“Any fool with a decent internet connection can bring society to it’s knees”
- Oscar Wilde
In a basement somewhere in London a flurry of typing came to an end. Sat in the dark room, with only the light of the monitor a strange looking, green tinged man lit a cigarette, then got up and left – never to be seen again.
Weeks later.
Around Britain many families were sitting down to dinner. In other parts of the world they were doing whatever they did at dinnertime in Britain. Some of these families had turned on the television and some who did that had also tuned in to a news programme.
This is what one news programme said:
“Historians have uncovered evidence that the man heralded as the father of modern physics, Sir Isaac Newton, may in fact have been a wizard. Furthermore, it has been speculated that gravity may not be real and that which we take for gravity may simply be an echo of a vast spell conjured by Sir Isaac hundred of years ago. Historians have expressed concern about the coming of a time when Sir Isaac’s spell wears off and physics disintegrates into what they are calling ‘fib-matter’…”
At this point all televisions stopped working and the world went very silent. This, to many, was excessively eerie, but when this absence of noise was replaced by a growing rumbling all around the world, people began wishing that the silence would come back. Observant onlookers noticed black shapes in the sky.
---------------
Here’s how it happened.
Weeks earlier a boy, a gullible fool named Francis Sandwich, had been researching a science assignment. Now (this is something I say when I am going to instruct you on things you already know). In Francis’ day, in this day – in our day, the internet was a prime source of flawed yet easy to retrieve information. Whilst most researchers worth their salt would opt for more reliable sources, Francis was neither a researcher nor worth his salt. Whilst researching famous physicists Francis uncovered a detail about our dear Sir Isaac that he was previously unaware of. It was such a thrilling detail – or fact as he erroneously renamed it – that it immediately went into his presentation and he wasted no time informing his friends. Anyone who disputed him – and many did – he referred to the internet, because the internet didn’t lie.
By the end of the day this information had reached The London Gale newspaper. Now The London Gale was no penny-dreadful, it was a respected publication, and so, for once, it decided to corroborate its exciting story – and it called a historian.
Professor Wilbur Snelton answered the phone. Now. People are greedy. Professor Snelton was a person and he was greedy, and when he heard of this new groundbreaking discovery he was very eager to claim prior knowledge of it.
“Isaac Newton? A wizard? Yes, I had heard of this. Believe it or not it was me and my people who made this discovery. And, I can give you something which’ll give you an edge over the rags as well!” Snivelled Snelton, thinking on his feet, “What the other papers won’t know is that Sir Isaac liked his closer, wizarding friends to call him Necromancer ‘Doom’ Newton.”
“Get this into the morning edition!” Cried the editor.
Quarter of an hour later an assistant of Professor Snelton, Phillip Catchworth was running along Pleat Street in the winter evening darkness to the offices of The Anchor, a terrible paper with a curiously large readership that would pay for any old rubbish. Now.
The next morning the shelves of England’s newsagents were awash with papers proclaiming that gravity was to fail in ten years once Necromancer ‘Doom’ Newton’s (and in the case of The Daily Vanguard – ‘Newcram Answer Newstock’) magic had run out. The London Gale itself had wasted no time embellishing the story with details (or facts) about Newton’s middle eastern heritage and perverse sexual preference.
---------------
The rumbling continued. It was then replaced by a roaring, then a groaning, then a grumbling and then finally silence. As all these curious noises had been happening, a fleet of great grey spaceships had been landing around the world. Soon humanoid but distinctly alien aliens had begun marching in tens of thousands out of the ships. Expertly and peacefully they made their way through the towns and cities to the centres of government and began the well-planned takeover. They met little resistance, just astonishment – which, in times of great and absolutely astounding crisis was mankind’s default setting.
In the House of Commons a parliamentary aide approached one of the newly installed alien guards.
“Excuse me.”
“Yes?”
“Oh, are you using a translation device?”
“No, I have learnt English. We’ve had enough time.”
“Ah. I see.”
“Yes, you most likely do. I did explain.”
“It’s a human phrase expressing comprehension.”
“I know, but I’m a pedant.” Laughed the alien.
There were a number of exchanges like this going on around the world. In all of them the new rulers of Earth were displaying the same carefree sarcasm and unflappable nature. In the face of such calm and collected beings, frightened and irrational mankind stood no chance.
