How Fast?

One of the highlights of this week, for me, was when I managed to finally rediscover an 80s cartoon I had been internet-crusading for on-and-off for roughly a year. I had originally seen the show on VHS tapes over my nan's house when I was young. The show I was looking for made up a collection of kids tv tapes that varied wildly, it included Rainbow, Super Ted and a black and white Tom and Jerry-style program which was terrifying.

In later years, as the number of grandkids increased, my nan bought new tapes, stuff like Fun Song Factory and other shiny singalong evil designed by evil people to make kids evil. What's wrong with Super Ted!? It was good enough for me, and look how I turned out. I turned into an eloquent, if solipsistic, internet loser. I function in society, shut up.

The show I was looking for, in my memory, was based around colourful fighter planes, I didn't really remember much else apart from the gunfire from one particular plane was animated with two lines which were intercut with horizontal lines across them, like a railway track pattern. I remember thinking that that was mense, and it was. On my original attempts to unearth the series I had scoured through lists of series titles, hoping that something relating to planes would come up, but no such luck. On a random impulse in the week, I typed in '80s cartoon fighter planes' and within a couple of results I managed to find a logo which I knew was correct. It is unsurprising I hadn't found it looking through all the lists, the title has nothing to do with planes.

It is entitled 'Ring Raiders'.

I actually took this name at face value as I read through the wikipedia entry, and it was only at the point in which certain characters were called 'Ring Commanders' that I began to wonder whether this series was merely an elaborate fundamentalist allegory about anal sex. It isn't. The show was made, as a lot of shows were back then, to market a series of toys that were already in existence. I think Gundam and Transformers were the same, although I could be wrong. Pokemon definitely was, as the original incarnation was the Gameboy games. I hope that is correct after I have waded in so confidently.

Anyway, the story is that there is an evil organisation wanting to do something evil and so goodies have been given rings which unlock special powers in planes so they can be cool and save the world from evil. Cool, wicked, awesome. This didn't resonate with my now-sophisticated futuristic brain and sensibilities. Although I was tempted to buy the VHS megatape of all the episodes (it hasn't been released on DVD). There were only 5 episodes ever made, all mean't to be pilots, because a full series was never commissioned. But this isn't what excited me. OH NO! It was an old 80s cartoon, and as with all 80s cartoon it is legally obliged to have an amazing opening theme. OH MOTHERHUFFING BOY, did this theme bring back some awesome nostalgia for me.

I think one of the things that really makes an 80s cartoon theme for me, after having looked at this example case of 1 cartoon show, is rampant and surreal, illogical hyperbole. Skies above! Nobody does illogical hyperbole like the 80s. Here is my transcription and deconstruction of the exultant and victorious chorus of the theme song:

RING RAIDERS!
We're faster than eagles!

Fair enough, fighter planes are LITERALLY faster than eagles, no complaints there, solid opener.

We're faster than sound!

My knowledge of science is so lacking that I don't want to comment on this with any confidence, but I think planes going faster than sound, yes. You see them flying, and then you hear the rumble, that makes sense, right?

We're faster than evil!

I don't really want to comment on this, because I feel that the proclamation is so inherently ludicrous that I am just impressed by the scale of out of the box thinking.

Ring Raiders later claim to be faster than both 'Light' and 'Crime'.

I fucking love Ring Raiders.

Yep, It's Still Shining

I probably shouldn't have left it so that my post last week didn't have a conclusion, that was slightly inconsiderate of me. It's the sort of thing that would annoy me as a reader. So my apologies.


The gig went quite well, I did eventually get gonged off because instead of telling jokes I floundered and repeatedly called god a cunt, but in doing so I raised £4 for charity, so maybe there is a god after all. But he is definitely a cunt.


I was able to try out my new story, which was an excellent opportunity as I was then confident enough in it to use on Monday, where I took part in the second heat of the Welsh Unsigned Standup Act competition, which I did really well in, I am through to the semis. I will need to pull my socks up a bit if I want to have any sort of chance in the next round, which is in July.

