A Little Bit of Me!

Now, as you all know (and presumably concur, otherwise you wouldn't be reading this), I use the internet a lot for a number of reasons. I sometimes try and picture other people sitting there in their anonymity and wonder just how near to the truth I sometimes get.

I had the idea of making a brief video of "my space" just so that anybody interested or nosey enough can see part of my real world. It's hardly Tarantino (no blood) or Spielberg (no great visual effects): in fact, it's a very wobbly video taken with a normal camera and with a croaky voiceover. The one thing it does do though is take away the anonymity of cyber-contact and, hopefully, gives a bit more insight into the reality of .......well, reality.

The internet is a great way to hide oneself and create a whole new personality. From what I have seen, it gives some people a confidence that is maybe lacking in their real world and, with luck, crosses over to have a real affect in their lives. The danger, of course, is that it replaces real life. Both Bertie and I know that this won't happen to us!

I wonder if, one day in the future, popping round to see friends will be replaced by cyber visiting where all are clustered around their monitors? No more having to go out on a cold night, no more frantic tidying, no more drink-drive problems - all you do is stay at home and indulge in cyber intercourse. One of the main advantages would be if the company is boring......"Oh dear, the PC's gone down!" And think how much less traffic there would be on the road too.

You may laugh but who would have thought 20 years ago, the effect that the internet would have on our lives? Shopping has changed irrevocably, knowledge has increased with the advent of the great god, Google and, as an added bonus, there are no longer mail shots from the likes of the Encylopaedia Britannica dropping through the door. We can watch missed TV programmes, forget the hassle of writing and posting hand-written letters and find music and media never before thought possible.

It's like mobile phones; you walk down a street and there will be numerous people jabbering into their phones. Just how many of those calls are really that important? Has it increased social activity or is it just a means of passing the time as one is wandering? Will we all, one day, lose the art of personal social interaction or am I just being cynical?

Technology has a lot to answer for. It's the boon as well as the bane of our lives but, whatever one's view, it's undoubtedly here to stay.

Anyway, back to the video. Here it is for what it's worth........Welcome to Bassett Towers!

Atishoo, a tissue

In my long and arduous life I've had my fair share of illnesses. I remember a picture of me as a cherubic toddler with golden blonde curls appearing on the front page of the local paper, the Evening Argus, when I was in hospital aged about 4. Sadly, it was not me and (I vaguely recall) a teddy bear that occasioned this media exclusive, but the famous person who was visiting the hospital at the time who had also muscled in on the picture. I think it was someone like Princess Alexandra but sadly the news clipping has long since disappeared (as have the cherubic looks). That was the highspot on the illness front as, for some strange reason, they tend to be unpleasant events. The reason why I mention them now is because I have spent the last few days suffering with a cold.

These days, people tend to have flu or migraines rather than colds or headaches but this is a cold - simple as that. Shivers, runny eyes, snotty nose, coughing, sneezing, swollen glands, sweating are all here in abundance: none of them life threatening but, combined, a pretty unpleasant experience with which I am getting a little bored. Even the name is a bummer: the common cold is certainly not for me. An exclusive one I could live with but common? My Mother would not be happy with that!

The other thing about colds is that one doesn't get the sympathy as one does if, for example, you contracted Sumatran Swamp Goitre or something a little more exotic. I got meningitis when I was 16 and that certainly raised my stock in the comparitive illnesses league table. That was a high spot as was having my appendix out on my 10th birthday - a few brief moments of sympathy from the nurses before I braved the cockroaches in the sluice room of Southlands Hospital. Maybe that's the thing about illnesses, your brain remembers the (comparatively) good bits? Certainly, when I was in A& E the other week with Gertie the Gall-Bladder, the feeling of the morphine zooming round my body was a moment to treasure.

Of course, the epitome of illness is private health insurance which I had when I was working. Obsequious consultant surgeons ringing you to ask when you wish to come in, a proper tea service on a posh tray, wine lists and hot and cold running nurses made illness a veritable pleasure. These days however, I am doomed to a packet of Beechams, a soggy hankie and the knowledge that my body is now the equivalent of a rather battered Mark 2 Capri.

To quote as I presently sound - dat's dot fuddy.

Lazing on a Sony Afternoon

Well, a new addition to the Bassett household!

