Signs of the Time

Just some signs that I've found on the interweb that amused me.

Characters in search of an RPG

I like RPG's. (Role playing games, in case you're not sure, and I don't mean doctors and nurses in the bedroom)
Oblivion, Dragon Age, The Witcher, all that sort of stuff. And the cast of characters remain pretty much the same between games, these I designed in Daz Studio.

The Young hero, good, noble, handsome. Still kills people, though

.

Typical hero/ tank. Armed to the teeth with weapons most people wouldn't be able to lift, this guy sets about hordes of the enemy.

The hero often has a female companion, often a savage type.

Or perhaps a more noble character.

Rarely, the hero is a heroine. The one thing which binds all these women together is a lack of material in the trouser department.

Then there's the enemy. Cannon fodder, built like brick outhouses but very susceptible to a poke with a pointy thing wielded by the hero.

The weapons dealer. Always ready to buy and sell any weapons the hero has. No questions asked, no what I mean, guv?

The general trader, always willing to sell potions and buffs. Basically, the local drug dealer.

No points for guessing this guy's a baddie. Probably the main baddie. The baddie who has murdered your family, usurped your throne, kidnapped your squeeze or kicked your dog. Either way, he's a baddie

This is your antihero. No scruples, no loyalty and probably no underwear. But still a goodie. Usually.

Elf angel. Don't ask me. You get some really weird characters in RPG's. She probably hands out the quests. Or the sandwiches.

The Hollie page

Having already got four almost grown up grandchildren at the age of 65, you can imagine our surprise when our youngest daughter presented us with another Xmas present buying opportunity. She's called Hollie and she has brightened up our life. Nicknamed "Hurricane" she's got more energy than a bucket full of puppies.

With big bro Matthew and big sis Lindsey

.

Party time

Snow clearing time

Auditioning for "The Exorcist

French lessons 101

Sometimes they just need a belt around the head

Mamu. A short story.

