Pete Ashton’s Blog

Feeling much better now, thanks for asking, though it was a bit of a nightmare. I think I must have gotten a wee cold there for a bit, thanks no doubt to cycling in the freezing air, but whatever, it had passed by Sunday morning and other than my thumb still being sore (partly related to a sprained wrist ten years ago) everything seems to be in working order.

A slightly disturbing side effect of being knackered and possibly having a cold was my dreams got rather odd. My friends often appear in them but never in a notable way - just as people passing through. This last week though I’ve been murdering the male ones or getting involved in terribly messy marriages with the females, which was most disconcerting to say the least. It then occurred to me I’d been reading a lot of Gilbert Hendandez’s Palomar stories (specifically Poinson River) before bedtime which, amongst other things, have a fair chunk of violent deaths and complicated romances, so that’s okay then.

Saturday was mostly spent in my dressing gown watching Spaced with a brief interlude to go shopping (not in my dressing gown, though I expect to do that at some point) with Andy and Alex so we could share a cab home, where I was reminded of how long some people, especially couples it seems, can spend in a supermarket. Me, I’m done in minutes. Them, they spend forever, doing what I have no idea. Still, it did give me a chance to think about varying my diet for the first time in months so I plumped for spag bol as something I hadn’t had for a while, could be done very simply if necessary and has room for variation and mutation, specifically into chili. (I later proceeded to pour half the spag into the sink, but we won’t dwell on that.) The taxi back from the supermarket took bloody forever to arrive, despite me tempting bad karma by ordering a second one under a different name in the hopes that one of them would get to us before the night was out, which I wouldn’t normally do but 5-10 minutes is 5-10 minutes, by golly, and on the way home I repeatedly told myself that while I could have cycled there and shopped twice and still have time to construct a replica Eiffel Tower out of matchsticks I probably wouldn’t have bothered in the first place and so it was worth it really. And then it was back to Spaced for the rest of the second series, this time fully dressed, only for Andy to discover the DVDs have a “Homag-o-meter” extra which points out all the references as it runs through, so we’ll be watching them again then. But that’s no bad thing. I kept thinking I spotted Buffy references only to realise they were things Xander said so they were probably references to something else to begin with. This po-mo entertainment world can be so complicated sometimes…

Sunday was a relatively early start (bearing in mind I’d been getting to bed at five and up at one for work this last week) for my first pseudo-commercial (in that I was paid with lunch) photo shoot for An Untitled Musical Project about which I shall write more later, but for now here’s the initial selection taken in the wilds of Selly Oak.

Then after pouring over the photos for a few hours Andy and Alex announced they were going to watch a movie, which seemed like a good idea, so I joined them for Bubble Boy, a film starring Jake Gyllenhaal in his pre-hearthrob days which was surprisingly brilliant. Surprisingly because it should have been fucking awful being a by-the-numbers teen comedy road trip type film with a wacky cast of D-list actors more normally employed in animation voiceovers of the non-Pixar variety. But like Sky High (another film that should have been shit but became my favourite film of last year) it had enough absurd moments of milk-through-the-nose hilarity and slapstick and enough self-awareness of it’s innate stupidity to drag it round the back of the film quality spectrum and jettison it onto the hallowed platform of films that are so far beyond “so bad it’s good” as to be genius.

Or maybe Andy and I are just entering some kind of post-Empire senility where the years of po-faced pseudo movie-criticism have taken their toll, the hero directors of our youth being revealed as the workman-like practitioners they always were forcing us to revel in sub-Disney comedies. Though Alex liked it too and she’s like a drama student and shit. Ah, whatever…

Here’s an idea for thing.

I often work late at night when my flatmates are asleep. I like to have music on but I don’t want to disturb them. Headphones are one option but not particularly comfortable for extended periods, especially when I just want background music, so I usually keep the volume down very low indeed, and then as the night progresses and I get more attuned to the silence outside I turn it down further until I might as well not be listening to music at all.