I think all the fussing and second-guessing that happened last week was definitely worth it, as stressful as it was at the time. It is a process I think I'll have to go through for all new material, just to be certain that I have enough of a grasp on it, although I am hoping that as time goes on the chances of completely blanking like I did in Neath will fall away, eventually becoming 0. I suppose the more material you have the more there is to call upon should things go belly-up. Similarly, the more confident you get as time goes on, the more you'd be able to confidently cover and fill without feeling as though things will crash if you veer from material. Throughout this paragraph I have slowly replaced the term 'I' with the term 'you', I don't know whether this illustrates that my comments are just baseless hypothetical conjecture or whether it's just a trick to distance myself from my own comments.


I automatically use 'you' where I mean 'I' a lot, and it annoys me. It's linguistic trickery, where I remove my agency from the comments, so that it sounds hypothetical and passive, rather than sounding as though it directly involves or represents my opinions.
A little bit of meta-linguistic introspection for you all there, I can only imagine that you are all fascinated and delighted with it.


In only slightly less solipsistic news, we've been slogging away on the sketches, with Hard Reset now joining Just Another Minute on our youtube channel. The feedback we've received has been positive which is great, but I am bracing myself for the eventual, inevitable swathe of 'epic emo gay faggot'-style bile which I figure washes everywhere in the turgid typhoon which is the internet.


When it comes I will say to them (herein referred to as 'The Haters):


Do you know who I am!? I am a Semi-Finalist.


Yes indeed, that'll give them pause for thought.

The Sun Shines Out of Mine

My day today has been coloured by a constant niggling level of nerves, due to having a gig in Swansea tonight.


I've written new stuff to flesh out my set, and been occupying myself by running and re-running through the set in my head, recording it and replaying it to myself and making a bullet point list of the running order of it in a series of tedious attempts to remember it.


My all-in attitude to memorising this new stuff comes from having blanked completely during my last gig and being left on stage open-mouthed and silent, looking like a grade-a bellend, and no mistake.


I've reverted to my old tactic of attempting to mesh the material in a (perhaps somewhat contrived) narrative flow, so that it is less staggered, and therefore, in theory, easier to remember. It seems to be working so far, and actually outlining the blow-by-blow of the material (this is a pun given the nature of the set, so I will titter to myself) has helped no-end in committing it to memory. Of course all this blathering might be hugely premature, only time will tell. I also plan on putting the bullet points on my hand before I go on, which I've not done before, but I think it's necessary, I want at all costs to avoid the complete blank that happened before.


I am a lot happier with the new material than I was with the stuff I had planned to say before I blanked, which I think will also be a lot of help. Being genuinely enthused by the things you want to say is likely a much better catalyst than trying to remember a story that you think people are going to react badly to. I also hadn't learnt it well enough.


This entry has devolved quite quickly into anxious hypothesising, it is essentially the blogging equivalent of rubbing palms together or biting your fingernails.


So in a slight change of focus, I am quite awed by how difficult it must have been to attend far-flung nights without the aid of e-mail, satnav and google maps. I have a spot tonight in a bar which I've never visited, and despite this I not only know exactly where it is, thanks to google maps, I also know where I'm going to park, as well as being aware of several alternatives should those spaces be full.


I am very grateful for all this technology, if I had to potter around Swansea by myself looking for the venue on the night, I think I would be reduced to a gibbering nervous wreck. Even as it is I am not wholly comfortable with the process, I get infused with a mix of excitement, of feeling very grown up indeed, and then with an acute feeling of being very clearly outside my comfort zone, which probably isn't hugely conductive when I am attempting to remember a new story I plan on telling.


I'm sure the only answer is to heed the advice that the Pub Landlord would surely give, which is to SNAP OUT OF IT!


The gig tonight starts quite late, so I am confident that I'll get there with plenty of time to spare, and I will use the time beforehand wisely, running through my set like I should have done before, where instead I sat staring into the middle-distance like a vacant dolt. That's right, a dolt.


This blog is a burst of rampant solipsism, I must apologise. Hopefully it hasn't been too nauseating getting to see the view of the inside of my brain, which seems to be lodged squarely up my own arse.


This has been an exercise in releasing nervous energy, if it's not enough I will have to torture a kitten or something, who knows.


