The Yellow Scourge

Operator 5 - A really powerful secret agent dude. Fights The Yellow Empire, even though they're invisible a lot of the time. He had only just rid the world of The Purple Emperor, it was obviously a time when America was under threat from a variety of colours.
Cover by George Gross, who also did all the covers of The Avenger series.
'Operator 5 matched his individual might against a million war-drunk terrorists.'
That's quite hard.

Wimped Out

Due to two punishing nights on the razz in a row - I am hereby withdrawing from any further drinking engagements until at least Friday.

Never Meet Your Heroes

Yesterday I worked a day from Hell at Nickelodeon auditioning 19 potential presenters. Really, working auditions is the most painful & tedious thing I do. And because it's kids telly they're all young & keen & awful people. They each had to do a five minute slot presenting without stopping, introducing videos, interviewing a pretend pop star & babbling to camera. Believe me, five minutes is a long time to talk at a camera for & most corpse halfway through or lose the plot completely- and that's painful to watch.
Most notable victim was Rochelle from S Club 8, who a) Wasn't very good, b) Was a bit snooty.
I can't see her getting a call-back.
I do hope the rest of the band aren't veering in the same precious direction.

The Solar Invasion

As picked up for £1.00 at the weekend - a Captain Future classic with a Frank Frazetta cover.
Written by sub - E R Burroughs pulper Manly Wade Wellman around 1946, here's a snip of dialogue:
"What is it Joan?" the Captain urged.
"Oh God! Captain, it's gone!"
"What's gone, Joan?"
"The moon, Captain. It's disappeared. The moon no longer exists."
Only Captain Future can save the universe from a brutal, blazing cataclysm.
Oh, yeah.

A Shit Week By Anybody's Standards

Monday 6th September
Itchy back. Still seething over the drubbing I got at Texas Hold Em poker at the weekend. In at work for an OK shift that finishes at 7.30pm.
Accidentallly get sauced on expensive West End lager with my brother. He tells me they're remaking The Toolbox Murders. Why would they do that?
He's speaking to me again now I've cut all my hair off. He has Ponytail Copyright you know.
Kate has begun an eight day stint working with Puppets - so I won't be seeing much of her.
Tim Henman is no.5 in the world & is doing OK at the U.S. Open.

Tuesday 7th September
Itchy back. Hangover.
Tim Henman still doing good at the Open. I think about getting Sky Sports for the week then think Nah.
I'm on the OK shift again which includes Working Lunch (a bloodbath of a show), during which Adrian Childs (the presenter) really pisses me off, but, due to it being one of the few shows I work on which bears my name in the credits, I refrain from rolling up his scripts & inserting them up his anus without a lubricant.
Delays on the Central & Northern lines means it takes me an hour and forty minutes to get home where I have no food and nothing's on the telly.

Wednesday 8th September
Itchy and slightly sore back. I may have a spot.
On an eleven hour shift in News 24. Working in News 24 is like being slapped constantly with a dead fish. You need two brains, eight arms and a big bag of crack to get through the day in there. Think Battle Of The Somme.
After work I accidentally get sauced with Toby. He tells me they're remaking Assault On Precinct 13. Why would they do that?
We drink cheap Tooting lager in a pub that, astonishingly, yet luckily, doesn't have the England match on. We discuss Nazi memorabilia and our favourite horror films. His seems to be The Entity. Mine is Magnolia.
Henman is winning his quarter-final. I go to bed.

Thursday 9th September
Very itchy, very sore back. Hangover.
Another day of the mind- butchering, shear blind flapping of News 24.
I get to see Kate after work as she's had a day off from the Puppets. We drink tea and she inspects my back & says it's not a spot - it may be some kind of allergy-rash. She asks if I have changed my washing powder lately.
I have. Just last week I had changed from Persil to Ariel. This may be the answer.
Henman's into the semi-finals. I go to bed.