“So how did you get us?” Asked the plucky aide.
“We were always going to get you. We’ve been loitering for some time – watching, waiting.”
“Where?”
“Mostly around the hubble telescope. We liked flying in front of it and avoiding getting snapped. But you asked how did we get you? Well, as I said, we were always going to, we were just waiting until the time was ripe.
“And how did you know when it was.”
“When you were so cocky and stupid you’d believe anything you were told. In every one of your past generations there has been someone to challenge supposed ‘knowledge’, someone to question. These days, you’ve become too confident – too obsessed with congratulating yourselves. We’ve been setting you little tests and you finally failed.”
Somewhere in a semi-detached suburban home someone said:
“If only Newton were around now.”
Now…
Wednesday, 7 January 2009
Saturday, 3 January 2009
INPUT
The below two stories are the beginnings of two short stories I've had in the making for some time. As I'm a democracy, I'd quite like some feedback on these - whether they're worth continuing, what in them doesn't work and so on and so forth.
The first one posted is an idea I had sometime in November that was initially too similar to both 'Being John Malkovich' and 'Fight Club' as well as Jasper Fforde's 'Thursday Next' novels. So I did some tweaking, I have a vague idea of where it's going but no idea how to get it there, so any input on that one would be welcome.
The second one posted is an idea I've been toying with on and off for years exploring purposelessness, bureaucracy in a comic manner and making a lot of offhand jokes about imperialism. I feel it's now more promising than in its first skeletal incarnations which I wrote in about 2005, but once again I'd like anyone who is actually, by some fluke, reading this to tell me what they think is working and what isn't.
Thank you very much for anything you may or may not do or consider doing!
The first one posted is an idea I had sometime in November that was initially too similar to both 'Being John Malkovich' and 'Fight Club' as well as Jasper Fforde's 'Thursday Next' novels. So I did some tweaking, I have a vague idea of where it's going but no idea how to get it there, so any input on that one would be welcome.
The second one posted is an idea I've been toying with on and off for years exploring purposelessness, bureaucracy in a comic manner and making a lot of offhand jokes about imperialism. I feel it's now more promising than in its first skeletal incarnations which I wrote in about 2005, but once again I'd like anyone who is actually, by some fluke, reading this to tell me what they think is working and what isn't.
Thank you very much for anything you may or may not do or consider doing!
The Ministry of Facts
Some hours after dawn on a winter morning a large, grand looking building in central London was awaiting it’s occupants. It sat patiently as buildings tend to do, and gradually workers started arriving. These workers were smart and purposeful, striding through the majestic lobby in their suits, some with briefcases. Soon the building was a hub of activity with suited men and women bustling all over the place, like administrative bees.
After a time a large executive looking, black car pulled up outside the building, out stepped another man in a suit. This one was tall and thin and looked perplexed. He had a kindly, permanently befuddled face and was accompanied by some other men, who looked altogether more together. Like the others, these men strode in through the open oak doors and through the lobby, which had lost none of its majesty.
These were the offices of a government ministry – the Ministry of Facts. This office was in charge of collecting and collating facts. Facts were and are a valuable commodity – a commodity which needed to be collected and collated and put into warehouses – or something. This was what the staff of the building understood of their task anyway.
The man from the car was Minister of Facts Howard Catswell. He understood his job just as well as his other staff – not very well. Nevertheless as a dedicated servant of the empire, he dutifully carried on doing his job, whatever it was. Yet he could never shake the feeling that what they were doing was either entirely the wrong thing or totally inconsequential – this is why he looked constantly pained.
“Any messages, Felicity?” He asked his secretary, upon reaching his office. Felicity Surbiton was the most diligent and informed worker in the entire office and thus had the position of least power, but her other attribute which rendered her unsuitable for a managerial position – niceness – meant she was pleasant and helpful to anyone who needed pleasantry or help.
“Just the one, Minister, Bernard wants to see you, shall I send him up?”
“Yes…yes, go on then.” Replied Howard absentmindedly.
Five minutes later Bernard Brufford, a man who, it was often joked, had beaten a walrus in a walrus lookalike contest, was harrumphing (a type of movement only used by walruses) his way into Howard’s office.