The launch drew up to the jetty and the tour rep checked his clipboard.
"Island 32, Mr and Mrs Drake Barlow." he called, and there came a whoop from the rear seats. A bronzed, middle aged man and a blonde woman a few years younger made their way to the front of the boat and the rep helped them onto the jetty and handed over the matching set of luggage.
"You folks have a good vacation, now, and we'll be back in two weeks. Have fun with Island Sun." he said.
The other couples on the launch called out their good wishes, the engine note rose and the Barlows waved them off to the next island, some two miles away.
"Well, honey, this is it." said Drake. "Two weeks of isolation on a coral island. It's gonna be great. And I'm getting started right away."
He began unbuttoning his shirt and then slipped out of his Bermudas. Paige Barlow looked at him in amusement.
"Honey, what are you doing?"
"I'm gonna spend the whole two weeks running round butt naked. And so are you."
"Think again, mister," she laughed. "You Tarzan, me got more sense."
Drake took in his surroundings. No more than five acres, the island was one of about fifty in the archipelago, most of which were set up as holiday homes by Island Sun Vacations. From the jetty a path led up to the house, a partly wall less palm thatched construction with a large veranda. The top of a radio mast could be seen behind the house.
"Perfect," sighed Paige. "This is going to be great."
"Yeah, just you and me, baby," Drake replied, a touch of lust in his voice.
"Don't go getting too many ideas, wild man. Ah, Mamu."
"What's a Mamu?"
Paige pointed down the jetty to where a young woman had just appeared. She seemed to have been constructed entirely of spheres, no taller than she was wide and had the straight black hair and snub nose of the polynesian race. She stood watching the couple but made no move toward them?
"Who the hell is she?" demanded Drake.
"That's Mamu, our maid." Paige walked down the jetty, her hand extended.
"But I specifically didn't book a maid. This was supposed to be just us." Drake yelled.
"No, I did," called Paige over her shoulder. "I know what you're like. It'll be honey, fetch me a beer, or sweetie, when's dinner, or run here, run there, fetch me this. I'm on vacation too, babe. So we got a maid. And Drake, put some pants on."
As maids go, Mamu seemed a little confused as to her duties. For one thing she couldn't cook, but she could certainly eat. The tour company had filled the freezer and fridge with plenty of food for the Drakes but seemed to have made no provision for feeding a third mouth. Especially one as active as Mamu's. She got to understand Drakes request for a beer but had to be shown how to make the beds and wash the dishes. Most of the day she spent lying under one of the shady palm trees away from the house.
"I'm going to write to that damn Island Sun when we get back." Drake would say at least twice a day. "If they think I'm paying for that girl they can think again."
Allegra silently agreed with him but knew a lot of his discontent was being unable to chase her round the island naked. It seemed he had been looking forward to this aspect of the vacation all winter. Instead he sat in the sun and read a paperback, muttering to himself that he could have done this at home.
The two weeks passed quickly and on their last night they stood, his arm around her waist, and looked out over the sea. There was always a beautiful sunset to enjoy but on this night the sky seemed darker. Far away on the horizon the air appeared disturbed, and flashes of lightning could be seen.
"Someones having a hell of a storm," said Drake, sipping his Martini. "Won't reach us, though."
"You sure," said Paige. "Looks awfully big."
"Nah, but I'll go radio the mainland, see what's going on."
He had refused to use the radio for the whole vacation, clinging on to the idea of total isolation, but it was the last night and, he admitted to himself, that was one he'll of a storm.
He rejoined Paige on the jetty.
"Well?" she said.
"Couldn't raise anyone. Storm must have knocked out some masts. No need to worry. We're OK here."
He felt water splashing onto his feet and looked down. The sea around the jetty had suddenly got rougher, waves coming in off what had been calm water. The wind was also getting up and he felt a stab of apprehension.
"Best get back to the house," he shouted over the rising wind but Paige was already making her way down the jetty. The roof of the house was lifting and falling with each gust and then the rain came. Torrential rain, a real tropical storm.
Hurricane was his first thought, but why had no one radioed a warning? They could tell when those things were coming days before. Shading his eyes so he could see better without the rain blinding him he ran toward the house just as the roof lifted off and flew away like some great bird. Paige yelled out to him.
"Can you see Mamu?"
"No, and I don't care. She can look out for herself."
"Drake, look back. The jetty's under water. It's rising."
"Get to the higher ground, we should be safe there," he shouted over the rain.
The higher ground was not really that high but raised them a few feet above the sea line. Unfortunately it put them into the path of the wind and they spent a miserable night huddled together. By morning the wind had abated slightly and the water had only come up the beach to he foot of the veranda steps.
"What the hell was that." growled Drake. "Damnedest storm I've ever been in."
"Well, that's one he'll of a way to end a vacation," Paige laughed, relief in her voice. "We'll be dining out on this for years. Did you think to take any video?"
He looked at her in amazement.
"No, honey, I was to busy running for my life to play CNN. Camera's down there, anyway."
He pointed to the remains of the house. "Let's get down there and make a list of what we've lost, for the insurance. Boat should get here pretty soon. Won't be sorry to see the back of this place."
They slid down the muddy slope and started turning over the debris. Paige went to the refrigerator.
"Power's out," she said. " just as well there's no food left."
"Thanks a bunch, Mamu."
"Be nice to get that heater going, though. I'm chilled to the bone."
