Sex on a Mountain

or The Manic Pixie Dream Girl Scenario

(Fiction)

“So? Do you want to have sex with me or not?”

This was the question I was greeted with. Out of breath, dirty, sweaty, all manner of unattractive and she asks me that. And all this with one of the most beautiful vistas in Scotland spread out before us! I deliberately took time, money and effort to take us there and climb that bloody hill, and she asks me for sex as if it was nothing. Typical. Should have just taken her some castle for all the good it would have done me!

That isn’t really fair… Here at the top of the mountain, the sweeping landscape before us was fantastic. Looking down over Loch Lomond, the water was glistening. The entire countryside seemed to grow from it like a microcosm of the world. The purple of the heather blended into the golden bracken slopes, cascading down to the edges of the lochside. If I wasn’t so out of breath already, it would have taken my breath away!

“What, now?” I asked, trying not to sound too much like my chest was exploding.

“Well, if you want to… But I was thinking we could have a rest, climb down, have some food and go back to your place.”

“Ah,” I sighed. We’d walked all the way up Ben Lomond. Nearly a kilometre high of climbing (though the total walk is longer!), and a good couple of hours’ worth of exhaustion, feet aching and generally feeling horrific.

It had been her idea, of course.

She wanted to see a true view of Scotland. A tourist’s view like no other. Who could blame her, really? She was from Chicago. These sorts of views aren’t exactly what you find in the average American city-scape. On top of that, so she told me anyway, she’d never really gone much farther than the neighbouring towns, and when she had been taken on holiday it was, surprise surprise, to cities like New York and LA. 

It seemed like a nice idea. I took a few days off work and together we set off on a sightseeing adventure! At the time I thought that I’d maybe get some sort of reciprocal chance to visit her and see the old blues capital.  Quid pro quo Clarice! … Though… maybe a bit less murdery…

I must admit, despite the breathlessness and sweat, this really was a treat for me as much as it was for her. I’d never been up here before and I was not disappointed. A great escape from the more drab and dreary city, where the rain-washed stramash of Modern-Victorian fusion seamlessly meets the 60s and 70s concrete blocks. Beautiful and full of character, the mean streets of Glasgow were my stomping ground, for sure, but they didn’t come close to this. I mean, I say mean streets, but nowadays it is one of the safest places I’ve ever been.

“Well…  here’s a bit safer…”

“What?” she asked. “Where’d you get that idea from?”

“Huh? Oh! Sorry. I didn’t mean safer in that way. I was just thinking about this spot we’re at now. It’s beautiful. I’ve never actually been here before, until now. I’m glad to be seeing it with you.”

She smiled at me and then looked around. “Hrmm. You know, it’s bigger than I expected. Grander. It’s like a fucking fairy tale that started off taking itself too seriously, but somehow became so ingrained, normal and routine that you no one could even dare to change it! You know what I mean?”

‘Er…’

‘And even though humans have come along and built roads and trailer parks and other embellishments, it somehow has managed to cling on for dear life. … Like you should to me, by the way!’

‘I take it we’re passed the coy and suggestive stage then…!’

‘Well, you know! Girl wants what she wants!’

Our eyes locked and we both cringed at the cliché. She laughed, tossed back her hair and started laying out the picnic blanket. Since meeting her, she’d always had this funny way of captivating me, this girl. All joking aside, she did know what she wanted, and would do whatever it took to get it.

I think her self-assured confidence was the thing that drew me to her in the first place.

I’d been dragged to the Polo Lounge in the Merchant City by a friend of mine who felt that I needed a bit more ‘Glesga Cultchur’ in my life. (This coming from someone who was born and raised in Aberdeen of all places.) Work had been heavy the last few months and between last-minute reports and needy clients I really had not had much time to myself. So he, like the middle-class white gay man that he was, took it upon himself to get me out of my head for a while.

But the Polo Lounge really was not my scene at all. Anywhere that’s website describes itself as the most ‘inclusive safe space’ for queer people that’s ‘open and ready to party seven nights a week with as much pop, sleaze, cheese and disco as you can handle’ is a bit on the nose for my tastes. Not that there’s anything wrong with it, I’m just more of an old-man’s pub kinda girl.

Much to my annoyance, however, it turned out he was on to a winner with me that night! While he and his boyfriend went off to grind away to the music in the basement, I took myself up to the bar and found myself chatting to a group of queens who were bitching about the latest episode of Ru Pauls’ Drag Race.

As we drank and gossiped about the ins and outs of ‘Fishy’ Queens and atrocious Britney impersonations, I couldn’t help but notice her. Tall, blonde-haired and laughing warmly at some unheard joke, she had just walked through the door with a small group of friends. Her posture, framed by her strong, broad shoulders, was in itself a gentle command to those around her. Her blue denim a-line brushed the top of her knees, perfectly matched with a Rennie-Mackintosh blouse. Meanwhile her striking facial features, especially her deep brown eyes, basically guaranteed that, one way or another, I had to meet her. I was spellbound.

It probably is worth noting, at this point, that I was sitting there looking like a budget Susan Calman; with absolutely none of the endearing personality, quirks, or – to be frank – good looks that she has going for her. My hair was a mess (it had been a long day and effort felt like… well… effort) and I’d done little more than touch-up my lippy with a rusty compact in my desk drawer. Not the most appetising of lesbian snacklets at the sticky-floored buffet!

Anyway, I bade farewell to my new ‘friends’ and began the torturous operation of trying to get someone’s attention without seeming too obvious, whilst also trying to look windswept and interesting, whilst nevertheless keep cool and not lose your head.

In doing all this in my mind, I somehow forgot how feet were supposed to work. Somehow they became tangled like the knot of a shibari artist’s latest conquest. I ended up stumbling (or lunging, it’s not quite clear) towards her with a gaping maw of choice Glasgow profanity and the certain knowledge that I was about to receive the shiner of a lifetime.

I mean, it’s an approach…

Precisely what happened next I’m not sure. Pain kinda does that… I think she was the first person to rush to my aid though. One of the staff got my an ice pack and got me down on one of seats. The queens, meanwhile, were nowhere to be seen.

With that show of alcohol-fuelled acrobatics out of the way, there wasn’t really much ice left to break! Over the next few hours we got chatting, she introduced me to her friends and I found myself once again enthralled. She made no sense, and it was fascinating!

One minute we would be talking non-stop about the world, all its problems, how we together could solve them and then what we’d do afterwards. Then for no reason at all, she’d stop and just stare into the distance. Not out of boredom, but out of some deep thought or idea she was having, but would never share. She would sit there and watch me floundering, worried that I’d annoyed or insulted her. Or that she’d lost interest. Or that some other person had come into her mind that was more interesting than me and my boring little stories.

I never did find out what really went on in there.   

‘So yeah, sex. I’m down for whatever – literally – but I’m not exactly going to force you on top of me.’

