It is still, to this day, one of the most bizarre incidents I have ever witnessed.
It took place in the men's toilets at Manchester Airport...which does sound a bit dodgy, but bear with me.
I think it was some time in the late 1990s - I may have been taking one of my fairly frequent trips to Northern Ireland, but I can't be sure.
Anyway, I had settled myself down, standing at one of the urinals, enjoying the pleasant relief of a pre-flight bladder evacuation, when I noticed that the man to my right (two urinals along) was staring vacantly at the ceiling as he too availed himself of the opportunity to relieve his own bladder before taking to the skies.
The bizarre thing was that, in staring at the ceiling, he was leaning back a little, and in leaning back, he was merrily pissing all over the floor.
After what could have been ten or twenty seconds, he finished, whereupon he gave a little shake, tucked everything away, pulled up his flies and vacated the premises, leaving behind him a pool of piss on the floor and at least three other gents staring in total disbelief at what they had just witnessed.
I am pretty convinced that the man was absolutely oblivious of the fact that he had managed a full urination without actually getting any of his urine in a urinal. He may, of course, subsequently wondered why his shoes and the bottom of his trousers were damp.
To this day, I have no idea why I didn't shout 'Whoa, man, you're pissing and missing!'
I also find myself wondering how many times this man repeated his piss-pool-creating antics before either someone more bold/less shocked than I pointed out the nastiness of what he was doing, or he himself became aware of it. If he did notice it himself, how embarrassed must he have been.
Bizarre!
Showing posts with label Manchester. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Manchester. Show all posts
Thursday, 15 August 2013
Tuesday, 23 July 2013
Behold, the geeks and nerds doth gather...
It's been a few days since I last posted, largely because I've been working overtime to finish the first short-story that I've written in quite some time. A tale of prejudice, it is titled (intriguingly, I hope) 'The Seven Questions of Daniel Keys'. At 11,500 words it's not what you would call a short short-story, but I'm hoping for some positive thoughts from the lovely people who have offered to comment on the initial draft - I'll keep you posted on what they think.
Anyway, because it's been a few days since I've been able to post, this is the first opportunity I've had to tell you about the trip which we made into the Twilight Zone on Saturday.
Imagine a man, going on a journey beyond sight and sound, he's about to enter...Manchester Comic Con!
Except, entry did take a little longer than anticipated on account of the fact that the organisers had obviously been to the Disneyland Paris School of Queue Design and had hidden the vast majority of the queue out of sight along the side of the GMEX building - still, at least it gave us the opportunity to cast our eyes over the costumes that people were wearing (some of which were excellent, some of which were a bit less than excellent, and a few which could best be described as 'token gestures').
It was whilst we were queueing that the were treated to the bizarre sight of Bane pushing a pram:
A special mention to the Battlestar Gallactica Cylon Number 6 (tall, blond, etc) and her companion (who I assume was supposed to be Gaius Baltar) who informed us whilst we stood in the queue that the UK Garrison of Star Wars stormtroopers were on show (as certified by LucasFilm, apparently) - we were fortunate enough to see them later, complete with stormtrooper 'These are not the droids we're looking for' voice.
Also, loved the guy who had Terry Pratchett's 'luggage' trundling alongside him on a lead, though I bet he regretted having that with him when he was trying to fight his way up and down the aisles!
Inside Comic Con itself there were a lot of stalls selling a lot of merchandise covering everything from Japanese anime, through Marvel & DC, on past Aliens and Predator, alongside Star Trek before eventually ending up at Warwick Davies and RobotWars.
Something for every nerd and geek, me thinks.
There were samurai swords to buy, light sabres too.
But, by Christ, was it busy, and that was only with those who had spent the extra dosh to get early entry tickets - apparently, some of those who joined the general entry queue (which was allowed in from 11.00 a.m.) didn't actually get in until 2.00 p.m. and that's a hell of a long time to stand out in the blazing sun! Not so good.
