THROWBACK THURSDAY: At The Cinema With...

Pre-demolition: The derelict site of the former ABC Cinema in central Tunbridge Wells

These days I rarely see any movies at the cinema. I count myself 'lucky' if I manage the trip once in a 12-month period.

However there was a time - when I had a job - that I'd pop in to the cinema almost every week.

While the Tunbridge Wells town centre cinema (pictured above, years ago and well past its prime, and now - after a lot of faffing about - demolished) was still open, and I was friends with the manager, I saw pretty much everything that came out.

Of course, at the time, I was entertainments' editor for the local paper and self-appointed cinema critic.

I even had my own regular - and well-read (if not well-written) - column: At The Cinema With...

But when Odeon bought out the site then closed it so it didn't draw audiences away from their new, dismal, overpriced grottiplex on the out-of-town industrial estate, the rot started to set in.

I still went reasonably regularly, even though I had to pay(!), and got to see pretty much everything that interested me.

These days, now that I can't drive, it's just too much hassle. It's expensive, as well as inconvenient... and there are "other people" there when I'm trying to watch films.

To mangle Jean-Paul Sartre: "Hell is other people."

Despite what you might see elsewhere (in some movies, actually) watching a film is NOT a social experience, especially when you're paying the sort of money now being asked just to get through the doors.

If I've made the effort to go and see a film, I don't want to hear other people chattering, whooping, parroting dialogue, munching popcorn etc

I want to be in my own little bubble where I can sink into the story unfolding before my eyes.

And remember, more often that not, the people telling you that you HAVE to see a film on the big screen are those who will benefit financially from your inconvenience.

Truth be told - and it's probably a product of my age as much as anything - I find that far easier to do at home these days.

With the advances in home entertainment - the quality of TV screens and Blu-Rays, for instance - there is no longer the need to go to the cinema and pay a fortune to get annoyed with the unappreciative crowds of oiks who treat it as a social club.

Sure, I'll have to wait two or three months (sometimes a bit longer) for the movies I want to see to come out on Blu-Ray, Netflix, Prime Video, Sky Cinema etc, but I've realised I don't mind waiting.

It's a small price to pay for being able to watch a film how I want to, in comfortable surroundings with minimum distractions.

THROWBACK THURSDAY: I Never Met David Bowie, But...

Nick and Andorian cosplayer at the premiere 'after-party'

I didn't want to get off on the wrong foot with this David Bowie-themed Throwback Thursday by suggesting I had met the great man.

The closest I ever came (via the laws of Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon) was when Nick and I, 24 year ago, blagged ourselves tickets to the gala celebrity premiere of Star Trek VI - The Undiscovered Country (probably my favourite of the original Star Trek movies). I can't remember if this was through work or through my old Trekkie friend John Carrigan.

The only celebrities there actually connected with the movie were director Nicholas Meyer and Iman  - model-turned-actress and wife of David Bowie - who played Martia the shapeshifter.

So I was in the same room as Bowie's wife, which is the next best thing to having been in the same room as him!

As is often the case when someone famous dies you discover all the fascinating facts about their life that you wish you'd known while they were alive.

For instance, thanks to the Times of Tunbridge Wells news website back in 2016, I learned of Bowie's connection to the town of my birth.

His mum came from Southborough (a 'suburb' of Tunbridge Wells that bridges the gap between that town and Tonbridge, where I now live) and she met her future husband (and David's father-to-be) at the old cinema in Tunbridge Wells.

Like the rest of the right-thinking world I've always been a fan of Bowie's music, but in recent years it took on an added poignancy, as his song Where Are We Now? was the only track I remember the radio playing as Rachel and I sat by my mum's bed in her final days.

After years of silence, he had surprised the world by announcing a new album seemingly out of the blue, and here I was hearing the first release from it (repeatedly), sitting in a night-shrouded room, swathed in grief, saying 'good bye' to my ailing mother.

When I think back to those days, and I often do, the image in my head is almost like a Nativity scene, with Rachel and I sitting in the halo of light from a bedside lamp, holding mum's hand, in an otherwise dark room, with Where Are We Now? providing the soundtrack for the vignette.

THROWBACK THURSDAY: Bong Trees, Bosh, Dong, And Dripping

At the age of 10, my parents took me to the traditional pantomime in Tunbridge Wells, which happened to be The Owl And The Pussycat that year (based on the nonsense verse of Edward Lear).

At the back of the of the show guide (a four-page A5 pamphlet, essentially a sheet of A4 folded in half) there was a challenge for children to "count how many spots a Plum Pudding Flea has", fill out a form and pop their answer in a box in the foyer.

I have no idea how many spots I counted, but nevertheless I won the competition and got invited back to see the panto again, then visit with the cast afterwards or as the programme put it: "tea with all the inhabitants of 'The Land Where The Bong Trees Grow'" (they were more innocent times then).

The "big names" in the cast that year were John Dryden (who played 'The Dong With The Luminous Nose', stop giggling at the back!) and Glen Stuart (who was The Owl to Cindy Kent's Pussycat).

These two gentlemen were the stars of The Sunday Gang, a very earnest Sunday morning Christian kids show that ran from 1976 to 1981.