Drake grunted and went around the back of the house. He came back a few minutes later.
"Generators out. Water got in it."
"Can you fix it?"
"Sweetheart, I'm a dentist. If it had cavities I could fix it."
There came a moan from the rear of the house where most of the building had collapsed. They climbed over the rubble and pulled aside some of the beams. Mamu's face peered up at them, her body buried beneath more timbers. A few more minutes digging and they had her clear. She had slipped into unconsciousness, her breath shallow. There was a bump on her forehead the size of a duck egg and one of her legs was twisted to an abnormal angle. They tried to move her but she screamed. Drake lowered her down gently.
"We'd do best to leave her here until the launch comes. Might be a doctor among the others. Christ, I just thought. They would have gone through that storm too. Hope they had some high ground."
"Oh God," said Paige, and wept into her hands.
He put his arm around her.
"Come on, babe, we're out of it now. We got nothing to eat? I'm starving."
"Not much, bit of that lobster thing you said was off. We ran out of beer three days ago."
"Yeah, that Mamu. She likes a drink."
"Is she going to die?"
"Not of malnutrition, she ain't," he said, then saw her worried look."She'll be alright, soon as that boat gets here. When's it due?"
"This afternoon, sometime. They said to be ready from lunchtime on."
"Nearly that now. Hope they're not late."
The boat never came that day, nor the next. Drake attempted a repair on the radio but had no success. They were getting more and more hungry.
"Can you try fishing?" Paige asked desperately. "You were always fishing at home."
He shook his head.
"Storm really stirred up the sea. It's like sludge, there's so much crap suspended in it. Tomorrow I'll go along the beach, see if anything washed up."
He had said this mainly to give her some hope so was surprised to make two finds on the beach. The first was a fair size fish, stiff and dried from the sun but probably edible. The second was a body, lying face down. He turned it over and felt a pang of guilt at his relief that it was not caucasion. An islander, caught in the storm.
He took the fish back to Paige and she cut it up but when they tried to eat it the smell was too strong. Paige began to cry. He didn't mention the body.
Mamu drifted in and out of consciousness and her moans kept them awake at night. She was making no improvement and Drake began to think it would be a blessing if she died. And that thought led on to another. The solution to the problem of food.
But Paige would never agree, not while Mamu was still alive, and the damn woman clung on to life. He sat watching the girl for almost an hour, then got up and with a deep breath, put his hand over her mouth and nose. Her eyes shot open and her legs flailed wildly. He kept on the pressure until she fell still. He stood up, shaking from head to foot and that was when he saw Paige staring at him.
"It's our only chance, babe." he said, "It's all about survival now."
.
Two weeks later a ship appeared on the horizon. Not the tour launch but a naval ship. They saw the inflatable launched and within minutes a young naval officer was striding up the beach. He saluted.
"Glad to see you folks are ok." he said, his bright young face beaming. "Leiutenant Bryce. Sorry it took us so long to get to you."
"What the hell happened?" said Drake. "Was it a hurricane?"
Bruce shook his head.
"Tsunami. Hit the mainland over two hundred miles away. You should see the place. You just caught the end of it. Seems to have done a fair bit of damage, though."
"It was bad enough. Can we get off here? I've had enough of this place."
"Of course. According to my information there should be another person here, a Mamu Tsonga. Maid, it says here."
Drake felt the blood drain from his face.
"No, I didn't ask for a maid. Must be a mistake."
"Hmm, says here she was booked separately by Mrs Barlow."
Paige looked up quickly. She seemed strained.
"Yes, yes I did, but they said I may have left it too late. We never saw her."
"No problem," said Bryce,"She probably got caught up in the weather. Let's get you on board. I must say you seem to have weathered it all very well. Some of the poor souls we've picked up have been starving. Some never made it."
"Oh, we had a little food left and Drake is an expert fisherman, aren't you darling?"
"We managed," replied Drake, "we found enough food."
It was three weeks after they had returned to their New York apartment that they received the phone call. Paige had been distant ever since their return, not sleeping and picking at her food. The phone call made her jump out of her skin.
"Mr Barlow?" said a deep voice, "This is Captain Luther. You were brought in to the police station here after your unfortunate experience. Are you well."
Drakes mind was racing. He had a picture in his mind of a large police officer who had helped repatriate them. What could he want?
"Yes, captain. I'd like to thank you for your help. What can I do for you?"
"Just a courtesy call really. You remember you were asked about the maid, Mamu Tsonga. Well we've found her."
"Found her," stuttered Drake."How, what?"
"She never left home, sir. Her mother had heard stories about bad weather and wouldn't let her travel, so that's cleared that up."
"Oh, right," said Drake.
"I now we asked you at the time, sir, but as we're here and you probably have things clearer in your head, can I ask you if you saw anything of a young woman while you were on the island?"
"I thought you said you had found Mamu."
"We have, sir. This is a different matter. A couple of days before you arrived on the islands there was a break out at the secure facility on the mainland. We've recaptured most of the absconders but there was a young woman, short and rather overweight by all accounts. She took a boat from the harbour so could have got to the islands. We really want to catch her."
"No," said Drake, "Like I said before, we saw no one. Dangerous, was she?"
"Well, not in a violent way, but dangerous," Luther paused, his voice softening. "Poor kid had tested positive for HIV. She had AIDS."