We lasted about 3 hours before the general crush and uncomfortable odour of vast numbers of sweaty bodies inside heavy costumes began to get too much and we nipped off to the city centre for a pizza and a drink, loaded down with our obligatory purchases (I managed to get my hands on some old classic sci-fi paperbacks).
Would I go back?
Probably.
Most abiding memory (with the exception of Bane pushing a pram, obviously!)?
The quite surreal contrast we saw as we arrived at GMEX, with one side of the road full of stormtroopers, Marvel characters, Assassins, Jokers, Banes, etc, whilst on the other side of the road stood a whole bunch of university graduates, all in their ceremonial garb, alongside parents dressed in suits and posh-frocks, looking bemusedly across at all the nerds and geeks having a whale of a time and clearly thinking 'What the fuck...?'
Anyway, because it's been a few days since I've been able to post, this is the first opportunity I've had to tell you about the trip which we made into the Twilight Zone on Saturday.
Imagine a man, going on a journey beyond sight and sound, he's about to enter...Manchester Comic Con!
Except, entry did take a little longer than anticipated on account of the fact that the organisers had obviously been to the Disneyland Paris School of Queue Design and had hidden the vast majority of the queue out of sight along the side of the GMEX building - still, at least it gave us the opportunity to cast our eyes over the costumes that people were wearing (some of which were excellent, some of which were a bit less than excellent, and a few which could best be described as 'token gestures').
It was whilst we were queueing that the were treated to the bizarre sight of Bane pushing a pram:
Also, loved the guy who had Terry Pratchett's 'luggage' trundling alongside him on a lead, though I bet he regretted having that with him when he was trying to fight his way up and down the aisles!
Inside Comic Con itself there were a lot of stalls selling a lot of merchandise covering everything from Japanese anime, through Marvel & DC, on past Aliens and Predator, alongside Star Trek before eventually ending up at Warwick Davies and RobotWars.
Something for every nerd and geek, me thinks.
There were samurai swords to buy, light sabres too.
But, by Christ, was it busy, and that was only with those who had spent the extra dosh to get early entry tickets - apparently, some of those who joined the general entry queue (which was allowed in from 11.00 a.m.) didn't actually get in until 2.00 p.m. and that's a hell of a long time to stand out in the blazing sun! Not so good.
We lasted about 3 hours before the general crush and uncomfortable odour of vast numbers of sweaty bodies inside heavy costumes began to get too much and we nipped off to the city centre for a pizza and a drink, loaded down with our obligatory purchases (I managed to get my hands on some old classic sci-fi paperbacks).
Would I go back?
Probably.
Most abiding memory (with the exception of Bane pushing a pram, obviously!)?
The quite surreal contrast we saw as we arrived at GMEX, with one side of the road full of stormtroopers, Marvel characters, Assassins, Jokers, Banes, etc, whilst on the other side of the road stood a whole bunch of university graduates, all in their ceremonial garb, alongside parents dressed in suits and posh-frocks, looking bemusedly across at all the nerds and geeks having a whale of a time and clearly thinking 'What the fuck...?'
Sunday, 23 June 2013
Support your local author...er, no
I guess at the outset of this post it is important to make clear that, in spite of the fact that 'The Book That THEY...' is perhaps the most fantastically inventive and brilliantly-written book of this and maybe every other century, I should not expect anything other than the slow maturation of global recognition of its superb-ness, like a giant stonking oak forming from the tiniest of acorns.
However, what I could have perhaps expected was a little bit more support from those around me...and by that, I definitely do not mean friends and family and likers and followers and buyers, all of whom have been really, really supportive to the point beyond brilliance (and I love you all)...no, what I mean is those potential avenues that could (and in my humble opinion, perhaps should) do more to promote what is a book by a local author (born-and-bred), featuring a very Lancastrian hero and set (for Part 1 at least) in and around the local area that is Darwen and Horwich and Manchester.