“Minister! Good morning!” Bernard roared jovially, his great, red cheeks firing out words like fleshy bellows.
“Good morning, Bernard. What did you want to see me about?”
“I’ve been given the job of introducing the new chap to our line of work, and I was wondering what you wanted me to tell him.”
“Just tell him what his job is and what we do, you know – the history of the Ministry.”
“Ah very good, yes, very good but…” He was about to ask ‘what do we do?’ but checked himself in time.
“Yes?”
“Nothing. I’ll introduce him to you later. Once I’ve shown him the ropes and all that, eh? Yes. Goodbye Minister!”
“Goodbye, Bernard.” Once the door was shut, Howard sighed heavily. Bernard was a lovely man, but pompous and blundering. Behind his back people called him Polonius after the rather bumbling character in Hamlet. The sort of criticism which would only be levelled at someone in an establishment primarily staffed by Oxbridge rejects.
Meanwhile, Bernard harrumphed down to the reception area and met the new chap. The new chap had recently been taken on to fill a place which someone had vacated. They didn’t know who had vacated it or what it was but it, apparently, needed to be filled. The new chap was called Redding Bardwick and was every bit as pompous as Bernard – they got on well.
“My name is Bernard Brufford, and you must be the new chap, eh?” Bernard guffawed needlessly.
“Yes, I am indeed – Redding Bardwick – pleased to make your acquaintance, Bernie. Can I call you Bernie?” Smarmed Redding
“No one else does, but why the hell not! Bernie it is!” Bellowed Bernard happily.
Following this exchange, Bernard and Redding spent around two hours bellowing, guffawing and sharing anecdotes about public school and polo. Once this happy time was up, Bernard ushered Redding to Howard’s office.
After a time a large executive looking, black car pulled up outside the building, out stepped another man in a suit. This one was tall and thin and looked perplexed. He had a kindly, permanently befuddled face and was accompanied by some other men, who looked altogether more together. Like the others, these men strode in through the open oak doors and through the lobby, which had lost none of its majesty.
These were the offices of a government ministry – the Ministry of Facts. This office was in charge of collecting and collating facts. Facts were and are a valuable commodity – a commodity which needed to be collected and collated and put into warehouses – or something. This was what the staff of the building understood of their task anyway.
The man from the car was Minister of Facts Howard Catswell. He understood his job just as well as his other staff – not very well. Nevertheless as a dedicated servant of the empire, he dutifully carried on doing his job, whatever it was. Yet he could never shake the feeling that what they were doing was either entirely the wrong thing or totally inconsequential – this is why he looked constantly pained.
“Any messages, Felicity?” He asked his secretary, upon reaching his office. Felicity Surbiton was the most diligent and informed worker in the entire office and thus had the position of least power, but her other attribute which rendered her unsuitable for a managerial position – niceness – meant she was pleasant and helpful to anyone who needed pleasantry or help.
“Just the one, Minister, Bernard wants to see you, shall I send him up?”
“Yes…yes, go on then.” Replied Howard absentmindedly.
Five minutes later Bernard Brufford, a man who, it was often joked, had beaten a walrus in a walrus lookalike contest, was harrumphing (a type of movement only used by walruses) his way into Howard’s office.
“Minister! Good morning!” Bernard roared jovially, his great, red cheeks firing out words like fleshy bellows.
“Good morning, Bernard. What did you want to see me about?”
“I’ve been given the job of introducing the new chap to our line of work, and I was wondering what you wanted me to tell him.”
“Just tell him what his job is and what we do, you know – the history of the Ministry.”
“Ah very good, yes, very good but…” He was about to ask ‘what do we do?’ but checked himself in time.
“Yes?”
“Nothing. I’ll introduce him to you later. Once I’ve shown him the ropes and all that, eh? Yes. Goodbye Minister!”
“Goodbye, Bernard.” Once the door was shut, Howard sighed heavily. Bernard was a lovely man, but pompous and blundering. Behind his back people called him Polonius after the rather bumbling character in Hamlet. The sort of criticism which would only be levelled at someone in an establishment primarily staffed by Oxbridge rejects.