Expect a blow-by-blow post mortem of the gig tomorrow. Actually, don't.

Mousemats, Traffic and Politics

While in work today I noticed the shiny new mousemats that the centre have forked out for. Their shinyness is worth commenting upon, for they are noticably shiny. However, each individual computer in the cybercafe is attached to an LED mouse, so having a mousemat, especially one that is shiny and dimpled, makes using the computer harder. These are the petty niggles which rule my days.


I also discovered writ large upon the back of the mousemats that they are 'indestructible under normal use'. That is a quality I really look for in my mousemats. Indestructibility. This mousemat is surely the Superman of the mousemat race.


There is a stretch of road between my house and work, which is handy otherwise I would live in my workplace. HAHAHAHAHA.


There is a stretch of road between my house and work which is being given a new layer of cement or whatever it is the government have to feed the road to sate the fury of the road. It resents being driven on.


This re-tarmacking is a nuisance as it causes a huge traffic jam due to the inevitable bottle-necking. I appreciate that this is unavoidable and that the cement people (people who cement, not people made out of cement) are doing us proud and keeping us safe by spreading more molten rock on the road, but I was slightly put out by it so I feel I have the right to lash out mindlessly on the internet. And I do.


In the traffic jam I nobly allowed a gargantuan cement truck to merge from a junction and go in front of me in the queue which was snailing its way forward. This was fine, I didn't feel threatened or encroached upon by the colossal truck, the tailgate of which was, at some points, almost hovering over my head. This all changed, however, when an ambulance and a police car tried to force their way through the gridlocked throng.


Again, I appreciate that the amblumance people (purposeful mispelling) and the po-po were on their way to assist in an important matter, such as to apprehend a thief who had stolen a vulnerable person's heartbeat and to re-instate said heartbeat into the vulnerable person. I momentarily forgot what the other emergency service was. Fire engines.


So I was slightly intimidated and befuddled by being jammed behind a cement truck with an angry looking amblumance man glowering at me. I would like to say to that amblumance worker; "I am not Inspector Gadget. My car cannot perform physics-defying transformations. Suck it".


It is good to see that the country is still basically functioning even though all the leaders have taken time off to go and win a popularity contest.


I am particularly galled by the Conservative 'policy' which will run a project called 'School Stars' which is essentially X-Factor in schools. I would stick my neck out and say this is a bad idea. We already have X-Factor, it is called X-Factor and it is on the television and it is cackworthy shite. Surely running that sort of project can't be a political policy? That's not going to solve anything.


How do we solve the problems? GARY BARLOW WITH KIDS!! Excuse me? GARY BARLOW WITH TEH KIDDEZ!!


It's an odd one though, I don't oppose the putting of kids on stage in a competitive form. I have fond (if occasionally bitter) memories of the various Eisteddfodau that I partook of as a child. But I think the main difference between these and 'School Stars' (apart from the obvious cynical political manipulation that is inherent in it) is that the Eisteddfod's scope is huge, with events including oration, singing, musical recital, dancing, with the main focus being on writing. I think the focus on writing is an admirable thing, I feel that writing is implicitly more creative than singing. But I suppose I would say that, I love writing. In fact, I am writing right now. While I acknowledge that singing well is a talent and not an easy thing, I feel the individuality and creativity needed for things such as writing, composing etc makes efforts in those fields more valuable, and I feel it is something of a pity that singers can make a fortune simply rehashing other people's creations. MAKE SOMETHING NEW.


The consensus seems to be that Nick Clegg won the recent debate, which of course means that he did. I don't know who I'll vote for at this point as I haven't yet taken the time to research any party's manifesto, but I feel that if the Lib Dem's can build on this burst of popularity that would be a positive thing. From an incredibly selfish point of view I would welcome them coming to power if they stay true to their pledge of scrapping tuition fees. I think if that happened I'd go back to University. Which is reason for everyone to vote Lib Dem.


These are the policies they should be leading with! Nick Clegg says he'll put Gilder back in Uni!


I suppose what we'll find out in the next couple of weeks is whether voters would prefer to see kiddies played off against each other a la X-Factor, or if they'd rather see them in University.


