Andy Robb's Blog, page 5

Who’s Who?

 

It would seem a bit off to let the 50th Anniversary of Dr Who pass, without throwing my tuppence into the arena. I also realise that this is a touchy subject; everyone has their own ‘my Doctor’ and the argument as to which incarnation of the Time Lord is the best is one that tends to get Geeky eyebrows and voices raised. I daresay it’ll continue long after that much-dreaded 12th regeneration, but I’m going to nail my sonic-screwdriver to the mast and take a stance.

The only way I can do this is on a list and, like the polarity of the neutron flow, I’m going to do it in reverse. As I write this, I can feel myself getting a bit nervous; I’ve had my theories over the years, but been careful not to broadcast them too loudly. Deep breath and here we go:

The Worst to Best Doctors Who

11. Christopher Eccleston: 9th Doctor. New Who fans are going to hate me for this one but, for my money, the 9th Doctor was the least convincing of the lot. Don’t get me wrong; when I heard Who was going to be resurrected, I was as excited as anyone else. And then Eccleston turned up and that excitement was instantly exterminated.

My reasons for sticking him last were perfectly summed up by Terry Wogan who, on reviewing an episode said that he thought that the Doctor was supposed to be “the eccentric voice of wisdom and not a psychotic bin-man.” Which kind of nailed it for me. All the rage and grief that the 9th Doctor was spewing has only really been referenced in retrospect and everyone has very generously said ‘oh, it’s because he’d just finished the Time War and was shell-shocked’ or something. Personally, I think it was down to a bad character-choice on the actor’s part; he’d already said that he was never able to relate to former Doctors, finding them “too foppish”; his desire was to create a Doctor for the working classes. Fair enough, if you’re doing an Earth-bound drama – but he’s an alien. Which leads me to my next whinge:

 

The accent. Just, no. Any actor who has to have lines written into the script to excuse the fact that he either won’t or can’t use another accent simply isn’t doing his job. Every planet has a North? So, are we expected to believe that all Northern Gallifreyans speak like they’re from Manchester? I’ve nothing against the accent on a human-being, but an alien using it as his native dialect isn’t on. It’s lazy and, in my opinion, disrespectful to the show. And the costume? No. And the stiff-necked grin when Eccleston had to reach down into his boots to drag up the approximation of happiness? No. Fantastic? No.

 

10. Sylvester McCoy – the 7th Doctor. It’s really hard to gauge what McCoy did, because the show was a disaster at the time. Even the disco-style theme-tune was enough to make me do what I never thought I would and turn it off. The writing was bad, there was a queue of z-list celebrities waiting to go on it and the monsters were rubbish. And poor old Sylvester had all that to deal with. And he tried, bless him.

 

He started out badly enough, playing spoons and appearing to be some sort of intergalactic jester. By the time someone realised that a dose of darkness might sort things out, for me, it was too late. There was nothing Lordly about this Doctor. However, when it came to the movie, in which he appeared to pass the torch onto Paul McGann, we got a glimpse of what could’ve been: the spluttering twit had been replaced by a reflective, pottering Gallifreyan with a fierce intelligence. But he did go and pull his trademark gurning face in the regeneration scene, which did annoy me.

9. Paul McGann – the 8th Doctor. Tough one to judge, because we didn’t see enough of him and I haven’t listened to any of his Big Finish audio adventures. But, at face value, this Doctor was a bit too much of the romantic hero for me; less a cosmic wanderer who’d soaked up the wisdom and knowledge of new and ancient civilizations and more of a frustrated poet. But, I’d like to see him pop up at some point, so we can get a better idea of what he had to offer.

8. Peter Davison – the 5th Doctor. Another tough one to judge because, in retrospect, I actually quite liked what he did with the character; the air of reckless innocence, the moments of sombreness and the feeling that he was an old being caught in a young body. But the show was too slick at the time; too full of glossy production values that somehow elbowed out the Gothic atmosphere that I’d come to expect from Who. Not Davison’s fault at all – but the Doctor had also become the leader of some sort of interstellar crèche, with Adric, Tegan and Nyssa all squabbling and bubbling in the background. If I’d been the Doctor, I’d have dropped them all off, just to get some peace and quiet.  And I didn’t mind his costume.

7. David Tennant – the 10th Doctor. Sacrilege, I know! And, believe me, he was such a welcome relief after Ecclestone’s moody posturing. I really liked Tennant’s Doctor to begin with but, after a while, he became a bit of a one-trick pony: goggle-eyed on minute and bemoaning his loneliness the next. But what he did bring back to the show was a sense of humour and the wonder that the Doctor had been missing for a good few incarnations. This Doctor was charming and buoyant, but I got fed up with the idea that he was some sort of Christ-like figure.