Yes, I'm talking about my 'local' promotional vehicles and outlets.
Like all books by anyone other than Dan Brown or J.K.Rowling, there is a need for the author to do their bit to promote their work, which is fair enough and I have no problem with that. One of the areas where such promotion usually bears fruit is the author's own geographical backyard, their local patch where their achievement can be lauded, celebrated and, yes, promoted by their own; I approached this opportunity with much enthusiasm.
Alas, the balloon of local expectation has been very quickly deflated by the forces of rejection and indifference.
For example:
To the raging cynic in me, it would appear that they flaunt their 'local-ness' only when it suits them, but ignore it if they see no benefit in it for them.
The worst example of 'not supporting your local author' comes from Lancashire Magazine (yes, I will name them). I contacted them to ask if they'd be interested in doing a piece about a book with a local hero written by someone who has lived in Lancashire all their life; their response was to say, possibly, but only if I took out a quarter-page advertisement at a cost of £395.
Naturally, my response was 'fuck that!' (though I was too nice to put that in the e-mail!)
The only silver lining I can provide on what, in my eyes at least, is a damning indictment of those who claim to be 'local' failing to support something genuinely 'local', is a potential interview in another local newspaper - however, the interview itself did happen five weeks ago and, as yet, nothing has made it into print.
I do, however, remain eternally hopeful and my positivity is undimmed.
However, what I could have perhaps expected was a little bit more support from those around me...and by that, I definitely do not mean friends and family and likers and followers and buyers, all of whom have been really, really supportive to the point beyond brilliance (and I love you all)...no, what I mean is those potential avenues that could (and in my humble opinion, perhaps should) do more to promote what is a book by a local author (born-and-bred), featuring a very Lancastrian hero and set (for Part 1 at least) in and around the local area that is Darwen and Horwich and Manchester.
Yes, I'm talking about my 'local' promotional vehicles and outlets.
Like all books by anyone other than Dan Brown or J.K.Rowling, there is a need for the author to do their bit to promote their work, which is fair enough and I have no problem with that. One of the areas where such promotion usually bears fruit is the author's own geographical backyard, their local patch where their achievement can be lauded, celebrated and, yes, promoted by their own; I approached this opportunity with much enthusiasm.
Alas, the balloon of local expectation has been very quickly deflated by the forces of rejection and indifference.
For example:
- On the publication of Part 1, I e-mailed a certain free magazine about life in Blackburn with Darwen, asking whether it would be an article of interest - no response.
- I also e-mailed the local Blackburn newspaper (which shall, of course, remain nameless) - again, no response (it's the failure to respond which really narks)
- I contacted my local bookstore (you know, the one with the well-known brand of coffee shop inside it) to ask if, seeing as they sell my e-book on their web-site, they'd be willing to put a small notice up next to their Kindles highlighting the work of a local author - the manager responded (which is a positive) to say that they can't do anything like that unless told to by head-office; end of debate.
- Local book clubs - some have responded (thanks, Daniel), but most have not.
- There are other examples, but I won't bore you with them.
To the raging cynic in me, it would appear that they flaunt their 'local-ness' only when it suits them, but ignore it if they see no benefit in it for them.
The worst example of 'not supporting your local author' comes from Lancashire Magazine (yes, I will name them). I contacted them to ask if they'd be interested in doing a piece about a book with a local hero written by someone who has lived in Lancashire all their life; their response was to say, possibly, but only if I took out a quarter-page advertisement at a cost of £395.
Naturally, my response was 'fuck that!' (though I was too nice to put that in the e-mail!)
The only silver lining I can provide on what, in my eyes at least, is a damning indictment of those who claim to be 'local' failing to support something genuinely 'local', is a potential interview in another local newspaper - however, the interview itself did happen five weeks ago and, as yet, nothing has made it into print.
I do, however, remain eternally hopeful and my positivity is undimmed.
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