I'd usually be pessimistic about it, but we must bear in mind that we did get Rage Against the Machine to number one.


As a short P.S. The sight of George Osborne still makes me retch. That is all.

Charlie Chaplin Day for Democracy: The Day in Review

If you don't know what the Charlie Chaplin Day for Democracy is then it might be worth reading yesterday's blog entry or this video might not make much sense.

www.theacre.net

acrecomedy@gmail.com

www.youtube.com/acrecomedy

@adamgilder

Charlie Chaplin Day for Democracy

It is a day before the very first 'Charlie Chaplin Day for Democracy', and I am as yet undecided as to how I am going to mark this occasion.

To explain, for any of you who might be unaware of this occasion, it is a day pioneered by the UK’s foremost hardworking, experimenting, vulgarising comedian himself, Richard Herring. The idea comes off the back of his latest comedy show, Hitler Moustache, where he picks apart fascism, and in particular how fascism shanghais certain symbols, and twists their meanings to their own ends.

Both historical examples such as the swastika, which the Nazis nabbed from Eastern traditions (it features positively in Hinduism, Buddhism, Jainism, Mithraism and Shamanism), and modern examples, such as the BNP cynically co-opting the image of spitfires and poppies, are discussed, with most of the focus falling on the eponymous Hitler moustache.

Herring argues that the toothbrush moustache, an inherently ludicrous item of facial decoration, was originally under the ownership of comedy, as it famously belonged to Charlie Chaplin, who Hitler is believed to have stolen it from. Chaplin later used the likeness to satirise Hitler in The Great Dictator, in which he sends a strong anti-fascist message.

The idea and aim of the ‘Charlie Chaplin Day for Democracy’ is to encourage people to adopt a toothbrush moustache for the day, in order to reclaim the moustache for comedy, much as labels such as ‘queer’ and ‘nigger’ have been reclaimed by the very groups that they once repressed. The hope is that this guerilla toothbrush-moustaching (that’s right, everything is a verb now) will help make a pertinent pro-democracy statement, especially in a time where voters are being ubiquitously described as ‘apathetic’ due to clandestine and illicit behaviour by MPs, which enabled ignorant border groups such as the BNP and UKIP to gain more credence.

So here is the crux of the matter for me personally.

I am a bearded gentleman, it is very much within the scope of my ability to shave down to a toothbrush moustache, for the 16th (incidentally, the date was chosen as it is Chaplin’s birthday, although handily it has fallen during the election campaign this year, meaning that political awareness is particularly high). I also have the desire to shave down a toothbrush moustache, I have always found the moustache amusing, most likely due to the assumed inherent inappropriateness of wearing it. I was once caught by my old headmaster in the middle of a water-fight (inappropriately located in the 6th form common room) where I had swept my sodden hair into a sharp Hitleresque style, and wore a ripped tab of a label of bottled water on my top lip. He was understandably angry, but I believe that having styled myself in the facial representation of a young chubby Welsh Hitler confused him to the point where he expressed a general disgust of the water-fight, and I was able to claim innocence, despite being soaked through and bedecked with a faux-toothbrush moustache. All the other participants claimed they were just following orders.

There are a number of problems with my moustache-based plans. For one, I work for the council, in an environment where I largely supervise children, and I am uncertain how wise it would be to sport the fuzz around them. Whilst reading Richard Herring’s blog one child once declared “he looks like Hitler” and then didn’t much care when I explained that Herr Herring was a comedian attempting to reclaim the moustache. More than likely the child was merely attempting to be a nuisance. Which he was. In fact, all children are a nuisance, that’s why they eventually grow up.

I’m not really sure what the policies of the council would be on this, whether, as an employee of this public-funded organisation, I would get into trouble for sporting it. Would a toothbrush moustache be inherently viewed as a political statement? Certainly if I decided to shave down and come into work with heavy meat chops I very much doubt people would assume I am protesting the new rules over taxation of cider. (I am 22, I deeply feel I shouldn’t be aware of changes to tax). Considering that the political parties are now all campaigning in the run-up to the next election, would it be appropriate for me to bedeck myself with a toothbrush moustache, though it might not be construed as a political statement, that would be the overt aim, or is this acceptable as it is a pro-democracy message, rather than one in favour of a specific party.

