A Message For Rob (Important notice/site update)

This is a note for Rob saying that I'd like to speak to him at once (well, soon, anyway). It's about the grand plan that I mentioned a while ago, and it's getting near time to put it into action. Like I said, around the corner.

Speaking of Rob, he's started a jolly interesting story about a poor person called Sid who has mysteriously appeared in the Land of Rob, in the form of a head. His epic adventure just cliff-hanged (I know it's not right, but nevermind) when he was taken to meet a clock with a cat on the front. Why are you reading this? Read the story instead, it's better.

I wrote that Giblock Holmes thing right after reading the story, since I felt like it for some reason. More chapters of that will come soon, hopefully. And the 'review blog' will come one day. More essays. Christmas special (no, I don't know either).

Hm. There's much to be done. Quite a coincidence, because my exams are fast-approaching, and revision is in order! Win! Clear! Complete! Failing that, pass!...

...Somebody, write a jokebook with a joke involving 'failing to pass' an exam! I will humbly accept the credit, and perhaps a percentage of cash revenue. Is that another joke for the jokebook? Perhaps not. In fact, perhaps neither of them are worthy. As Rob would say, they're "less funny than a children's jokebook".

Let's meditate on those words.  ¶ 9:26 pm  

  The Great Debate (About Brins)

There is no debate. However, I've got good news: Rob, of robonthenet, very kindly asked me to draw a comic for his new blog, the Land of Rob. Now, you may not be aware that I quite famously cannot draw, at all, but this never stopped me from making my very own fan-favourite (I'm the fan) series of comics over the past six years. I have a chest of them that's practically full to bursting with hundreds (literally) of pages of positively insane plots, characters, and jokes. Insane is a term used quite mildly these days, so the meaning of that word in this context is probably lost on you all. No amount of adjectives can really convey what those comics of mine are, which is a shame. You'd no doubt hate them, anyway.

Nonetheless, since Rob asked me to draw comics for him, I've finally put in the effort to make one on the computer. Now, I've learned from this that it's very hard to put across the drawing style I have in normal life on the computer. (For one thing, it seems to be impossible to get the kind of close-up, large-eye image that I've mastered to look like I want it to, but nevermind.) Mind you, it probably would look the same to anyone else. There are some weird conventions I've developed through drawing my comics which would probably confuse people who hadn't seen them, but don't worry. I won't explain them, and you'll get used to them.

It's based on an idea I had, out of the blue, several months ago at the end of my exams (strange, isn't it?). The details are securely locked in a non-existent vault, deep within an imaginary dungeon on a mysteriously not-there island.

If you want to see the comics, you'd better keep checking the Land of Rob!  ¶ 8:41 pm  

  The Cases of Giblock Holmes and Dr. Clarkson (A story)

"Elementary, my dear Clarkson!" Giblock Holmes paraded down the 2nd floor corridor of Quingeforth mansion.

"What is, sir?" Dr. Clarkson struggled against gravity and momentum to keep his briefcase and files safely in his arms. Captain Holmes (as he liked to call himself) stopped waving his arms around and snapped to the good doctor. "I've had enough lip from you for one day, Clarkson!"
"I'm awfully sorry, sir, it's just that I've evidently forgotten whatever I was confused about which caused you to say what you said; whatever your expert mind has both recalled and rendered solved before my very nose."
"Clarkson."
"Yes, Captain?"
"Shut up and get in the car." Realising that they had just two minutes thirteen seconds before their two o'clock appointment, which the ever-tactful Holmes had just observed he had gone to the wrong mansion to attend, the dynamic duo (a term used very mildly in this instance) raced down the remainder of the corridor in their car, amidst some concern from the butler who had to dive into a conjoined room to evade their incredibly small vehicle.
"Good gracious, I can't see a thing, Clarkson! Kindly remove those fuzzy dices from your windscreen at once before I crash into another lampstand!"
"Terribly sorry, sir." And with that, the Captain's view was returned; he was heading straight for the 2nd-floor balcony. Shortly afterwards, they appeared to be quite in mid-air outside the mansion. "Clarkson, if we survive the fall, remind me not to bring the car into other people's houses again."
"Very well, sir. Shall I not give up until after saying it six times next time?"