However, the highlight for me was meeting a member of The Sunday Gang who wasn't in the panto, but had turned up anyway to support her colleagues: Tina Heath. She had played the lead in Lizzie Dripping and would then go on to front Blue Peter for a year before leaving to have a baby.

Besides rubbing shoulders with some '70s celebrities, I was also given a copy of Edward Lear's Book Of Bosh, with the inside cover autographed by all the performers in the show (see below).

I originally posted this piece online back in 2015, and five years later I got a lovely comment on the article from Cindy Kent herself:

"Hi. I am the Cindy Kent mentioned and was delighted when someone sent this to me! Wow - what memories it brought back just seeing the poster. I’m so glad you enjoyed it. It was my first panto and I loved it. I am now a semi-retired Anglican Priest living in Kent and look back on that time with fond memories. I wonder what happened to the other cast members? God Bless you"

Paintings and Ice Schooners Lead Me Down A Rabbit Hole

Beautifully packaged parcel from Peahen In The Tree

When I started putting my thoughts together about returning to the world of blogging a year or so ago, I never imagined I'd be writing so much about my book collection.

But then I discovered Booktube, and my perspective shifted somewhat.

The other day, a random eBay advert hit my eyeballs for different edition of a key book from my formative years as a young gamer: Wereblood (or, in this iteration, Were Blood) by Erik Iverson (aka alt-history maven Harry Turtledove).

My 'new' copy of Wereblood

But what made this printing of particular interest to me was the painted Boris Vallejo cover (see above), which bore no relevance to the Gerin The Fox story told in Wereblood whatsoever.

In fact I knew it from a 1985 roleplaying supplement from Mayfair Games' Role Aids line that I was mildly obsessed with as a youth. Ice Elves did exactly what it said on the tin (and in Vallejo's 1978 painting).

It was an Advanced Dungeons & Dragons adventure and rules supplement that explored the idea of a race of elves living in the frozen North, getting around on ultracool "ice riggers".

The reason I was rather hooked on this supplement is because of the similarities, especially in the whole "ships that glide over ice" aspect, to the first Michael Moorcook book I ever read: The Ice Schooner.

However, the more I thought about this - especially when my parcel from online book trader Peahen In The Tree arrived - the more surprised I was by the fact that Vallejo's art didn't decorate the covers of the either of the two editions I have of The Ice Schooner.

My two copies of The Ice Schooner

But a wee bit of Googling quickly revealed it had, of course, been used as a cover illustration for a 1978 Dell Publishing edition of The Ice Schooner:

Was this painting originally commissioned for this book?

A key aspect of the book that introduced me to the wonderful writing of Michael Moorcock is that it was another purchase from P&P Book Exchange in Goods Station Road, Tunbridge Wells.

This is the same - sadly, long-gone - second hand book store where, four decades ago, I discovered the cosmic horror of HP Lovecraft for the first time and was transformed from a "dabbler" in comics to full-on collector when I purchased piles of Wolfman/Perez New Teen Titans and John Byrne Fantastic Four comics.

It's no understatement to say that one store played a major role in shaping my lifelong geeky interests. 

The world needs more browsable, brick-and-mortar, second hand book shops.

HEALTH UPDATE: When Faced With A Rocky Situation, Just Climb It!

One of the latest additions to my portfolio of trees

Following the depressing turn of events the other week - in relation to my health - I promptly booked a number of appointments at my local GP's to tackle the problems head on. 

The first of these involved a series of examinations and tests with a practice nurse, who managed to extract enough blood (at the second attempt) from my tiny, evasive veins, that could be sent off for blood sugar analysis (and, I guess, other things). Height and weight were also measured and my feet were checked to ensure they had a healthy pulse (they did).

My pasty arm bearing the bruises of a difficult blood withdrawal

Next week, I've my second appointment - with a different nurse - who will give me the results of the blood tests and talk me through the options for reducing my blood sugar.

I, in turn, can tell her about my new (currently going strong) "snack free" diet and increased exercise regime (on top of my regular Biscuit Club exercise class... which is, sadly, coming to an end in a few weeks).

After last weekend's jaunt to Ashdown Forest, this week Rachel took Alice and I somewhere a bit closer to home for our walk.

At Clare's suggestion, we drove to Tunbridge Wells and took a short ramble over the rain-soaked Common. This included my first return visit to Wellington Rocks for over two decades.

Not only were there many other dog walkers there (which excited Rachel and I more than it did Alice), but Alice also seemed to really enjoy scrambling up the sandstone rocks (with me, carefully, following her) and it was another opportunity for me to snap some pictures of interesting trees to add to my portfolio (my latest hobby).

We managed to squeeze in this visit during a break in the near-constant torrential rain of recently weeks, but the Wellington Rocks and Tunbridge Wells Common are definitely somewhere we'll come back to when the weather isn't quite so grim.

While I only managed about 20 minutes at Ashdown Forest, this week I almost clocked up half-an-hour.

It's baby steps, of course, because I haven't really walked outside like this for around seven months (thanks to the osteoarthritis in my back causing my legs to fail), but every great journey starts with a single step. Or something similarly motivational.