Meanwhile, Bernard harrumphed down to the reception area and met the new chap. The new chap had recently been taken on to fill a place which someone had vacated. They didn’t know who had vacated it or what it was but it, apparently, needed to be filled. The new chap was called Redding Bardwick and was every bit as pompous as Bernard – they got on well.
“My name is Bernard Brufford, and you must be the new chap, eh?” Bernard guffawed needlessly.
“Yes, I am indeed – Redding Bardwick – pleased to make your acquaintance, Bernie. Can I call you Bernie?” Smarmed Redding
“No one else does, but why the hell not! Bernie it is!” Bellowed Bernard happily.
Following this exchange, Bernard and Redding spent around two hours bellowing, guffawing and sharing anecdotes about public school and polo. Once this happy time was up, Bernard ushered Redding to Howard’s office.
Someone Else
I was groggy. Groggier than a depressed pirate. That’s a lot of grog. Yet I was comfortable. I started to look around and none of the objects around me seemed compelled to make themselves distinct, so my eyes left them to it. It was a very white and blurry place – and the sort of place where you get the impression you’re going to be there for a long time. Like a waiting room, or a queue in the bank. The sort of place that makes eternity shudder. Still, moving wasn’t exactly a pressing thing at that moment, so I allowed myself to drift back to sleep.
I permitted myself to have a dream. I was on a pavement. It was a pavement next to an exceedingly wide road, with more lanes than the mind can comfortably conceive. Across the other side of this obscenely wide road was a shop. The stop was glittering pleasingly, with a neon sign mounted above it. The sign wasn’t tacky, it was tastefully garish and almost frighteningly alluring. I felt drawn to it and all the wonderful sparkling shapes in the window, I didn’t know what these objects were but I was damn sure I wanted to own them. The road looked clear for miles around and I started to cross. I had to get to the shop. Suddenly, a rumbling! I looked down the road to see car after car after car all streaming towards me. I know how rabbits feel. One car knocked me into another and that one knocked me to another. And so on and so forth, were it not for the genuine terror, this sort of thing would’ve become somewhat tiring after a while. All the time the cars were bumping me further across the road, but the shop looked no closer. Another glimpse of headlight…
And I woke up. Hours had presumably passed. The place was blurry but a dimmer shade of white, like it was winding down to sleep. I felt momentarily smug, I had slept before the room. Then I reminded myself that this wasn’t really anything of a victory.
I noticed that next to me there was a brown shape. I looked at it intently to see if it would acknowledge me. It did.
“You’re awake.” It said
“I’d noticed.” I responded attempting to remember what terseness sounded like.
“No need for that.” It murmured. “Go back to sleep.” It commanded after a moments thought.
I was in no mood to argue and duly did so. I was again plagued by a dream, it was strikingly similar, only I was closer to the shop, and it did its best to glimmer and glitter and dazzle. I felt myself yearning to be there even more so. The road was a chilled turkey and the shop a grubby needle – to offer up a grim and tortured metaphor.
When I awoke again later, things had seen fit to further order themselves. Objects had discernable edges – I was in a hospital bed and the brown thing to my side was a man in a well tailored suit. This man was occupied with eyeing my weary face with a lazy and contemptuous gaze. I was oddly hurt, I had only just awoken and yet I was already a reasonable direction in which to send contempt.
“I take it you’ve some sort of problem?” I ventured to sigh.
“No. You have, however. I just thought I’d inform you.’ The man drawled with the uncomfortable stench of confidence around him.
“What?” I said, remembering incredulity.
“You’ve got a problem.” Said the man, getting up
“Do you usually behave like this?” I enquired
“No. Consider yourself a special case.” Spat the man as he strode from the room.
****
A few days later my body had sufficiently resolved whatever ailment had landed me in hospital and I was discharged. No one seemed eager to explain my particular condition and I had no real desire to find out. What did concern me, however, was my lack of any memories of my life whatsoever. Most other people appeared to have lives so I, not unreasonably I thought, had assumed that I too had one. Still, finding out what I could do again would be an experience.