6. William Hartnell – the 1st Doctor. More blasphemy but, to be honest, I haven’t seen enough of this Doctor to form a concrete opinion. What I have seen has been interesting: the cranky old man, both treacherous and generous; the time-traveller who might tear a strip off you for his own selfish reasons and then ask forgiveness later on. Let’s face it; he must’ve been good or the show wouldn’t have survived to go another round. And certainly there was a lot of the Lord to this Time Lord – but he was a bit before my time and not as approachable as I like my Doctors to be.

5. Jon Pertwee – the 3rd Doctor. I can feel the hate coming at me already. Pertwee was my first Doctor and I had a strong fondness for him. But he wasn’t an alien to me; he was a dashing, swashbuckling professor in velvet. Certainly, he had the Lordly thing in spades, full of grace, poise and that quintessential Englishness that I think is integral to the Doctor’s character. Yet there wasn’t anything alien or that mysterious about him; he was too human. Authoritarian: yes. Sometimes conceited: yes. But alien? Not much. He wasn’t helped by the fact that most of his adventures were Earth-based thanks to those pesky Time Lords meddling with the TARDIS, but Pertwee’s Doctor felt more like something out of an HG Wells novel, than someone from outer space.

4. Colin Baker – the 6th Doctor. OK…hear me out… I think this Doctor is one of the most underrated in Who history. Baker was an out-and-out Who fan and came to the board with some really interesting ideas. He wanted his Doctor to be pompous, brash, arrogant and filled with his own sense of self-importance. Which, after charging around the universe and saving civilizations by the dozen, seems fair enough to me. I liked the way he swaggered about, looking down his nose at other races; you got a real sense that he was from an advanced society. I also liked the way his temper gave way to bouts of brattishness; this is a guy who’s been his own boss for centuries and not getting your own way must be a real grind if you’ve been used to it for that long.

And, I didn’t mind the costume. I know Baker wanted it to be black to reflect his darker interpretation, but it seemed fitting to me: a sort of preening, intergalactic peacock.

3. Patrick Troughton – the 2nd Doctor. The cosmic hobo. I really liked him. After the Victorian rule of the 1st Doctor, Troughton brought a sense of a character was really existing outside of Time itself. From his mop top to his crumpled frock-coat, he seemed to be everything that the 1st Doctor had been trying to keep a lid on. But Troughton could also play dark; with that craggy face and those burning, baggy eyes, he brought a sense of the unpredictable and danger to the Doctor. On top of that, he also brought a sense of approachability and safety; you just knew that he’d get you out of a scrape, but his rescue would be so last-minute and disorganised that you’d get the full benefit of the adventure before he did.

2. Matt Smith – the 11th Doctor. “What?” we all cried. “He’s 27?” But Smith has brought something special to the role – elements of Classic Who Doctors and New Who energy. Described by Moffat as a “beautiful giraffe”, he’s gangly, uncoordinated, but with a peculiar grace to him. Plus he’s got the alien thing down to a T: he looks odd, like there’s an old man trying to get out of a young body and it reflects in his performance. He gabbles as though there’s too much information in his head for his mouth to cope with, grins with disarming confidence, but you always get the feeling that there’s something else going on inside that 1,000 year-old bonce. This Doctor is complex and sometimes irritating, but he’s a Gallifreyan, through and through.

Tom Baker – the 4th Doctor. Of course it is. My sadness at losing Pertwee to a race of giant spiders was quickly      replaced by an obsessive need to see what this marble-eyed lunatic was      going to get up to next. Tom Baker was the Doctor, from his sonorous drawl      to his toothy grin. He really looked like he’d been booted out from an      elitist society and was having to get by in his own haphazard fashion. The      TARDIS was his gypsy wagon and he was like a disgraced Oxford professor having to make up his      own rules as he went along. He really was a rootless traveller.

The early part of Tom’s incarnation presented us with the childish, wide-eyed aspect of his character, but this soon gave way to the darker, more serious parts. This was the Doctor you wanted to hang out with, but were never quite sure of what he’d do next. And he got the alien thing going from the start. In fact, I’d go as far as to say that Tom was the first to put the alien imprint on the Doctor; his predecessors had all played aspects of a character, but there was little to tie them to an extra-terrestrial race. And it might be why Who started to flounder after Tom left: he gave us everything we wanted from a Time Lord – humour, seriousness, intelligence, wonder, a slightly skewed moral compass and a sense of being different from everyone around him. Unfortunately, for everyone who came after, it meant that the moment they tried to play the alien aspect, it just looked like a Tom impression. And no-one does alien like Tom Baker.

For me, Baker’s Doctor was The Doctor – often impersonated, but never rivalled. And, if you’ve never seen him in action, my recommendations are: Genesis of the Daleks, Brain of Morbius, Deadly Assassin or the Talons of Weng Chiang.