I also plan on recording a part of a new sketch tomorrow, the original idea once again belonging to Dafydd, who came up with our first one. I’ll leave out the topic so that it is something of a surprise but the sketch is set up as a faux-terrormongering news report, with me as the reporter, and I feel that the added extra of a toothbrush moustache would add an extra element of eerieness to what I hope will be doom-laden delivery.

My conclusion at this point is that I am definitely going to shave it down for the sketch, but I am uncertain as to whether it’d be wise to have it while in work. It would certainly be an interesting experience, and I imagine it’d easily fuel tomorrow’s blog, where I could perhaps provide some conclusion to all this theorising.

I think perhaps I want to wear the toothbrush moustache for the same reason I kept my eyes open during prayer in assembly as a child. It is a mix of feeling as though I am doing something which is against the rules, while also agreeing with the ideology behind it. I kept my eyes open because I didn’t, and don’t, believe in any almighty, and I want to join in with the reclamation of the toothbrush moustache because I am against fascism.

But how much of either example is simply the desire to be a bit naughty?

I feel it is wrong to sign off with a ‘seig heil’, but I have the uneasy feeling that I have done so before in a previous entry, so best not to get to a point where searching this blog will throw up multiple examples of the phrase ‘seig heil’, which is why I’m never going to type ‘seig heil’ in this blog again.

I can only hope I’ve spelt ‘seig heil’ incorrectly, perhaps it is meant to be spelt ‘sieg heil’.

Damn, I have been hoist with my own ‘sieg heil’-based petard.

Is That a Challenge!?

I spent most of today in a seminar on ‘Dealing with Challenging Behaviour’, which focused quite a lot on challenging behaviour in children specifically. It was hugely helpful, especially given that my work requires me to deal almost exclusively with children.

Hearing some of the anecdotes that came out of the seminar, in particular one from a youth worker who recalled an occasion where a child with learning difficulties attacked her with a bat with a nail in the end and a knife. Being attacked by someone is terrifying enough without weapons entering the fray, but the way which she was able to laugh off being confronted by a dual-wielding youth was quite astounding.

The seminar ran in the centre where I work, which is why I was there, which was handy for me as I then got to go straight to work and put my newfound challenging-behaviour-dealing-tactics into use. And skies above did I deal with some challenging behaviour! The answer is no really, as the commonsense message of the seminar was: the best way to deal with challenging behaviour is to stop it before it happens.

In order to effectively deflate difficult circumstances you pretty much have to pay attention and chill people out before they get to the point of keyboard-duelling and each-others-head-punching. In this way I came to realise how unobservant I am usually. This was also illustrated to me last Friday, when I met up with an old friend who spent most of the night glancing surreptitiously off to the sides of the pub and raising his eyebrows as though to signify “See that guy there?”, to which my answer would be “No”. I realised I am far more inward looking than I ever realised.

This is particularly annoying as I have writing aspirations, and one accepted truth of writing is that rounded, real characters are written by people-watchers. The more people you know/meet/observe, the wider the experience pool you have to draw from in imagining characters. This possibly doesn’t bode well for me, and may also explain why observational comedy often falls flat for me.

Observational Comedian: “Hey, have you seen that aeroplane food?”

Me: “No, I was playing my GameBoy Advance.”

Observational Comedian: “What’s up with that!?”

Me: “I’m not down with that.”

It may also inform my enjoyment of the works of Richard Herring, as the larger theme of a lot of his work is drawn from himself, either things he’s done, or attempting to understand or express himself more fully, rather than drawing on things which he has observed. I’ll end the comedy-philosophising here, for though I am incredibly fond of picking it apart, it is a fondness the world doesn’t share. (Fuck you, the world).

I also misread Facebook as Facebok, and then spent a time splicing famous internet sites with animals, but I could only manage Micepace, Beebo, Foalobucket, Newtube and Titter before I realised that I was wasting valuable living time with this exercise, so I ran out of work, saved some orphans, made poverty history and swanned off into the sunset with a sexy lady. She had a husky voice and was slightly intimidating.

There were fireworks.

