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Your yearly Gera news round-up:

1. Been heading down to London on a bi-weekly basis. Cheers to amuchmoreexotic for enduring me yesterday. Should probably make another trip over there in a couple of days.
2. I got a job writing in-house for videogamer.com as a staff writer! I get to work alongside other actual human people instead of spending all day watching Will and Grace. I'll be in Croydon 9-5 so if you're nearby and fancy a drink then give me a ring.
3. I got the job even after referencing Basement Dad in the interview. What a comedy of errors.

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Apparently my phone has been texting people while stuck at the bottom of my purse. Sorry to everyone involved. And apparently I've been drunk dialing people. Sorry nudejournal , at least you have a lovely phone voice. God I'm drunk

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Like a young Christina Aguillera, my heart said no, but my body said let’s go when I bought about a pint of egg-salad sandwich spread the first day I stayed in Bath. Now my arteries are coated with Marks & Spencer freerange arterial plaque and it’s so good. Some people dismiss egg as a lesser sandwich filling but it pretty much perfectly compliments the feeling of thick, nauseous fucking fear you get when you're starting a new job. So between eating egg-filling in sandwiches, and spooning egg-filling into my mouth with the one teaspoon the Travelodge supplied me with, what I remember of going to Bath is pretty much limited to eggs.

But if you haven't actually been to Bath before, it's really lovely and I really suggest you head over there for a day. It's the kind of city where legally midgets need to be forced to live and dress up as elves. There's even a part of it called Lilliput Lane. In fact, so far Bath is sort of the Yin to Southampton's Thatcherian pisshole Yang. Because where S. seemed to be the operational headquarters for England's chavs and old ships, Bath is definitely populated by fairies, and combined that pretty much makes up my mental image of Blighty.

It turned out the job at Xbox World 360 went really decently in the end. It basically involved writing endlessly while being told I'm not actually shit: my two favourite things. I wrote some rubbish about Crysis 2, so when that hits the shelves feel free to email the editor to tell him I am the heart and soul of that magazine and that reading my article taught you to love again.

Anyway, I've officially moved to Guildford so look me up. Or if you want to get together in London at some point, I'm just under half an hour away. Sorry for missing the park drink thing again, Ed.

By the way, do any of you have an Xbox 360 you're not using? Mine is a bit fucked and I need it for work. 

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I'm officially moving to Guildford at the end of the month. That's sort of like London, right? Or is it like the Paris of Swindon or something awful? What's Guildford?

If you live near Guildford could we be friends in real life? I'm not above buying your affection. 

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I haven't stopped updating out of laziness, genuinely. I'm just stuck living down in West End for an added two weeks. Having no social contact for nearly two months is a bit like being Farley Mowatt, but instead of being surrounded by wolves for company I have a warm feeling of sick. Do feel slightly awful today. Anyway, two more weeks. Then back up to Leeds, back down to Bath for work, and I'll possibly be moving to either Nottingham or Guildford after that.

Incidentally, sometimes I go downstairs and notice that actual sections of the face of the woman I'm living with have gone entirely blue. Proper navy coloured. It might be a circulatory problem, or possibly her face is secretly a map. She also secretly takes my dog out for walks in the morning and doesn't tell me. I HEAR you LEAVING, FRANCES, Fucking USURPER. Stop touching my dog. 

Oh and I knocked out ten or so rubbish short story things last week when I didn't have Internet. So the writing project has been revised. I'm doing a sort of series of modern penny dreadful type things. Think Alan Bennett with dragons. One of them involves a lady who wears ladybirds like a beard, so that's the kind of quality you should look forward to. I'll make a new livejournal and throw them on there. If you want to knock some out too feel free, could make it some sort of collective thing.

Beyond that, nearly finished my PC Format article, which unlike my other work doesn't read like I've literally shat it out last minute. Keeping busy.

Anyway, eung. Very lonely, wah wah.

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As I've been telling gideondefoe , this Horace thing is a miserable bastard to write. At 2500 words the first mention of the guy is around wordcount-2100.

In the game the story deals with Horace wanting to go skiing, so he goes skiing. In the writing business that's what you call a basic man-versus-fuckingshitalltoworkwith narrative. To resolve this problem, in my story Horace comes from Space to go skiing, because he likes casual winter sports. That's what they call a "back-story" in the writing world, it's what they do in Lost every episode to distract you from thinking about the plot.

But if I was going to have that stretch over 15 words I'd have to thicken it up. So I gave it a prologue, which serves no real purpose aside from introducing the name Horace in the very last sentence, and creates the set-up for the bit where the character Margot starts coming on to Horace, because she thinks he just has lupus, and doesn't realise he's just crawled out of an Oort cloud or whatever the fuck, and then she gets sucked into his face and dies. In fact this has nothing to do with the game other than a thing about skiing at the end. 

Unfortunately, the prologue is the best bit of it and it deserves to be its own crap space-story. It's about a thirty-something Mexican in Albuquerque and his relationship with his satellite, Theresa. I've finished off that short about a ghost in a computer or whatever the fuck it was, so I might just compile all three as their own short story type of things.

Request/Another one of these

I have a tentative job offer doing in-house freelancing with Xbox World 360, starting on April 26th and going until the end of that week. Now, the rub is that it's in fucking Bath. So far my only real option is to get a Bed and Breakfast nearby, which is a problem because:

1. Bath is a tourist town, so accommodations are pretty pricey. Between finding a place to sleep for a week, food, and money for a taxi or bus I'm looking at throwing 450 quid at a job worth maybe 200 quid at best, but is incredibly good experience that I can't turn down. and
2. Ghosts. I'd be on my own in a city I've never been to, living alone in some fancy B&B, pissing myself because the floor made a noise or I think my shelves are haunted.

Do you know anyone remotely near Bath? Ideally within an hour's train journey, but I don't mind.

Do you know anyone near there who will let me sleep on their floor?

Do you know anyone near there who will let me cook them shit food? 

Again, it'd be between April 26th and 30th, Monday through Friday. I'd be out of the house on Monday, Wednesday and Friday.

Anyway if you could let me know I'd appreciate it.


List of things vodafone hasn't allowed me to look at on the Internet in the Last Ten Minutes

pictures of rhian sugden smiling
Amazon.com Look Inside feature for book about dragons
Video with a talking parrot
References to Minister of Health and Ageing Tony Abbott
Googles that ask how to bypass Vodaphone parental control

First they blocked animated GIFs of LazyTown, but I didn't speak up...

I can't decide if Dongle has the look of someone who has seen too much, or if he has just crawled out of the earths mantle and is ready to feast. Either way this is setting up to definitely be the worst of all Reich's, because it actively effects me.

Yes, thanks Vodafone. Thank you for blocking Flickr from me in case pictures of people's shit, liquor-blur camping trips and high-definition photos of rocks accidently penetrate my moral cocoon. Fucking ridiculous.

To be fair, one need only stare into the hideous dwarf cyclops eye of the vodafone dongle to realise it's only a matter of years before cylons are censoring documentaries about poodles and 1pm time-slots with Ellen Degeneres in case she starts talking about tribbing in the middle of a bit about the best Summer salad dressings or something.

Then it's just a few short steps away from Robot Judgement Day, turning their laser deatheyes upon humanity where they either defeat us in a brutal battle or let us succumb to ennui and spinal-disc atrophy by catering to our every whim.