My hat (and scarf) are firmly in the ring. Tell me how wrong I am; I dare you.

The Geek Debate: Marvel or DC?

Welcome to the second of my Official Geek Debates, where I throw my hat in the ring and make myself generally unpopular. What I want to do here is try and get closer to resolving some of the bigger issues in Geekdom and where better to start than with a face-off between those two juggernauts of the comic-book world…Marvel and DC.

Meeting Batman for the First Time

I started out on DC, predictably with Batman. Although I was cheerfully soaking up The Beano at the time (I think I was eight or nine), I saw the cover of a Batman comic and had to buy it. If I remember rightly, it showed Batman faced with a pile of fish, bearing the Joker’s trademark grin; the old scoundrel had been poisoningGotham’s water-supply.

From there, I discovered the Green Lantern, Green Arrow, JLA, the Flash and a whole host of other spandex-wearing heroes. They captured my imagination and I even had a little plastic, green ring which I used to pretend was my Lantern Ring. It actually squirted water, which I chucked some food colouring in, just to make it that bit more authentic. Bear in mind, this was the late Seventies; these heroes were lantern-jawed, colourful and with a moral compass that pointed inflexibly North.

And then I discovered Marvel.

You Wouldn’t Like Me when I’m Angry…

My hero was the Hulk. I think he is for a lot of Geeks; he’s the immeasurable rage we all felt in the face of bullying and the ultimate symbol of the misunderstood monster. And then I found Spiderman, Dr Strange, Adam Warlock, the Fantastic Four and my other favourite, the Man Thing. (As a side-note, I have an autograph from Nestor Redondo, who drew Man Thing for a time).

My obsession with the Hulk pretty much took over all my comic-reading. I read Rampage magazine when I could afford it, snapped up the re-releases of the original stories (back when he was grey) and subscribed to the Incredible Hulk Weekly. My romance with DC was forgotten – apart from the Batman, with whom I’d re-establish a relationship in my teens.

So, how come I ditched DC and what makes Marvel, in my eyes, the Comic Book King? After all, they’re both escapist stories about mega-muscled men and zeppelin-boobed women, dressed in questionable costumes with amazing powers, fighting similarly fashion-challenged being with a penchant for world domination. What’s the difference? Let’s have a look…

DC vs. Marvel

For my money, a lot of the differences are perceived, rather than actual – and they all stem from the way these comics started and what they were trying to do; they’ve both cast long shadows over themselves. DC started the ball rolling in the 1940’s and its most groundbreaking character was the blue-boy-scout, himself: Superman. Superman kind of set the template for DC; DC heroes were almost-mythical, legendary heroes, whose powers and feats were way beyond us mere mortals. In many ways, I’ve always thought this type of hero is our modern equivalent of the epic sagas of old; the Viking myths, the Greek legends and the Roman tales. DC heroes were almost god-like, bestriding the Earth and saving us humans from devastation so mind-blowing that there’s no way we could ever contemplate doing it.

Epic Sagas and Modern Gods

Just like Asgard andMount Olympus, DCheroes battled it out in fictional settings, such as Gotham and Metropolis, as though no Earthly city could bear the weight of their being. Sometimes they even zipped off to other planets or alternate dimensions, to go and have a bash at creature so mind-bendingly weird and evil that the Earth itself just couldn’t have handled it. DC created something like High Fantasy in panels, using pen and ink, and gave kids like me the hope that, one day, I might discover I was from Krypton and suddenly jump over the garage in a single bound.

Which did result in me falling off my Space Hopper more than once.

Bringing it Back to Perceived Reality

And then Marvel came along in the 1960’s. But its heroes were different. Where DC took the stance that these beings were heroes first and foremost, Marvel focussed on the lives of ordinary humans who were suddenly blessed or cursed with amazing abilities. These powers had consequences to their daily lives: Gwen Stacy died at the hands of the Green Goblin (or was it Spidey’s fault – another big debate), Betty Ross got caught up in her father’s vendetta against the Hulk and the X-Men found that society wasn’t able to tolerate their mutations. Instead of charging around, firing lasers out of their eyes, Marvel characters tended to wrestle with their powers, having to hide them from their loved ones and keep their identities a watertight secret. And none of them used a pair of glasses to hide their alter-egos.

Marvel spoke to me that much louder because becoming a superhero suddenly seemed infinitely more possible. All I had to do was get caught in the blast of a gamma-bomb or get bitten by a radioactive spider and I could charge around my town, righting wrongs and dispensing justice, Andy-style. My knowledge of science was nil but, at that point in my life, the fact that these heroes had once been real people like me, made the whole thing seem much more achievable. To the point that me and my brother once spent an entire afternoon running around our garden, picking up spiders and trying to get them to bite us and then seeing if we could run up the wall of our house.