For those that didn't know, Cortez, my Acer laptop, died of a fried graphics chip after a short, but happy, life of 18 months (there's a message there to prospective Acer buyers). I've been looking at a replacement and weighing up the pros and cons for a few weeks and was totally confused. Do I buy a cheapie, as it's only a spare? It's not as if it's going to be doing much other than enabling me to do a bit of writing or browsing in foreign parts (well, the kitchen or the pub). On the other hand, as I have my super whizzy PC, I really wanted something that might aspire to something like its elder brother.

I mentally listed what I wanted and had a browse around the internet and a few shops. I even went to PC World but nothing, zilch, de nada.

I then found that I could customise at Dell and so I put together a suitable laptop. It was, naturally, far more expensive than I had first envisaged but that's the trouble with these customisation places. It's like when you buy Pick & Mix. You always buy about 4 times more than you intend and it was the same at Dell. I'll just up the processor speed a tad........ooh, I really need 2 gig of RAM.............hmm, maybe just a slightly larger hard drive. Before you know where you are, the price has doubled. I still prognosticated and therefore, still no new laptop.

Anyway, we toddled of to Eastbourne today where Curry's and Comet are conveniently right next door to each other. We were after a new HD TV and it also crossed my mind I would glance at the laptops (surprise, surprise). The visit started badly as we crossed the threshold of Curry's and the strains of Jonah Louie blasted us, exhorting us to stop the cavalry. Christmas frigging songs! Mid-November and bloody, bleeding Christmas songs! Oh, deep joy: Slade as we wandered through the washing machines, Wizzard as we meandered past the mixers, Cliff Richard as we trudged towards the TVs.

They had obviously taken on loads of extra staff as we were assaulted on all sides by enquiries about our welfare and told how their lives would be ruined if they failed to take us to the heights of ecstatic customer satisfaction. Now that's all very well but there seems to be a direct correlation between the number of staff and the aggregate knowledge. I stopped by the laptops and asked a minion if he would kindly allow me access to Vista on one particular machine so that I could check the Aero performance stats (these being a fairly reliable comparative between different machines)? 'Of course, Sir' says he, no doubt wondering why I actually wanted to look at something relevant rather than the stupid advert running on all the machines. We then had a slight technical problem - he didn't know the Curry's password to access any of the laptops. He then asked his mate who also looked suitably blank.

I had got bored by then (and didn't really like the laptop anyway) so off we went to the TVs. We had already kinda decided we wanted a Sony 32" so stood there and looked at it for a while. There wasn't much to ask about it so we thought we'd pop next door to Comet.

Good start - no music. I walked past the computer section and there it was - the perfect laptop! Not only did it tick all the boxes, but it was also a Vaio therefore street cred factor was a big plus. I asked a nice young girl to let me at the performance ratings and, wonder of wonders, she knew the password........ Comet 1 Curry's 0. She then admitted that she was new so I showed her how to do the check and she was suitably grateful and said she would use it to impress other customers with her knowledge. Everything checked out and, forgetting all previous pros and cons, I said I wanted it. Indeed, I would bite off my leg in order to acquire it.

Now, we can get 10% discount at Curry's so I asked her if she could match that? She enquired if there was anything else we wanted, and when we said a TV, she intimated that they could negotiate if we bought both. Found yet another imbecile in the Visual Dept. (obviously ex-Curry's) who couldn't really explain why there was a £200 difference between the two Sony 32" sets but eventually we settled on the more expensive one. Now this had 100 hz and apparently will turn television watching from a way of keeping up with Corrie into an unbeatable audio-visual experience so there was no contest really.

We then had to wait for the manager in order to sort out the discount and whiled away the time watching some demo HD stuff on a 50" Panasonic. Now, don't get me wrong, HD is amazing but, it was so realistic, we were both getting motion sickness just watching! Finally, the manager arrived and we eventually walked out the proud owners of a laptop, a new TV, a free Sony DVD recorder and a £100 discount.

The Vaio is known as Cher, seeing as it's a Sony (think about it) and is luvverly. Just one or two comments though, should the powers that be at Sony be reading this:-

1. Why do you have to put so many time-constrained trial programs on your products? I had to spend the first hour just ripping out crap software.
2. Why, oh why, put a trial of Norton on it? Nobody in their right minds uses Norton. Norton is as much use as a jock strap to a eunuch.
3. Why make the initial operation so difficult that I actually had to read the instructions at one point? You should know that manuals are merely a means of protecting the product in transit and serve no other useful purpose.
4. Why not provide a sticker for the laptop bag that say something like 'I have a Vaio in here. Jealous huh'?