Friday 10th September
Itchier & sorer back.
I have the day off, so I tour the charity shops but come back with nothing but a couple of Thunderbirds books from Scope. I dump the Ariel and buy back into Persil.
As I reach the point where wearing a shirt hurts and I can't sit back on the couch - I give up and go to the doctor.
'Shingles' he says and washes his hands.
'Shit' I say.
This takes the edge off my happiness at Tim Henman's imminent appearance in the U.S. Open semi-finals.
Shingles? Isn't that some kind of 18th century boil infection spread by unclean villagers? I just hope that, during my contagious period, I at least infected Fiona Bruce.
I keep ringing the Cats Protection League re a replacement for my recently deceased cat Planet (I'm so glad he didn't have to see me like this). The CPL have already been round to check my flat is 'suitable'. But I'm dealing with freaks here. They want me to give up my job if they give me a kitten.
'You work full time?' A gentle voiced woman says on the phone. 'It's like having a baby - you must be there all the time'.
No, it's like having a fucking kitten. I'm going to call it Clusterfuck and let it sleep in the washing machine. Screw charity - I'm going to a pet shop.
I try to go to bed early, but waiting for a big pizza keeps me up.

Saturday 11th September
Seething boil-infested back.
Up at 4.30 am trying to smear Calamine Lotion on unreachable parts of my back.
My 4.50 cab is late and I get to work just in time to find the decent coffee machine is broken and nobody seems to be trying to fix it. This is heavy news when your going on air at 6.00 am for four and a half fucking hours. I debate whether to tear the canteen guy to pieces.
I get slapped around in News 24 all morning - it's the anniversary of 9/11 - so that's a laugh - and by the time I get home I'm ready to kill somebody for no reason.
Luckily The Professionals with Lee Marvin is on and it calms me greatly, even though I have to watch the whole thing without leaning back on my Boils.
Following this Charmed is on and they're all off to some Valkyrie island so they have to get dressed up in leather to blend in. Nice. Very distracting. I go to bed immediately even though I was going to stay up and watch Tim Henman on Teletext.

Sunday 12th September
Up at 4.30 am again, Calamine Lotioning my rancid back. I had woken up at 4.25 then gone back to sleep and the alarm went off at 4.30. Why does that happen?
My Taliban cab is on time but I have to direct him all the way to White City. He's lucky I don't throw him out and drive myself.
I get through the News 24 experience relatively untainted - except when I find out Henman's got dumped in the semi-final. It seemed harsh. I wanted him to win a Grand-Slam that wasn't Wimbledon, just to annoy people.
I stop at a book fair on the way home. It's crap. It's all hard backs and grown-ups. I feel a tad out of place and get the hell out.
I find a rare John Creasey and The Solar Invasion by Manly Wade Wellman on the way home, so it isn't a complete waste of time.
Kate's still off with the Puppets, so I Calamine up and watch TCM's western weekend for eight hours.
Rio Bravo, The Naked Spur and The Searchers all back to back. I was going to stay up and watch Unforgiven too, but I was depressed enough by that point. My god, so much killing.
I buy a box of American Perry Rhodans on Ebay and go to bed.

And that was my week. It's Monday now. I still have Boils, I don't have a kitten - but Tim Henman is N0.4 in the world.
One day I will look back on this week and vomit.

Boss Of Cowboys

High Chaparral Airfix figures. I got an Uber- Time Tunnel flashback when I saw this box. The best TV western ever & the best H0 - 00 scale plastic figures ever.
Airfix also did a Tarzan special edition with Boy & elephants & hippos & shit, I can't justify the serious money it takes to get that set. They also did a box of civilians - which might well be the rarest of the lot. I seem to remember owning the box of civilians - I don't know what they were for - but the best game was flying an Airfix Superfortress over them and pretending it was Nagasaki. The scale was right.
Anyway - I have 165 channels & The High Chaparral is never on any of them, surely there's a gap in the cable market for all this old stuff. That's what they used to do & they stopped as soon as I signed up.
Big John Cannon was really hard. My mum liked Manolito. Victoria - well, there was something of an obsession there (she spent half the time tied up by Apaches, but they never broke her spirit). Buck was hard too - but irresponsible with it. Blue Boy was a bit crap (and spent half the time tied up by Apaches).
On a tenuous note - my bruv Andrew tells me that a remake of The Toolbox Murders (starring Cameron Mitchell) is on the cards. My only question is - Why?

