OK, I'm here and I'm about to have a freeform ramble about the missing month, come back tomorrow or something if you want a huge rant about something stupid or threatened violence against people that irritate me slightly.

Good Morning, one and all. I suppose I owe a slight explanation for my absence, pretty similar to that from last year, and the year before around about the time of my birthday. Well first thing's first, I'm now 30 and not yet dead. It was a quite pressing worry of mine for a while with a few pointers and omens towards it, but hey, i'm still here and still upto the same old shit I always have been.

So other than plotting the downfall of mankind and the ascent of homo-intelligencia, with myself as undeposable dictator for life I've not really been up to very much. Of course my birthday was very birthday like, I bought myself a Nintendo:DS and a couple of games, got a load of DVDs and books and things and the party on the 22nd was phoenominal. Unfortunately the bar that went for it make the tragic mistake of selling us Big Green Comedy Bombs at 4 quid a pop. I've never seen so many of them in one place, and they were getting downed by the gallon. I have no idea how many I drank, but I'll tell you this: I was paralitic going to bed at 3.30am and when I got up at 9.30am and wombled downstairs for breakfast I realised that I was slightly tired and in need of a monster shit. The hangover still hasn't happened.

There's stuff going on as always in my life, I've been in hospital for testing more often than not recently ... The Vikings have currently nobody as head of acting and I'm the only one around not ducking ... I'm filming Corrie next Tuesday ... and all sorts of shit. So I've been fairly philosophical about life recently and thinking about the site and various parts of.

Ignoring the stats for a minute, the only proof I have that anybody comes by this site is the spam, of which I receive a fair amount every day. So if you're out there, for the sake of sanity then say hello every now and then, and if you're not out there then send a text message. Anyway, the point being that with my new-found web development abilities I have been thinking about Vaguenet and what to become of it. I'm not going to give up on it, but it was supposed to be about roleplay but it's turned into a huge sprawling octopus of idiotry and bizarre ideas, overshadowed by my philosophical meanderings. So now I actively do need a plan and a new design so if you've got some suggestions then please let me know.

While I'm here though, I thought I'd mention some things that I keep meaning to talk about but never get around to and probably never will...

Spending more than half of my waking life in one hospital waiting room or another. Listening to the ignorant fucking morons whine about how they've been sat there for ten minutes already and still haven't been seen. Really? Wait until you've been sat there another 2 hours like the rest of us. Bring a fucking book you ignorant turd.

Men DO NOT think about sex every 6 seconds. Who does this fucking research? Who funds it? I've got some ideas you might like to hear. But we don't, llife would not be physically possible if we did. Why do people ... no, make that women ... fall for this shit? Somebody please tell me! Oh, and you've got nice boobs, BTW.

Aaaaaaaargh, Under pressure to buy a PS3. Or more to the point, how and when to buy it. Preorder? January sales? Bludgeon and robbery? they're really fucking expensive and I've not had a holiday in about 7 years. Hmmm.

Animal Crossing : Wild World raises some interesting questions... like where does tom nook's finance come from? and what happened to the body in the attic? Why do the gate guards not check for fruit smuggling? Where is the turnip lady? Who gives an axe to Sheep?

Intelligent blogging : Gold Dust or Pixie Dust? come and read what I read and tell me there is intelligent life on this planet.

That's about all my brain can handle for now. One day the universe will make sense. Just not today.

Big Bad Jon

I heard something disturbing on the radio this morning. Apparently Blackpool wants to have itself classified as a World Heritage Site; to join the ranks of The Tower of London, Stonehenge and The Great Wall of China. Their justification for this is that it was the world's first working-class holiday resort. .... and still is.

So what are they planning on doing? Are they planning on rebuilding the piers that have fallen over during the past century? Restoring the attractions as it used to be and putting a large preservation order on the entire city? nope. They're just going to keep on as they are and get a big badge from the WHS people. I think they should preserve the place, seal it in aspic for generations to come can see blackpool as it is and forever more shall be.

They should keep the tourists flooding in by the million on stag and hen nights and on top have museum tours of middle aged families dragging children around with guide books as to the many wonders that is blackpool.

This on your right is the first spot where 'kiss me quick' hats were first made and sold by the billion. Fashions changed over the years, and in the early 2000's the most common form of idiot accessory was the bright pink cowboy hat, found hilarious for generations.

And on the left now you can see the remnants of the original illuminations. Still proudly displaying the worlds largest collection of broken lightbulbs known to mankind people would queue for days just to slowly drive past scenes picked out in multicoloured lights of pictures stolen from childrens books from the 19th century.

Here we have the Grand Theatre where the Chuckle Brothers and Keith Harris have been imprisoned now for over thirty years performing pantomime for screaming children. Due to the Riley Act of 1993, talentless celebrities were forced to community service in blackpool at least once a year and some were given a life sentence. If you have the time, feel free to go scream abuse at them after the tour.

