wonderful time in my life. If you have memories of these gamebopolies or any others, then do let us know. Let’s share and be together as one giant community (with me as the leader).

Pouring
Beans

Category: Charming Pastimes