Anyway, what with winning my first every tenner on the lottery tonight, it's been a pretty good day. All I need do now is work out the 46 different inputs on the back of the TV and I might just get it going in time to watch Betty's Christmas Broadcast!

Remembrance Day 2007

In the pouring rain, many people gathered this morning to honour the dead of the last two World Wars. They came for their own particular reasons: comrades, children, relatives - or perhaps, like me, as a tribute to those that fought and died for our freedom.

I overlook the memorials and, rather than be in the body of the crowd, was able to capture the ceremony as well as take part with my own thoughts and prayers. It was a relatively small ceremony but, to me, represented all that is important about that awful thing called War. Wars are fought about what is felt to be right, for injustice and intolerance. Any war can be justified by the perpetrator but this country sacrificed the flower of its youth to give us the life which we now have and which, perhaps, at times don't appreciate.

In the conflicts of the 20th century, Britain gave selflessly. In some ways, it wasn't our fight but we did what we felt was right, we gave for what we believed in. Millions perished because of that but I have never heard any regrets about the justifications for that sacrifice. The cynics would mutter about History only being written by the winners but, irrespective of that, I looked down upon old soldiers who had God knows what memories in their minds as they stood silently, heads bowed, in the rain - and I was grateful.

It's a strange thing. The town is like many others in that it has its fair share of disenchanted and bored adolescents. They cause trouble, they keep the local glazier employed and are generally pretty intolerant of the limits of behaviour. In the 4 years I have been here, the many wreaths and tributes around the war memorials have remained completely undisturbed and that is quite something.

Wars aren't just about large-scale conflicts; we all fight our own battles in Life and I know just how difficult that can be. Perhaps even more difficult in some ways, as these small battles make us feel alone and vulnerable. One of the things to bear in mind though is the realisation that people do care and the support that they willingly give - want to give, in fact. Compromise to avoid confrontation should always be the primary goal but we, like those before us, sometimes have to fight. Whether it be the bully, the principle, the seemingly inevitable or even our own fears, we have to stand up for what we believe in and battle our way through.

To those presently undergoing their own particular battles, be strong and take comfort from those around you.

As I looked down, I saw some older women. Perhaps bitter that they had been deprived of their husbands and sweethearts but, no doubt, proud that they had the courage to fight for what they thought was right. It was a sobering time and put into perspective the times I played at soldiers as a kid or when I watch war movies on the TV. Remembrance Day is, to me, not a glorification of war but a salutary reminder of the realities of life. A time where life is put into perspective, a time when I am thankful for those that gave, a time to hope for a more peaceful future but also a time where I feel encouraged to carry on fighting my own personal battles as well as those of the people that I love. Those long-departed ordinary men and women gave their lives for our freedom. I for one intend to justify that.

We will remember them.

Sky's the Limit!!!

It's Wednesday and it's 9.19pm. I am sitting here surrounded by technology, not least of which is a television.

We went looking for a new TV today. Something which I couldn't really get excited about even though we were looking at a grand's worth of HD, flat-screen Cinemascope, Dolby, digital technology: for which the bloody wall-mount costs more than most TVs. I think I've just realised why I couldn't get up much enthusiasm when, just now, I screamed and stormed out of the room. The reason? 20 million channels on satellite and not one decent programme to watch!!

Surely to God, at this time of an evening there ought to be something that appeals but oh no...... a complete mish-mash of repeats, programmes suitable for pubescent teenies or reality shows with as much appeal as a bucket of cold sick.

Now, television is not something that we actually sit and watch. It always tends to be a background noise with the added benefit of usually having some sort of interest. Because there was sweet F.A. on all the other channels I thought why not watch a movie? I trawled through the synopses of those that actually looked interesting (not many), made a selection and accordingly switched over. Total and utter crap! By now, of course, other movies had got into their stride and I just hate playing catch-up so it's back to the Sky Guide in the vain hope that I'd missed something earlier.

Remind me to write to that nice Mr Murdoch and remind him that my £850 per annum is not just for the privilege of being cut off by some retard in Mumbai or deepest Scotland every time I make the inevitable once a month phone call regarding yet another Sky cock-up. It would actually be nice to have the occasional watchable programme also. No doubt he also sits there of an evening desperately trying to choose between Minder and celebrity whippet racing before watching QVC and buying some totally naff product which, judging by the orgasmic screams of the (invariably) American demonstrator, will introduce domestic harmony on a scale never previously experienced.