I permitted myself to have a dream. I was on a pavement. It was a pavement next to an exceedingly wide road, with more lanes than the mind can comfortably conceive. Across the other side of this obscenely wide road was a shop. The stop was glittering pleasingly, with a neon sign mounted above it. The sign wasn’t tacky, it was tastefully garish and almost frighteningly alluring. I felt drawn to it and all the wonderful sparkling shapes in the window, I didn’t know what these objects were but I was damn sure I wanted to own them. The road looked clear for miles around and I started to cross. I had to get to the shop. Suddenly, a rumbling! I looked down the road to see car after car after car all streaming towards me. I know how rabbits feel. One car knocked me into another and that one knocked me to another. And so on and so forth, were it not for the genuine terror, this sort of thing would’ve become somewhat tiring after a while. All the time the cars were bumping me further across the road, but the shop looked no closer. Another glimpse of headlight…
And I woke up. Hours had presumably passed. The place was blurry but a dimmer shade of white, like it was winding down to sleep. I felt momentarily smug, I had slept before the room. Then I reminded myself that this wasn’t really anything of a victory.
I noticed that next to me there was a brown shape. I looked at it intently to see if it would acknowledge me. It did.
“You’re awake.” It said
“I’d noticed.” I responded attempting to remember what terseness sounded like.
“No need for that.” It murmured. “Go back to sleep.” It commanded after a moments thought.
I was in no mood to argue and duly did so. I was again plagued by a dream, it was strikingly similar, only I was closer to the shop, and it did its best to glimmer and glitter and dazzle. I felt myself yearning to be there even more so. The road was a chilled turkey and the shop a grubby needle – to offer up a grim and tortured metaphor.
When I awoke again later, things had seen fit to further order themselves. Objects had discernable edges – I was in a hospital bed and the brown thing to my side was a man in a well tailored suit. This man was occupied with eyeing my weary face with a lazy and contemptuous gaze. I was oddly hurt, I had only just awoken and yet I was already a reasonable direction in which to send contempt.
“I take it you’ve some sort of problem?” I ventured to sigh.
“No. You have, however. I just thought I’d inform you.’ The man drawled with the uncomfortable stench of confidence around him.
“What?” I said, remembering incredulity.
“You’ve got a problem.” Said the man, getting up
“Do you usually behave like this?” I enquired
“No. Consider yourself a special case.” Spat the man as he strode from the room.
****
A few days later my body had sufficiently resolved whatever ailment had landed me in hospital and I was discharged. No one seemed eager to explain my particular condition and I had no real desire to find out. What did concern me, however, was my lack of any memories of my life whatsoever. Most other people appeared to have lives so I, not unreasonably I thought, had assumed that I too had one. Still, finding out what I could do again would be an experience.
Thursday, 1 January 2009
New
Happy new year one and all! This is a joint celebration as this is both my thirtieth post and the beginning of a brand spanking new year. Of course, we all know which of those is of more importance - soon a series of Booker prize wins will testify to that.
As with many years, I began this one quite drunk and in the company of giggling people, which was pleasant. There wasn't quite as much yelling insults and greetings down a phone as I would've liked but that's no big deal. I shall congratulate all of my good friends on reaching this fine year when I next see them.
Of course I am being somewhat presumptuous in assuming this year will be 'fine', but I'm feeling good and in the mood for rash statements proclaiming things I've no evidence for. For all I know this could be a lousy year full of bombs and pounds dying and fuel running out and so on - but right now who cares. Let's at least start on a high even if we may not end on one
GOOD WILL TO ALL MEN, WOMEN, ANIMALS, PLANTS, GEOLOGICAL FORMATIONS, METEOROLOGICAL PHENOMENA AND ANYTHING ELSE I MAY HAVE MISSED OUT!
As with many years, I began this one quite drunk and in the company of giggling people, which was pleasant. There wasn't quite as much yelling insults and greetings down a phone as I would've liked but that's no big deal. I shall congratulate all of my good friends on reaching this fine year when I next see them.
Of course I am being somewhat presumptuous in assuming this year will be 'fine', but I'm feeling good and in the mood for rash statements proclaiming things I've no evidence for. For all I know this could be a lousy year full of bombs and pounds dying and fuel running out and so on - but right now who cares. Let's at least start on a high even if we may not end on one
GOOD WILL TO ALL MEN, WOMEN, ANIMALS, PLANTS, GEOLOGICAL FORMATIONS, METEOROLOGICAL PHENOMENA AND ANYTHING ELSE I MAY HAVE MISSED OUT!
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