'huge, queer and tawdry' but 'much admired by the public'

Unsurprisingly, I liked Steven Moffat's take on Sherlock Holmes quite a lot. Not least because this was essentially Holmes as the Doctor, except ruder. But then that makes perfect sense given Holmes was inspired by Doyle teaming up with the Doctor, and/or teamed up with the Doctor himself, depending which book you believe. The Holmes-vision in particular was very reminiscent of the Doctor-vision we saw in The Eleventh Hour (and which was then quietly dropped even though Confidential suggested it would be a Thing). The modernisation was a smart move, so much better than another take on the character reduced to yet another costume drama, yet another pale shadow of Jeremy Brett - although of course you can't have a modern Holmes in a modern London without it also being an alternate world story, because Baker Street 2010 wouldn't be anything like the same without a Victorian Holmes having been. The only failure of modernisation I spotted was the first appearance of Holmes; yes, the corpse-beating scene was great, but a century on, with results from the Knoxville body farm &c to consider, it wouldn't be necessary. There were other problems: ( spoilers ) Not perfect, then - but still very good. Though whether the other writers will keep up the same standard remains to be seen, especially when one of them made his last screenwriting appearance with 'Victory of the Daleks'.

A reasonably quiet weekend, spent largely watching films (of which more later in the week) except for Saturday when there were two parties. A situation which can often end in tears, or at least unconsciousness, but fortunately I fell asleep in the kitchen at the one where I knew almost everyone, so they're used to me. Yes, I really am that classy.

Read Si'mon' Spurrier's Contract last week, with high expectations; alongside al_ewing, Spurrier is the best of the recent crop of 2000AD writers, which is no slight praise. And it's by no means a bad read - well, it's a 'bad' read in the moral sense, because it left me stood in Poundland thinking 'you know, you could get everything you needed to torture someone in here, and still have change from a tenner' - but it does suffer from one of the characteristic problems of novels by comics writers. Not the having seen it all before - yes, Spurrier has had a protagonist with the surname Point before, yes, the amoral lead is his thing, but those are all fine to revisit, and I wasn't left with the feeling of repetition for the prose audience which I got from, say, the first half of Neil Gaiman's American Gods. The problem is more...what to call it? 'Over-concentration', perhaps. Because comics writers are so used to conveying everything in a couple of lines per panel, and leaving the rest to the artist, once *everything* is filtered through a first person narrator, the characterisation can be almost too strong. It's a similar situation when a pop lyricist - or a good one, anyway - writes a book. Nick Cave's debut was excellent, but he was so used to fitting epics into four or five minutes of song that, given hundreds of pages, he produced something where the same density, over a greater length, was almost too much. It makes you realise how easy people who only ever write extended prose have it.

There's a trick which I think Art Brut began to popularise, and which several bands have taken up recently, of giving songs the same names as songs which already exist, without them being remotely the same songs. Not necessarily as diss or homage, just...liking the title. And normally I rather enjoy it, but on the new Isobel Campbell & Mark Lanegan album, they come a cropper. Because when I saw 'Come Undone' and 'Time of the Season' on the tracklisting, I thought, I really want to hear Isobel and Mark cover those songs. Maybe that's the problem, because I never for a moment thought the Art Brut album was going to include a M/A/R/R/S cover, or that the Indelicates album would have them doing the Stones.

I didn't do that 'what are people's misconceptions about me' meme a couple of weeks back, because for the most part: I'm not going to know them; or correcting them would make me sound like a tool; or correcting them would be strategically mistaken. But, I imagine it might surprise people that 'til xandratheblue showed me a couple last night, I'd never seen an episode of The Twilight Zone. 'Treehouse of Horror' and other pastiches, sure, plus more 2000AD Future Shocks than I care to number. Even a couple of episodes of the godawful revival of the rip-off Outer Limits (yeah, you may control the horizontal and the vertical - but I control the Off switch, suckers). I was on to 'The Eye of the Beholder''s twist within five minutes - because I've grown up with all those twist endings The Twilight Zone helped inspire - but it was still brilliantly executed, for the most part; the budget must have been tiny but the script and the camerawork meant that didn't matter. Just a shame they let in touches of 1984 melodrama when they could have kept the world looking exactly like USA 1960 except for that one little detail. But the McCarthyite paranoia of 'The Monsters Are Due On Maple Street' was simply perfect. Must investigate further, so thank heavens for the internet, eh?

