The Misapplied Criminal Mind

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Born 1973. Haven't died yet, despite several near-misses.

Doing stuff.
Fiddly things.


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Blog Links
Just some of the great blogs I keep stumbling on. Go for an explore, and if you see any really good ones, let me know...

- the hottest blogger I know.
- I hate knitting. However, I love this blog. Who'd have thought?
- If you ask me, it's perpetual brilliance!
- 'nuff said.
Inspired - inspiring.
- ...into light.
Xenouveau - Her from Sadisticland.
All Geek To Me - Fun from Scout Finch.

The HAL9000 Report - WARNING! - Controversy!

Elven Sarah - Witty and weird, a bit like me (but witty).
Sedgefield - A nice blog, which may have died from meme deficiency...
Lorianne - A great lady had a great blog. Hopefully it returns...
superphase - A stick hero for the masses...
Sadly, we have been given the cold Shoulder.
- a great blog from the continent, nice and warm there.
Selfindulgence - Not indulgent any more.
She Speaks - The star-crossed lover is now silent.
Organic Feminism - A tremendous blog. Even though she calls me Scoots *shudder*
You can no longer get your soup fix from souplover.

The Witches of Elswick
Lair of the Strong Bad - 3D Chat - Sweets

My mood is: The current mood of winstonsmith at

Hits since 28/07/2004:

Blogarama - The Blog Directory

Entries you may have missed
Behold The Freak!!!
Insert Title Here...
Cycling woes.
Happy Easter, etc.
Back Seat Blogger
Remember Sammy Jankiss
Journey from Hell...
I have returned...
My warbly song...
Astral Projection
Tick followed tock...
Another Week

Link Images
If you want to put a little picture on your site linking to this one, then you can use one of these images...

If you use one, try to host it yourself, I can't be certain how long the website will be up...

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Monday, April 26, 2004
Remember Sammy Jankiss

I don't respond well to threats.
I will occasionally run away, or more likely, particularly if I'm drunk, become suicidally aggressive (just ask anyone who attended my stag night). Either way, the threat rarely has the desired effect.

I am at a loss to explain why my wife of eight years hasn't yet grasped this. Over the last 6 months, she should also have realised that I respond even less well to abusive phonecalls in the middle of the night.
Up until last week, these oral tirades would be on a Friday or Saturday night at around 2am, when I was still awake. Then on Thursday morning (2am) she awoke me from my slumbers for yet another unproductive argument. Hence my lateness for work on Friday. There has been another paradigm shift. I used to be able to expect a lull of one to two weeks between these disturbances, but last night, she called at midnight to say "Why are you such a f***ing t***?"
I hung up at that. If I wanted abuse, I wouldn't have split up with her.
She called back. "I'm moving back in, so move out or I'll make your life a misery!" Faced with this double whammy of irritations as I was, I was disinclined to acquiesce to her suggestion.
A lengthy argument followed, until she yelled "I just want some f***ing peace!" so I hung up again. She called back a few moments later, so I told her, "you said you wanted peace," and hung up again. She called again, I rejected the call on my mobile, and turned it off. So she called the house phone. "You can't turn this one off!" she bayed. I hung up. She called back.

It is at times like these that you wonder how the hell you managed to lumber yourself with a psychotic for a wife.

This time I told her I was making a note of the times and contents of her calls, as added ammunition when I divorce her for unreasonable behaviour, and hung up again.
She called again, this time in tears.
As I've said, threats and abusive calls cut no ice with me. Waterworks, however turn me into a complete mug. My chivalry processes kick in, and I become The Protector, damp shouldered hug machine. She knows this, and inevitably falls back on this when all else fails.
So I told her I'd see if I could arrange moving out for a week or so. I suspect I won't be able to, largely due to my parents (my only means of transport at the moment) being likely to say "To hell with that! You're not going anywhere until that house is sold!"
They have a point, too. She's unstable enough to try most things...

She infuriates me. It's my own fault for marrying her, I know. This annoyance I feel becomes all-consuming, like an unscratchable itch, and seriously impairs my concentration. This, I suspect, is the cause of my accidents, and my absent-mindedness.

I left my rucksack on the train today. Of course, I didn't realise this until I was boarding the second train, by which time my rucksack was taking a free trip to Manchester Airport (Incidentally, I left my gloves on the train on Friday, after the row on Thursday).
It's almost as if my subconscious mind is trying to erase her, but is as accurate as I am with a bowling ball. I think this memory failure may have been a contributory factor in the break up, but I can't remember. I can however, remember most details of most movies I have ever seen.
Luckily I only arrived at work an hour and a half late. The gloomily expected tsunami, volcano and meteor strike failed to materialise.
At least I have my rucksack back. I need to stare blankly at the blank application form, willing it to fill itself in...

