Tag Archives: fear

Ell Bee Pee Too

There’s a game called LittleBigPlanet 2 that came out recently. For those that don’t know, it’s a game that lets you make other games – like, anything, pretty much (if you’re creative/good enough). For those that do know: shut up.

I think it’s an amazing idea, a fantastic product and it’s absolutely brilliant that it exists. It helps people to dick about, and dicking about really is the only good thing we can do in this life. Also something about helping creativity, I don’t know. And something else about opening people’s minds to things that aren’t Call Of Fucking Duty*. But mainly the dicking about thing – dicking about is great. Basically, it’s one of the best things to come out of videogames.

I’ve never played it.

I’ve had a copy since a bit before it came out – ah, perks of the job – and it’s sitting here in my room, judging me. I can hear it at night, wondering aloud why I never put it in the thin slot in front of the fat bastard console. It’s for a very simple reason.

I’m overwhelmed by it all. I don’t want to play the single player game, really, as it looks to just be some platforming done better elsewhere. But I do want to play the millions of levels and thousands of games created by the dillweeds around the world.

But there’s millions of the former, and thousands of the latter. That’s too many. That’s overwhelming.

And so it sits there, looking at me with pleading eyes, wondering why I won’t give it the satisfaction of beaming its happy beams into my eyes and the sound… beams… of Stephen Fry into my ears.

Maybe one day, LittleBigPlanet 2 disc. Maybe one day.

*Not actual title.


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Volcanoes: nature’s terrorists

There are things people are afraid of – some of them are silly, some of them are utterly ludicrous, some of them are fair, some of them are completely right, some of them are weird and so on and so forth. I know people scared of flying, those who fear the arachnid menace filling our British households with tiny, eight-legged freaks. I know those who constantly fear being mugged, stabbed, bummed in the gob or shot with a musket by an unknown assailant.

I know people who are scared of dying, all the time. Those who aren’t too pleased about the thought of getting old. Some who lose sleep over the thought of being alone. One who squeals at the sight of cotton wool.

I know people are scared of odd things, and I know them quite well. Also: I’m scared of volcanoes. And to be honest, I think it’s a more pertinent and correct fear to have than any other fear I’ve ever heard of. Why? These are scars in the earth that are set to explode.

If every volcano in the world just decided to erupt at the same time, the world would probably end. I have no actual evidence to back this up, but I reckon it’s pretty true. There are hidden supervolcanoes in certain places around the world that could kill millions with the least effort.

Lava can melt your soul. Explosive flying rocks will kill mercilessly and without reason. Volcanoes and earthquakes are best mates. Some volcanoes never stop erupting. One was even enough of a shit to stop people from making international flights. Sure, it wasn’t enough to kill anyone, but it’s just another reason why volcanoes are bastards: they sometimes do things just to be dickheads.

If I ever meet a volcano again (I met Teide in Tenerife, a few times. He is my nemesis) I’m going to smack it in its stupid face. Not too hard though, I don’t want it to go off.

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Fireworks and the art of going BOOM! in the sky

Got halfway through this yesterday, booze, Empire Strikes Back and low battery got in the way of finishing it. Sozzer.

Think of things you loved as a child: the smell of fresh cut grass, cool, dewy morns, free cake. It was all great, clearly. One of the things a lot of young ‘uns liked seemed to be those flaming (tiny)tubes of gunpowder launched into the air for the seeming good of humanity. Or: fireworks. Those things you set fire to and watched explode. Yeah, them.

I watched some tonight – nothing amazing, just a barge on the sea throwing flaming cylinders into the sky so they can explode in a shower of coloured… stuff. It was alright, though not exactly on a par with THE BEST FIREWORKS SHOWS IN THE WORLD, like… umm… the ones I’ve never seen. It had colours, explosions and a variation in the type, colour and size of explosion that happened all over the sky. So yeah, that was alright.