What I’d like is a monitor that sits outside my door and listens out for my music. It’s connected to the computer so it knows what to listen for and should any noises match the patterns coming from my speakers it automatically turns the volume down (at the same time ignoring my flatmates when they go to the loo or something). That way I can have my tunes at an audible volume and be safe in the knowledge that I’m not disturbing anyone else.

I expect to see this in the shops by Christmas.

I am totally fucking knackered… I am a physical wreck… My body has more aches than I knew were possible… I am in pain…

The job, ladies and gentleman, has taken it’s toll. After an initial burst of godlike magnificence at the courier depot I’ve started to feel the effects. The 16 mile cycle ride every day and the relentless lugging… On Friday morning I woke up with bruised muscles, a blinding headache and a very sore thumb and let me tell you, it felt awful. Still, I made it to work and home again though I did sleep like a baby last night (and only recovered enough to write this now).

Oooh fuuuuckk….

(Back on Monday!)

Ooh, it’s a meme, this time from Meg who had a special request for the first one.

Forty Four (or so) jobs I’ve had (roughly in order since 1989):

• Assistant, Chemist Counter, Boots, Saturdays
• Building site labourer
• Toiletries factory staffed predominately by middle aged women “with mattresses strapped to their backs”.
• Bookseller - Hatchards, Winchester (Xmas temp)
• Bookseller - Athena Bookshop, Southampton
• Bookseller, Dillons, Winchester
• Reprographics assistant, Mail Boxes Etc, University of Birmingham
• Bookseller, Dillons, Birmingham
• Bookseller, Waterstone’s, Birmingham
• Bookseller, Waterstone’s, Cheapside, London
• Bookseller, Waterstone’s, Charing Cross Road, London
• Bookseller, Waterstone’s, Leadenhall Market, London
• Labourer, Organic Farm, Isle of Wight
• Food prep, Kitchen, Otterbourne
• Chambermaid, Winchester
• Cable Puller’s Mate, Winchester
• Refuse Collector, Banbury
• Car factory, Banbury
• Office drone, Airline, Birmingham
• Cold-store warehouse, Thatcham
• Box lugging, Rubery
• Mail room, Bank, Birmingham
• Building a fake house, NEC, Birmingham
• Fly-tip clearing and litter picker, Birmingham (all Birmingham from here-on)
• Delivery driver’s mate
• Tampon Factory
• Giant Otter, sea Life Centre
• Marshall, Bike marathon
• Pharmacy Stores, QE Hospital
• Quality Control, car factory
• Production line, car factory
• Catalogue warehouse
• Dog food warehouse
• Assembling large metal doors for lockups
• Tyre warehouse
• Quality control, Landrover
• Inspecting doodads for excess solder
• Leaflet delivery
• Self-employed website designer
• Odd job man (mainly garden work)
• Office job phoning people to see if they’re dead or not.
• “Fine art” dispatch warehouse
• Car park attendant
• Parcel courier depot
• And many more that I’ve forgotten about or didn’t blog at the time…

Four movies I can watch over and over:

• Casablanca
• Gross Point Blank
• Blazing Saddles
• god, I dunno… I’m kinda stuck here…

Four places I’ve lived:

• Singapore (1973-1979)
• Croydon (1985-1989)
• Winchester/Eastleigh (1989-1995)
• Birmingham (1995-2000, 2003-date)

Four TV shows I love (though I don’t actually watch TV…):

• Battlestar Galactica (So much better than it should be)
• Buffy/Angel/Firefly (DVD box sets in one sitting)
• Spaced (if a little too close to home…)
• The Crow Road

Four places I’ve been to on holiday:

• Fuji (some time in the 70s during a typhoon)
• West Texas
• Guernsey
• Robin Hood’s Bay

Four of my favorite dishes:

• Fried Breakfast in a Cafe
• Peanut Butter sandwich (optional extras: Chocolate Spread or Banana)
• Christmas dinner with all the trimmings
• A raw vegan meal prepared by my mate Helen that didn’t look like much but which was delicious and filled me right up.