The thoughts of Chairbound Al.

22Aug 2011
I've been listening to the goings on in Libya on BBC World Service. The first thing that strikes me is how lucky we are to have the foreign correspondents that report the facts concerning the news in places most of us would not put a foot in. One young lady was asked by the London anchor if the gunfire he could hear was celebratory or aggressive. "Give me thirty seconds." she said. and went to have a look.
The second thing that is noticeable is that, unlike London recently, where there was much less reason, there was apparently no anarchy. It would have been no surprise, to me at least, if the rebels had taken it's frustrations out on the people and infrastructure of Gaddafi's stronghold. This bodes well for the future.
(Rant) As I'm forced to spend a fair proportion of the day stuck in this armchair watching TV or working on the computer, I think I can be forgiven if have a rant now and then. Or maybe I'm just feeling sorry for myself. Anyway, one thing that really annoys me is he sloppy way some TV presenters treat the English language. My pet hate at the moment is directed at an ex motorcycle racer (I love motorcycle racing) who peppers his thoughts with "y know"s and "I mean"s. There was seven of the former in one sentence in his early days. (I've just realised how bloody sad it is that I took the trouble to count them.) Actually, if he could only drop these annoyances he'd be a very good pundit. It's just that I find him irritating to listen to.
Another thing that gets on my tits is the doom laden, gravel voiced Yank who cable programmers use to advertise upcoming dramas. Nobody talks like that. Neither do they talk like that drawling Geordie prat who does the voice over for Big Brother and other programs. I want to hit him every time I hear him.

(Rant) My eyes are so bad I have trouble seeing the letters on the keyboard so I thought I'd get a set of extra large letter stickers for it. Bad idea

• They are so bloody fiddly it's impossible to get them on straight.
• There are more keys on a keyboard than you think. Been at it for two hours now. Half way done.
• Lose or screw up one sticker, you're fucked.
• They mostly seem to be a different size to my MS board.
• The keyboard now looks like a dogs dinner.

Update. Took the bloody things off..
Buy new glasses, it's less hassle.

Been with all the various iterations of the cable companies since they started and now spend £70 pm with Virgin Media. (How do they get away with those ads for new members?). Just asked them how much to fit second V+ box to a downstairs room. It's literally the other side of the wall from their box. Quoted £145. Yeah, right. Much as I hate Murdoch he may be getting some of my money soon.

(Rant) I'm watching Coronation Street. Haven't seen it for years. What a load of unadulterated rubbish. I can't remember the last time I stared at the screen in disbelief as they dished up this sort of crap up for adults. The plot lines are childish, badly written and acted by people who seem to be auditioning for panto. The business in the cafe where some mad old bat keeps a customer prisoner for fifteen hours because he broke one of her barmy rules is pure children's hour. And people watch this shit week after week. We're doomed.

Don't you just hate it when you sit through seven minutes of telly ads then realise you are watching something on Sky+.

Why don't tomatoes taste of anything? Tomato ketchup, passata, tinned toms all have their own distinctive flavour but fresh tomatoes are just water and texture. The little ones are nice and sweet but can't be said to actually have a flavour.
Or is it me?

( Rant) I used to enjoy American Choppers until the rucks between Daddy Bear and Baby Bear got ridiculous. I took to recording the program and just watching the bits that related to bikes but even this has now reached a low. On last nights UK show OCC was charged with making a bike for the Fallen Heroes charity, So, what did they make? Something subtle that conveyed the sacrifice these men and their families have made? Something to evoke reflection on war, and its cost. Not Paul Snr. He came up with the equivelant of a two wheeled Sherman tank, bristling with machine gun, bullets and claymore mines. Just the sort of thing that created a need for a Fallen Heroes Foundation in the first place. I found this disgusting. The whole ethos of the build was " hey, there's a space here on the fender. Let's put a couple of those lovely land mines on there."
OCC is now a joke, rolling out "theme bikes" which consist of a great paint job and festooned with related items, no wit, no class. Sums up the family.

(Rant) Stupidly obvious headlines drive me up the wall. "PM condemns terrorist attack." Of course he fucking does. We all do. And in my favourite sport, "Rossi aims for win at Monza". Really? He's not just going out for a ride around in the sunshine? How do these people justify their pay packet?

Thought I might buy a paper tray for my Samsung laser printer, so I could keep glossy in one, plain in the other. Printer costs £64, spare tray costs £70. Ho hum.

No USB port, no Flash player, no integration with PC. Why he fuck did I buy an iPad.

I'm 67. Morbidly obese, diabetic. Basically fucked. If I die before Skyrim comes out and I get a few months on it, I shall be seriously pissed off.

Some more CGI

Wanna see some more of my pics. Here's some penguin ones.