Vegetarianism is Murder.

What's the connection between the following people? Annie Lennox. Morrissey. Billy Idol. Boy George. Chrissie Hynde. Damon Albarn. Des'Ree. Eddie Vedder. Lenny Kravitz. Peter Gabriel.
No, it's not the fact that they're all pompous arseholes whose glory days are long gone. They are all vegetarians. (I got these names from here which is a list of famous vegetablists. Although historical flesh avoiders Einstein, Newton, Epicurus and Franklin are on there, the most famous vegetarian of all time-Adolf Hitler-is missing. I'm beginning to think they might be a little choosy as to who they let on the list.)
I'm not against vegetarianism for the most part. It's just not for me. I've been co-habiting with a herbivore for nearly fourteen years, and my kids are veggies as well, so I've tried a lot of the alternatives. I don't mind soya mince or quorn, but tofu tastes like wax-coated dog cum (don't ask me how I know what that tastes like-what a night that was!). I've tried them but they're not a decent substitute for bacon at all. You won't convince me at all. I understand people's reasons for doing it, but I love meat too much.
I'm posting on this subject because last night I went to a vegetarian curry house. It was full of the people I expect to see at these places. Old hippies. Men and women with beards. (Famous comics beardie and hero of mine Alan Moore is also a veggie) sandal wearers, those people with ridiculous Lapp reindeer herder-type wooly hats,and Ill-looking young couples who are probably only in there because they were born too late to go on CND marches. Vegetarianism needs to get trendy if it's going to convert people. For every Joaquin Phoenix making it cool you've got a Carla Lane bringing it down again.
It was a buffet affair which meant you can have as much sick as you like. It was for the most part, fairly bland, and how I missed my Northern Indian garlic chilli chicken. A curry without meat is like a day without sunshine! There were lots of pictures of Jamie Oliver in there shaking hands with the staff, which put me off even more. If rubber lips likes it, I won't. The after-effects today were startling, with my stomach being bloated up with gas which has been seeping out in cabbagey bursts every five minutes or so. So further proof to myself, should I need it, that I'm definitely a carnivore.

Dave Cockrum.

Yesterday saw the passing of a comics art legend. Dave Cockrum, co-creator of the modern X-Men is now, sadly, no longer with us.
He and Len Wein relaunched X-Men, (which was still in publication but had been just reprints for years. It's easy to forget these days with the massive popularity of the x-books that it had been all but cancelled due to its unpopularity) which didn't really reach its supreme popularity until John Byrne's stint on the book, but Cockrum paved the way, with his character designs (among them Nightcrawler, Storm and Colossus) up there with the best of them.
R.I.P. Dave. You won't be forgotten.

Super,super,super...Superman!

Hello friends. (Are you my friends? You're not just taking the piss, are you?) Here's a nice little film from those super talented people in Bollywood. (I thought Bollywood was called that because it was in Bombay, but we don't say 'Bombay' anymore, it's 'Mumbai' these days, so surely their film industry must now be called 'Mollywood'. Just a thought.) It's the Indian version of Superman but India's version of Kal-El is a niftier mover than the boring Yank one, especially that morose motherfucker in the latest movie. The Indian Supes has a sidekick that's a lot prettier than Jimmy Olsen, but for some reason, she's dressed as Spidey. It goes on a bit, so just get a flavour of it then skip to the rather excellent fight scene. I love Superman's way-too-large 'S' crest and his half mast trousers with black chelsea boots combination. Great Caesar's ghost!
In other, more personal news, the world famous Nostalgia & Comics store, on Priory Queensway, Birmingham, has, on last time I heard, sold all but one of their copies of the MC2 anthology we've just launched, and they're ordering more. I don't know whether this is good news as I don't know how many copies they had to start with! If they orderded in just two, it's a bit shit, really. It'll be on sale at the Birmingham Comics Show, which is now in a couple of weeks (click on the link in my sidebar), so I'll see you there. If you're coming, of course.

"Hell is other people."