The other night i became desperate and watched a movie called Snakes on a Plane. I guess I don't need to tell you the basis of the plot but the vision of a giant constrictor suddenly appearing and enveloping someone's head in its jaws made me really glad I invest in Sky movies. I sat there transfixed, imagining releasing a container full of snakes into Murdoch Towers until he promised faithfully to actually put on some decent programmes. The whole film stretched incredulity to the limit as I thought "How could anybody in their right mind watch this?". Then I realised..........that included me!

I was even reduced to watching Laurence Llewellyn-Bowen moving into a new home tonight. Why do we want to see this? The only satisfaction I got from it was the fact that he is lumbered with an awful family. His wife was desperately showing off in front of the cameras and making sexual innuendoes as subtle as a lead bar about the head, the young daughter was a monster from hell and made Violet Elizabeth Bott look like a top graduate from a charm school whilst Le Bowen himself, cuffs flying, did for country living what Napalm did for the Vietnamese horticulture industry.

Perhaps we are too spoiled these days? So many new programmes abound and I just don't watch them because the few outside of terrestrial TV I have seen are either American, too "hip" or just plain bollocks. Maybe I'm growing old? Is this the sort of thing my parents said when I raved about Python? My daughter loves The Mighty Boosh.........rubbish!

There was an article in The Independent yesterday listing the Top 10 comedy show DVDs. How many had I heard of? None..........not a single one. Am I missing some channels? Nope, they're all there; Sky Living, Sky Dying, Sky You Might as Well be Dead rather than Watch this Rubbish, the Welsh Channel, the Sumo Channel, hmmmm, no English Channel.

I suppose in a way I ought to be grateful as venting my wrath has occupied me for 38 minutes and I have therefore saved myself a commensurate amount of frustrated channel hopping. I can now occupy myself for another 20 minutes with the following;

If television is so bad then why in Heaven are we buying yet another TV set?

Hmmmmmmmmmm

DeSign of the Times

I've been trawling around BlogWorld today and have been pleasantly surprised by the number of interesting, amusing and erudite bloggers that there are out there. I suppose it makes sense. After all, people tend to do what they enjoy and enjoyment of something comes, predominantly, from an ability to perform that action to a certain standard.

The problem is, it's made me realise that I'm actually part of the common herd of writers. Sure, I have my moments but the reality is I am one of a great many. I could be content with that, I should be content with that but I just don't do content.

I'm a dabbler. I see someone doing something and I want to aspire to their ability. The trouble is I lack the application, inspiration and concentration to excel so enter into a circle of frustration and non-fulfilment that lasts until I latch onto another stimulation.

Take design for example: I can't draw a straight line and lack any ideas regarding design whatsoever. When I first discovered drawing programs, I was really chuffed that I could manipulate images and played constantly, learning Paint Shop Pro and even creating my own posters for the Quiz Nights I compère. I tended to adapt existing images but it was fun and the learning process was interesting, albeit frustrating.

I wanted to build my own website so registered a domain name and purchased some space. It sat there for 2 years with me occasionally thinking I ought to make a start but not really sure how. Then a combination of factors conspired to lead me down a path upon which I now precariously stand. A path which started with me creating my blog page and learning a little bit of HTML. That, in turn, inspired me to play with DreamWeaver and I now have sufficient knowledge of that to create a teensy-weensy web page. Because DreamWeaver is allied to PhotoShop, I am trying to make the transition to using that as my primary design program along with Adobe Illustrator.

To summarise, I know a small part of each of these sophisticated programs and languages but lack the means to learn further apart from within my own abilities and motivation. I have bought books, DVDs, even nice hardware like my Wacom graphics tablet but it really all boils down to skill and aptitude. The local Adult Education people run courses on really important subjects like 4th century BC Hittite Jardiniéres or Flower Arranging for Disabled Ectomorphs but do they do practical things like Web Page design? Oh no, far too sensible. Maybe it's the way I like to learn but I much prefer a human teacher rather than something that doesn't give me feedback, suggestions, criticism or stimulation.

I've got some of my Quiz Show posters in an album which can be viewed here and they've been well received. The trouble is, I know that they're pretty ordinary, indeed laughable, to anyone who has a skill or appreciation of design. Maybe that's the nub of the whole matter? My arbiter of success is recognition by those that can rather than those that can't.