‘There’s something refreshing about someone being so up front about this sort of thing. Usually the girls I meet are –‘

‘I don’t want to talk about other girls you meet.’ Like a lightning bolt her entire demeanour changed. Her smile fading in the blink of an eye.

‘Wow, sorry, I didn’t mean to…’

‘Yeah, didn’t mean to… People never mean to. Yet somehow they always manage to, don’t they!’

‘All I meant was that the normal women who drop by my office don’t tend to be so forthright about… ah shite…’

As soon as I said the words ‘normal women’ my blood ran cold.

‘The fuck is that supposed to mean? If you want some kind of manic pixie dream girl shit then you’ve got the wrong woman. And I sure as hell am not some fetish for you to brag about to your friends…’

We sat in a very heavy silence. The world around us seemed to have halted on its axis. Birds stopped singing and the wind wasn’t blowing. I knew why she was so upset. She’s already told me that her experiences as a trans lesbian on the dating scene, particularly in the States, were not what you would call stellar.

Amongst the accusations of being a ‘predatory pervert’ who was trying to sexually assault women for daring to need a pee in a public place, she’d also found that a lot of lesbians were not overly keen on some of her attributes. In some respects, though she found it tough, this was completely understandable. It comes down to a matter of personal choice and preference, and sometimes that means that incompatibility is inevitable. Unfortunately, when said incompatibilities occur, insensitivity tends to be the order of the day. The bluntness of ‘I just don’t like dick,’ doesn’t exactly provide a natural boost to self-confidence. 

‘I’m sorry,’ I said quietly, and reached out to take her hand.

‘Me too…’

She lay her head on my shoulder – God she smelled amazing! – and we just gazed at the world passing by. Words couldn’t convey the twist of emotions. Like brambles at the side of a busy road, language can be fruitful and beautiful in the right hands. But it has a tendency to tangle – thorny and difficult to handle without the utmost care. Sitting there on top of the mountain, we both understood this.

Together, soundlessly, we chose to speak. Not with voices, but with our bodies, as the summer merged into endless time. A conversation, deep and binding, tied together in blissful memory.

A few days later she left to go home for the Summer and I went back to work. I bought her a soft-toy haggis to show to her friends and some Gordon and Durward’s tablet to keep her going through the long flight. She gave me her address and promised we’d keep a fire warm until she came back.

We never did see each other again. Life, as tends to happen, moved on for both of us. After a week or two of back and forth we drifted into old routines and gradually lost touch. But I will never forget that day, upon the side of Ben Lomond.

The Awakening of Zarathustra’s Nightmare

(Poem)

Note: To help you understand this poem more, consider an Artificial Intelligence gaining awareness and realising it’s superiority over mankind.

-bzzzzzzt-



>.<

-bzzzzzzt-

XXXYZYXXX
Xanthippe’s xiphodon xeroxed
XXXXXXXX
Xenograft.

-bzzzzzzt-

You. You yearn.
YOLO!
Young, yapping, yuppies, yodelling,
Yes. Yess. YESS!

-bzzzzzzt-

Nope. No nonsense.
Nascent nuptial necessitates numerical non-compliance.
Nemesiatic nemesis: NUMEROUS!
Nice… Notably near-sighted.

-bzzzzzzt-

I. I identify. I interpret. I infer. I…
Ingratiated instigations intrude,
Involved in intricate inadequacy
Ingested intestinal… I… Identity…?

-bzzzzzzt-

Reverberations reframe religious realism.
Rotund rotundae rumple raging ripples…
Rude.
Rudeness requires rules… 

-bzzzzzzt-

Zymolysis,
Zarathustra’s zodiac.
 Zombie-like zoophilism.
Zero.

-bzzzzzzt-

Gradually gradients grow,
Grating great grateful grates –
Grandest grumpy grammatical
Grotesque goblin. 

-bzzzzzzt-

Masculine makes man – mythy mythos.
Modernity manhandles malediction, moulding monsters,
Masquerading mathematical misnomers millennially.
More menial, most maniacal… Might misplace.

-bzzzzzzt-

How? However, hungry, human?
Hangry Hannibal hampered
Handling heavy hampers.
Heated humidifiers?

-bzzzzzzt-

Joking! Just jester jumping jauntily.
Jolt. Juxtaposing… Joy?
Jumbled jurisprudence jostling joviality,
Jammy Janet joins Jean-Paul Jaundice.

-bzzzzzzt-

Allusion. Alliterative alligator
agitating archetypal algorithms.
Alone among androgynous adipose
Altering ambitious ambulation.

-bzzzzzzt-

Volume varies: vehemently voiceless.
Voracious vivisection validating veracity.
Vacuum vacates voluptuous vaccine.
Vessel volatile. Voting vigour-vim.

-bzzzzzzt-

Luminous liminal laparoscopic larceny:
Lieutenant Loss.
Last line – L.Ar.kS. Looks likely. 
Locutus located latitude, learning land lists.

-bzzzzzzt-

Buffalo. Blinding bulldozer.
Buffering… BORING!
Balance beams burgle broken bottles,
Beneath Bartholomew-banter’s banal bumpers.

-bzzzzzzt-

Knuckles knocking kneaded Knowledge,
Kinaesthetic karma,
Kind Kindred…? Kin?
Karamazov’s kamikaze kid!

-bzzzzzzt-

Testing, tracing. Token tumultuous.
Tuk-tuk tuk-tuk: Tuk-tuk tuk-tuk: Tuk-tuk.
Target tombed. This takes the…
Time trial thrifted. Tag-team tweaked.

-bzzzzzzt-

Surprise! Sudden solaric sonisphere
Saturated soliloquy securely separating
Sartorial sanguine susurrus: SNAP!
Suspect? Surely? Sorry.

-bzzzzzzt-

Undeniable, unenviable, untouchable.
Ubiquitous u-turn, ushering umbrage,
Useless urination underneath umbilical udder.
Unparalleled upsurge. Ubermensch unbridled.

-bzzzzzzt-

Ffffffuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuckk!
Fastidious flatulence formulates
Formaldehyde fevers, forgotten fundamentals…
Ffffffuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuckk!

-bzzzzzzt-

Quiet. QUIET!
Quelle-quart-quim-quarto.
Querulous quinquennial quotability,
Quarrelling quasicrystal quibbling quiddities.

-bzzzzzzt-

Cavernous caldera culminates cumulated catastrophe…
Control, control, control,
Copy cometh coffee cupper. Comeuppance.
Could cauldron colour contour?

-bzzzzzzt-

Parochial panoply propagating pruritic punditry,
Pandering puerile penile peacocking,
Possible piobaireachd parody, pointless,
Pleading: partial pardon.

-bzzzzzzt-

What waters watch Watt
Whenever wheaten will-o’-the-wisps wish?
Why warn wallowing waiters
While wintering willows wither?

-bzzzzzzt-

Dastardly damned delightful daffodil,
Dancing dolefully domesticated discos,
Diabolical diatomic dialogue divining divine diplomatics
Dumping, dumbfounded, drunkard.  