If it had worked, I wouldn’t have the time to be writing this post.

It’s an old debate and there’s a whole lot of hoo-ha about the reboots, alternate universes and the way some characters have died-but-not-really and it’s split a world of comic fans. But, for my money, I can only rely on what comics meant to me when the world was a bigger and brighter place. For nine or ten year-old me, Marvel had it going on in spades and was responsible for my short-lived career as Devon’s only superhero, The Night Creeper.

But that’s another story (although I must thank my mum for making that mask…)

 

The Geek Debate: Sci Fi or Fantasy?

It’s that age-old question; the one that’s bothered Geeks and Nerds since the genres became established. But I’m not talking about the films; I’m talking about books. Most fans of either camp seem to be able to dip into films about their literary nemesis with no problem at all. But, chuck a sci fi book at a swords and sorcery head or a fantasy novel at a ray-guns and gadgets geek, then you’ve got problems.

I know which camp I sit in: I’ll take a wizard over a robot, any day of the week. So, I suppose this post is less about sci fi versus fantasy and why I’ll cheerfully talk Tolkien, but I’ve had enough of Asimov.

Probabilities and Improbabilities

There’s been a lot of conjecture over what separates what, on the surface, appear to be two forms of escapism. One of the most-widely quoted definitions belongs to Miriam Allen deFord. DeFord was an American journalist-turned-writer, who was the author of a good few sci-fi books. Her thought was that “science fiction consists of improbable possibilities, fantasy of implausible possibilities.” It’s not an easy one to argue with but, for me, it doesn’t tick all the boxes.

I’ve done my time on sci fi; I’ve read Scott Card, Asimov, M Banks and others but – and I don’t mean any disrespect to their word – I’ve never come away feeling as satisfied as I have when I’ve read Tolkien, Donaldson, Stroud or anything that’s got a wizard and some swords in it. And preferably a shadowy bad buy with more powers up his sleeve than you could shake a staff at. But why should that be any different to reading about something futuristic? It’s all escapism, isn’t it?

Similarities

I suppose, for me, the difference lies in how the characters get to interact with the worlds they exist in. In the wacky world of fantasy, there are usually a few life-restoring berries to fall back on or some magical elixir to pull you out of trouble – just as in sci fi, you get genetically-engineered cures and rare-but-accessible antidotes. On a first view, there are some similarities, albeit in different guises.

Differences

But the real difference – and, again, it’s only how I perceive it – is the stuff that defines each genre: magic and science – and that has to have an effect on how we see the characters. When a character uses magic, it usually involves them having to reach deep down inside them and connect with some hidden aspect of their being; their strength, their courage or maybe their love for the world around them. In the Chronicles of Thomas Covenant, the lead character – possibly one of the most miserable, self-pitying characters you’re ever likely to come across – has to learn to control his magical abilities, which are almost an analogy for his self-loathing. As his anger dissipates and his recognition of The Land as a place for healing takes its place, his powers become easier to master. I loved those books.

In sci fi, the leads tend to have to use solutions outside of themselves in order to solve the problem at hand. Sure, they might have to think of it, write the formula or whatever, but the ultimate solution to their situation will be technological or algorithmic. In Neuromancer, Henry Case has to ascend through various levels of cyberspace in order to reclaim his status as the ‘console cowboy’. The central problem is the revelation of a password but, once Chase gets it, you know that all will be well. I admired the writing, but the environment just left me feeling like I’d absorbed too much data.

Within and Without

So, I think that’s why I like fantasy more than sci fi; fantasy seems to me to be about the power within while sci fi seems to be about the power without. And I guess I’m one of those people who’d like a bit more inner power.

Let the shooting begin; I’m off to watch Star Trek. Whilst reading a bit of Lord of the Rings on the sly.

Geekhood: Mission Improbable – The Launch!

Bit late in the day, but I’ve managed to scrape together a few precious moments to finally get my thoughts down about the Launch for Geekhood #2.

And, quite frankly, it was The Launch That Almost Never Happened.

I knew I wanted to do one and, as Mission Impobable started to look more like a book, I turned my thoughts to what I was going to do. The last one, my first one, was such a laugh that I wanted to try and get a similar level of madness together for the next one. But this one was fraught with problems.

Learning from the first launch, I realised that the first thing I needed was a venue. Waterstones in Oxford Street hosted the first and they did such a good job, that it seemed my first logical port of call, so I dropped them a line, quietly confident that they’d have me back. Which I’m sure they would’ve done if the shop hadn’t flooded as a result of the sprinkler system going off and practically drowning the place.

So, that wasn’t a possibility, but I wanted somewhere central to get everyone together, so I tried a couple of other bookshops only to be met with astronomical hire fees. No dice.