I've been suffering with the lurgey now for about three weeks. I thought I was over the worst at the weekend, but the bastard was lying low and ambushed me again this week. I feel lower than earthworm shit. I'm still fit enough for work (worse luck) so I've been traipsing to the living hell I call my job dying with man-flu. Not making it any better is a colleague of mine who has to be the biggest annoying bastard this side of Nick Owen. (Viewers not in the Midlands may remember him from his double act with Anne Diamond. Unfortunately for us unlucky Brummies he reads our local news on the Beeb, and tries to make it "fun" with his crappy puns. I wish Pamela Stephenson would show up again and shove that banana up his arse. I digress.)
This annoying colleague is a fat bastard. I'm not against overweight people (I'm one myself! It cost me the Bond gig!) but he is fat, and he is a bastard. He substitutes shouting for personality, he substitutes repetition for wit, and he substitutes repetition for wit. He likes bullying the temps, and grabbing other colleagues in bear hugs or half-nelsons. I won't stand for any of that shit. He's an arsehole. A fat sweaty, lazy gobshite whose father should have pulled out early. Because he can see I'm poorly, he's made a beeline for me this week, but I won't stand for it, and tell him to fuck off. He threatened to stab me, but that was because I accidentally-on-purpose sprayed silicone release spray in his fat face when he was bothering me on Monday. When he was aimlessly making annoying noises and shouting that same afternoon, I told him to "stick a pie in it" to which he threatened to knock me out. Ooooohh, I'm scared! He's like a fucking pelican ie. all beak. With a flapping bag attached. After our little contretemps I spent the afternoon whistling the Rocky theme at him. I'd like to see him try and knock me out, because a)He'd get the sack and b)he'd get my toecap right under his third chin. The fat cunt.
I feel better for getting that off my chest. Thanks for listening.

Reet! Neybody Move!

Television lately is so stuck for ideas that they've been re-hashing old shows. ITV, in particular, have been trying to reclaim old glories by bringing back old cop shows. A Touch of Frost, Prime Suspect and Cracker have all recently been necromanced onto our cathode ray tubes (or plasma screen if you're posh and like being burglarised).
One cop, however, has been missing from our screens for too long. I am talking about Newcastle's finest-DI Harry Batt!

Saturday mornings are shit now Harry's not on anymore. He was a man's man. The one true successor to John Thaw's Jack Regan. A no-nonsense copper who hits first and asks questions after. A maverick detective who will drive like a maniac if it means nabbing wrong 'uns:

Also, seeing the dark side of society took it out of Harry. Here is the heroic detective is in one of his more reflective moments:


His arresting technique is unorthodox, but it get results!


Also, any self-respecting 70's detective needs a theme tune, and DI Batt's got a belter:



It's about time this man had his own show. Me, my kids and my mate Pete think so, and we're right about most things!

The Name's Trimble...Mick Trimble

Me and my offspring went to see Casino Royale today. After an argument with the wanker behind the counter over whether 11-year-olds are allowed in when accompanied by an adult (which I won) we sat down to watch what is probably the best 007 film since On Her Majesty's Secret Service.

Even though I'm kind of the right age, look the part and have dark hair, I'm still waiting for Dana Broccoli to get in touch and offer me the part. Their loss. While I wait for my stint in the tuxedo, Daniel Craig can keep it warm for me. He is excellent as 007. The fact that he is not physically the stereotypical Bond means that you don't automatically compare him to Sean Connery, as you do with every other actor who has wielded the Walther.(Like the hair colour was that important anyway. Roger Moore's hair was a kind of sandy brown and Connery's hair depended on what shop he bought it from.) Craig has an edge to him, you think he can and will kill if he has to, something missing from Moore's Bond. He has the haircut an ex-military man would have, not the cut and blow dry Brosnan had. Craig's 007 is a come-and-have-a-go Bond, an aggressive hard bastard, who is not the indestructible superspy yet, but vulnerable emotionally, and is always bleeding and bruised when he has a fight. This is a Bond film with a heart, but this doesn't mean the action is lacking. The Parkour sequence in Madagascar is ridiculously exciting. The chase to stop a terrorist bomber in Miami's airport is breathtaking. The 'sinking house' scene in Venice is also very well done. The fights are very violent and make you wince sometimes. Speaking of wincing, the famous 'knacker smacking' torture scene from the novel has survived the adaptation to the silver screen. Casino Royale isn't flawless, however. The bad guy, Le Chiffre, isn't up there with the likes of Goldfinger or Blofeld, as he's a bit of a wimp, and his ability to weep blood is creepy. The film has a lot of plot, so it's too long, and the theme song isn't very good. And the whole continuity thing has gone out the window (007's just starting out, but M's the same one he has in the last film, it's contemporary setting, etc.,etc.) . But as an attempt to drag Bond into the 21st century, it succeeds admirably.

Dancing to our own toon.

Here is the online version of the article about the Midlands comics Collective that was printed in Saturday's Birmingham Post. I won't post the picture up as half of my head is missing from it thanks to a flash-flare or something. Although the article is mainly about rising star Asia Alfasi, my story Never Strikes Twice is mentioned, being called a 'poignant, postmodern superhero tale', which was kind of what I was going for (even though the ending was changed, with the editor's insistence I put a pointless speech caption in the last panel) , so I'm glad it's been received that way. Quite chuffed, actually.