I certainly won't be joining The Cult of Parkrun anytime soon (or ever), but going for a walk with a purpose (e.g. photographing interesting tress and landscapes) is definitely motivating me to pursue this avenue for supplementary exercise.

Rock Climbing: Alice and I on Wellington Rocks, Tunbridge Wells

THROWBACK THURSDAY: Gublin

Andrew 'Gublin' Patterson with Matt at Adrian's wedding about 35 years ago

As I reflect on the early days of my gaming life in the occasional Throwback Thursday piece, the name Gublin will pop up every so often.

I guess my old Pembury pal Andrew "Gublin" Patterson represents all the people I played RPGs in my youth that I no longer have any contact with.

When I was at Pembury Primary School I - and another kid - won a scholarship to the prestigious Tonbridge School (the local equivalent of Hogwarts), although first we would have to attend prep school.

It turned out that this 'other kid' was Andy and he lived five doors down the road from me and was born a week before me.

Although we both went to different prep schools, Andy (who acquired the nickname Gublin at Holmewood House School because of his alleged similarity to the puppet creatures of that name!) and I became fast friends and soon developed a mutual interest in Dungeons & Dragons.

We used to play epic games of D&D, almost all centring around his character, Egghead Aramioc, and mine, Staghind Starlight, and all pretty much of the "kick down door, kill monster, take treasure" school of hack'n'slash.

Deep characterisation was not our thing - although I do remember a particularly heated in-character argument about Staghind's plans to change her hairstyle! A misunderstanding had led Egghead to think she was going for the Princess Leia-style buns on the side of the head ... when she just wanted pigtails!

To be fair, we did take the games out of the dungeon, exploring (and conquering) whole worlds on massive sheets of paper that were like rolls of wallpaper spread across the floor of his parents' house.

But Egghead and Staghind eventually grew apart and began to adventure with other people...

After prep school, we both went to Skinners' in Tunbridge Wells - instead of Tonbridge School - and soon met Matt and Nick and became a 'gang of four'.

Eventually, especially when he went off to university, we drifted apart - as young friends do - because he was of the more "work hard, play hard" ethos and I was just plain lazy.

He also tried to shake the 'Gublin' nickname and return to the more 'mature' Andy... which, of course, we ignored.

Time moved on and the last we saw of Gublin was about 35 years ago. It was Matt and Nick's brother Adrian's wedding reception and Andy announced that he was going next door to check out the other reception going on in the hotel!

Over the years I heard tales from my parents - who met his mum in the village occasionally - that he got married, had a kid, worked for a big City bank, had given it all up, bought a yacht and sailed round the world.

I seem to remember, although it's all a bit of a blur these days, that he sent me a get well card when I was in hospital, but I haven't heard anything since dad passed away. Mum moved out of Pembury and so didn't see Andy's mum anymore.

We tried to track Andy down when Matt died in 2022, but to no avail.

Gublin is just one of many gamers who have come and gone out of my life; for instance, whatever happened to Tom Edwards, who introduced me to the Hitchhikers Guide To The Galaxy radio series and then ran a wild D&D game based on it? Or Guy Huckle and his coterie of gaming buddies that I befriended at Skinners?

More importantly, are they still gaming?

THROWBACK THURSDAY: The Dark Tower

Image by Darren Vannoy from Pixabay

My first gaming store was Tunbridge Wells' only dedicated roleplaying shop and club, The Dark Tower, in Victoria Road.

Through rose-tinted glasses, the vague wisps of memory I have about the place make it appear as iconic as Weird Pete Ashton's Games Pit in Knights Of The Dinner Table.

Sadly the shop was demolished long ago and has now been redeveloped for housing.

I seem to recall The Dark Tower was next to - or near - a small scrapyard, as one Sunday as we queued up patiently outside, waiting for the shop to open its doors for a regular club meeting, this line of innocent proto-geeks was harangued by the clearly drunk scrapmerchant on his front step complaining that we were disturbing his rest.

Decades later Clare and I shared a house just a stone's throw away from the site of the old Dark Tower - how brilliant would it have been if the shop (and club) was still there?

I do think it's a bit of a shame that, as far as I am aware (and I have looked) there's no mention of Tunbridge Wells' old game shop anywhere on the Interwebz.

It was such a formative part of my tween and early teenage years.

As well as the site of my earliest recorded character death - poor old Gordok (well out of his depth in Tegel Manor) - it was also where I purchased my first gaming product and, subsequently, began to pick up regular gaming magazines: which, for me, in those days meant White Dwarf.

I remember 11-year-old me striding into The Dark Tower clutching my pocket money and asking for the cheapest edition of Dungeons & Dragons they had. I came out a little while later with the Holmes blue book (pictured above).

This was edition I used when I tried to explain roleplaying games to my poor dad. He rolled up a dwarf who walked down a corridor under the Tower of Zenopus (the example adventure in the book), got attacked by a spider, died and never played Dungeons & Dragons again.

The shop wasn't the only place to host our nascent "gaming club"; after a while a nearby church hall was hired for regular gatherings (possibly St Barnabus' Church Hall in Quarry Road, but, as you may have gathered, my memory is rather Swiss cheesed these days).