What I didn't do this weekend...


That's it. My brain has shrivelled up to the size of a marble, and is now skulking in a dark corner of my skull pretending to be an eyeball.
It's been a while since I had a whine about my travelling, so I thought I'd relay my recent experience.

I read in the paper this morning about a man who was arrested at the Glastonbury Festival with 73 bags of magic mushrooms. He walked free from court today by claiming that he wasn't going to sell them, but make them into a mountain and gaze at it.
After arriving late for work (I overslept), I think he has hidden a stash of them in my sandwiches today.
I fell asleep on the train on the way home. This never happens. I was staring at the blank page of my notebook, and the next thing I knew we were pulling into Manchester. I'm very pleased I wasn't on the Edinburgh train.
I bought a Friday Treat and headed for the other platform. I've become quite adept at the logistics of Friday Treats now. I buy the coffee and the bun, carrying them in one hand, balancing my bike and train ticket in the other. However, today I asked for an almond Cameroon, knowing full well that African countries rarely taste of almonds. I also found myself laughing out loud at newspaper articles, something I never do, even in private.
I shudder to think how the day will end. I've already acquired two online stalkers (they're lovely girls) and a coffee date...

Sunday (link of the day: End )

I've been unable to articulate my innermost feelings recently.
I saw a movie yesterday, "Confessions of a Dangerous Mind", and one small part suited me perfectly.

"I wanted to be a writer once, write something
that someday some lesser person would quote,
but I never did.

I'm the lesser person.
If I say anything meaningful, it was said by
someone else first."

Chuck Barris
I love the exquisite irony of quoting that...

Friday, April 23, 2004
Random blogging

It really is amazing, the variety and frequency of fantastic ideas for blog entries you have, when you're at least ten minutes from a piece of paper...


I have a few nicknames at work. all better than the thinly veiled insults I've had in the past.

Scooter: For obvious reasons...

Curtin: Someone tracked down my website within hours of its reinstatement and copied a still from one of my films - "Curtin Parloe presents..." They stuck it to the back of my chair and I didn't notice for a day or so.

Mr Anderson: Spoken like Hugo Weaving, as my real name is vaguely similar to "Anderson".

Tron: A tortuous reference to my name, don't even ask.

I do get aannoyed with the barracking, but I suspect it will never end. Especially when most of it comes from the boss...


I have a love affair with words
They soothe me
Challenge me
Haunt me.

My every waking hour is filled
With longing
For them to speak.

You are their sweet dominatrix;
Bending them
To your will.

Such a hard mistress, but fair,
And through them
You master me.

You are concealed, unseen.
I am yours;
A willing slave.

I crave no freedom from this cell.
You and I
In prose.


Charles lay on the four-poster, fully dressed, gazing sightlessly up at the canopy. Jamie was becoming a liability. The look in his eyes was unmistakable; who knows how many others the lumbering brute might kill, now he had a taste for it?
He turned over, trying to get at least some sleep, but his memory insisted on replaying the scream that chilled his bones, the iron tang of blood in the air, the security guard's grimace of terror as the last traces of life deserted him. He couldn't leave it like that. Frustrated, he rose, and grabbed his Webley automatic from the bedside drawer, and started attaching the silencer. Charles held his breath; the faint grinding of the thread was the only sound.
He padded over to the connecting door, and held his ear flat against it. He could just make out a low rumbling snore. Good, he thought.
With a slow turn of the handle, Charles eased the door open and slipped into Jamie's room. He crinkled his nose straight away; the stench reminded him of the bathrooms at Eton, stale sweat mingled with semen. He gingerly threaded his way through the detritus strewn in his path; beercans, pizza boxes, discarded clothing.
He reached the bed, and pointed the extended muzzle of the Webley at Jamie's prone form. The giant made no movement, save for the gentle rise and fall from his breathing.
Charles stood there for a moment, his finger tight on the trigger. It's justified killing, he thought. He took a life, and great pleasure in doing so.
He closed his eyes and lowered the gun, and it hung loosely at his side. No. I've done a lot of things I'm ashamed of, but I'm no killer. He crept back into his room and collapsed onto the bed, shutting the Webley back in the drawer. He lay there, considering his options, and eventually drifted off into fitful sleep. The last thought in his conscious mind was that he should have pulled the trigger.
He was right.