MeMe Me! Me Too! Two.Twuw.

I've recently been tagged by the beautiful and talented and annoying Jemima to complete this online questionnaire, known as a 'meme' to those in the know. Generally, I hate doing the bloody things, because deep down, I know I'm dull and boring, and I don't want anyone else to find out!
The questions are all to do with the number four, so guess how many questions there are- Four, Fourteen, Forty? No, there's nine.

a) Four jobs I have had in my life:
International jewel thief, Formula one driver, stuntman and soldier of fortune.
Not really! I've been a hairdresser's assistant, a power press operator, a formed coil manufacturer and now I am getting bits of paid work, I can say comic artist/illustrator. I think the second lot of options are far more exciting than the first.
b) Four movies I would (have) watch(ed) over and over again:
If I like a movie, I'll tend to watch it loads of times anyway, but I'll whittle it down to four, (although by tomorrow the list will change completely):
Raiders Of The Lost Ark- I've loved this film ever since I first saw it when I was eight or so-sheer entertainment, and it ages better than some of Lucas' other efforts, probably because he's let it grow old gracefully, and not keep fixing it 'til it's broke.
Enter The Dragon- Watching Bruce Lee fight people on screen is more rewarding and artistically valid to me than any poxy ballet. Plus, all the dialogue is fun to copy at home-"Boards ...don't hit back."
"It's like a finger pointing to the moon. Don't concentrate on the finger or you will miss all the heavenly glory"
Also, making Bruce Lee fighting noises is enormously rewarding.
The Producers- The original one, not the musical remake. Kenneth Mars pisses on Will Ferrell.(Not literally. Well, I hope not, anyway) Zero Mostel puts in probably the best comedy performance of all time as Max Bialystock, and him and Gene Wilder make a brilliant double act. It's a shame Mel Brooks has made so many shit films recently because The Producers, Blazing Saddles and Young Frankenstein are all classics.
Last but not least is Goldfinger. The best Bond (Shir Shean) in the best Bond movie. The best villain, the best henchman, the best car, the best Bond girl rude name ("Pushhy") and the direction (Lewis Gilbert) , music (John Barry) and set design (Ken Adam) are all top-notch.
c) Four places I have lived:
Latveria, Wakanda, Gotham, Metropolis.
Not really. I've never lived anywhere but Birmingham, but I have moved around within its borders.
d) Four TV shows I like to watch:
Generally, I think all modern telly is rubbish-especially the faeces ITV excretes into my eyes lately, but I'll watch Doctor Who and most things football-related. I like shouting "Dion Dublin" at the telly when it's mystery guest time on Question Of Sport, irrespective of who it actually is.
I'll also watch Porridge whenever it's on (frequently) because Porridge was the best sitcom of the 70s (bollocks to your Fawlty Towers.) and Lennie Godber was a Villa fan.
e) Four places I have visited:
Sutton Park, Sutton Coldfield,
Royal Victoria Park, Bath,
Villa Park, Witton, Birmingham,
Ray Park, Darth Maul.
f) Four websites I visit daily:
I like Progressive Ruin, it's probably the best comics blog out there. I visit b3ta quite frequently. There's always stuff on their 'popular links' page that makes me laugh. I check out everyone's blog that's in my sidebar. I also like Dark Horizons, an Aussie site that keeps me abreast of movie stuff. It's far less geeky than Ain't It Cool News, and number four is probably The Beeb's Villa mini-site which doesn't try to flog you a load of shite every five minutes, unlike the official site.
g) Four places I would like to be right now:
Latveria, Wakanda, Gotham, Metropolis.
I don't care where I am as long as I'm around the people I love.
Sounds wanky, I know, but it's true.
h) Four of my favourite foods:
Seconds! Only joking.
I love hot buttered crumpets with marmite. I love Northern Indian Garlic Chilli Chicken Curry from my local takeaway. Tastes better than Senokot, anyway. I love crisps with houmous (doesn't matter what flavour crisp; only Prawn Cocktail ones taste horrible with houmous) and I love bacon but some cow won't let me have it, because she thinks eating pork is evil.
i) Four bloggers I'd like to respond:
I'd like Jonni to do something other than write about the bloody Green Lantern Corps, Steve is always writing good funny stuff, and he's been quiet for a while, as well. Ian, a proper comics professional, has also been under the radar a bit, I'd like to hear what he has to say. And I'd like to hear what my secret reader in Norway has to say, as well.