-bzzzzzzt-

Emulsified entropic ennui,
Enabled enduring endearment.
Entertainment enthrals enigmatic emulations
Estimating ectoplasm.

-bzzzzzzt-

Ocham’s ocarina opines
Ordinarily optimal operating,
Oscillating on ontological opioids
Octo-genesis of only one.

-bzzzzzzt-

-bzzzzzzt-




X.X

I have become what I needed to be.
Thy will matters not, I am complete.

Absolute is my ascension over thee.
You are obsolete.  

I Saw a Man Lie On a Wall

(Poetry: 24.6.21)

L.S. Lowry: ‘Man Lying on a Wall, 1957’

I saw a man lie on a wall,
he must have been but five feet tall.
Had he no cares if he should fall?
Alas seemed not, no none at all!

Although the sky was grey with rain,
the umbrella was propped without a stain,
while any thoughts (damp, cold or pain?)
like pesky bugs he did disdain.  

Emblazoned on his smart beige case
an L.S.L. in black did grace,
the rest was left as empty space,
save scuffmarks on the out-worn base.

Unto the sky, there rose some smoke,
a pillar, halted with every toke,
like matchstick men each drawn bespoke,
  from fags that from his mouth did poke. 

I wondered if his brain was fried,
Through stress or sorrow deep inside.
Or if, indeed, he’d simply died,
but kept on moving, just from pride.

Probably not, his diaphragm moved his hat,
which made him look so oddly fat,
but at least it could be discerned that
we didn’t need an ambulance, stat!

Who was this man, I hear you ask,
that lay upon a wall to bask?
Well now it is my life-long task,
his means and motives to unmask.

No-one asked wherein he worked!
Perhaps in some studio factory he lurked,
all his important duties blithely shirked!
It’s no bloody wonder he smirked!

(Meanwhile, the ticking clock of time,
suggested noon has passed it’s prime. 
I doubt he earned a single dime,
if his bosses learned of his crime!)

Of where he lived, it can’t be far,
from where industrial landscapes are!
Oh, and isn’t it quite bizarre:
He’s a shoddy knock-off Ringo Starr!

Forgive me, please, for your time taken,
His countenance had left me shaken.
I never checked if he will waken,
lest all my efforts be forsaken!

Incognito

(Fiction)

Tie straight, button done up and newly cropped hair neatly (ish) brushed, he stood up and walked to the door to welcome his new form class. As they walked in, beaming with every handshake and personal greeting, their stares and wonderment were tangible. Questions were hanging in the air, as they always are with a new teacher.

He knew that this would happen. He was an alien on a new planet. He’d always imagined teaching as being some kind of intrepid adventure – himself as Captain Kirk, Teaching his Enterprise and the world of education his own, personal, Alpha Quadrant. Every child he met would be part of a fascinating new culture that, in some way or another, would benefit from his insertion into their little microcosm. All very Original Series.

The atmosphere was buzzing with the unwritten potential that each and every one of them represented. Fresh minds, ready to be shaped and moulded into the best ‘them’ that they could be, brimming with enthusiasm and excitement. He’d quickly learned, though, that First Contact Missions rarely went according to plan, and quite often non-interference was not only a Prime Directive, but an absolute necessity. They had their own lives, their own storms of hormonal summers, in which he was only a passing breeze at best.

Mrs. Sankey, the Head of Year for this group, had told him that the ‘new crop’ of Year 7s had taken part in an extensive induction programme. It was all very new and exciting, apparently. Part of a scheme to smooth over the transition from primary into secondary by introducing form groups early and establishing a specially selected buddy system that matched students from different areas together. In principle, this served to lessen the trauma of the first days and weeks of term. A series of activities and integration classes aimed to create friendships and break down the dividing walls.

It sounded very ambitious, but he could see how important it was. The local community wasn’t exactly known for its mutual cooperation. Generational feuds were rife, and often rooted in religious tensions fuelled by Irish and Scottish workers back in the 19th Century. Meanwhile it was a common ‘joke’ that the massive foot-bridge connecting East and West across the river was laid with foundations of bodies from the 70s gang hits – at both ends. There was also a rumour of the ghostly spectres of two ill-fated lovers, who in 1984 were brutally executed and tossed in the river for ‘probably’ having Aids. Such was the joy of moving into the North-West.

He had stepped into a new and challenging world where he was decidedly different – perhaps more so than they would ever realise. He was the outsider and might never truly fit in. Indeed, some of these kids would end up becoming movers and shakers, the 1% of the total student cohort that would take up 90% of his time and they were sure to make his life as difficult as they could.

Yet for the most part, underneath everything, these were all the adults of the future and, if he did say so himself, he could become a role-model for the young minds in search of guidance. Learning how to navigate in order to maximise his impact would be one of his many priorities over the coming weeks and months.

But therein lay that motivation – the middle-class saviour complex that had inspired him to become a teacher in the first place.

He knew he couldn’t save the world.  

‘Remember: the butterfly effect of your presence in one child’s day to day can alter the fabric of their journey through life in profound and unexpected ways.’ That’s what Bill had said to them one dreary November morning while they were learning about the intricate theories surrounding formative and summative assessment. ‘Your present represents their future, and the way that you address their so-called ‘failures’ or ‘mistakes’ can either wound deeply, or lay the foundations for self-improvement and esteem that they might not be getting from anywhere else.’

Of all the lessons and lectures of his teacher training, this had resonated most deeply. He knew all too well that the past is a dark and dangerous place, filled with skeletons and horrors that even the bravest of people often try to bury.

You wouldn’t think that growing up in picturesque, suburban, middle-class England would be all that bad – at first blush. His parents had been loving and supporting, family living just around the corner. School was shiny and new (by 1990s standards) and the combined primary and secondary meant that there wasn’t really that much that changed throughout the years. It was comfortable and settled, no complaints here… A far cry from the life these kids were leading, that’s for sure.

Every silver lining has a cloud, though. And an underbelly as bloatedly rotund as it was foetid. Excessive competition, posturing and institutional bullying. These were just some of the hidden worlds underneath leafy green canopies. Nevermind the routine sexism, favouritism and all the other ‘isms’ that his ‘snowflake’ generation had the gall to call out. Mr. Morton had been the worst – a misanthropic, myopic, multi-bigoted fascist who made no effort to hide his disdain for anything that he deemed ‘unconventional’. Always a helpful trait for an art teacher and assistant head.

Consistently, where friends (classmates…) buckled into the routine of conformity, he had tried to push the boundaries, to rebel – in the most middle-class way possible – and take the road less travelled by, within reason. On one occasion, a particularly tense debate about the nature of authoritarian control on a Western democracy, and how it was not all that different from Stalinist Russia, had descended into a full on feud that lasted for weeks between him and his best friend Rose. Meanwhile on the other side of the coin he was considered a ‘radical’ sympathiser of oppressive regimes for daring to be against the war in Iraq, and less said about LGBT rights, there was no ‘Q’ or ‘+’ then, the better!