Sadly, Holmes wouldn't have a chance to respond until two days later, after they had woken up from their fall-induced coma in Cemton Hospital (by which time he had forgotten the question, anyway). A bored nurse hovered to their assistance. "A'right, would that be one coffee or two?"
"I say, Captain, I -"
"Two cups, thank you, dear. One lump of sugar each!" The nurse sauntered into the distance.
"But Captain, what about me?"
"Patience, Clarkson, patience. You'll have yours when we get to our appointment. Now, it's Gordondale mansion, isn't it? I always get it mixed up with Quingeforth."
"Quite, sir. We'll be there as soon as Dr. Cuthberts has removed your hand from my throat."

Meanwhile, in a mysterious grove outside Cemton local graveyard and rubbish dump...
A pleasant gentleman is out for a midnight stroll with his wife.
"What a jolly fun idea to go for this walk, Linda!" the gentleman cheered as he toddled along past Mrs. Watersby's memorial wreath.
"Quite, Charles! Quite, haw!" Amidst this gallantry, Charles observed a mysterious glow coming from the embankment beside Major Otson's tomb. "Look over there, dear. Is that a light, or am I wrong?"
"Hm! Rather odd, wouldn't you say? This is exciting! A ghost?!"
"We'll see! What!" Coming up to the hill, the glow became brighter, and then lightened down to reveal some kind of passageway into the small hill. In fact, squinting, Charles observed what almost seemed like a small foyer and even a door! Could it be that someone lived in this small place? An investigation was in order!

"A massive object struck Charles and Linda Raffage on the backs of their thighs, rendering them unconscious instantly in Cemton local graveyard, immediately opposite the rubbish tip on the other side," read the Cemton Gazette.
"Look at this, Clarkson! Seems as though we have another case on our hands! That is, after this one." Captain Holmes threw the paper to Dr. Clarkson. As his colleague struggled to raise the paper over his colleague's neck-bidden arm, he remarked, "you know what they say! Old news is good news!"
"Well, quite," Giblock agreed, worried to admit that he'd never heard the phrase in his life.

END OF CHAPTER!!  ¶ 8:28 pm  

  Now For Some Schools (Essay: School)

If you've ever been disturbed to hear someone say 'schooldays are the best days of your life', you can feel comfortable in the knowledge that your particular schooldays are - in fact - not the best days of your life.

But it's a tricky subject, so I'm not leaving it there - why do some people consider schooldays to be the best days of their lives? I think we would all do well to contemplate this matter, as we might well all become more enlightened from it.

However horrible you may (or, indeed, may not) find school, I think it best to remember it's only your personal experience of school that you can vouch for. Some of us are bullies, some of us are victims; some of us as teachers'-pets, some of us are just sort of ignored; some of us are popular in our year, some of us would be sooner forgotten about. Now, those among us who are teachers' pets, are popular, or are bullies, might well shudder at the thought of being their ubiquitous counterpart. Some may well wish they actually were their counterpart. I appreciate that these are empty words to those affected right now, but whether you're a victim or unpopular, the bully and the popular have their own crosses to bear. We should never loath those which we are not; if we weren't what we are, they wouldn't be able to be what they are. The grass is always greener on the other side, and I want to convey to all school-pupils that no truer phrase was spoken regarding school. No, really, it's you as well.

School is a strange world, and I think adults characterise it the wrong way. There is no fundamental school way of life, as every single person has a completely different take on everything that's happened in their time being there. Someone can go straight through Primary in a certain way, then view and be viewed quite differently for Secondary. What I mean is that our opinions of school are made by the things we remember most prominently: those wisened scholars who hearken to achievements and academic merit may have drawn themselves from the occasion in Primary 6 when they cowered sobbing quietly around the back of the school, the world torn on pain and misery, after Timothy took their rubber without asking. Those of us whose rubbers continued to be taken might have a different story to convey.