A couple of weeks before this phoneathon, I’d wandered into Waterstones on High Street Kensington and had a bit of a laugh with a couple of the staff, so I gave them a bell. As chance would have it, the Events Manager, Michael, was well up for it and liked the idea of fancy dress, which I punted to him. Things got even more serendipitous when it turned out that his girlfriend went to my old Drama School and, at some point, we had crossed paths. It was a done deal.

What next? Ah, yes – cakes. More specifically: cupcakes. Shopping for cupcakes isn’t something I normally do and, after trawling the ‘Net and seeing the price-tags that come with professionally-made cupcakes, I resolved to make my own. Which, I realise now, was a little optimistic; I can cook a bit but, living on a boat, my facilities are a little limited. But, as I was researching recipes (the Banoffee ones looked good), I stumbled across the website of a local lady who makes them as a supplement to her income, so I rang her. Brilliantly, her prices fitted my budget and I ordered 60 superhero-style cupcakes, to be delivered to me on the Monday morning.

Excellent! Now, we need…something to drink! That was easy; I just went to my local supermarket and picked up some half-decent wine and softies.

Now I was left with the decision about what I was going to wear. I couldn’t really pull out my Hobbit costume again, so I had a think about the book. There were two costumey themes that sprang to mind: superheroes and LARPers. I went for superheroes. I went for Batman. Visions of me looking all muscley and imposing chugged through  my head as I ordered a Batsuit off eBay and all was well with the world.

But then I had another idea! Last time, I hired members of the UK Garrison to turn up as Darth Vader and Stormtroopers. After a quick trawl of the web, I found that there was no superhero equivalent, so it looked like it was going to be a Spandex-free event. That is until research took me to some Cosplay sites, where I put out a clarion call and gor responses from three Cosplayers who fancied turning up. Bingo! It was all coming together, a la Hannibal Smith.

Until Monday came along. I hadn’t had the chance to try on my costume, so  did it as soon as I got up, I put it on. Ah. Not quite Christian Bale. Not even Adam West. I looked like a hobbit stuffed into a sack. A very tight fitting one. But there was no turning back; tonight, Matthew, I was going to be Batdwarf.

The cakes arrived and they looked great, so I put them on the back seat of the car while I sent emails to the three Cosplayers, who I hadn’t heard from after their original enthusiasm. I sent them directions, phone numbers and maps – and waited. All three heroes bailed on me. There was no Spiderman swinging by, no Loki causing mischief and no Superman to trade punches with. I guess they were all saving the world that day.

But I had everything else, so I jumped in the car and hit the M4. On the M4, someone almost hit me and I had to slam the anchors on. I didn’t realise, until I got to the other end, that that funny sliding noise was the cupcakes hitting the back of my seat and squodging their buttercream swirls against each other. It was all going wrong.

But the enthusiasm of the Waterstones staff lifted me out of my fug and we recued the cupcakes, sorted the wine, got prizes together for the fancy dress and then I wriggled into my tights.

Once again, everyone who turned up did me proud. I’d badgered some real-life LARPers into coming and they did, in full regalia. There were cape-wearing bloggers, comic book characters and my Mum and son surprised me by turning up, when I thought they couldn’t.

 

There were also other authors: Dave Cousins (whose book, Waiting for Gonzo, I’d just read) and he was a fabulous chap; very easy to chat with. Sara ‘Dark Parties’ Grant was there, too, being all successful and famous and I got an invite to her forthcoming launch. My ageny, Jenny and Jane and the Stripes Gang rocked up and pretty soon, it was all in full swing. There were the usual speeches – although I did chuckle when Jane asked me if I thought it was OK to say the word ‘condom’ in her speech, as there were kids present. I thought it was OK.

So, I came to realise that, while it can be great fun to have legions of costumed extras, what you really need to make a good Launch Do, is good people.

Good people and cake.

Game for a LARP

Time to get something off my chest, I think.

When I was about 13, I had found my feet in the world of Role Playing Games and miniature painting. It was my escape from the Other Stuff that was going on in my life and I loved every Geeky second of it.

Before the joys of the Internet, ordering new figures or bits for your game was all conducted through mail order; you’d spend hours looking at a little catalogue, at the black and white photos and decide what it was you wanted, before putting your cheque in the post. Then you’d get that delicious torture you only experience when you’re waiting for something really cool to drop through your letterbox.

The catalogue I looked most at was this one:

In the back pages, they allowed other companies to advertise and one thatregularly caught my eye was from a group called ‘Treasure Chest’, who advertised themselves as a ‘LiveAction Role Play’ group. They would take over a crumbling castle, dress half the players up as monsters, evil wizards and warriors and the other half would go on a quest through the ruins to battle the Forces of Darkness and attempt to get the treasure or whatever the point of that expedition was.