Wednesday, April 21, 2004
Wednesday Mind Hump

This week a "getting to know you" theme with an insane twist.

First, as a warm up, using the letters I-N-S-A-N-E reveal six things about yourself.

1.  What's the best pickup line you ever heard and did it work?
2.  If you were a character in The Wizard of Oz, who or what would you be?
3.  If you were an element of weather, what would you be?
4.  If you were a breed of dog, what would you be and why.
5.  If you were a toy or a game, what would you be and why?
Ready?  Set.  Do the Hump, you loons!

I - Impatient, especially with the internet
N - Nipples: normal
S - Silly. Very silly, in fact.
A - Actor. I've been in plays, musicals and *ahem*movies.1
N - Nose. Large.
E - Electricity. I am extremely sensitive to static electricity. Las Vegas was hell.

1. "How do you like your eggs in the morning?" The answer is "Unfertilised"!
2. Oz himself. Much less impressive in real life.
3. Wind. I had Chilli Con Carne last night...
4. Greyhound. Perpetually running around in circles.
5. I'd love to be Kerplunk, but I'd probably be a happy meal toy. I never do exactly what I'm supposed to.

1 - Only the movies I've made. And no, they aren't dirty...

The Purity Test

Well, it's only fair...

Your Ultimate Purity Score Is...
You are 71.87% pure
Average Score: 72.7%

Tuesday, April 20, 2004
The Evil Test

I found this test on aprldynh's blog. pretty cool, although I'm only the margarine of evil. The diet coke of evil. Just one calorie, not evil enough...

I am 56% evil.

Electric Dreams

Rant! Seethe! Bloody Trains! I won't bore you with another tirade hurled at Virgin Train managers. Instead I'll talk about that strangest of beasts, online romance. I have had two fairly long internet relationships, by which I mean longer than a month; such is their transitory nature, as I understand.

The first was with Andi. She was in the same situation as I; a loveless marriage, a need to escape. We started off as friends, flirting and so on, and before I knew it we were making plans for her to immigrate so we could be together. It was great, she was sweet and sexy, and we spent most of the time chatting, online or on the phone. I don't know why, perhaps I was afraid of committing after the mess with Kate (you remember, that wife I changed the name of), or it just got too serious too soon, or even the logistics of but I started to get depressed about the relationship. I handled it badly - I seem to handle most things badly when it comes to relationships - and I hurt her deeply, just like I hurt Kate.

I hated myself, I felt so wretched about it. Surely this wasn't me? Some swine who treads on the feelings of others?

And then I met Penny. It seemed everything was working out. It was in a 3D chat environment called Worlds, an easy place to immerse yourself. She wanted to take things slowly, and this appealed to me, as a relief from my headstrong ways (Being Taurus, born in the year of the bull, I am a danger to china-shops everywhere). But there was a problem. Friends in Worlds would make allegations about her indulging in digital infidelity, my new-found friends disapproved of her, and she was reluctant to interact with me in real life, to the extent that I only ever saw a single photo, and she would only rarely answer the phone, never calling me once. I should have seen the signs, I probably did, but ignored them, like Dr. Michael Hfuhruhurr in The Man With Two Brains. Until she disappeared, logging out when I logged in, avoiding me completely, and then I knew.
I already thought things were going wrong. We'd talk, but there was only ever one topic, and it wasn't current affairs. When she finally returned, she told me that she was going back to her ex, who I suspect she'd never split with. Afterwards her friends told me about certain aspects of her personality, which matched her behaviour. I am relieved to be out of it, knowing what I know now.

So, here I am, wondering what it is about online relationships. I suspect it's like speed dating, except in the dark, and with earplugs in. The odds of bumping into the right person are low, and you won't know until you see them in daylight...

Monday Music Mambo

If you could trade places with 2 different artists for one day each, who would they be and why?


1. Roger Keith "Syd" Barrett. Pink Floyd
I'd really like to know if I could have dealt with things any better than Syd, or whether he was in a no win situation.

2. Rolf Harris.
I'd like to know what it is about stylophones.

Saturday, April 17, 2004
Cycles, thongs, and

I learnt something interesting on Friday. I have a season ticket.

Now I know what you're thinking. "And?"
But if someone had told me that my 7 day train ticket was a season ticket three weeks ago, I would have saved enough blood, sweat and tears to craft a new person. I did not need to acquire 22 bike reservation tickets, which are worthless anyway. I was highly amused when I found out, now I'm just relieved, and not at all inclined to rip someone's head off their body.