But basically I have learned that the way to deal with challenging behaviour is to be nice and personable, and that if people are utterly dedicated to being a pain then they will be regardless of how diplomatic you are. So I have been in a good mood all day, which means I, and those around me, have had more fun than they would have.


I hate it when the answer is as simple as that. I am going to have to find a way to force myself into a good mood every day. And get paid for it.

There'll be fireworks.

First Sketch

As you may or may not know, I am a part of a sketch troupe called The ACRE.

We are on community radio every weekend, and we edit the best bits into The ACRE Podcasts, because we are awful modern. Apart from these endeavours, we also write blogs and do live stuff when we can. We are basically creative busybodies, and hopefully we're reaching the point where our idle speculation regarding things we should do has been overtaken by actually doing those things.

Which brings me on to the point of this entry.

We spent a very sunny yesterday in the bustling township of Pontypridd, where we hauled ourselves to a pub with cameras and ideas to come up with a sketch and film it in a couple of hours. We figured the only way we'd get past the planning/potential stages of the thing would be to just go and do it, even if that means a haphazard sketch. It would be a learning curve and an experience which hopefully we could build on.

And that's what happened.

We journeyed into Ponty Park, and took to filming a sketch, the brief of which was Dafydd saying "I want to be up a tree protesting". I am surprised we managed to fill 4 minutes of nothing really.

The end product is a lot punchier and crisper than we expected it could be when we were filming, but the magnificence of editing is that some semblance of narrative can be tricked into place even if there was none at the time of filming.

So here it is, it is full of needless swearing, because we are mature, and it is incredibly silly. We hope it makes you laugh.

www.theacre.net

@adamgilder

acrecomedy@gmail.com

Cooking Dynamo

I am betrayéd.

Having spent the most of this week floundering about watching sitcoms, listening to podcasts, reading books, playing games and gorging hideously on any foodstuff I can be arsed to put into my mouth, I, perhaps unsurprisingly, find myself in a creative slump.

I don't know whether the decadent activities listed above took place because of this slump, or whether the slump has been brought on by the activities, in all probability it is a symbiotic mix of the two. I have destroyed my eyes by staring for hours at my laptop screen, slogging my way through a gruelling and brain numbing re-design of The ACRE website, brought on by needing to incorporate the amazing new logos designed for us by Heather of HLW Design onto the site. It was fiddly work for me, as I am fairly clueless about such things, and even with the aid of iWeb (the web design equivalent of a tricycle with stabilisers) it took me many long hours. Dragging and clicking. Urgh.

But with bleeding eyes I can take solace that the website now looks far more professional, with many thanks to Heather for designing the logos and the banners, and for not complaining over the vagueness of my ideas or the tardiness of my replies. They are class.

The website is teal as well now. I fucking love teal.

So back to the betrayal.

Having been stuck in a fug, unable to force out any of the latent creativity I have sloshing around inside myself somewhere, it was there last time I looked at least, I decided to be pro-active and make myself something to eat, rather than just stare at a blank text window gurning in anxiety and frustration.

The "meal" I settled on was slapdash, a mix of unusual plate-fellows. However, I learnt everything I know from mawkish idealistic RPGs and superheroic epic tales, and I figured that a ragtag band of culinary heroes would do better than a tactically sound, well gelled team. I was wrong.

Not only was I wrong, but I was also blighted by a plague of misfortunes throughout the cooking process.

The backbone of my meal was to be a cod fillet in breadcrumbs. My meat preference is usually chicken, but given that I need to kickstart my brain, I figured some "brain-food" would be the smartest option. I slapped the fillet into a baking tray, and ferried it into the oven. No problem, I am an oven veteran. It was a flawless move.

I am a huge fan of potato, but given that chips, or some variant thereof, makes up the vast majority of my potato intake, I decided I would change tack, and go slightly exotic. Microwave mash in no way fills the bill in terms of 'exoticity', but that's what I cooked. I say 'cooked'. This pot of microwave mash is said to serve two, and though i am something of a pig, I decided I would abstain from eating the entire lot. However, cutting a patty of refrigerated mash potato in half ranks quite high up in my league of 'Pathetic Things I Did Today'. Having to move the wad of mash into a different bowl also scores highly. In a world where people still starve, I cannot find another human being willing to split mash with me.