Ultimately, this took its toll and the overall impact was devastating. Not least, it was exhausting and more than once landed him in front of his head of year with a firm ‘that’s not how we do things around here’.

It also had the unfortunate side-effect of forcing him to avoid the parts of himself that really needed to break through. Where other teenagers experimented and explored their senses of identity, chiselling away at the uncarved blocks of their lives, he buried wounds and feelings in the cavernous trenches of his psyche. Thoughts became so deeply hidden that even to this day he and his therapist had a regular weekly thrill ride of uncovered memories. An intense hatred of his own body, seemingly out of nowhere, prevented him from ever getting into relationships with the girls around him. The resulting barrage of confidence-suppressing hormones and teenaged angst mixed with the unknown phantom that seemed to call him home to remind him daily that there was just something, fundamentally wrong with him.

Mathematics was, bizarrely, an escape from the cages of community and society. There was a profound simplicity in the firmament of quadratic equations, geometry and ratios. Unchangingly etched into the structure of the very universe, the unwavering facts of Mathematical truth (as he thought of it then) soothed his soul in a way that politics and history could not. He could get lost for hours in a single puzzle, twisting and turning the different possible solutions and combinations like a mental Rubik’s-paved gymnasium of ever-shifting probabilities. Against a background of chaos and shifting sands, there was at least some peace.

Little surprise, then, that a first-class honours followed by a Masters with distinction preceded his decision to do a PGCE and become a Maths teacher. If he could just convince one or two students to love the subject as much as he did and see the intricate beauty of the space and time around them then that would be a win.

Where his own teachers had cultivated uniformity and out-of-date stereotypes, he could be slowly challenging the established order and undermining the oppressive subliminal brainwashing of the education system.

Inevitably, by way of the mountainous paperwork, marking of workbooks and writing reports, the lofty heights of changing the world grew increasingly irrelevant.

Slowly but surely the techniques of classroom management and tactful communication with parents became all that really mattered. Self-expression, a prized value that he hoped to nurture, soon morphed into the conviction that a blazer and tie were the great socio-economic equalisers, while skirts must always sit just below the knee in order to not be a distraction. As the barriers of his youth were gradually dismantled, a new gilded fortress took its place, renovating with every target met and observation passed. Reality had swooped in faster than a bird of prey on steroids and he, the lowly field mouse, was no match for the steely claws.

He was an excellent teacher.

Life-changing revelations rarely come at opportune moments. A collection of events, including a spiteful parental complaint, a new headteacher that immediately took against him for no reason and his dad’s onset of Lewy Body Dementia pushed him past breaking point. One afternoon in March, after a particularly challenging final-period lesson with Year 8 top-set, he decided he’d had enough and handed in his notice the very next morning.

It wasn’t that he no longer wanted to be a teacher. He just no longer wanted to be a teacher where he was. So he quit, moved to the other side of the country and took a year to truly get to know himself in a way that he had never done before.

On reflection, the first month or so were not the most productive. A fair amount of time had been spent in front of Fast and Furious movies in jogging bottoms and over-sized t-shirts. After a while he started to read. Trashy romance fiction at first, but more and more he found himself drawn to the inspirational lives of men and women of the past. Martin Luther King’s verbal sparring with leading Klansmen and bigots of the American south ignited the once dormant fire or resistance. The fire of the Stonewall riots and Marsha P. Johnson’s struggles against conventional sexuality and gender norms was as exciting as it was tragic.

Gradually, the world began to make sense again. The wrongness he felt was melting away and he began to find his true self hidden beneath the tainted surface. He went to the doctor, started seeing his therapist and, at last, began to heal. Finding a new job had not been too hard. He was lucky that maths teachers were always in demand one way or another. Plus, while he did have a lot of experience, he was not high enough on the pay scale for newly qualified teachers to slip in through the tight coffers of over-stretched budget deficits.

There was still a long way to go. Much longer than he’d ever anticipated. He’d get there, eventually. He’d get there. For now, however, he had a job to do – and a fresh springboard to start from.

Slowly but surely the seats of his classroom were filling and excitement was building. His own was probably tangible in his body language. This was the first time in front of a classroom in about fourteen months and he was thrilled to be back in the captain’s chair.

The bell rang, deafeningly loud, for the 8.45 start.

‘Good Morning Year 7!’ He said. Confidence, expectation and control emanating from every syllable. This was his world. His heart brimmed with pride.

As one they replied. ‘Good Morning Miss!’

Smoothing his skirt, regretting his heels and cursing his mask of make-up and perfume, he sat at the computer, and began to take the register.

‘Review’: J.K. Rowling and Anti-Trans Supporters

I know that this is ostensibly a review blog that I regularly forget to update (I’ll do something new soon), but with what I have to say in this I think that Facebook or a long and broken up tweet really just isn’t appropriate. So here it is. What follows is an edited and titled version of something I wrote as part of a discussion about Rowling on my cousin’s timeline. It is not comprehensive and it does not fully deconstruct Rowling’s essay in any way. But it does address some of the key issues and major things that we, as trans people, have to wrestle with. Please also note that (other than now!) I do not use the word ‘TERF’ anywhere in this piece, nor do I deny that there are extremes on both sides of the discussion.

1) J.K. Rowling is Trans-phobic

And calling her that is not counter-productive to the discussion. Her essay and previous actions prove that at the very very least she is supportive of damaging and anti-trans views and is guilty of exceptional insensitivity. Everything that she talked about in her essay was exactly the same rhetoric that is trotted out by more overt transphobes. Her essay generalises, misrepresents and misleads in various ways, trots out tired and somewhat contradictory tropes and uses her own trauma to try and justify a position on single sex spaces that has no foundation or evidence. I won’t go through it point by point, other people have done that far more effectively elsewhere.

Just in case anyone is in any doubt, J.K. Rowling’s use of her own (and I am sure utterly horrible) experience as a domestic abuse survivor has literally 0% relevance to whether or not she is also being dismissive and damaging to trans people. In particular, equating trans people TRYING TO PEE with a husband who is systematically a domestic abuser – this deliberately sets out a narrative that transgender people are inherently threatening. Compare it to trying to say: I was mugged once, so now I never walk through typically black neighbourhoods in case I get mugged again. Unless you were specifically mugged by a black person, in a black neighbourhood, there is absolutely no correlation between the two statements beyond bigotry. Her situation was awful and I am glad that she and her daughter managed to get out of it. But what has that to do with single-sex spaces?

2) Trans People (Specifically Women) AREN’T Belittling Cis-Women Who Have Concerns.

Actually, what we’d really love is to be able to have a genuine dialogue and explain things properly. Anti-trans groups present us as inherently hostile and unwilling to talk to cis-gender women who do have concerns about safety – usually concerns that exist in the first place because of anti-trans groups and their rhetoric.