Let's take the bully and the victim, first; a victim can be tormented to terror, and I give the deepest and most heartfelt condolences I possibly can to those people. But if there's only one thing I can say to help those people, it's to not hate the bully. I would express it if I could, but please rest assured that there I can see the feelings you can't convey to anyone. Don't hate the world, as it brings no peace from it. There are many bullies, and to list them all would be quite insane, but there are those who want blood (proverbial or not), those who don't realise the victim's pain, and those who fear others. None are on a pedestal, no more than you are in a ditch. The funny thing is, we're all human. If you had the mind of the bully for a day, mark my words that you would be both amazed and in awe at how normal it would seem. So, they aren't anywhere else from you, if that's what you're thinking. The same goes the other way! Bullies, the victims aren't untouchable. I hope this all makes sense, but whether it does or not, I understand all the feelings of the school-pupil. At least someone understands you, always remember that.

Second of the question! Let's examine teachers' pets and everyone else. (To my mind, there are only two categories. You might find more, in which case you're probably right. Let me know them, I'd appreciate it!) Another pain surely comes from seeing the clever-clogs who cannot be touched (a parallel to what I was saying in the last paragraph. That's interesting); why is their work shown to the class and not yours? Can I not transcend this physical boundary of humanity and overcome all subconscious oppressors? Am I not the special one?! (Don't understand? The best!) But really, this kind of thing grates the senses, whoever you may be. We all wonder at the person who is seemingly destined of the marks, theirs everlasting, and ours below, in the gloom of unknowing. A clash of two worlds? Empty words are these again, but mark them anyway: it comes no better than when we want not those which we do not think we have. They aren't in a special world, they really aren't. You can't see it, but it's not. As with the bully, be their mind for a second. Do you see now? Consider it seriously.

And the last: popular and unpopular. The age-old struggle, perhaps mostly unknown to those before pretty much their final school years. The years where children select children and drink, dance, and become merry. Well, what can I say that hasn't been said? Don't be alone. You aren't, their world is not the mysterious world, you're both in the same place, be their mind, be them in your mind (is it possible? Well, maybe). Finally, be happy.

Yes, finally, be happy. Have you read all this and aren't relieved? Alright, so the essay didn't work then. In that case, there's still one thing that I can say that you might not appreciate, not knowing me, but the words are here for you to carry in peace: I'm there with you.

I have been, I am, I will always be. I'm not leaving school in the dust; those who are there are there, and theirs is a brilliant battle; Victoria crosses all round, I say!

Still confused? That's fine. Some more words, then: conquer the need to conquer the world.

Have I covered everyone? No. There are too many. There is too much. School is a strange world, and let nobody ever tell you that you aren't part of it. Yes, you. Yes, despite that.

Dance with the bitter, and sing with the pain; for when you make enemies to defeat, you make them the most important thing in your world.  ¶ 8:24 pm  

  The Plan of Brins (About Brins)

I've got a special plan for Christmas this year; I intend to devise the most fantastic present anyone could ever hope not to receive. It will take many minutes of blood, sweat, tears, or at least walking. In fact, the plan is so big, it doesn't exist.

However, it will start existing very soon. The foundations are laid, but the plan doesn't seem to have arrived yet. It's quite behind schedule, but perhaps this is due to factors out of our control.

I say this because the holidays are almost here (for me), and only then can the great plan begin. The plan will take us across the streets, over some hill (or at least around a corner), and perhaps even behind a tree. But let's not get too carried away, as the script must yet be written.

Can you guess what it is? No? No? No? No? What? No? What do you mean, 'no'?!