As we pass the Palladium here you'll notice that the Roy 'Chubby' Brown act is still going strong. Ever since his unfortunate mincing on stage by the militant wing of the Women's Institute, a lookalike has been drafted in to perform his rancid bigotry nightly that he originally stole from Bernard Manning. This has been a welcome attraction for the locals of Blackpool who find the lack of Racist Mysogenist Arseholes on the street for two hours a welome break from the rest of the days activities.

Blackpool Tower now coming up in front of us is the most recognisable of Blackpool's landmarks, causing generation after generation of tourist to speculate on it's similarity to the Eiffel Tower in Paris, France. Although agreeably it isn't as old, tall or well preserved as the Eiffel Tower, at least it isn't French.

Not forgetting the Peasure Beach, with thrills and spills for all the family still keeps it's old world attraction through having not been maintained or even oiled since 1984, please be aware that although the rides are all still operational, you will have to sign a waiver before entering the Pleasure Beach and you will be unlikely to go home with all the family members you arrived with.

Finally we'll be ending the tour here at the magnificent bronze statue of Charlie, the hardest and longest serving donkey on all of Blackpool's beaches. Charlie was letting sticky, shrieking, ungrateful children on his back from 1749 right through to 2003 and only took one day off in all that time to visit the fulneral of his first owner, Mad Bob 'Pretty Hat' Spinky, the 'Crusty Old Man of the Beach'. Charlie retired on the 16th of June 2003 complaining of backache and deafness and lived a further 14 years in a retirement community in Bournemouth.

Now please feel free to tip your driver and don't forget to visit one of the many arcades and casinos as you continue your visit, noting the hypnotic flashing lights and pretty sounds they make. Remember that feeding the tourists carries a £50 fine and there are preservation wardens at every street corner, so be sure to buy a stick of rock before passing one. Thank You.

You know, it doesn't sound like such a bad idea anymore.

My body is often at odds with itself. I've mentioned the four brain sections previously and my digestive system is in a state of open hostility with my nervous system, but the rest of my assorted organs usually work in a state of untrusting ceasefire in much the same way as the United Nations. However there are times when the liver starts working on a nuclear defence strategy and the pancreas starts to get threatened before the brain and the heart can argue as to possible courses of action; taking so long over it that the pancreas enlists the help of the spleen to crush the liver in a decisive countermove involving badly cooked hamburger.

All of which leading you to ask what I was smoking this morning while on my way to work, (Embassy #1, same as always) and what is on my mind driving this drivel. Well, a couple of weeks ago I heard about the 'Radio 2 Voice of Musical Theatre' competition and decided, in my insane way, that this might be a fun thing to try out. This is where my body decided to strike out on civil war on the subject and the ceasefire broke down completely.

The nervous system instantly teamed up with my anxiety and declared an immediate no-go area around the subject while my spine and ego started rallying troops for a full frontal assault. I talked to a few people who all unanimously voted for me to go and make a prick of myself (again) in pulic. Which only helped a little since they weren't the ones singing at people. Professional people. Eventually I rationalised it by applying through the website, if I got a slot in the appointments, I'd go. Otherwise not, since I wasn't going to go to an open bloody audition and queue like a Hollyoaks wannabe for hours in the rain.

A couple of days go by, and eventually the reply e-mail turns up telling me that due to MASSIVE overpopularity, the appointments are all full but the open audition is on Sunday and I'm more than welcome to come and try my luck then. at 8am. in Manchester. at 8am. in the morning. in city centre Manchester at 8am on a Sunday morning after a Saturday night. 8am. Bugger. Oh, and bring sheet music to the song you want to sing for us. Double Bugger.

The seige sets in. Trenches are dug. Watch scedules are written and the spleen is left on guard duty watching no-mans land. My tactics are clear. I must tally up the reasons for not going against the reasons to go and see which one wins out.

Reasons to NOT go

1. It's 8am in the frigging morning.
2. My darling Aliss is taking the car away for the weekend.
3. Therefore I would have to rely on public trasport.
4. I hate public transport.
5. I have absolutely no idea what i'm doing.
6. I can't actually sing all that well.
7. I haven't been IN a musical since 2002.
8. I have no sheet music.
9. It's going to be a huge wannabe's convention with queues and cameras and arseholes everywhere.
10. I'll have to kill everybody and spend the rest of my life in prison.
11. I'm not sure they allow video games in prison.
12. Did I mention they start at 8 in the morning?
13. Whatever song I pick is going to sound shit.
14. I only like showing off in front of people with things I know I'm good at. And I don't know how good I'm gonna be.