Four sites I visit daily:

• Guardian
• Wikipedia
• Flickr
• MySpace (for my sins…)

Four places I would rather be right now:

• Here in the summer
• Visiting my mates Dave and Ruth and their babies in Alyesbury
• Up a mountain with a thermos of tea
• In a field with a shovel and instructions to dig a big hole for no readily apparent reason.

Four bloggers I am tagging (though they shouldn’t feel obliged or anything):

• Steve M
• Anna Mondo
• BSE *bing!*
• Ben Silentwords *bing!*

Bit of a kerfuffle going on in the UK Small Press Comics world at the moment. Matt Smith, the editor of 2000AD and the Judge Dredd Megazine, is pondering opening up six pages in the latter to small press creators. They can do pretty much anything they want (subject to approval obviously) and retain copyright on their work but, and here’s the rub, they won’t get paid. Here’s the full message:

“We’re considering opening up 6 pages in the Judge Dredd Megazine for new writers and artists. It can be anything they like, within reason, and doesn’t have to be 2000 AD-based. It will unfortunately be unpaid, but they will get a springboard by being published in a mainstream professional title. It should be a self-contained story, and should be supplied fully lettered. The published art size for the Meg is: Panel Area: 189×256mm, Trim Size: 210×276mm, Bleed Size: 216×282mm.” And if you’re interested, contact Matt.Smith [at] rebellion.co.uk

The reaction from many creators who do get paid to appear in nationally distributed, professional publications was if it’s good enough to appear in the magazine then it’s good enough for some kind of financial compensation. And the reaction from many other creators, some of whom aren’t trying to earn a living from their work, was I don’t do this for the money anyway and this will allow me to reach an audience of thousands for free. You can read the comments on the BugPowder mailing list (starts here) and the Pencil Monkey forum.

Given that I’m slowly drifting away from the comics scene generally I don’t really have a strong opinion one way or the other, but I think a lot of the confusion comes from the perception of what small press comics are for to begin with. Of course the only accurate answer is they’re for whatever the creator in question wants them to be for, just like any self published zine or, for that matter, weblog, but that doesn’t help us at all in this situation.

I was reminded of a conversation I had ages ago with one of them there key figures on the small press scene about a debate he’d had with one of the luminaries of the UK comics industry (such as it is). The latter saw the small press as a breeding ground from which the next Alan Moore would emerge but the former thought drawing this kind of simple line from small press through British newsstand comics to American superhero comics and on to greatness was not only out of date but pretty insulting to many small press creators who had no desire whatsoever to work for DC Comics. Who’s right? Well, both of them, naturally. There are, and always have been, a significant number of people who publish their own work in the hopes that one day they’ll get to write/draw Judge Dredd or Batman. And there a significant number for whom the short-run photocopied pamphlet is the be and and end all of their ambition. And of course there are countless sitting at various points inbetween, with another countless not even on that matrix. Which is kinda the point.

The question, therefore, is what sort of small press creators is Matt Smith looking for? If he’s after the sort of people who eventually want to be working for 2000AD then, yes, I think this is a little bit smelly. But if he’s looking to publish the sort of people who wouldn’t normally be suitable for his magazines then I think this could be a very interesting venture indeed. Let me explain with a bit of personal history.

I pretty much owe my many years involved in comics to 2000AD. Back in the mid 80s when I was an early teen who hadn’t read a comic in years I spotted a dodgy reprint of Judge Dredd in the WH Smiths of West Wickham. For some reason I bought it, liked it, and started buying 2000AD regularly. I then discovered the local branch of booksellers Sherrat and Hughes stocked the Titan reprint volumes of 2000AD strips and I wasted many Saturday afternoons sitting in the shop reading them from cover to cover (which is why, when I was a bookseller, I could never justifiably complain about “customers” who sat in the shop reading for hours on end without buying anything…). This branch also stocked the monthly trade magazine Speakeasy who listed the forthcoming strips in 2000AD, so I started buying that, which introduced me to the concept of speciality comic shops which stocked 2000AD back issues. These shops also stocked American comics by old 2000AD creators, so I started buying those, erring towards the proto-Vertigo titles such as Sandman. Reading an interview with Sandman writer Neil Gaiman put me onto Cerebus, which in turn introduced me to the world of black and white alternative comics. In short, the fact that I’ve spent the last week or two re-working my way through the collected Love and Rockets can be directly traced to that dodgy Judge Dredd reprint.