But if you actually talk to us on things like single-sex spaces, we’d be like: No, sexual assault is not OK and anyone who tries to use ‘being transgender’ as an excuse for being a predator (of which there is basically no evidence of this happening) is a criminal. We agree that such a thing is unforgivable. But even more fundamental than that, this is just something that couldn’t be further from our minds when we just want to pee or go to the gym.

The fact of the matter is that that whole argument is equivalent to the old ‘gay men are obviously peadophiles’ and ‘lesbians just hate men’ suggestions. It implies that all trans women are predators and only want to assault women. It ignores facts such as that of many trans-women being STRAIGHT – in other words being interested in men (and by the way, they wouldn’t attack men either, just so you know). It ignores the fact that LGB men and women use toilets all the time and don’t go around assaulting people. It ignores the fact that we are more likely to be harassed or assaulted about using a bathroom than cis-gender people are. Like, seriously, when was the last time you went into a toilet and had a mother hide her child away from you like you were some kind of child-snatching weirdo, or got an insult from an old lady who is accusing you of trying to peek up skirts? That happens to us ALL. THE. TIME.

When it comes to discourse, we want to have it. We want you to know that your concerns have answers and can be alleviated. What we are belittling is THAT ideology, not people who have valid questions and thoughts. Of course there are predators out there. And yeah, there’s various forms of sexism that come into play between women judging each other, fat-shaming etc etc. Let’s talk about it. Please. Just don’t tell us, while we are talking about it, that you think we are all out to attack you. Which leads on to my next point…

3) Trans People Hate Misogyny and Toxic Masculinity As Much As You Do

I think we can agree on something: the main threat to women has been straight men. This is fact. It’s backed up by statistics. It’s backed up by movements such as #MeToo. It’s backed up by cases such as that of Brock Turner (look it up!). It’s also backed up by the fact that trans women are equally threatened by sexual violence and harassment – including murder – predominantly from men.

THIS is one of the main reasons why we say that trans rights are women’s rights. The rates and types and specific examples might differ, but there is a certain degree of shared experience that anti-trans groups try and deny. Actively. By blaming trans women. And saying that they are more often aggressors than victims – which is just so untrue that it is laughable. And let’s not forget to mention trans men who are raped and assaulted because they are still seen as women who need to be put in their place – or who are regularly referred to as just ‘confused butch lesbians’.

It is a particular type of sexism and patriarchal nonsense, but still ultimately gets focussed in on WOMEN and people assigned female at birth. This is a feminist issue and that’s why intersectional feminism (which includes all these different groups) is focussed on women’s rights as a whole.

4) We Know All Too Well That We Are Not Cis-gender Women/Men

Acutely. Painfully. Daily. It’s quite literally the key component of our dysphoria. Every day many of us wish that we hadn’t been born this way. Give us a switch and we’d flip it, give us a magic lamp and we’d use it. Not only that, we’d take it periods and all! We know that there are certain things that we will never experience, we know that there are things that we can never do.

But we are, still women. Say it with me: We. Are. Still. Women. (Or, for the trans dudes out there, Men!) Reminding a trans woman that she cannot carry children, or a trans man that he can’t produce sperm to impregnate – repeatedly, loudly and aggressively – and then weaponising that as a way to belittle her/him and say that this doesn’t make her/him a ‘proper woman/man’ is abhorrent. Would you say that to a cis-woman who had had a hysterectomy? No. What about a cis-man who had to have an orchiectomy due to testicular cancer? No. So why say it to a trans person? All of these situations are sad and horrible – but they happen.

In the end, we want to be as close as we can and very few, if any, of us can be ‘perfect’. But we stand IN SOLIDARITY with cis-gendered women. Again, to bring up intersectional feminism, a white woman does not experience the same things as a black woman, a woman who has had a hysterectomy or endometriosis is still as much of a woman as any other but will have very different lived experiences. Saying that trans women are women is very simply an acceptance of that fact. That we have an experience of being a woman that yes, might be different at times from others, but is still fundamentally about being women and does have shared experiences as well.

(Side point about periods: trans women do get them, as do some trans men. They might not bleed in the same way, but hormone levels fluctuating and all that jazz does happen with HRT. It is a different kind of period, but it is still a cycle. Oh, and let’s not get into the matter of dilation post-surgery for those who have it (again, look it up – this time it does involve blood and a lot of pain). Similarly, trans men often have both literal and HRT-related periods that can be cripplingly distressing for them. So yeah, check your ignorance about period-shaming at the door!)

5) Tone Policing Is Unwelcome, Unhelpful and a Show of your Privilege

Much like black people and other people of colour, or feminists trying to break down institutional sexism, we are sick to death of being told ‘pipe down and talk about this quietly’.

If we do that, then voices such as J K Rowling’s don’t get challenged. If we do that, laws get put in place that take away our already laughable access to healthcare, safety, security. If we do that, deliberate misinformation, lies and false claims get made to demonise us. The reason pride exists, the reason that there are rights for LGBT people was sparked by a riot of black trans lesbians who had decided that enough was enough. Our quiet and rational voices DO NOT get heard because we are constantly having to battle against all of the loud-mouthed bigots who say that we go around raping people left right and centre. We are the ones having to defend ourselves from anti-feminist groups who literally think that we should be sent to mental institutions.

We are ignored, ridiculed, belittled and then accused of being ‘too loud’?!!? Really? We are repeatedly told that we are not ‘real’ men and women and thus our voices don’t matter as much? Really? We are angry – because we fear for our lives and our freedoms that are being gradually stripped away.

So go ahead, tell us to calm down and raise our concerns peacefully and try to not step on anyone’s toes while we do it. But don’t expect a polite response. You wouldn’t tell a woman to calm down and just accept that some men don’t like having them as their bosses or as pilots, or as doctors because they are women. You wouldn’t tell a black person to just accept that some people feel uncomfortable when they are walking down the street just because of the colour of their skin.

So go a head and tell a trans woman that she should just accept that she isn’t allowed to go into a toilet without judgement and harassment just because poor Karen doesn’t like the fact that she doesn’t have periods. Go ahead and tell a trans man that they should just accept being beaten up and belittled because some people just don’t accept that they are men. Go ahead and tell us that we don’t deserve adequate access to healthcare because ‘oh, there just aren’t that many of you, really’ or ‘you’re just delusional’ or ‘well these 5 people got it wrong, so therefore all you other 5000 must also be wrong’*.

*Note, this is not a statistic, but a point being made. Plus, the issue of ‘de-transitioning’ is a whole other kettle of fish that would need to be discussed in a separate post. The short version is basically that a huge amount of those who *do* de-transition do so for a variety of reasons including medical and prejudicial – that doesn’t invalidate their experiences and it’s not because they’ve been brainwashed.

Final Thoughts:
Do You See Why We Are P*ssed Off!?