But back to thongs...
A thong is a cyclist's friend. I had a bad day yesterday. The PC users I encountered were monumentally selfish, stupid and rude. I had to drop off a cable at 4pm, unfortunately, everyone in the building left at five to. By the time I had figured this out, and stowed the cable where it will most likely be stolen, I was very short of time to reach the station. If I had missed the 4:30 train, I would have had a half hour wait to look forward to. So I pedalled pell mell and got there in time.

However, it was raining. Hard. Very hard indeed. In fact, as I cycled down the road, I was passed by the Royal Yacht Britannia, which I thought was quite odd at the time. There is no mudguard on the bike, and so the rain from the front combined with the spray from the back, to ensure I was soaked completely. And this is where the thong efficacy paid off. Had I been wearing boxers or jockey shorts, I would have been uncomfortably wet until I got home to change. With the thong, however, the tiny fabric triangles dried significantly faster than my skin, and so I was slightly less uncomfortable, and completely dry when I had to change trains. I love my thong!

Thursday, April 15, 2004

I typed it out, read it, had a cup of tea, re-read it, and deleted it.
Why deprive the world of the FANTASTIC blog?

Well, partly because it wasn't FANTASTIC at all, and partly because some of its content was posting for posting's sake.

I've decided that instead of posting the FANTASTIC blog (or blog as I've come to call it), I'll talk about it, include some of the good bits, and try to squeeze it into some kind of topical context. Tricky, and it might not work, but, hey! What the heck!


I have this annoying personality trait. I develop crushes all too easily, usually instantly, and against all logic and reason. But then again, this is the nature of the crush:

Crush: (n) - The feeling of total and abject love for someone, without any reasonable basis in reality. The recipient of this (usually unwanted) attention is believed to be the perfect match for the person having the crush, although it is unlikely that there is any evidence for this. A crush is usually harmless, unless it develops into a psychosis (see Stalker).
(Winston Inglish Dictionary)

There seems to be a malfunction with my heart. It skips a beat so often, or rises to my throat, or aches, that I wonder if I'm having one long arrest. It's stretched and distended, as I fall in love over and over again.

So there you have it. I develop crushes all the time. I really thought that I'd be over that kind of thing by now, particularly at my age. I think I've been getting my water out of the wrong tap or something. Why does this always happen to me?! I don't want a crush, and I definitely don't need one!

I'm in a state of perpetual confusion, my life seems to be whirling by as I grind to a complete halt.

Women beware. I am damaged goods.


I suppose I should elaborate on the previous statement.
I haven't kept it a secret, but by the same token, I haven't mentioned it earlier. In 1995 I made a dreadful mistake. I met a woman in January, and married her in September. My family held their tongues, and everything seemed fine. Except I had an indistinct nagging in the back of my mind, like a cough you can't clear. This persistent feeling in my mind caused me to withdraw into myself, and I found it harder and harder to express my feelings.

She has a few neuroses, which she tries to kill with alcohol, but sadly they thrive on that particular toxin. She would become a moody drunk, and occasionally lash out. Mainly at me. We both drank quite heavily, and it took me a long time to notice, but when I did, things gradually deteriorated.
It got to the point where she lashed out at me during my sister's housewarming party. I stormed off, and wandered the streets for an hour. I decided to return after that, but I'd become hopelessly lost, and it took another hour after that to get back. When I did, the mood of the party was different. My sister was in a foul mood, and my wife (who I shall call Kate) was crying for me to come back.

It wasn't until a few months ago till I found out what had actually happened. After I left, my sister had been told that Kate was sat in a drunken moaning heap in the bathroom. She went to help, and Kate tried to attack her. Now, my sister is a gym teacher, so she had no trouble restraining her, but the incident was enough to convince her that Kate was bad news.
Eventually, after she'd tried to smother me with a pillow, I realised I couldn't control myself for much longer. I spent more and more time on the PC, looking for distractions, and it wasn't long till she accused me of having an affair. I gave up. I told her I'd had enough, and I wanted a divorce.
Until the house is sold, however, we're stuck with each other. Neither of us can afford to buy it from the other, and we need to clear off a fair bit of joint debt. Of course, this makes every day like Assault on Precinct 13; tense, dangerous, and a little tacky. Occasionally, since the breakup, we've had blazing rows, such as the time she tried to stab herself with the breadknife, but nothing I hadn't resigned myself to. She lives her life downstairs, in the room with the winebottles, and I live mine upstairs, in the room with the broadband connection.
We have a buyer, so with a little luck, we'll be free of each other in a month or so. It won't come soon enough for me, for at the moment I feel like I have no home.

Well, there you have it.

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