Reasons to do it

1. There's a 0.0002% chance it could work, and I could get a new career out of it.
2. It could be a bit of a laugh.

Shit. That's the killer isn't it. I can ignore #1, but #2 gets me every bloody time. Just when you think you're safe enough an opportunity pops out of the blue disguised as an squadron of helicopter gunships. Now, while this epic seige is going on some evil force ... probably an evil alien entity from a parallel universe ... is disguising itself as me and performing insidious acts; like purchasing the score for a song I realise I barely know; like cancelling the events I was supposed to be going to; like setting my bloody alarm for 6am in the fucking morning...

Which eventually leads me to standing in a train station at 7:32am looking at a board telling me the trains on a Sunday are at 7:21am and then 8:33am and wondering what the fuck I am doing ... Now what I'm doing is getting out my phone and ringing JB at half past seven on a Sunday morning and asking if he's willing to cross the city to do me a quick favour. It's too bloody late now, I'm up, I'm ready and most of all, anxiety loves an audience to shriek at.

For an 8am call, I make it for 8:24am. Good timing too. Early enough to be on the rosters with a quite low number, but late enough for the queue to be completely processed. "Hi, my name's Jon and I'm here to make a prick of myself?". Five hours I was there for. Three and a half of that was waiting for my group to be called. A briefing, a warmup, a wait. The actual thing was an hour of what could be classified as a learning session with exercises and then a song, learned by all then broken down into smaller and smaller chunks until everybody got a brief chance to go solo, if only for a second or two. Those that they wanted to hear more of were told to return in the afternoon and perform the song they prepared. All in all it was about as terrifying as drinking iced tea: A lot of people would hate it, but if you're into it then it's fantastic.

So I came out of it without having to sing the song I'd been agonising over. They said that being re-called was no indication of who got through and who didn't into the next section, but I'd think it is pretty conclusive. I'll tell you something though, I did learn a hell of a lot, plus they did give me this funky pinbadge ... and I might have swiped three pens. They're nice pens.

It was a bit of a laugh though. I was right about that.

I travelled to a far away place. A place of leisure and friendly neigbours and quiet rivers and beaches. I did a little fishing and watched the world go by slowly. And the more I watched this place, the more questions pop into my head and the more the sense of genuine unease creeps over me. Something is very wrong and the more questions I have, the less I feel comfortable about asking them... I am of course talking about the supreme survival horror game - Animal Crossing : Wild World on the Nintendo DS.

I've decided to stick around for a while and see if I can get some answers, but I've got to keep this quiet, I'm not sure who'll be watching and reading this, and I think they may be onto me already. If you do not see me again, then beware the animal crossing...

Where does Tom Nook get his backing from?
He's one of two shopkeepers in town, and it's not like the Able sisters can really compete with him. He buys and sells everything for everybody in town, from food to furniture and home improvements he is the sole money man in town. Though while keeping watch outside his door nobody ever goes in, and nobody ever goes out. His shop is always newly stocked in the morning and has no back rooms for storage. Like Willy Wonka his products are everywhere, but he never leaves and his customers never enter. So where does the money come from?

Why is there only one magazine in town?
In the entire town, you'd think that there might be more than one copy of Cosmo to keep the residents interested. But no, you can't leave the house and go for a quick walk for more than ten minutes without one or other of your neighbors throwing the personality test at you, and it's always the same bloody test. If i ever find this magazine that's going around, I'll burn it.

Why do they have an underground 'Coffee Bar'?
In a way reminiscient of Anne Frank, hidden under the museum in town is a smokey, dingy, windowless coffee bar. It comes complete with it's own folk musician giving out illegal bootlegs of the music and a ratty waiter who hassles you to drink your coffee hot and WILL NOT allow you to let it cool. This is obviously some sort of initiation into some secret movement, though I obviously haven't completed my induction yet.

Where are the homeless?
Not one single hobo, transient, beggar, tramp or mime in the place. Everybody has their own set space, with just enough furniture to deal with and a right to wander around aimlessly for hours. Strangely nobody has any form of employment or any means of supporting themselves or their homes.

Why to people just up and leave without saying goodbye?
Since moving in, I have met a fair number of people who live or have lived in this town before I arrived. Every week or so, I receive a typewritten letter from one of them announcing their intention to leave. In fact, not only have they left, but their house has been razed to the ground, fresh grass planted and they are never spoken of nor heard from again.

Why the strange prices on fruit?
Where cherries sell for $100, why do all other fruit sell for $500? From one smuggling run to another, why would non-native fruit be worth so much more? I've eaten plenty of fruit that comes from far afield and it does me no ill effects and doesn't turn me superhuman, so what is the secret of the fruit?

What's with the turnip dealing?
Is a turnip really worth $70 - $100? Is it something that will actually net me a profit or is it something to keep me occupied before my brain starts to work too hard on the subject. Surely nobody's going to pay that much for a turnip, much less 990 of them.