(My route into small press comics starts in the same place and goes in different directions, but I won’t bore you with that. It’s probably buried somewhere in the archives of this blog anyway.)

So my point is that those people reading 2000AD and the Dredd Megazine aren’t necessarily closed to the notion of comics that don’t really belong there. In fact 2000AD has a long history of using artists who don’t fit the mould. I have no idea if this is still the case having not seen a copy in years, but the precedent is there. I think that while many of the readers will look at these small press pages and think they’re shit a significant number will like them and suddenly be made aware that the comics medium has a much wider potential that they’d ever imagined. That’s assuming they go with the full spectrum of stuff out there.

Of course it’d be nice if they paid a page rate too…

M’good friend Sacha Mardou is marrying Ted May on Feb 22nd, which is great news anyway but has the added icing that they’re both cartoonists! That sort of thing makes me very happy!

Gordon says (in a comment to this post) that he hates smokers who “waste about an hour each day on ‘fag breaks’” which is fair enough. I can imagine non-smokers would get pretty narked as their smoking colleagues pop outside willy nilly while they’re stuck chained to their desks. But, unsurprising as this may be, I think fag breaks are a good thing. In fact I think everyone, smoker or not, should take them.

When you remove the actual smoking of the cigarette a fag break is simply standing still doing nothing for five minutes in a non-working environment. You are actively putting yourself in a position where you cannot be interrupted by the phone, email or other distractions and so your mind is able to relax and settle. Then when you return to work you are refreshed and able to do your work better. H&S guidelines say you should spend a few minutes every hour away from a computer to avoid eye strain and RSI so why not apply this to the brain? Makes sense to me.

In my brief flirtation with management a few years ago (which I actually enjoyed and in the process discovered saying “please” and “thank you” meant people happily did what I asked them to do) I used to encourage the non-smokers to pop outside for five minutes if they were getting stressed. Those few that took me up on it said it worked for them.

On the flipside, I was recently working in an office where I had to deduct my fag breaks from the mandatory half-hour lunch. In other words people in this office were expected to stay at their desks continuously for four hours at a time. It was a miserable job, even by office standards, but I noticed that the other employees (non-smokers the lot) had evolved their own tricks to detach from the work mindset which I’m sure if you added it up “wasted” more time than I would have done popping out for a fag every hour or so.

(And for the record, no, I don’t need to smoke every hour at work - I just need to get out of there and remind myself I’m alive. The smoking is more an excuse than anything else.)

As we were repeatedly informed by the brainless fucktards on BRMB (one of our two equally awful tip-pot local radio stations, the other being Heart) it was (still is) “colder than Iceland!” tonight. Give a moron a phrase like that and they’re going to run with it, more’s the pity. I somehow doubt in Iceland their broadcasting idiots are chortling about how the weather tonight is “warmer than Birmingham!”

But even in these Icelandic (!) conditions I was standing outside the depot having a fag in my t-shirt, for that is how hard I am right now. Oh yes. Today the blokes scanning and throwing the boxes onto the conveyor belt were working kinda slowly it seemed to me and I was getting well narked. We’ve been finishing early every day since me and the Polish guy teamed up in the back of the lorry and I don’t think that’s a coincidence for we rock. Bring it on, I said, but the trickle remained and after three hours they stopped for a break! You what? We don’t have breaks here - we go home early! So the Pole grabbed a scanner and we carried on without them, the rubes.

I mean, a break? You don’t need a break! Just go and have a fag and cup of tea for five minutes.

Breaks… tchh…

Interesting, if completely understandable, discovery this evening. If you cycle in sub-zero temperatures with slightly sweaty feet while wearing steel-toecapped boots, your toes will get very very cold indeed.