This venue is where Staghind had her first adventure (ie. The Crypte of The Courageous).

I also have a strong memory of sitting in the waiting room of a podiatrist in Lime Hill Road, Tunbridge Wells, reading White Dwarf issue 11.

I suspect mum had let me buy it, from The Dark Tower, to take my mind off the fact that was I was about to have a verruca carved out of my left heel.

Later, I recall cutting out the pieces of the "D&D Bar-Room Brawl" game, 'laminating' them with Sellotape, and playing it repeatedly (on my own, of course).

"The Golden Age of Sci-Fi/Fantasy is 14"

In an old article on his blog about a youthful passion for the Dragonlance novels, Timothy S Brannan shared the wise saying: "The Golden Age of Sci-Fi/Fantasy is 14."

And this is so true.

The things we discover at that age stay with us.

For me, this would be around 1980... the year Hawk The Slayer came out.

I've written often of my love for this most Dungeons & Dragons of all fantasy movies (and probably will continue to do so).

At the dawn of the '80s, I was already engrossed in the stop-motion worlds of Ray Harryhausen fantasy movies (his last, Clash of The Titans, would come out in 1981), and this was also the era of the original Star Wars and The Empire Strikes Back (which came out in 1980).

I was reading mainly sci-fi (Hitchhikers Guide to The Galaxy, Stainless Steel Rat etc), if I recall correctly (inspired by the galaxy far, far away), but my young gaming hobby had propelled me to the works of Fritz Leiber.

His Fafhrd and The Grey Mouser stories would come to influence my Dungeons & Dragons adventures as much as Harryhausen's Sinbad at that time.

I was always a player - rather than a Dungeon Master - in my early years, so was interested in character ideas, rather than grander plots and world-building (not that I didn't appreciate them at that time, but they just weren't as useful from a gaming perspective).

I had yet to stumble upon the stack of New Teen Titans in a second-hand book store in Tunbridge Wells and become a fully-fledged comic book collector, but I still dabbled in that medium.

2000AD was my publication of choice at that age.

And, of course, all these things still hold sway over me and continue to influence my gaming and broader hobby interests.

I don't think I realised, until just now, quite how important the art we discover at that particular age is in shaping the sort of person we grow into in our adult life and our hobbies, passions, and interests.

THROWBACK THURSDAY: Whence Lovecraft?

Mythos Tomes: My earliest forays into the works of HP Lovecraft

I've been reading HP Lovecraft since I was a teenager. I recall writing about him in my English Literature A Level exam, which given I was supposed to be critiquing Dickens' Great Expectations probably explains my poor grade.

My memory of how I actually came upon the works of Lovecraft is rather hazy, but I'm sure I was already aware - and a fan - of his oeuvre before I invested in my first edition box set of Chaosium's seminal Call Of Cthulhu game.

This was published in 1981, with the second edition coming out in 1983, which suggests I picked up the game sometime between those dates.

I suspect my introduction to Lovecraft could well have been TSR's Deities & Demigods (the Advanced Dungeons & Dragons supplement, published in 1980, that - only for its first edition - included the Cthulhu Mythos as well as Michael Moorcock's Elric mythology, as well as various pantheons or gods and heroes from ancient religions around our world).

This almost certainly led me to invest in the paperbacks you see above, several of which are stamped as coming from the P&P Book Exchange in Goods Station Road, Tunbridge Wells (which is where I also came across my first collection of Wolfman/Perez era New Teen Titans comics that got me hooked on the medium and turned me into a 'proper' comic book collector).

Those paperbacks have seen better days. particularly The Haunter In The Dark And Other Tales Of Terror (a 1963 edition from Panther Books, priced at three shillings and six pence!) which is falling apart because it was read so much.

THROWBACK THURSDAY: The Horror! The Horror! The Horror!

These days I'm a sucker for horror movies, with a particular weakness for monster movies.

While my passion for the genre began with a teenage viewing of the original 1978 Dawn Of The Dead, one of my favourite franchises remains the Nightmare On Elm Street movies.

I can still clearly remember the buzz the first one generated around school when it came out in 1984.

I was 17 at the time and not as into horror movies as I am now, but the "word on the street" was - in those pre-internet, pre-DVD dark ages - that it was the "most terrifying movie anyone had ever seen ever!"

Of course, when I eventually got to see it on VHS it was quite tame; still brilliant, thrilling and gory, but nowhere near as horrific as my teenage mind had imagined, fuelled by the hyperbole of fellow teenagers who'd claimed to have seen it... and just made it through to the credits by the skin of their tough guy teeth.

Even at the time some of the mood-setting special effects seemed quite primitive, these days they look positively archaic.

I seem to recall that the first horror film my parents let me stay up to watch on television was The Omen II. That scared the crap out of me and gave me nightmares for days - but now that also seems quite tame to my cynical forty-something brain.

I guess at the time it was some 'reverse psychology' parenting to stop me pestering them to be allowed to stay up and watch 'grown-up' movies.

It must have worked because I don't recall any horror movie encounters until the height of the heady days of the tabloid-led 'video nasties' scare (in the early '80s), when it was de rigueur to go round each others' houses and dare each other to watch the latest piece of nasty that someone had acquired on video tape.