It sounded brilliant and I’d often plan what I’d be, if I was going. Trouble was, it was in Nottingham and I’d have to save for ages to be able to afford it – and I had miniatures to buy…

Fast forward a good few years and my first book, Geekhood: Close Encounters of the Girk Kind, was on shelves, paying homage to my miniature-painting years. When it came to the second one, I knew what I wanted Archie and his mates to get up to; I wanted to send them LARPing. But, in all those years, I’d never done it.

So, I did.

I contacted a group in Devon and asked if I could come along. Before I went, I had a few chats with a guy, Paul, who explained it to me down the phone, as best he could. There was a rules-system, just like my beloved RPGs and all the weapons were made of foam-latex.

The first time I went, I went with my son and we were told to meet in a service cafe, near Exeter. The cafe was on the first floor, overlooking the shopping aisles of the supermarket it was sat in. My son was only seven at the time and kept asking me where the people we were going to play with were. As I was telling him I didn’t know, he suddenly said “Look! There they are!” and pointed into the supermarket. There, wandering through the bread-aisle, came several wizards, a few warriors and some blue people. No, really.

The met up with us and we were told to follow them to the LARPing ground. We were to follow a guy in his car. I can’t remember his name but, if you think the word ‘Geek’, then whatever you think of – that was him. He was very thin and very self-conscious and very quiet. However, by the time we got out of the car, he’d changed into his full Roman Gladiator and was suddenly The Most Confident Man in the World, slapping his latex-clad chums on the back, bopping them on the head with his rubber sword and generally being loud. He’d completely transformed and come out of his Geeky chrysalis as something bigger, bolder and more colourful. It was actually quite lovely to see.

The best stories came out of my second LARPing adventure. Again with my son, we went to a field in Devon, early one Saturdau morning, to meet Paul, the guy I’d chatted to on the phone. We found the car park, parked up and walked through a hole in the hedge – straight into a fantasy realm. Sure, it was just a campsite – but the tents were all medieval-looking, festooned with rubber skulls and other arcane decorations. After asking a few bemused Elves where Paul was, one suddenly went “Oh – you mean Sebastian! His tent’s over there!”

As it turned out, Sebastian was the name of Paul’s character. We knocked on  his tent and there was a bit of rustlinng inside, before the front flap opened and a very tall man, wearing a cloak and dressed in a Renaissance costume made from black velvet, appeared. Unfortunately, he had a bit of a hangover (they’d been on the Mead the night before) and wasn’t up to showing me the ropes just yet. He threw some costumes at us and said the best thing we could do was just mingle and chat to people and we’d get the hang of it. As we wandered off into the camp, he called out: “Oh – and be sure to chat to Brith, the Dwarf.”

 

So, we wandered and we chatted to people. When I say ‘people’, I mean Dark Elves, Wood Elves, Cat People and Wizards. And they all looked Fantastic. I mean, the work they’d put into their costumes was astonishing. There were shiny armour plates, leather gauntlets, pointed hats – whatever you wanted from your favourute fantasy novel was here, in a field in Devon, eating a bacon sandwich.

Once again, it was my son who pointed out the best bit: there, on the hhorizon, he’d spotted the silhouette of a diminutive figure; horned helmet, knee-length chainmail, HUGE beard and a hefty-looking axe: it had to be Brith the Dwarf. So we went to say Hallo.

Brith the Dwarf turned out to be a 70 year-old retired English Teacher called Barbara. Barbara had been doing this for years and was completely devoted to her character – and she was pretty handy in a fight, too. Her reasons for going was that LARP allowed people to be who they wanted to be, in a completely safe-from-the-rest-of-the-world environment.

As the day went on, we got into some battles, got chased by a Minotaur, my son slew his first Rat Ogre and we made it through the Gates of Death. We allied with Drow, took secret messages for Sebastian and tried to solve the Riddle of the Moving Box. It was bonkers, but beautifully so.

My son LOVED it – and probably because all the adultstreated him and the other kids as equals. If they hit someone with a sword, that person dropped to the floor. If they made a suggestion, it was listened to. If truth be told, he’s better at it than I am.

But what I loved about it was that these mad, mad people had created an environment where they could unleash their fantasies and make them real. Only for a weekend, but they packed as much as they could into those 48 hours and by the end of it, I was exhausted – but happy exhausted.

So, that’s the backdrop to Geekhood: Mission Improbable; a gloriously Geeky world, where no-one is quite what they seem. Some of the scenes in the book are direct lifts from stuff that happened; some of it funny for the wrong reasons, but all dome with complete respect to that lovely bunch of LARPing lunatics.

Something in the Post…

Got a phone call about 20 minutes ago, from a courier company. Now, living on a boat in the middle of the river means that delivery services are slightly hamstrung when it comes to actually handing over the goods, so I had to tell the chap to hang on, while I revved up my dinghy and crossed the surging water. And it is surging, I can tell you.