I would have been happy with my plate of mash and fish. I decided to compliment the meal with some apple squash. As it turns out, the apple squash was the only item whose consumption went to plan. it was lovely squash.

The mash reacted badly to being microwaved in a different container. It grew a burnt crusty skin around itself, which was off-putting, to say the least. And fucking disgusting, to react dramatically. I was disgruntled, and returned to the oven to reclaim what I imagined would be the saving grace of my mealtime, a delicious piece of fish to offset the filthy mash.

But oh, no. Oh very no.

I had been tricked by my father's penchant for keeping food in non-labelled freezer bags. What I had though to be a heavenly cod in breadcrumbs was, in fact, something altogether more sinister. It is said that the devil makes work for idle hands, and I imagine that the work those idle hands undertook resulted in the invention of this satanic invention.

Chicken kiev.

My entire day lay in ruins on my plate. My tears of humiliation lubricated the crusty mash, the chicken kiev postured damply by its side, like the lewd length of moist meat that it was.

I turned to some simple bread and butter for solace. Its purity and simplicity washed away the surface torment of the freakish mash and the licentious chicken kiev, restoring some measure of dignity to my evening.

I am clean again, but I can't be certain that the scars will ever fade away.

www.theacre.net

@adamgilder

Journal of Cannonby: The Battle at Chi Ki

I am hoping that the plot is thickening somewhat in Cannonby of late. At the very least I can say that there is at least an overarching plot nowadays, rather than just silly throwaway one offs. Of course everything in The ACRE Podcasts are throwaway, but the genius is we don't throw them away. Is it genius? Who knows, eh?

The script was read/played by:

Narrator: Me

Cannonby: The Pirate

Bevan: Me

Boris: Dafydd Evans

Doktor: The Pirate

Hazel: Me

Maude: Dafydd Evans

*****

Journal: The Remarkable Doings of Cannonby

The Battle at Chi Ki.

Narrator

So, here we are again, dear friends; in the weird and wonderful world of Captain Cannonby and his curmudgeonly crew. That is perhaps slightly too jolly an opening given the situation the crew find themselves in. Teal and Bludonna have been captured slash kidnapped by the borderline vampiric, certainly cannibalistic priests of Vinehaven. These priests, lead by their Head Priest; the buxom, glamorous and oddly melodic Mellencamp Vino, plan on mwshing their captives to wine. Her able aides; Crimson Maude, head of torture and winemaking, and Hazel Sick, the oddsbody, ferret Teal and Bludonna away to the dungeons to that very end. While the Doktor, the Nurse and Boris search for an obligatory hidden secret entrance, Cannonby has sided for a more direct approach, and has dragged Bevan and a still slightly damaged ZX Ilfracombe along with him. Can the verb 'to storm' be aptly used to describe the behaviour of three men? I'm not overly certain but that's what it says here, so; Cannonby, Bevan and ZX storm the main gate.

CNBY: All for one, one for all, oye you two! Make a hole in the wall!

BEVAN: Ah, marvellous. What a magnificently nuanced plan of action you've compiled there Captain. With a tactician as Machiavellian as you, how could we possibly fail?

CNBY: Don't you spout your clever cloggery at me Carmarthen Bevan! I remember when you were but a babe in arms, I USED TO CHANGE YOUR NAPPIES, MY BOY!

BEVAN: Well that's absolute rubbish, I am significantly older than you, rendering what you just said absolutely impossible.

CNBY: Since when are you older than me?

BEVAN: Since the beginning, obviously. I think if you go back and check the character biographies that were drawn up at the start of these stories you'll see it clearly stated that I am older. I was mean't to be something of a mentor figure I believe.

CNBY: Well that turned out fantastically didn't it!?

BEVAN: I am the figure of sense at least, I am the earth wire to your cattle prod.

CNBY: That's not mentoring though is it?

BEVAN: It is mentoring of a sort.

CNBY: It's just misanthropy!

BEVAN: No, it's good old fashioned common sense, like we used to get when I was but a boy.