What happened to the body in the attic?
I had a lodger. He helped pay the mortgage. He left one day to go to start his own life in another town far, far away. That's what he told everybody. Though he left his body in my attic. One day while somebody was visiting the body vanished leaving the bed it was lying on. A day or two later the body re-appeared and continued not-to-move. What happened to the body in the attic?

Why are my neighbours without drive?
My neighbours are like sheep. The fact that one of them IS a sheep is not helping. They don't think for themselves, they don't heal themselves while sick, they barely even move for themselves. They ask me their own opinions on subjects I have no idea about and worse, they ask me to come up with their own greetings they use blindly. This is funny for an hour or two... (tell a lie, it's still funny when the elephant shouts out "I suck DONKEYS!") but after a while you worry about the mental conditioning of them. What have they lived through in this town? Will I end up like that?

What is at the top of that waterfall?
Day after day I haul from the river a huge swathe of crap from the rivers. Tyres, cans, boots and other assorted junk all fill my rivers on a daily basis. I'm thinking we are downstream from either a landfill site or there was a tragic accident involving a bus-load of clowns that still hasn't been cleared up. I'd scale the waterfall if I had the equipment, but I can't trust the mail system since I started getting letters from my mother; especially since I never told her I've moved.

What was on this site 65 million years ago?
I can understand finding a fossil or two in the ground occasionally around the world, but the sheer weight of dinosaur bones I've pulled out of the ground within a half-a-mile from my own house is simply staggering. If word of this ever got out, the archeologists of the world would be shoveling and sifting by the dozen. So why isn't word getting out? And why did so many dinosaurs from so many different prehistoric eras die on this spot?

Who are the Happy Room Academy?
And what gives them the right to poke around my house while I'm out or, even worse, sleeping? What gives them the right to act like judge and jury to your homestead? What are they looking for and why can't they just leave me alone! You can picture them. They have white gloves and clipboards. I probably know them. They're probably friends of mine. And now they know how I live.

What are the Gyroids?
Digging around, I turn up strange smiling wooden heads. A strange smiling wooden head that sings. A strange smiling wooden head that sings and dances. Are they spying devices? Are they to send me insane? I put them into my house where they sit and sing and bounce in unison. Now I just wrap them in brown paper and sell them on. They worry me.

Why are there clothes in the lost & found bin?
I don't remember seeing many naked people lurking around. I have enough trouble with gender-confused pandas wearing frocks and pumping iron. What are these people doing in the woods to necessitate a steady flow of clothes in the lost and found box? Are there regular orgies that I've not been invited to? Or are there naked satanic rituals they're preparing to invite me to? I've bleached my hair white and started wearing a skull t-shirt in self defence. Or at least an attempt to look intimidating.

Why is the town on a half-acre plot?
The very high walls running all around the town seem very carefully measured. And there's a guarded gatehouse. And all the other towns seem to run to exactly the same measurements. I get the feeling that a helicopter ride would show a very even grid pattern. Are we living in a rat-maze? Is this some sort of psychological experiment? Am I just running around a little maze ringing bells for the gratification of an impartial observer? Or even worse, is it not even about me... am I being too selfish in my observations .......

HOLY SHIT! I'M LIVING IN A CLONE FARM!

Suddenly it all makes sense. The disappearances, the mindless drones. The activities. It's all been so pointless because it's only there to give you something to do before they call for your organs. The HRA! They're to check that the residents are all happy, "a happy room is a happy mind!". Oh my god, that's why the money makes no sense, the money is all fake! Bells are only worth something on this land, and who controls the money...

TOM NOOK. He that brings you into the town and shows you how to pass the time. TOM NOOK. He that first gave you the first few bells and convinced you they were worth something. TOM NOOK. He that holds the mortgage on your house and keeps expanding it the second you pay it off. TOM NOOK. Don't let him fool you. He runs the show. Who else has the goods, the money, the contacts. Who else closes on a semi-regular basis effectively shutting down the town for a day? Who else has had chance to expand four times since you got here? TOM NOOK!

There is only one hope for us all. It's obvious that the coffee shop is the heart of the underground resistance. I shall go there and let them know I've figured out the secret of Animal Crossing. Then we shall work together to overthrow the Nook empire and escape, and breakout all the people from all the towns on our way out. Find your coffee shop. Start planning. Watch for when the walls start crumbling.

Say nothing to Tom. He'll harvest you next.

Heh. I filmed another ten-seconds of background rubbish for Coronation Street this week. Went along for the filming, waited around for a few hours then crossed the street three times and then went home. Easiest day's work I've ever done. I'm not complaining by any stretch, extras are a necessary part of filmwork and I just wish I could do actual parts at times.

The thing that amused me the most this time? I wore my Vague sports shirt. Granted I was wearing my jacket, but hopefully there'll be at least a second where you get to see VAGUE displayed proudly if you know where you're watching.

If you care.