A jokes! Of course you can't guess. Or perhaps you can. To be honest, I can't really tell whether you can guess or not. However, I'll say that it involves a script and characters.

Can you guess? I wouldn't bother.

In other news, you might remember a while back, when I mentioned about having a review blog. It's not forgotten about, don't worry. I've just been rather busy over the last weeks (University began, as I was saying some time ago). Now, University's something I ought to get writing an essay about, but I'll see about that. Don't worry. It'll all come in due time.

A school essay? On the way, perhaps! (Must write more of those.)

THE FINAL NEWS: Rob, of the now apparently famous robonthenet, has created a NEW BLOG!! If you don't read it, I don't understand. Go! Now! The fun!

I hope you're all happy, by the way. Please let me know if you're not, and I'll see what I can do. (I promise to read this post's comments!)  ¶ 10:02 pm  

  Brins Investigates, Part 1: The Wonderful World of Music (Barrel of Laughs)

It's time for another episode of Brins Investigates. That's what I'll be saying if there's ever another episode of Brins Investigates.

For now, however, it's time for the very first episode of Brins Investigates.

Have you ever stopped in the street and wondered, 'I don't know a thing about music!'
'How can they have let me go my whole life without knowing about music?!'
If you have, don't panic, because I'm about to investigate for you. Let's begin!

Music began one day when some people felt like singing. Then, a few nice fellows decided to create something to play the songs with. Then, suddenly, there was a lot of music.

But where did the music come from? We all know that the musical note C is a universal, but then what?

Simple! All those sounds you hear in music have names. When you've got a noise that sounds different from another one (not just the instrument that made it; it's the note that's different), it's a different named note. Notes are named from A to G for some reason, after which, it just repeats A to G for all eternity.

Black holes sing as well, you know.

There have been a bunch of people in history who felt inclined to create music. Martin Luther, for example. Or Einstein.

People say that music is an intellectual area, and peasants should stay quite clear. However, I consider this view to be quite wrong, as if it were true, I would not be able to sing. Or indeed play the keyboard.

Fun fact: I would be able to play the cello if not for a cruel twist of fate many moons ago.

They say moons ago, but isn't there only one moon? Of course, other planets have moons. I learned that in Primary school. I think one was named after a cleaning detergent.

The forms of music

Music takes many forms, like Baroque, Classical, Romantic, Medieval, Rock, etc....

But who cares?! Let's play songs and compose music! Yeah! Let's unite the styles and dance around something!

Investigation complete! Hurrah!  ¶ 7:08 pm  

  The Works of Fire (Something else)

The time of Guy Fawkes has come, the nights of black are sporadically illuminated in pathetic little patches, and the works of fire are upon us.

You might be confused that I'm saying this after Bonfire Night has passed (remember, the 5th of November). But don't worry, you've not travelled a day back in time, but rather the fireworks around my area are still going off. Outrageous! Inexcusable! Reasonable! Not so bad! Acceptable!

I've heard complaints recently about us still being in 2005 and yet such dangerous things as fireworks are in the hands of young, whimsical fellows. It seems that family members and others have been attacked with fireworks by firework-holders, which is quite upsetting. Perhaps it's time for an amendment on the British thing, instating firework control. However, word on the street is that such an idea is not very well received by most people. On which street, I don't know, but it might not be mine.

I'll tell you one soul who will surely be quite happy with all these fireworks, though - the man with the plan himself, Guy Fawkes. His plot may have failed years ago, but segregate rebel squads have been attempting to blow up parliament every year since. Unfortunately, their aim isn't top-notch yet (every firework I've seen go off has exploded before it got anywhere near parliament. Most seem to just careen off into the sky)! However, given a few more centuries, they might get the hang of it.

It seems as though they've caused more casualties than Mr. Fawkes ever got around to, however. Maybe we should have more legal restrictions on fireworks, at least to stop people/animals getting injured, and whatever else comes with the works of fire.  ¶ 7:02 pm