I didn't make it through either The Evil Dead or Texas Chain Saw Massacre - which is ironic as the latter would, decades later, form the backbone of my university dissertation, and both movies rate among my top horror flicks these days.

It wasn't until one of these illicit gatherings when a gang of us were watching George Romero's Dawn Of The Dead that I had my 'Road To Damascus' moment and realised I was actually rather enjoying this movie and would like to see more of the same.

But that's not to say I've become so hardened and blasé to horror that nothing has a lasting impact on me.

Here's a quick rundown of the top three horror movies that still give me the heebeejeebies:

• The Exorcist

• The Blair Witch Project

• The Amazing Mr Blunden

No real shocks with the first two. I know The Blair Witch Project doesn't do it for everyone, but it digs at me on a psychological level for some reason - I guess it's something about being lost in the woods with an unseen antagonist, and the cinema-vérité style, with the handheld camera, just makes it all the more real.

It's that level of 'truth' that also makes The Exorcist so unnerving to me. Later horror films have generally taken a lighter touch, and even been more action orientated, but The Exorcist unfolds like docudrama and, to this day, as with Blair Witch, I can't watch it without the lights on!

The final entry in this trio of terror is an unlikely one that is obviously very personal.

My gran took me to see The Amazing Mr Blunden at the town centre cinema in Tunbridge Wells when I was six - and it scarred me for life.

To be honest I can't remember much of the specifics of the film, just that it involved a ghost and a large house fire. It wasn't the ghost that got to me, it was the house fire.

To this day, I haven't watched the film again because something about it just flicked a switch in my little, six-year-old brain.

And I have no plans to... even though it appears to actually be a U-certificate kids' film and not the hideous torture porn my addled brain recalls being 'forced' to sit through Clockwork Orange style with my eyelids pinned back.

THROWBACK THURSDAY: Sic Itur Ad Astra

The Star Trek: Voyager episode One Small Step features a discussion of childhood dreams and ambitions.

Whenever I watch this, it strikes a particular chord with me as, at about the age that Chakotay decided he wanted to be a palaeontologist and Seven Of Nine was dreaming of becoming a ballerina, the only thing I wanted to be was an astronaut.

It wasn't even Star Trek (The Original Series) or other sci-fi shows of that era (early '70s) that drove this dream but simply the fact that I was growing up in age when men were still walking on the Moon and the "space race" was a vibrant and exciting part of everyday life.

Sadly, I also remember when how that dream got mothballed.

I was reading an article in an annual (either Star Trek or Doctor Who, and I'm leaning towards the latter) about the reality of space travel and I came across a paragraph that pointed out that if your craft re-entered the atmosphere at the wrong angle you'd burn up (I already had a childhood phobia about fire from being freaked out by The Amazing Mr Blunden as a six-year-old) and so that was it. Dream shattered. Astronaut ambitions shelved.

I wonder how different my life would be if, at that impressionable age, I hadn't read that article in an old annual and had instead pursued my space-travelling dreams through later life, studied the sciences at school (heck, any studying would have been an improvement), gone off to university at 18, taken a job in the aerospace industry or become a scientist or a pilot...

Talking of old annuals, as we were, another "freaky" story revolved around a pair that I picked up at a summer fête at the old Pembury Hospital (I think one might have been a Victor annual, but I can't remember the other, it might even have been a Doctor Who one).

One of favourite annuals as a kid
- but nothing to do with these anecdotes

What I do recall is that the two annuals were from different years and I didn't look inside them until I got home - only to discover that these two, otherwise unconnected books, both contained exactly the same illustrated article about UFOs! My little kid mind was officially blown!

The Pembury Hospital fêtes were fixture of the Knight's social calendar as, in their day, the events were always able to attract "big name stars" to open them.

One year we had Rod Hull & Emu (I'm only slightly ashamed to admit that I stroked Emu) and another time there were a couple of genuine Daleks for people to inspect (before my time, even William Hartnell, dressed as The First Doctor, opened the fête one year).

In later years, once I was a local journalist, the hospital fête gave me my first opportunity to interview Louise Jameson (The Fourth Doctor's companion, Leela).

She was thinking of moving to the area and so ended up grilling me on what I thought about Tunbridge Wells.

Either later that year or the next she moved to Rusthall, on the outskirts of Tunbridge Wells.  I like to think I played some small part in that decision.

THROWBACK THURSDAY: Education, Education, Education

It should come as a surprise to no one that I wasn't a great student at school, always being way more interested in my own "stuff" (that was, primarily, escapist movies and TV shows, comics, roleplaying games... and, of course, girls).

That's why the Calvin & Hobbes cartoon above (recently stumbled across on Facebook) struck a chord with me as it particularly reminded me of my English A-Level exam, back in 1985.

I was supposed to be writing essays on Charles Dickens's Great Expectations… only I hadn’t read Great Expectations and so, instead, wrote about the works of HP Lovecraft which I was much more conversant with.

I think I'd read, maybe, the first two or three chapters of Great Expectations, got bored and distracted, and picked up a Cliffs Notes on the book (or some study aid like that), scanning that instead, just before my exam.