Two Hours Out Of My Life

Kill Bill Vol. 2 (or part 2 of Quentin Tarantino's journey up his own arse).
Wow, that was a waste of 2 hours. Turgid, dull, endless 'meaningful' dialogue. Badly written, badly paced, Tarantino obviously watches a lot of films then copies them and adds nothing. Well done.
The mish-mash of styles kind of worked in the first film (if you fast-forward through that awful Manga bit), but in this one there's no action to take your mind off it. You get slapped about by a barrage of different music styles (some of them so painfully obvious it's shocking) that gets annoying about 15 minutes in.
If you nailed the two volumes together you might get a half-decent 1 hour 40 minute straight to video movie.
As it is, apart from Michael Madsen - who's just God - this film really sucks.
David Carradine deserves better. Uma Thurman doesn't.

Smagent Of SHIELD

Nick Fury Agent Of Shield (1998) - on TV the other night - taped it, watched it this morning. A truly inspiring TV movie of a calibre unseen in recent years.
That's Viper at the back (not green, but very mad), and Countessa Valentina Allegro de Fontaine up front (Lisa Rinna out of Melrose Place no less).
David Hasselhoff smokes cigars, wears an eyepatch & stomps Hydra ass exceptionally well.
I've been waiting to see this movie for about three years, and now I have.

Self Control

Sad to hear Laura Branigan bought the farm, not exactly a queen of Soft Metal, but 'Self Control' was a drum machine classic of the genre.

Charlie's Angels Fix

For those of you like myself who are a bit freaked at the Cheryl Ladd Gallery not updating for over a month - www.jeanstown.freeserve.co.uk - here she is all tied up yet strangely left with full use of a radio. That's just weak writing.

Scared? You Will Be

At work, killing the 5 hours between news bulletins, what does one do? Of course - research Phobias. After all, there's only so much coffee you can drink & so many cigarettes you can smoke.
Actually I was trying to find the proper name for the Fear Of Disintegration (Which I think Kek has). Couldn't find it - but I did find these:

Amathophobia - Fear of Dust.

Chaetophobia - Fear of Hair.

Francophobia - Fear of French Culture. (I may have that).

Homichlophobia - Fear of Fog.

Myxophobia - Fear of Slime.

Pupaphobia - Fear of Puppets.

Nucleomituphobia - Fear of Nuclear Explosions (I've got that).

Atomosophobia - Fear of Atomic Explosions (I haven't got that).

Xerophobia - Fear of Dryness.

Dinophobia - Fear of Whirlpools.

Geniophobia - Fear of Chins.

Barophobia - Fear of Gravity.

Lutraphobia - Fear of Otters.

Metrophobia - Fear of Poetry.

Cyclophobia - Fear of Bicycles (I've got that - but only when they're on the FUCKING PAVEMENT).

Arachibutyrophobia - Fear of Peanut Butter Sticking To The Roof Of The Mouth.

Astrophobia - Fear of Celestial Space or Stars.

Limnophobia - Fear of Lakes.

Zemmiphobia - Fear of The Great Mole Rat.

Apeirophobia - Fear of Infinity (I don't have the attention span to be scared of that).

Takethatophobia - Fear of Being Bum-Fucked By Robbie Williams (Ask Andrea Corr).

I tell you what - I'm not spell-checking this, I'll be here all night.

20th Anniversary

Just a quick note to celebrate the fact that for the 20th year running I am not going to the Notting Hill Fucking Carnival.