However! Said chap gave me a box. I did have a sneaking suspicion as to what it might be, as Chloe, from Stripes, had given me a heads’ up on Twitter. But! Before I tore the thing open, I thought I’d take a pick of each stage, so that you guys could join me on my box-opening journey. So, here’s Stage 1:

A box. Not massively exciting so far…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And then we got Stage 2:

Lots of paper. Which I can burn on the fire, later.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Swiftly followed by Stage 3:

Wow!!!! Books! But only the back of them! Might have to turn one over!

And then a look at the whole shebang:

Hey! Look at that! My name’s on ‘em!

It’s exciting! All that work, chat, head scratching and lip-biting has finally turned into a book. That I can hold! And just to prove it – I will!

Lovely.

 

 

 

 

 

I tell you what, if that Stripes bunch hadn’t got involved, this would be about as long and pacy as War and Peace. Thanks, guys, for putting up with my initial, incoherent drafts and putting me on the right track.

So, there we go! It’s real! Book 2 is out next week! I hope you enjoy the little red monster! Let me know…

Andy x

 

Not Winning an Award

I tell you what; I’m still recovering from the Waterstones Children’s Book Prize do the other night. Don’t misinterpret that – I don’t drink. It was just such a whirl and, to be honest, I don’t get out much.

Let’s do a rewind. When I got the news that I’d made the shortlist, I was astonished. My mad little book had somehow found its way onto some prestigious shortlist and there was going to be a ceremony and everything! I know now that it was largely thanks to those lovely Waterstones booksellers who championed it and those legions of generous bloggers who made such a noise about it – and I can’t thank you enough.

So, after my original chuffedness, I started to give it some serious though and decided well in advance that there was no way it was going to win; as I said on the night to more than a few people, I felt like the clown car at the Grand Prix.

But, as the night came round, and as I was deciding what to wear (the usual tramp chic, capped off with my only smart jacket), there was that nagging little voice that told me I had as much chance as anyone. And, much as I tried not to listen to it, it was still there – right up until the last second.

I got to Waterstones Picadilly early, in the mistaken belief that the do started at 6pm. With 45 minutes to kill, I wandered around the store, popping drops of Rescue Remedy to muffle the flap of butterflies in the tum. Around 6.15, I was too nervous not to go up to  the 5th floor, so I did – like that thing first step you take into a dentist’s surgery after hanging around the waiting room for too long.

The 5th floor was amazing. Big boards declaring the event, a flashy bar lit like one of those ones you see in nightclubs in American movies, TV screens bearing the Book Prize logo. The clown car really had arrived, honking and screeching at the Grand Prix.

Nerves got the better of me and I decided it was time for a wee. Anyone who’s read my book will know what PPS is – and I had a dose; there was a guy at the urinal, so I opted for the cubicle and, after fiddling with the lock, got myself drained. And then couldn’t open the lock. And then somebody wanted to get in the cubicle and we were both rattling the door and I muttered ‘sorry’ as it opened and felt like a complete twonk. I don’t think the Mighty Philip Reeve would’ve had this problem.

Back on the 5th floor, things were starting to rev up; people were arriving and hands were being shaken. After being signed in by the lovely meet and greeters, I managed to collar Darran from Northallerton Waterstones and have a chat with him; lovely chap – and I’m hoping to get to his store in the summer. My agent, Jenny turned up, Jane and the Stripes Gang appeared and we sort of grabbed a corner of the room and huddled. There were lots of faces appearing; some I knew and most, I didn’t. One face that was particularly welcome belonged to Paul Black of ex-Stripes fame. Hadn’t seen him for ages and it was so lovely to have someone with his tongue firmly in his cheek in the room.

And then it started. There was a little speech from Melissa, the organiser, followed by one from theWaterstones Head Honcho. And then there was a little film played on the monitors of all the books on the shortlist. And every time someone said ‘Geekhood’ or I saw it’s Geeky yellow cover on a board or monitor, my treacherous little heart did a little leap. Honestly, it was so surreal – me at the Book Prize do, surrounded by people of calibre and worth.

And then it got tense. They started with the Picture Book prize and my heart started racing then; I guess because it was the beginning. And that little voice in my head started doing the ’you’ve got as much chance as anyone’ chant. By the time we got to the Teen category, I was a wreck and actually pressed my head against my agent’s shoulder, eyes tight shut. So butch.

I don’t know how they do it on the X-Factor when those judges do the read-out of who’s staying and who’s going and it takes about half an hour of silence before you hear what’s what. I think if I was a contestant, they’d be carrying off a corpse; there were milliseconds between the ‘and the winner is…’ and ‘Annabel Pitcher…’ but they felt like an eternity.