As my old school chum Nick pointed out though I still passed (I got an E, which I'm pretty sure was lowest pass rank). He suggested that the examiners were "followers of Cthulhu".

Part of my problem with school was simply that I found subjects I really should have been interested in, such as English Language and English Literature, were taught in such a dry, rote manner. We were told that Dickens and Shakespeare were great and we should worship at their feet, but it was never explained why.

Thus, I found the books and plays we were forced to study to be dull and, largely, uninspiring (although the Dungeons & Dragons player in me loved Milton's Paradise Lost, but I don't recall that being part of my A-Level exam).

I was also a bit of a sucker for the works of The Metaphysical Poets, but, again, I don't remember these being part of the final exam.

It seems to have boiled down to anything that I studied for exams left no lasting impression at the time, while literary works I was allowed to explore "for fun" had a much deeper effect on me in those formative times.

It would be many years after school before I actually came to appreciate the works of Shakespeare and Dickens on my own terms (for instance, I now try to read/listen to A Christmas Carol every December).

By the time I went to university, having been in the workforce for a decade, my attitude to education had turned round completely.

I feel that I thrived much better in the university environment... possibly because, on my scriptwriting course, much of my years of accumulated geeky knowledge stood me in good stead. 

It also helped that coming from a very deadline-orientated career (ie journalism) I was easily able to prioritise my assignments and ensure they were done on time, allowing myself the maximum amount of time for fun and enjoyment.

My well-thumbed Penguin book of The Metaphysical Poets.
Guess I really should see if my old school wants it back after 40 years?

The Fantastic Four: First Steps (2025)

I've been reading the Fantastic Four for over 50 years and have seen all the previous movies (even the unreleased Roger Corman version), but the latest offering from the official Marvel Cinematic Universe is - beyond a shadow of a doubt - the most comic book accurate to date.

Taking place on an alternate Earth to the main Earth-616 of the MCU, Fantastic Four: First Steps introduces us to the planet's heroes - Reed Richards/Mr Fantastic (The Mandalorian's Pedro Pascal), his wife Sue Storm/The Invisible Woman (Napoleon's Vanessa Kirby), Sue's brother Johnny Storm/The Human Torch (Stranger Things' Joseph Quinn), and family friend Ben Grimm/The Thing (The Bear's Ebon Moss-Bachrach).

In fast order, a chat show - hosted by Mark Gatiss - summarises the team's origin story and gives us a good look at the retro-futuristic 1960's world the team inhabit.

Soon after Sue reveals to the team that she's pregnant, Earth-828 is visited by the alien herald known as the Silver Surfer (Ozark's Julia Garner) to tell everyone that the planet has been selected as the next meal for the ever-hungry extraterrestrial "god" known as Galactus (The Witch's Ralph Ineson).

Naturally, Reed and co. want to prevent this and travel back out into space to try and negotiate with Galactus. 

The incomprehensible space kaiju, seated in his cyclopean planet-devouring spaceship, offers them a trade: it will spare the Earth if Reed and Sue give him their child, who Galactus says is a powerful cosmic being and the only creature that can take his place.

Of course, the Fantastic Four refuse this deal and head back to Earth, with the Silver Surfer and Galactus in pursuit across the vast expanse of space.

Once home, the people of Earth are initially angry at our heroes for turning down the offer that would have saved them all, but nevertheless the Fantastic Four knuckle down and try to come up with a scheme to dispose of Galactus and save the world.

With influences from classic science fiction films such as 2001: A Space Odyssey and numerous period B-movies, Fantastic Four: First Steps has more of a pure pulpy sci-fi feel than any previous MCU offering and, to my tastes, is all the better for it.

Kudos to director Matt Shakman (of WandaVision fame) and scriptwriters Josh Friedman, Eric Pearson, Jeff Kaplan and Ian Springer, for channelling the spirit of the original Fantastic Four comics by Stan Lee and Jack Kirby (there's a lovely explanation at the end of the credits tying Kirby to the choice of Earth designation).

I might have tweaked the look of a couple of the supporting members of the cast, but that's trivial compared to how much of First Steps is just so right in the eyes of this life-long Fantastic Four fan.

I cannot stress enough how "comic book" this film is. I nearly cried a number of times because it was so perfect, and the rest of the time I was either grinning from ear-to-ear or my jaw was on the floor from the sheer awesomeness and grandeur unfolding before me. 

For my money - although I'm obviously biased - Fantastic Four: First Steps is the best Marvel movie yet, perfectly encapsulating why I've always loved this team of characters as well as dropping multiple breadcrumbs and potential plot hooks for future movies.

We're going to have to wait until the end of next year and the release of Avengers: Doomsday though before we see the team again.

Although I can't wait for the home video release and the film's appearance on Disney Plus to watch it again... and again... and again.

I'd booked cinema tickets for Rachel and I to see Fantastic Four: First Steps weeks ago, prior to the whole "losing the power to walk" nonsense, but a kind attendant in the foyer of The Odeon (Tunbridge Wells) today swapped them for two spots in the third row. One was a place for me to park my chair, the other was an adjacent sofa seat for Rachel.

Naturally, she turned it into a comfortable bed and slept through about an hour in the middle of the movie - as is her wont. 