Very Important Announcement

Tuesday 31st August on ITV1 - Nick Fury - Agent Of SHIELD.
Starring David Hasselhoff - The Most Famous Man On The Planet (Official).
Do not miss.

Blazing Adventure!

From the very fires of Hell he came to wreak havoc and death on all civilization. G-8 -- America's Flying Spy -- combats a fiend inhuman and barbaric -- a fiend whose henchmen are the dregs of the Earth, and whose hate is fiercer than the forces of nature...The Steel Mask!

Television's Over

Whilst musing last years demise of Buffy The Vampire Slayer, followed this year by Angel, it has occurred to me that Television sucks.
Buffy was underground TV that made it big. It grew and improved constantly. Most of all it survived, pretty much intact, for its whole run. As did Angel.
And now, what do I watch? It seems nothing has replaced them.
Firefly almost did, but it was axed before it had time to breathe.
Alias almost did, but the constant blubbering of its heroine and the complete chickening out of a major character being bumped off at the start of Season Two sunk it for me.
Charmed is lightweight fluff. The Simpsons is rerunning itself. CSI is being flooded with spinoffs.
24 has been defeated by its own gimmick (call it 12 - I might watch it then).
The Sopranos - is that still going? If so who cares?
British TV is even worse. If they're not ripping off US TV wholesale (Waking The Dead), they're battering me with endless 'reality' and home owner shows (improve your home - clean your home - sell your home - buy a home abroad then freak out and come back).
Eastenders? Its piteous desire to be cutting edge and 'relevant' is what lets it down. Be a soap. Get some alien abduction in there.
Tony Robinson digging up some Roman shit? Live? Why?
Buy some stuff at a bootsale, then, I know, don't even sell it, just guess what it's worth. Outstanding.
And what exactly is left for 'reality' TV? Stubbing fags out on some 23 year old wannabe's cock? Or maybe some Ordinary People Who Want To Be On Telly experiencing what it was like to be in the showers at Auschwitz.
The subversive TV of the early 90s' effect is dissipating - Twin Peaks was anarchy and opened lots of doors that are now swinging closed.
And Seinfeld was harsher anarchy, more subversive because it masqueraded so well as a bland sitcom. Without it many shows would never have existed - Frasier, Phoenix Nights and Will And Grace to name but a few. Now every channel is just waiting for the new Friends.
I miss Buffy The Vampire Slayer - it was tangible TV and it's left a huge gap in the schedules that nobody seems to be even trying to fill.
I have a hundred and sixty-two channels and there's nothing on.
Oh, hang on - Charlie's Angels is on Five.

The Poisoners

The Poisoners by Donald Hamilton.
If you're into gas-mask women with guns - Matt Helm's your man.

Mister Elmer Bernstein 1922 - 2004

Death of a pop genius.
The obvious - The Magnificent Seven (1960), The Great Escape (1963), The Man With The Golden Arm (1955). The not so obvious - Robot Monster (1953), Cat Women Of The Moon (1953), Drango (1957), The Silencers (1966), Saturn 3 (1980), The Grifters (1990).
Above all, the genius behind the deranged jazz of TV show Johnny Staccato (1959).
All that and only one Oscar.
Truly, the man did write godlike tunes.

Bold Eagle Bummer

Rrrumblers by Hot Wheels - I am entirely gutted that I panicked and flogged this on Ebay for a mere £85.00, then probably spent the money on Doc Savage books or Timpo Arabs.
Now I am sad & all I have is this picture.

Robots R Us

I, Robot - Not at all bad for a Will Smith movie. Precious little to do with Asimov's book - which is probably for the best. Lots of smashing stuff up, lots of robots running about.
I find it most reassuring knowing that 30 years into the future leather trousers will still be around.

In The Fat News

Geri Halliwell's porked again.
Fantastic.
Also, whilst on the subject - a 43 stone woman's skin grew into the fabric of her sofa because she didn't get up off it for five years. Fucking Hell.