Given that my efforts so far over the years have been far from adequate and that I am expecting to become a master of 3 incredibly complex programs and a programming language, I think that my best bet is to allow the gifted to do what they do best and come to terms with the level of ability which I presently have.

But then, when have I ever done the sensible thing...........?

Sea Fever

I have a confession! It concerns a long-running love affair that has lasted all of my life and will remain with me until I draw my last breath. It's an unrequited love from an unremitting mistress; a cold-hearted lover who bestows her favours on a whim and glories in her capricousness.

The object of my affections? The sea.

I guess it's in the blood as I am the first generation on my Mother's side not to go to sea since, at least, Trafalgar. I apparently had a forebear who fought on the Victory (and died!). I had Uncles in the Royal Navy and Grandfather and great Grandfather in the merchant navy, all of whom told stirring tales of their time afloat.

The first time I realised that I was a maritime junkie was when I went on a holiday to the Loire Valley. It was beautiful there and the bottles of Vouvray were most acceptable but I suddenly realised that I missed being near the sea. Not just a whimsical desire to paddle but a real longing to be close. Even as a kid, I would sit on the harbour arm, fishing. Not particularly worried about whether any passing fish wished to commit piscatorial hari-kari, just content to sit and watch the ever-changing moods of the water. I used to spend hours wandering the sea-shore, looking at the detritus thrown up on the tide and wondering just how far it had drifted, dreaming about exotic places and marvelling at such small miracles as mermaid's purses and shells.

Just the sound of the sea is something that brings me such a sense of contentment and, whenever I'm troubled, the seashore is the first place I head for. It seems to soothe me and puts my small life into perspective with its sheer, awesome power.

I've always used it as a playground; sailing, swimming, a bit of water-skiing but it really came alive when I first scuba dived. Snorkelling was always a large part of any holiday and I used to spend hours cruising across the surface, gazing down at the life below me. Some places, like Turkey, were quite devoid of much off-shore life whilst others like Corsica were a wonderful mixture of colourful fish, sponges, urchins and shellfish.

I was inspired to write this blog when someone mentioned Lanzerote earlier this evening for that was where I had my first scuba dive.. I say first....it was my first official dive as, when I was about 20, a group of us went to the beach for the day. We were all into snorkelling and had masks and tubes. However, one of our number had bought the whole scuba kit and I, like a fool, asked to try it all on. I donned the neoprene and strapped on all the bits and the inevitable happened; I heard a small child say "Ooh look, there's a frogman!".

Now, me being me, I just had to play to the audience and, although with hindsight it was a stupid thing to do, trudged down to the water in order to show off. I had every intention of staying above the surface and just sort of swim around a bit. Sadly, the beach shelved very gently and I found I was going out quite a long way with the water only reaching my waist. By now, of course, there were a few people watching and so I figured that all I could do was lay in the water and sort of crawl along the bottom to look as though I was swimming. This worked well for a while until I became aware of the flaw in the plan.

You see, the beach in question is at Shoreham which is a port. Being a port, there is a need for deep water and the dredgers had actually carved a fairly steep channel which I realised when I suddenly dropped like a stone as I found the edge! Suffice to say I managed to extricate myself and learned an interesting lesson about weight belts in the process. I tried to wander nonchalantly back to my friends but I can still vividly recall the jelly-like feeling in my legs as I walked back up the beach.

Anyway, back to Lanzarote. We were given a 30 minute lecture on safety and equipment and off we went. As I took those first few breaths below the surface I was immediately conscious of the sheer privilege of entering this undersea world. Suddenly I was in an evironment of which most only dream and I knew I was hooked. It wasn't all easy going as the need to monitor one's buoyancy is paramount and this is controlled via a valve on one's BCD (Bouyancy Control Device), a sort of life-jacket which can be inflated or deflated at will via the air tank.

Unfortunately, it takes a while to get used to the amount of air needed as there is a short delay in reaction so, one moment, I was lying on the bottom and the next, shooting up to the surface only to sink like a stone once more as I vented the BCD in panic!

I did a few more trial dives on various holidays and then, after I retired, I took the plunge (gettit?) and enrolled on the PADI Open Water Diving course. It was a proud moment when I received my dive card (that's it, over there <) as it meant I could dive anywhere across the globe to a depth of 18 metres. Sitting on the seabed 60 feet down, hand feeding giant rays is an experience never to be forgotten and it's not only abroad where the waters teem with life. Within half a mile of me now is the English Channel which has an abundance of fish and shellfish to boggle the imagination.