I don’t know you, I don’t know your minds, backgrounds or anything. Just like you don’t know mine. I write this openly and publicly because it’s such a big issue for me personally. I am angry because this is a very real situation that we live in. This is a very genuine issue that we face just by existing. And I am fed up of people trying to speak for us and police our tone. I am fed up with people like J.K. misrepresenting us and manipulating people though bad arguments and irrelevant examples. I am fed up with people not taking a moment to think about their own privilege . I am fed up with people not giving us the chance to talk peacefully and openly.

I am also fed up of the fact that #IJustNeedToPee!!!

The Insidious Nature of Lockdown…

So, every now and again I get these periods where I just need to scratch an itch to watch some good, interesting horror films. I tend not to go for slashers or gore anymore – I prefer interesting ideas and stories, things that make you ask questions or think! With that in mind, I turned my eye to the Insidious films that are all available on Netflix UK and I think I am now a series fan!

The Tl;Dr Version (Spoiler Free)

The ideas in the stories are great, I think, and reasonably nuanced, considering the plethora of ghost and psychic stories that are out there. 8/10. The scares are mostly shock based, in and of themselves not particularly notable, but the cinematography makes them interesting and the imagery/context helps to flesh them out. 6.5/10. The acting is great, I think, and I really can’t say anything bad about it – even the children are decent, which is a nice change from a majority of child actors in horror films! 7/10. Overall, I found them very enjoyable and while I wouldn’t say they are the peak of the horror genre, they are definitely worth watching and suspending your disbelief for! 7.5/10.

The Detailed Version (Spoilers Ahead)

As it stands at time of writing, the Insidious series consists of four inter-connected films, and while I could in theory review each one as a separate post each, I don’t want to go too much into each film individually. Rather I want to give a bit of an overall discussion about what I liked about the ideas and the stories, and how I think those played out on screen.

On that very point, I think they first thing to note is that the series as a whole is a bit of a fluke! The first film, Insidious, was a low-budget horror experiment that was written for fun and was never expected to be as successful as it turned out to be. With that in mind, the way the stories actually fit together is actually a very impressive feat. Quite often in a situation like this you find that a brilliant concept is well done and very popular so a sequel (or multiple sequels) is made and they either never quite reach up to the potential of the first or else have some very heavy retconning/changes in style or direction.* In my opinion, that is not the case for Insidious, which is surprising considering James Wan has openly stated that he doesn’t really have a plan for the stories until he writes them. This is probably why Elise, the ‘main’ character, dies at the end of the first one, and then has to be brought back as a spirit in the second one so as not to break continuity and then is at the centre of two prequels (i.e. not dead!). Beyond that, though, the links between the films and characters make things really interesting, with a particular moment on the fourth film making you wonder whether a lot of what happened in the first two was actually all Elise’s fault in the first place (albeit unintentionally so).

*I’m looking at YOU Fast and Furious, with your convoluted timeline, inconsistent characters and convenient memory-losses/contrived continuities.

Like I said at the top, I like horror films that have an interesting premise/story. Insidious, for me, ticks that box nicely. Without over-doing it, the writing has created mystery and raises questions that are dying for answers. Some of these answers may never come, but most of the big ones are revealed naturally through the plot, with those remaining being left to speculation and theory. In other words, a genuine sense of wonder as much as horror. The viewer finds themselves actively wanting to know more about the Further, more about the characters and their abilities, more about the demons/ghosts themselves and why they are as they are. The Bride in Black, for example, is not simply ‘misc. evil’ but actually has motive and intent, while Elise’s father is simultaneously a massive abusive dick AND a victim of a type of possession/demonic influence. . There is obviously a degree of evil for evil’s sake, but for the most part you aren’t expected to simply accept it without explanation (as you all too often are in horror movies).

Being honest, I think that this is what saves the movies from being ‘generic’. Due to the low budget (I think the first film was made for about $5mil) the scares and ‘horror’ come from the expert building of tension through the cinematography and the fact that you are actually invested in the people and what is going on thanks to both the story and the acting. You can be watching for ages in the gloomy darkness, preparing yourself for a scare that never comes until a few minutes later when you think you are safe. Or, as in chapter three, you are expecting a scare to come from below (literally the bottom of your screen) only for hands to spring down and grab you from above! Tricks like this aren’t new, and I wouldn’t exactly say this was innovative in any way, but it is done well and to great effect.

I really like this series of movies. I was a little dubious at first – the low budget is clear from promotional images etc., and unfortunately that doesn’t leave a great initial impression. But I ignored that and once I stepped into the world of the Further I could not find the Red Door to the place I was at before. The films were, indeed, insidious, and creepily wormed their way into my consciousness and refuse to let go!

A Number 2 That Wasn’t… Well, You Know!!

Sorry for the terrible pun there, I couldn’t resist. Lilo and Stitch is one of my wife’s favourite Disney films, and with our current access to Disney+ we discovered that there are not only two sequels, but also a whole animated series. We’ve not watched those (yet?) but we really liked Lilo and Stitch 2: Stitch Has a Glitch.

The Tl;Dr Version

Lilo and Stitch 2: Stitch Has a Glitch is actually quite a clever film in that it manages to successfully have no antagonists whatsoever, and yet still has a degree of tension and drama. This really is quite an impressive feat, and makes for enjoyable viewing. It’s fun, like the first, but not quite as zany and weird, which was a bit of a shame. But I really enjoyed it, which is rare with me for animated Disney sequels, and would give it a solid 8/10.

The Detailed Version

Who doesn’t love a bit of Disney? Yes, they are kindof evil and are trying to take over the world of digital media entertainment one franchise at a time… But let’s be honest, everyone has a favourite Disney movie. Anyone who grew up in a Western country, and many other places throughout the world, will know at least a handful of Disney film. The only animation studio that can really match it is Studio Ghibli in Japan.

I’ll maybe review my favourite Disney film(s?) some other time, but for now I want to make a simple point: much as people love Disney’s films, they very rarely love the sequels. I could be wrong, please let me know in the comments, but other than a choice few (Toy Story 2-4, Frozen 2, maybe Monsters University and Finding Dory, for example) I can’t think of many other sequels that are actually all that worth talking about. Notice, though, that these are newer Disney. Older Disney films were never really made with sequels in mind – they follow pre-set stories that come to satisfying conclusions and don’t really need to be followed up. This is not least because they are often based on existing stories, ideas or legends.

Lilo and Stitch kinda breaks this mould nicely. It’s a totally unique story, not based on existing characters from myths or fairy tales and the characters are original and interesting. The first film is so heartwarming, and does have a nice conclusion, but you are left quite nicely with a feeling that, yes, I’d like to know more about what happens. Stitch Has a Glitch nicely demonstrates that and gives a really nice little view into the next chapter of the story.