CNBY: I trust that since we're spending so long discussing your age that a twist in this plotline will eventually hang on that information?

BEVAN: I very much doubt it, I just thought it was a necessary thing to thrash out. Accuracy is important, especially to people of my advancing age.

CNBY: Old people are tedious.

BEVAN: But to reiterate, we aren't going to be able to smash through this colossal gate, not even with ZX's freakish cyborg might. Do you have any other strategically simplistic ideas?

CNBY: We could set fire to the place. With all the alcohol in there it should go up like a bonfire in a petrol station forecourt.

BEVAN: While your use of simile which involves buildings and technologies which don't exist in our reality is wonderful, I am afraid to say that won't work. Wine isn't flammable, really.

CNBY: Is that a bit of wisdom garnered over the years?

BEVAN: No, I just wikipediad it to check. Factual accuracy in these stories are important you know. Anyway, even if all the vines that cover the place went up in a fire, you'd run the risk of killing Teal and Bludonna as well as all the priests.

CNBY: Oh yes. I forgot they were in there. You asked for strategies and I just thought FIRE! you know? That's what all the great strategists go for.

BEVAN: I suppose you have a point. Renowned strategist and ancient-Agian Warlord Lu Xun often used fire in his tactics.

CNBY: Fascinating. Usually at this point we would have a cheap reference to some kind of video game, but this week you've decided to opt for referencing a literary pseudo-historical figure, it's more upmarket and makes us look clever, I like it.

BEVAN: Nah, I saw him on Dynasty Warriors.

CNBY: Typical.

Narrator

I've taken down an officer! That's what they say on that game. Away from Cannonby and Bevan's bickering, Boris, the Doktor and Uh Nurse are having a more fruitful experience. I'll point out now that that was a pun, because by the time they actually come into contact with fruit you'll have forgotten the line about it being 'fruitful'.

BORIS: So where is this hidden opening?

DOKTOR: Patience my little Slavic buddy, you need to cast your eyes amongst the little oval shapes / You'll find the secreted opening amongst the grapes.

Narrator

Okay, I suppose it wasn't that long before the fruits came up, I just got a bit excited, didn't want a joke to slip through the net. Skies know they are few and far between in these tales.

BORIS: Is this the entrance here? It looks a lot like one I guess.

DOKTOR: Yes.

BORIS: That was easy, I expected that to be really drawn out and tedious. Small blessings I suppose.

Narrator;

Very nearby, on the other end of the tunnel lies the dungeon labyrinth that is the underguts of Vinehaven, wherein Crimson Maude and Hazel are making the preparations for the evening's winemaking.

MAUDE: What're you doing with those comatose carcasses Hazel, get your patootie in gear woman, skies above!

HAZEL: Yes, Miss Maude.

MAUDE: Chuck 'em in the big trough as usual, I'll start up the giant foot machine which will begin the crush. We'll have ourselves some wine in no time.

HAZEL: Yes, Miss Maude.

Dragging noises and banging as though people have been dumped in the trough.

MAUDE: Spiffing. Let's throw the switch!

Narrator

*Sharp breath* Are they really going to do it? Having escaped the dangers of the forest and the clutches of an Agian Spider, will Teal and Bludonna be cursed to a fate where they are splattered by a colossal mechanised foot? In their unconscious state there is little they can do to help themselves. Will Cannonby break the gate? Will Boris arrive in time? Why has no one ever said 'Gyargh!' in these stories? Aren't they mean't to be pirates? There's not even a wooden leg or a parrot. Skies above, this is one of the most cliche-free pirate stories ever. And one of the worst. But now you have to come back or you'll never know if Bludonna and Teal get wineificated. It'll be like Schrodinger's Liquidation/Cannibalism Machine Theory. That's not very catchy so you'd better come back next week, to discover what transpires in Tales of Cannonby!

*****

New script as always will be read/played tomorrow halfway through our 12-3pm GMT slot on www.rhonddaradio.com.

Cannonby will be going on hiatus when this arc concludes I believe. What will we fill it with I wondread?

If you feel a pressing need to get in touch send your missives to acrecomedy@gmail.com or tweet @adamgilder.

Fanks all.

Adam