Seeing an 8 foot conger face to face can be a bit daunting but it's very much a case of live and let live below the waves from a human point of view. As long as one remembers that we are merely guests then the only real danger comes from a diver's own stupidity.

I haven't dived for a while now. One day I will realise my ambition to swim with sharks - a much-maligned creature whose evolutionary perfection I truly admire. In the meantime, I shall continue to love, fear, admire and respect the ocean.

John Masefield summed it up a lot better than I ever could with his poem 'Sea Fever':

I must down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,
And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea's face, and a grey dawn breaking.

I must down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.

I must down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull's way and the whale's way where the wind's like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over.

Multiple exclamation marks are a sure sign of a diseased mind !!!

Hello and welcome to the new blog layout! The spherical objects at the top of the page can be construed as:

1) Thought bubbles, representing the workings of the Bertie mind

2) An aesthetically pleasing combination of shapes, specifically
chosen to compliment the subtle nuances of colour and design
encapsulated not only within the page but also within each
carefully-crafted blog entry

3) A load of balls

Today, I am writing another homage. I quite like paying tributes because they give me a chance to say thank you to people (and sometimes objects) that give me pleasure. Pleasure can take many forms whether it be enjoyment, stimulation, appreciation or just plain "feel good" factor and this guy presses the right button on a great many. The person in question is Mr Terry Pratchett and yesterday I started his latest book, "Making Money".

I ordered the book some time ago but, what with the postal strike and other events more local, the reading of it was postponed until I was ready to savour the moment. The illustrator of all his outpourings, Paul Kidby, runs a webshop where I am able to order signed copies so it was this that I took to bed and finally opened. There is something about a new book. The leaves all pristine, the knowledge that only my eyes have taken in those pages, the excitement of what lies within all conspire to produce a frisson of true pleasure.

This particular book is also about finance, economics and paper money so I was intrigued about how it would fit in with my own interests within that particular area. I won't tell you about the plot, that can be found in critiques all over the internet. Suffice to say that it is a wonderfully funny, perceptive and, above all, clever piece of writing. Pratchett has a knack of encapsulating philosophies, tenets and other thought-provoking ideas into single sentences of seeming silliness. Many's the time I'm reading one of his books when "Whoaaaaaaa". Something sneaks up on me from a few sentences ago and I marvel once more at the genius that is Pratchett.

A couple of examples from his latest:

Marketing in a nutshell: "Don't sell the sausage - sell the sizzle.

Management in a nutshell: (This is from Lord Vetenari, ruler of Ankh-Morpork, whilst trying to persuade our hero to take over the city's banking institution)

"....but the bank needs someone who understands banks. (says our Hero)

" People who understand banks got it into the position it is in now.", said Veternari. "And I did not become the ruler of Ankh-Morpork by understanding the city. Like banking, the city is depressingly easy to understand. I have remained ruler by getting the city to understand me."

There is a website devoted to his quotes and is well worth a delve now and again. You can find it here.

Now don't get me wrong, the guy is not just a latter-day Plato. He has a humour of which I can only dream, a fertility of imagination that consumes me with envy and a capacity to write, write and write again.

His characters are very real (which is saying something, especially about an orang-utan who is the Librarian of the Unseen University!) and evoke an empathy of spirit which ranges from the optimistically futile Rincewind the wizard to the futilely optimistic ethos of a certain C.M.O.T. Dibbler, purveyor of anything saleable (or not, come to think of it).

I know that my love of the DiscWorld is shared by many and I welcome your favourite quotes, characters or thoughts on what to me is, at times, a far saner world than that in which I live. If you've never read Pratchett, I do commend him to you.

Sometimes, reading his work, I think to myself "Why do I bother? How can I possibly compete with an writer such as he?" I know people speak kindly of my efforts but well, what can I say? I've rationalised it by using a football analogy insofar as maybe a Division 2 footballer can look at a Premier League player and lose heart. However, they fail to appreciate that there are many only competent enough to play Sunday league.

So here I am, writing as an Accrington Stanley stalwart, an appreciation about the Steven Gerrard of the world of humorous literature. If there is ever a literary equivalent of the FA Cup, I can only hope that, one day, I might be drawn against him and he can wonder about this other bloke that wears a long coat and big black hat, gibbering gently in his majestic presence.

Bless you, Mr Pratchett, you bring insanity into a world of ...........well, insanity.