Fuck me! Didn't that take forever? satisfied now, Jemima?

Gone To Launch.

Guten Tag! Last night was the launch party/exhibition for the MC2 book . I say party, but unlike every other party I've been to, I didn't vomit. It went very well, and I think I got away with pretending I was a real comics artist. We signed and scribbled on and sold a fair few, almost enough to cover our costs with frames and so on. Thanks to everyone who did come along, especially the ones I know, as I know it was midweek, there was a match on nearby,etc.,etc.,but I appreciated you making the effort and coming along. We had pictures taken for the Birmingham Post, and my ugly mug will be in there this Saturday. I ruined fellow contributor Andy Baker's copy by drawing a classic ejaculating cock (You know, two drops of spunk coming out of the end, the classic public lavatory doodle) on the inside cover. He liked it, though. He nearly ruined a young friend of mine's book by drawing a spidey with his balls hanging out, until I told him how young my friend was, so he covered Parker's penis with pants. Oh, how grown-up and mature we all are! The exhibition continues until Saturday, so if you can make it to the Vaad Gallery at the Custard Factory, pop in and have a look! (I'll be there invigilating on Friday, so if you need extra paper just put your hand up.)
Afterwards, we went to the local boozer, where hardcore comic artist John McCrea had a pot of tea. Hunt Emerson got a pot of coffee. Rock and Roll! After a short time, though, just me and another contributing artist Jason Dennis (Who will be a big star one day. He's so talented he makes me sick.) were left. We ended up talking to some students who had bought our book, were enthustiastically nice about it, and dragged along, against my better judgment, to a student night at Snob's, an exclusive plush exotic nightclub in our city centre. As you can see, (well you would've done if Blogger actually let me upload the photo. Bastard thing.) I was wearing a suit. Everyone else had wildly coloured hair and dreadlocks, I was dressed as a lawyer. I stuck out like a blind cobbler's thumb. Jason was alright, though, as he always dresses like Michael Ryan; well, he's always got a camouflage coat on, anyway, so he fitted right in. Even though we're both at least a dozen years older than everyone else. Despite this handicap, though, it was a good night, but I am too old for this shit, as Roger Murtaugh keeps saying in all them bloody Lethal Weapon films.

Addendum: Blogger has now been gracious enough to include the photo, finally.

Memory (Grove) Lane.

I went back to my old school yesterday, for the first time since I left, back in '91. My old school is called Handsworth Grammar School For Boys, which, unsurprisingly, is a grammar school for boys.(Although these days, they let girls join the sixth form, something unheard of in my day-actual females!) Famous alumni of the school include the well-known cartoonist of the past 'Larry'(Terrance Parkes), jazz tramp Charlie Mitton, Denis Howell MP (deceased), Vikram Dodd( fairly famous journalist who writes for the Guardian. He was a few years above me at school, but I remember him launching the school paper which was called The Litter Bin, which was utter drivel. His nickname was VD, I think, so we wouldn't buy the paper, saying it had 'VD' all over it! Urgghhh!), and shit-haired Labour MP, journalist and talented David Cameron impressionist Sion Simon. For some strange reason, people never say "Mick Trimble used to come here! Wow!!"
I went there yesterday with my youngest daughter, who was taking her 11+ exam, and my old school (that's its badge in the picture) was the venue. At the end, when I went to pick her up again, I was surprised to see some of my old teachers were still working there. One of them shouted at me for standing too far to the right (it was just like old times). Like five feet makes all the difference, you old jobsworth cunt. He was a cunt when I was atttending the place and he's still a cunt fifteen years later. Cunt.
The school has had a lot of work done to it since I last bunked off. It was mostly a dilapidated shithole then, but now, it looks modern and clean. These kids today don't know they're born!On the way out with my daughter, I saw another old teacher of mine. I always thought he was okay, so I went up and said hello. This man didn't have a fucking scooby who I was, which is fair enough as he only taught me French twice a week for six fucking years. Oh, and he banned me and five other boys from every school trip ever because he found beer and wine in our hotel room on a French trip. Wasn't my fault, it was the bigger boys, sir. And the French shopkeeper who sold us the alcohol in the first place. I digress. Anyway, when I said my name I could tell he didn't remember me, but to his credit, he pretended to and we chatted for a few minutes, until I put him out of his misery and buggered off. I think he was shell shocked that someone he taught is bringing their own children to the school to take the 11+! It's bound to make you feel old.
It was heartening for me to find out I made no impression whatsoever in my time at school.