Rachel on her comfy sofa, next to me in my wheelchair slot

Having spied some Fantastic Four-themed merch on the way in, after the movie I was directed to the food counter where I was able to order an empty drink container and popcorn bucket (not that I eat popcorn).

Rachel had agreed to pay for these treats, but we both realised my "schoolboy error" in ordering them without asking the price. Both items were way more expensive than we'd naively imagined, but Rachel kindly got them for me anyway.

Back home, showing off my unexpectedly expensive Fantastic Four merch

THROWBACK THURSDAY: Ben

Back in 2016, Rachel was trying to sort out my disorganised paperwork and came upon some lovely photographs that had belonged to my parents.

Amongst one collection were a pair of tiny prints (9cm by 6cm), enlarged above by the power of modern science, that depict our old labrador Ben and our garden in Western Road, Tunbridge Wells.

I'm guessing these date from the mid-60s, either before I was born or just after, as we moved to Pembury when I was about three, and I have no memory - just stories from mum and dad - of Ben, who supposedly was my great protector, growling at anyone who approached my pram, or our house in Western Road.

This was the first time I had, consciously, seen pictures of either Ben or our old garden.

IT'S OUR EIGHTEENTH WEDDING ANNIVERSAY!!!

The ritual exchange of gifts and cards

Eighteen years ago today Rachel and I got married.

Yesterday, we marked the occasion with a lovely meal at The North Pole in Waterinbury, with Rachel's parents (who very kindly paid) and later presented us with a magnificent array of lights for our garden.

Lunch at The North Pole

This morning Rachel and I exchanged our own gifts (none - thankfully - matching the official "porcelain" theme of an 18th wedding anniversary, it must be noted): I got her a dinosaur dress and another cheery book about the horrors of Auschwitz, while she gave me a box set of Stephen King's Dark Tower saga and a large bar of chocolate.

The plan had been to visit Raystede animal sanctuary later, but we both fell asleep and when we woke there wasn't enough time to get to the rescue centre.

Instead, we opted to take Alice on a walk around our nearby lake, where we met a lot of other dog walkers, so that was lovely.

Haysden Country Park

There's always time for ice cream on a healthy country walk

Of course, not only is May 25 our wedding anniversary, but also (the original) Star Wars Day Towel Day (in recognition of Douglas Adams and Hitchhiker's Guide To The Galaxy).

Rachel and I were married in a Star Wars-themed wedding... on the anniversary of the day the original film made its debut in 1977.

The hubbub around May The 4th as Star Wars Day grows every year, especially since the arrival of Disney+, and I'm not adverse to any excuse to celebrate all things Star Wars, but, ultimately, I'm an old school, orthodox, Jedi who will always mark May 25 as his Star Wars Day.

Rachel and I tied the knot at Salomons in Southborough (between Tunbridge Wells and Tonbridge),where I made sure all the guests' tables were named after planets from the Star Wars Universe.

Rachel's arrival music was the Imperial March (still her personalised ringtone on my phone... which always makes me giggle when she calls), and Darth Vader was our ring-bearer.

It was such an amazing day.

And the adventure continues... thanks to the love of my incredibly tolerant and understanding wife.

The Force is strong in Rachel, she supports most of my geeky whims and copes incredibly with the dramatic swings of my unpredictably variable physical and mental health.

One of our great wedding pictures: The only sensible way to settle domestic discussions

THROWBACK THURSDAY: First Published

Although I had had some fiction and club write-ups published in school magazines (at both my prep and grammar schools), the informative paragraph above was my first piece of "serious journalism" to see the light of day in the Kent & Sussex Courier.

Sadly, I didn't make a note of the publication date, or even the year, but it would have been 1984 or 1985, I guess.

In the sixth form at Skinners' we were encouraged to find a "work experience" placement in a local firm.

I knew then that I wanted to be a journalist and so badgered our local paper, the Kent & Sussex Courier, for a week of work experience.

Once there, at the Tunbridge Wells office, I was tasked with shadowing a wonderful, experienced, reporter called Sheila Gow, and while I wrote a number of dummy stories - to learn style etc - I was only allowed to write this one NIB ("news in brief") piece that would be published.

I was so proud when it made the paper that Friday - my mother was even prouder, of course - and so I cut it out and pinned it to my noticeboard (hence the hole in the top of the article!) where it sat, becoming increasingly buried under other scraps of paper, notes, and photographs.

It's not the most riveting of news stories - but it was mine!

This was the first, real, concrete step on the path to where I am today...

THROWBACK THURSDAY: The Pantiles

The Pantiles, circa 1900

Something a bit different this week for Throwback Thursday, a slice of local history.

The Pantiles, in Tunbridge Wells, is probably the most famous part of the town.

Wikipedia will tell you: "The Pantiles is a Georgian colonnade in the town of Royal Tunbridge Wells, Kent, England. Formerly known as The Walks and the (Royal) Parade, it leads from the well that gave the town its name. The area was created following the discovery of a chalybeate spring in the early 17th century and is now a popular tourist attraction."

It is called The Pantiles simply because the Upper Walk was originally paved with pantiles in 1700, until these were replaced with stone flagging in 1793 and the area became known as The Parade.