Thing is, when I was a kid I was terrified of the bloody things, and I never understood how anyone could be anything but terrified. I mean, they were literally explosion shows, with explosions. Loud ones. Big bangs combined with the impending terror of another big bang never did bode well for tiny Ian.

While I’ve managed to get over that and can now successfully coo with delight at the slightest sign of any coloured explosives being launched into the sky, I do still retain some feelings of fear from my childhood. As such, if you see me flinching at a fireworks display, feel free to come over, point, laugh and say “hahaha, Ian was a child once!” BOOM!

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A public service announcement RE: walking

This is a public service announcement from Dransfield Industries, a subsidiary of Dransfield Incorporated, which represents parent company Dransfield Dransfield.

26 July, 2010. Bournemouth, England.

Statement begins:

WOMEN, men, children, dogs and everything in-between are being offered advice for if a reasonably large, northern man begins walking anywhere in the vicinity of them. This man, it has been noted, is not a threat to you, your safety, your belongings or your way of life. Just because this man has decided to walk on the same stretch of pavement as you does not mean he is about to murder you most violently. Or even make eye contact.

It has been noted by Dransfield Industries that many women, men, children, dogs and everything in-between act surprised by the appearance of this man on pavements. They have been known to cross roads in what is not always – but quite clearly sometimes – a way of getting away from the man. Looks of confusion, if not genuine fear, are commonplace whenever this man comes within a certain distance of many women, men, children, dogs and everything in-between.

We at Dransfield Industries, as well as employees at Dransfield Incorporated and the management team at Dransfield Dransfield would like to offer this piece of advice to all women, men, children, dogs and everything in-between, whether they seem to fear this man or not: he is not going to hurt you in any way, shape or form. You do not need to look behind you, cross roads, eye up any nearby items that could be used as makeshift weaponry, call MI6, run away or throw a smoke bomb at the ground before vanishing. This man is not a murderer, rapist, mugger, bumper-intoer, insulter or attacker.

Dransfield Industries would like to confirm he is just a largeish man who walks quite fast. We ask that all women, men, children, dogs and everything in-between remain calm on seeing him in the streets. He is of no threat to anyone.

Statement ends.


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I told you I was ill

I knew actually leaving the house would yield results – one doctor’s appointment later (obviously not for me, as I have the iron constitution of a bull (made of iron)) and there’s a whole new subject to talk inanely about: hypochondria.

It is another one of those facets of life that I will rip on people incessantly about, yet am guilty of myself. From my girlfriend today, whose “definite brain cancer that will make my very soul explode” actually turned out to be a bit of a boo-boo on her knee, to my “definitely got cancer, going to die of it, tell my Mum ‘hello’” which turned out to be more a spot of me being a massive unhealthy twat, there are some fun stories to get out of this strange phenomenon. It’s made even more fun by the fact that it’s borne entirely out of our endless fear of mortality (well, not entirely, as insane media reporting and general idiocy play big parts too, but you get the point).

My example up there brought about three things: one, a general feeling of malaise in the period where I was waiting on test results and generally trying to get on with being a uni student; two, a doctor’s finger up my bum; and three, another doctor – who didn’t believe me when I told him about the last one/fancied me – violating me too. Safe to say, it wasn’t a high point in my life, and having an ultrasound in a room full of female student nurses was the icing on a particularly embarrassing (but tasty) cake. And why did I do it? I have no idea. The fact I was leading an unhealthy lifestyle, as I still am, never even occurred to me, as I simply convinced myself I was definitely going to die within the week.

Case two saw me convinced my kidneys were about to explode in a shower of pissy vinegar, covering my friends in their diseased goodness. On visiting the walk-in clinic (register with your local GP, kids), I was informed it was actually a chronic back strain, natch.

You want to feel relieved that you’re not dying; that you are actually going to live a long, fat life. But this relief is tempered by the fact that you feel like a massive plum for wasting the time of the medical professionals and for scaring yourself and your friends/loved ones so much. Isn’t it, ANNA?


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