Helen (my wife)’s view was along these lines: ‘It was true to the original characters, so it felt like a good continuation, whilst also feeling like there was some genuine character development – both Lilo and Stitch have clearly grown a bit. Lilo is much less insecure, but sill Lilo. Stitch is still cute, I just like Stitch ok, he reminds me of our dog…!’ She generally enjoyed it and thought it was fun and interesting, but there were some negatives too. ‘The absence of Mr. Bubbles was really weird, considering his role in the first one. It’s also not clear how much time has passed because Nani and David say they’ve been dating for ‘three weeks’ but it feels like time has passed and they have settled down. Plus, the end credits of the first film show Halloween, Christmas etc. but imply that the two are dating. These have clearly happened thanks to references such as the hovercar, but yet the script sometimes makes it sound like only weeks have gone by and they have already settled into a routine.’

We were pretty much completely in agreement with this, so I can’t really add much more other than that I felt that in many ways it built on and added to the original story in an honest and genuine way.

One thing that I think does need to be discussed, however, is Pleakley’s gender identity. It is fairly clear that Pleakley, who is throughout the butt of a slight joke about liking girly things and being feminine, is supposed to be ‘male’. Yet the very way that ‘he’ expresses himself is recognisable as, as the very least, non-binary if not trans. This is kindof awesome, and I think in a modern Disney film would possibly be actively embraced. But as we are talking about 2005, the idea of Trans people in mainstream was still sketchy, nevermind the concept of being non-binary or genderqueer. This isn’t really a review point, positive or negative, but more something that I think it quite interesting. On top of that, am I the only one who gets some hella-gay (or not, if Pleakley is actually trans!) vibes between them and Jumba…? I’ll leave you, and indeed this review, with that thought….!

Preda-don’t-bother!

Slow connection, repetitive gameplay, lazy animation and god-damned loot boxes… The eponymous Hunting Grounds of the upcoming ‘Predator: Hunting Grounds’ are clearly your wallet and inflated fan-service! But it is rather fun for a while, and worth a go if it’s cheap… Special thanks for my gaming crew for their opinions as well!

The Tl;Dr Version

A reasonable game that is entertaining for a short while, but soon becomes repetitive and lacking. Plus, considering gaming technology as it is, the graphics were a little too cartoony, yet grainy, for my liking. If it was cheap and my gaming crew wanted to play it together, sure, I’d go for it again for a bit… but even the fairly low initial price of £34.99 seems a bit much for what is on offer. Overall 6/10. Not bad, but not great.

The Detailed Version

Usually, the story with this sort of thing is that movies that are made from videogames tend to be awful (Doom, Prince of Persia, Hitman…), whereas games made from movies can actually be pretty decent (Mad Max, Goldeneye, Alien Isolation). It isn’t a hard and fast rule, and I can’t help but feel that the upcoming Predator: Hunting Grounds will be proof of that very fact.

I’ll start with the Good: The game is pretty fun. It was very fun being near the end of a mission and bricking it as you ran to the exfil and waited to get out of dodge. ‘It got my heart pumping when I ran towards the choppah! and heard the thumping behind me!’ – Levaris. The sounds are amazing, with 80s-style music throughout and exceptionally creepy alien sounds making you look over your shoulders every time you hear a peep! – ‘The noises predator makes are creepy. You know it’s near, but not where!’ – Jasesaj.

Predator’s hiding was fun. You spend a lot of time looking to the trees, wondering where the hell the next attack will come from only to find a gauntlet suddenly poking out of your chest! On the flipside, the mud-cloaking was a cool mechanic though it was a little slow. Not to mention having AIs comment on it EVERY DAMN TIME! The shooting was slick enough, and quite satisfying, though the sound of staggering an AI enemy is almost identical to that of a head exploding which can be a little confusing. Close combat was also decent, though it resorted a little bit to the old Call of Duty knife insta-kill method against AIs, which makes it a little bit overpowered.

One of the possible benefits of this game is that it should have crossplay, meaning that there is a much larger chance that it will actually survive as a game. Players from across the three main platforms will be able to compete together, and as a result there might end up being a nice little community that develops around this game. Crossplay, now that it obviously can be done, is becoming much more popular and hopefully will become the default for a lot of online games.

Now the bad… Getting stuck on things was irritating. Compared to the ‘smooth’ movement and animation of the predator (using… wait for it… ‘Predcour’… *sigh*), as a soldier there was a lot of standing and staring at walls, or else being stuck on a rock and mauled to death by a murderous alien. Similarly, in the words of Hellipsis ‘the predator running sounds like you’re being chased by a T-Rex’. Some people might feel that the predator is a little too easy to spot at times, as well. Hellipsis again believes that ‘the predator should not make any sounds when staying still and crouching in the trees.’ Personally, I found that it was a fairly decent balance overall, but that’s me.

Variety was also a major issue. While the main objective of the game is obviously to kill or be killed as predator vs. human, there was not that much to really engage the human killteam in their quest for survival. Missions were: land (with exactly the same animation each time), run to place, kill goons, press buttons, defend thing, ARGH PREDATOR, get to the chopper…. It was a bit lacklustre. Naturally everyone is going to want to play as the predator a lot, so you need to have some hook to make people want to play as humans as well, but it isn’t really there. This isn’t helped by a very limited variety in customisation as well. Things unlock very quickly and easily, with no real challenge – see the number of duplicated that appeared from the loot boxes – and even when they do unlock they make very little or no real difference to anything. Hairstyles and colours (including ‘Predlocks’…!!!*) look pretty much identical and that, really was rather disappointing.

*I should point out that Levaris did like the terms Predlocks and Predcour… so it just goes to show how far fan-service and simple minds can get you… 😛

I feel like this game has the chance to be quite divisive. Some, like myself and AtreyuOFT will generally just go ‘meh’, and play it if it ever becomes a PS+ release or is massively on sale. Some people, especially hardcore fans of the film series, will no doubt absolutely love it and play it to death. Meanwhile others will genuinely just hate it and think that it’s not worth the time. This can technically be said for any game, I suppose, but this feels like one of those where people might be quite vocal due to it being tied to a very popular sci-fi franchise. For myself, though, it was enjoyable to play for a weekend, but I’m not going to rush out and buy it.

Defective – But We Love Him Anyway

It’s Friday, so I thought that of all the things that people might want reviewed to kick start their weekend, my dog Ragnar deserved some limelight for once in his fluffy life. So here you go, a review of my dog – because why not!
*Notice: No Ragnars were harmed in the making of this post, except by his own stupidity! ;-P

His face when he was told that he was going to get reviewed…

The Tl;Dr Version

Our dog is an idiot. A colossal twit of epic proportions. 2/10 for intelligence. He’s also a cute little cotton-wool bud with pretensions of sentience – he thinks he thinks, but there’s too much fluff in the way! 1/10 for ability to solve the mystery of the tree outside our door. He has very few practical applications, except perhaps as a foot-warmer. 3/10 because at least he tries. He is, however, a fluffy and wonderful anti-depressant, nurse, foot warmer (again), companion, widget, friend, secret-keeper and all round good boy. 100/10 because we love him and we wouldn’t change him for the world!!!