Its original name came back into use in 1887 and it has remained The Pantiles ever since.

There are a number of pubs along there and these used to be a favourite haunt for Matt, Nick and I before we went to see live bands at The Forum, over on The Common.

TUNBRIDGE OR TONBRIDGE?

I currently live in Tonbridge (Tunbridge Wells' neighbouring older brother), but grew up in Pembury (a village just outside Tunbridge Wells).

I then lived for many years in and around Tunbridge Wells (with a break for university in Bournemouth and a spell in Sevenoaks) - until I moved in with Rachel  in Tonbridge.

Until 1870, Tonbridge was actually spelt 'Tunbridge', but it was changed to 'Tonbridge' by the General Post Office due to confusion with nearby Tunbridge Wells... despite Tonbridge being a much older settlement!

The "wells" in Tunbridge Wells refers to the aforementioned chalybeate spring, which sits at one end of The Pantiles.

Photochrom of the Pantiles, 1895 (via Wikipedia)

THROWBACK THURSDAY: Radio Cracker

Back in the late '80s there was a charity organisation called Radio Cracker that helped 'pop-up' local radio stations run over the Christmas period to raise cash for good causes.

I was working as a sub-editor at the Kent & Sussex Courier at the time, along with my 'partner-in-crime' Alastair Monk, who was also working part-time for Radio Kent. Radio was Al's big love when it came to his career and he'd gotten involved with Radio Cracker the year before, running a show in Hastings.

This year, he'd found out that Radio Cracker was setting up shop at the top of an old office block in Tunbridge Wells... and we signed on to do the evening show!

I have to say, as hilarious as it all was, I thought we did a pretty solid job. Alastair, of course, was a professional anyway (he still works for the BBC), but I don't think I totally disgraced myself.

As well as playing tunes, we used our airtime to showcase friends and work colleagues who were in bands - having them in our makeshift studio for interviews and live sessions.

Barney The Bunny (2012 - 2025)

Barney in 2012

MAY 7, 2012 - JANUARY 29, 2025

It's really sad and peculiar no longer having my usual morning routine of feeding Barney first thing, but on Wednesday I found our beloved bunny had died in his sleep.

We buried him later that day and are planning a small memorial, with flowers and a statue, to mark his grave site.

He was over 12-and-a-half years old; in human terms that's about 90.

Named after my favourite character in How I Met Your Mother, Barney came into our lives on July 7, 2012, when we picked him up from Pets At Home in Tunbridge Wells and brought him back to his own residence in the garden of our old home near Tonbridge station.

At the time, the general advice was to get a single rabbit, as - we were told - a pair of males would fight, but this thinking has since changed.

The small size of our garden meant there was no convenient way to attach a covered run to his hutch, which therefore necessitated me lifting him out of his hutch and manually placing him in the run every time we thought he'd want to stretch his legs. Usually, though, he would sit in the run and glare.

In those early years, he was no fan of being handled.

Barney's original hutch

A fit and sturdy rabbit - a blue Netherland Cross, half-dwarf - the only injury he ever suffered was a very early (even before his first birthday) hind claw snagging incident that our wonderful vets resolved promptly.

Otherwise, he was very hardy and healthy, with the only real sign of his advancing years being the gradual loss of his eye-sight, beginning in 2021, but even then that didn't seem to bother him as he knew he was safe within the confines of his hutch and run, and that he would never want for food and water.

Every Christmas, he would travel with us to Rachel's parents' house, where they had a holiday home set up for him - his own dedicated hutch - and, as a member of our family, would get his own Santa's sack of gifts (usually food-themed). 

Barney (and Alice) have personalised gift sacks from Father Christmas

Barney's holiday home in Rachel's parents' garden

A couple of years after we took in Barney, we adopted Alice and she loved him from their first meeting. Every chance she got, she'd want to play chase with him or stroke him with her paw and give him a good lick (puppy kisses) behind the ears.

Best of Friends: Alice with her 'brother from another mother'

When we moved house in 2019, Barney found himself living in a much larger hutch, with an attached run, and he really took to it.

He definitely chilled out a lot, and you could tell he felt comfortable knowing he was very secure in this new environment.

Barney's luxurious new home in our new garden

Enjoying the expanse of his new run

He lived through boiling hot summers and wet summers, hurricane-strength winds and snow storms, visiting dogs (much larger - and more excitable - than Alice) and unwelcome foxes, but nothing seemed to bother our Barney.

I also discovered that there are few sights more adorable than a rabbit stretching itself and yawning.

Rachel's best friend Aime also included Barney in our family gifts (above and below)

Celebrating the Year of The Rabbit in January 2023

As he grew older, his fur got a bit tuftier and lately I'd noticed, under this fur, he felt like he was getting thinner, even though he was eating well and was still quite fiesty.

His passing, although not totally unexpected given his age, has left a huge bunny-shaped hole in my broken heart. Both Rachel and I were really upset, and Alice was very confused as to what was going on - thinking of her giving him kisses because she thought he was asleep still brings a tear to my eye.

Barney was loved by all and will be missed terribly.

On his 12th birthday, last year