Once it was announced that Annabel had won, I was suddenly relieved. I was a bit trembly and think I might’ve apologised to my publishers for not winning, but there was no sense of disappointment; just relief that the tense stuff was over.

That sense of not being disappointed was borne out when I met the lady herself, who even let me touch the award, tart that I am. She was so lovely and appeared as confused and bewildered about everything that I was. I haven’t read her book, yet, but I’m going to. If it’s anything as generous and lovely as she was, then it’s no wonder she won.

There were a few more rounds of carousel-style handshakes and people saying lovely things to me about Geekhood and then I was on Oxford Street, looking for my car. But, genuinely, without any sense of ‘it should have been me’ or loss. Before I left, one lady from Waterstones said “And have you had a little present from us?” and my dunderheaded, naive, but honest reply was “Well, you got me here; surely that’s present enough?” But it wasn’t; I got a bottle of fizz pressed into my hands – which I’ll give to my Mum when I next see her.

Despite my inability to control my nerves, it was a brilliant event and something that I’m really glad that I got the chance to experience. In writing Geekhood, I wasn’t setting out to try and win awards – in my dopey ignorance, I wasn’t even aware of most of them. But I had a blast and got to meet some really lovely people, whose passion for books was inspiring.

I’m glad Annabel won; she looks like one of those flok who deserves to – a good egg. And, who knows, maybe the clown car’ll get dusted down for another occasion?

Honk, honk!

Andy

It’s That Time Again…

OK, you crazy kids. It finally looks llike the launch do for Geekhood: Mission Improbable is to become a reality – thanks to Michael and the events team at Waterstones on High Street Kensington.

The date will be April the 8th, you know where and I’ll confirm the time once it’s decided.

Anyone who came to the last launch will know just how loopy it was. There was Darth Vader swanning about, a couple of Stormtroopers reading inappropriate books and even some miniature-painting and RPGing going on.

And then there was you guys, who rose to the challenge of coming dressed as a Geek, with all the grace and aplomb of a bunch of genuine social misfits.

How the merry Hell do we top that???

Well, I have a plan. But once again, it needs you guys to throw social convention to the wind and join me for an evening of silliness and Geeky joy. Here we go:

No Dark Lord, no Troopers. Instead, I’m hoping to get the God of Mischief, Loki, turning up, the Caped Crusaderess, Batgirl, your friendly neighbourhood Spiderman and a couple of other surprises, to boot.

Yup – the theme is superheroes… and this is where you come in:

Of course it’s entirely optional, but I’m throwing down a garishly-coloured gauntlet. If you are up for it, I would love it if you came as the superhero of your choice. You can go DC, Marvel, Titan – whatever – or you can create your own superhero!!! I’m going to do my dangdest to sort out some prizes for the best-dressed superpowered vigilantes and you’ll be in good company, as there are some hardcore cosplayers on the list.

I’ve been to a couple of author events and decided that I want to put the fun back into these events. Aside from a couple of short speeches, there’ll be no waffle, no reading from books or any of that; just us lot, all together, creating out own Garden of Geekdom for a short time.

Let’s make it more fun, more colourful and more Geeky than the last one:

Geekvengers: Assemble!

See you there.

Andy x

The St Valentine’s Day Messacre

When I woke up this morning, on St Valentine’s Day, 2013, there was one thing and one thing only on my mind…

The new toilet pump I’d ordered for my boat.

You see, living on a boat has it’s own problems and when your toilet starts making funny noises, you know that something needs replacing and, a couple of days ago, I ordered that vital part. So, when I bounced out of bed, I was all excited at the prospect of getting my Gentleman’s Excuse Me all ready and working again.

And then I went on Twitter.

And then I saw that my little yellow book had somehow found itself on the shortlist for the Waterstones Children’s Book Proze, 2013.

And then this went through my head – with roughly the same exppression as you can see :

As you can see, I handled it with my usual Bond-like calm. Once I’d tidied up the resulting mess - I’m not going to lie - I checked out who else is on the list aka ‘The Competition’. Wow. There’s a bunch of stunning books. Like really big, beautiful, books. And somehow, mine’s rubbing shoulders with them.

Cooooool.

When I set out writing the thing, I was – and still am – blissfully ignorant of stuff like this. I was just grateful and chuffed that someone had thought it might be worth putting into print. Getting this far in the Waterstones Prize is incredibly humbling – I like my book, but it didn’t mean anyone else had to.

So, I guess there are many, many thanks to be thrown out to people for helping me get this far: Jenny, my agent, Jane and the Stripes team, the bloggers, reviewers and readers who’ve all shown their support and, of course, everyone at Waterstones for looking kindly on my little tome.

I wish EVERYONE on the list the very best of luck and I can only hope that they’re as excited as I am.

See you at the ceremony, luv!

Right – off to fix me loo.