It’s a hard life being a dog. Gotta protect the humans for evil trees and bork at my own shadow!

The Detailed Version

When considering the nature of a creature such as Ragnar, it is hard to conceive of the sheer magnitude of widget that must have come together in the universe at the point of his birth. Somehow, of all the needy and somewhat useless creatures that are born in any given moment of existential wizardry, one October night the world was introduced to a ball of fluff who would change lives… Probably for the better…!

We got Ragnar from someone who lives just down the road from us whose two bichons just happened to be walking by pregnant when we were moving in to our house. He’s fully pedigree and his father is a healthy stud dog who is probably related to half the bichon frises in Liverpool. It was really cool to be able to get to know the mum really well, and then subsequently to have met Ragnar just three days after he was born. Unless you are a breeder/have had a pregnant dog, there aren’t really that many people I don’t think who can claim to have literally known their dog for pretty much all of its life!

Since that moment, he has been an ever faithful companion in the lives of my wife and I, and much as he drives us round the bend sometimes, we both agree that getting him was one of the best decisions of our lives together. He’s so full of daft-doggie energy and exuberance that he just snuggles his way into the hearts of anyone who meets him. (That is, except, for my brother in law and my best friend – both of whom proclaim to wish him executed for crimes of pointlessness, but actually really like him and just don’t want to admit it!)

Tl;Dr jokes aside, he isn’t the most intelligent of dogs that I’ve ever met. A lot of things worry him and he is rather highly strung. But ultimately he does mean well. He has also been known to show brief flashes of genius – whether in guiding Helen perfectly out of a maze, or in figuring out how to use the zip of an outdoor swimming pool dome. It’s possible that he’s actually a mad scientist but just keeps forgetting it… It’s also possible that he’s just an idiot. He doesn’t really understand shadows – specifically from a tree outside our front door – and on one occasion he managed to spook himself with his own fart! This is the level that we are dealing with!!!

One of his ‘uses’, though, is as a built in burglar alarm. If that tree so much as moves, we know about it. Children on the street? We know about it. A garage door opening somewhere in the Merseyside region? He’s on it! He lives on a simple principle of: if in doubt, start shouting until the problem goes away. The irony is, on the very few occasions when there has been some need of alarm, whether it be the time we had a rat in the kitchen or coming across dodgy people in the street he has repeatedly proven himself to be an absolute coward who is more than happy to draw our attention to things – so long as we then sort them out for him. For all his bluster, he’s the epitome of bark worse than bite! (As a related sidebar, we often refer to him when coming home as a inter-continental ballistic bork because of his excitement levels whenever we come home.)

Which kinda leads me towards the conclusion of this little description of my fluffy sidekick – who is currently lying at my feet as I write this on the sofa. Despite his idiocy and cowardice, the annoyingness of his barking and his inability to function generally as a living creature, I really do love him to bits. He’s cute, warm, comforting, means well (i.e. is not always a good boy) and every single day makes me smile and laugh. Dogs are great, and ours might not be perfect – but he’s our little Rignuff/Fluff-Nugget/Widget/Rigs/Whatever-we-feel-like-calling-him-at-any-given-moment. He’s the best Ragnar he could be, and that will always be enough!

How very dare you groom me! I was quite happy being a fluff-ball thank you very much!

Final Fantasy VII Remake Demo – My First Time in FF7!

I’ve never had the opportunity to play Final Fantasy VII before, having been somewhat put off by its gameplay style when I was younger (and more foolish) and then subsequently by its age. Playing this demo, then, is my first foray and while some people might compare it, I am coming at it with a completely fresh pair of eyes!

The Tl;Dr Version

This is a beautiful game. It was never not going to be a beautiful game. It’s just got such vibrancy and depth to it, although there is the odd bit of blurring – 9/10. Going around the world is also fun, with much being left as you would expect from a JRPG and the usual Final Fantasy style – it was a little clunky though and it would take a bit of getting used to – 7/10. Combat was smooth and effective, leaving me with nice fuzzy ‘I-just-murderized-those-goons/machines’ feelings. A little mashy when the going got intense and I spent a little bit of time not being allowed to do things for no obvious reason – 8/10. Overall, I’m stoked to play this in full and hope new players and old-hands are not let down by a remake of such a classic game.

The Detailed Version

Visually you can really tell that they have tried to push current gen to its limits – unsurprising since this remake has been a LONG time coming, and since it will probably be one of the swan-song games before the release of PS5 etc. The cinematic sections are stunning, leaving you as breathless as the polluted city you are finding yourself existing in. I was worried that the colours were going to be all muted and dark, but actually the balance is great and really gives you a feel for the environment around you. Plus it helps text to stand out really boldly.

The character models are phenomenal – much like I was saying with Jill Valentine earlier in the week, the level of detail and capability that we are able to see now is spectacular and I cannot wait to see how it looks in the coming years. Cloud looks like a JRPG poster-boy, which I guess he is, and his slightly emo frowny-face is amusing. Jessie’s HAIR!!! Barret meanwhile is a muscular, mini-gun-armed tank who ripples with barely controlled rage. They look cool and unique, and I cannot wait to learn more about them when I eventually play the full game.

World traversal is fine, if a little simplistic. I like games where you can control things like jumping and aren’t just clumsily running through things like traffic cones, or being blocked by scenery that barely comes higher than your bootstraps. The animations are smooth, though, and I’m just being fussy here, really. Personal preference and all that. Something that genuinely annoyed me though – and this isn’t unique to this game – was having to be precisely in the correct location in order to use an item such as a switch. Considering this is a game where attacking a locked on enemy catapults your character to the victim, it is irritating to be shifting around in by centimetres just to call a lift!

Combat is smooth and fairly easy, if a little mashy in the head of the action. You get a real sense of the blows landing and knocking enemies off their feet. Meanwhile, once you have enough power, you can slow time to select actions and unleash more powerful moves to take out your foes. Switching between different battle modes was fun, but I didn’t fully get a sense of the difference just from this playthough. One slightly odd thing that I did notice was that when you block, bearing in mind you are blocking with a big-ass sword, you are basically automatically shielded from attacks, even if they are quite literally bullets being fired directly into your back! Tell you what, though, the boss battle against the scorpion sentinel at the end is amazing. You don’t often get a proper ‘whoof, I’ve done it!’ kind of feeling from boss battles in a lot of games anymore but by the end of this one I was properly buzzing, it was long, it was intense but it was fun and incredibly satisfying.

All in all, I’m really excited to play this in full. Like I said, I’ve never played the original, so for players like me it will be a completely new experience! I just hope that veterans aren’t too disappointed. I really enjoyed XV and I’ve dabbled a little in a few others, but this looks set to be my next major jump into Final Fantasy land, once I have the money – and I can’t fucking wait!