Lots of spiders about this Autumn, apparently. "Just leave them alone and they will leave you alone", says John Partridge of the British Arachnological Society. So, if I climb through a stranger's window and then run around their house, or simply lurk in a corner looking sinister, I am leaving that person alone, am I?

Into Central on Wednesday, where under louring skies I realise this is my first time out since The London Paper folded, so as people trudge past me with their freesheets, they're all reading the same one. The one which, of the two rags (both fairly poor, obviously) takes the markedly more negative approach. And even if the cheerier one had triumphed, that uniformity would have felt like a tiny tick forward on the Doomsday Clock (exliontamer suggests that anything can seem apocalyptic if the headphones soundtrack it that way, but I was only listening to the new Madness). I'm headed for Pure Groove, allegedly a record shop but in fact a cafe/bar which also sells a bit of music - like so many artists, they've clearly realised that the sale of physical copies of music is not where the money lies anymore. The set-up is fairly Nathan Barley, especially the support act (transvestite riot grrrl would have been a brilliant idea, 15 years ago), but I'm there for Gyratory System who have no apparent connection to all this - or indeed, to any other context of which I'm aware. I don't know whether nobody else makes stuff like this, or whether it's just that I don't hear it, but it's an utterly new sound to me. The first track is the best bits of Spirtualized without Jason Pierce whinging over the top; the second sounds like some funky seventies film themes remixed without the kitschiness that usually entails; the third mixes bits of both and then somehow sounds vaguely Egyptian too. Great stuff.

One side effect of the banking crisis, and the banks' refusal to mend their ways even when underpinned by our money, and the government's refusal to make them, is that now when you get a mail like this:
Dear Friend

I am Garry Loopy,Manager Bank of scotland.A muitinational company opted an overdraft from our bank and was over invoiced with six million pounds so i wish to transfer the funds to your account for both of us.
write me via: garyc1908@live.com. for details

Best regrad.
gary loopy
...it no longer seems that implausible that the muppet running a major bank might a) have English of that standard and b) regard this as sound banking practice.

So we're sending two Nazis to Europe. On the plus side, at least the christians don't have any seats - though aren't there some still to declare? That would put the sour cherry on the carrot cake and no mistake. And I see this news just after reading the Captain Britain and MI13 annual. This being the best new superhero comic in years, one which took a character even Alan Moore couldn't make sing, and made him into the national icon he always should have been, our own Captain America as opposed to a cheap knock-off. The series hit around the same time as Garth Ennis' Dan Dare reboot, and they shared an attempt to build a sense of a British patriotism which was strong and unashamed, but which gave no quarter to the racist scum who profane the flag and the history they so tattily invoke. And the annual? Well, that's the first issue to come out since the news that Captain Britain and MI13 is cancelled. There's just not enough of a market for it. And as above, so below. It's not that I feel any shame over how this will make us look in Europe's eyes, you understand - enough other countries are sending their own fascists, and as per last century, I'm confident that ours are hardly the biggest threat of the bunch. Besides which, the European Parliament is a bad joke in the first place. I'm more embarrassed over how this makes us look to ourselves, how much it exacerbates the national mood of bemused decline. Hopefully, it'll at least be enough of a wake-up call to improve matters, but it could as easily be another step down that sorry road. In the meantime, yesterday's jokes about "ask David to bring The Final Solution" (which worked better verbally, italics and capitals being silent) and the unicorn lynching seem slightly less amusing.

Othergates:
I don't normally mind waits at the doctor's; in accord with Sarll's First Rule, I always have plenty to read about my person. Except my surgery has now installed a TV broadcasting inane health programming, noisily. Desist!
Unusually old-school Stay Beautiful this weekend, both in terms of those attending, and in not having a live act. "This is how we used to do it in the olden days!", I tell bemused youngsters for whom the night has only ever been at the Purple Turtle. The playlist is less old-school, which is a shame as such a direction might have saved me from accidentally dancing to La Roux.
Two Grant Morrison comics out last week, and while Batman & Robin was a great, straightforward superhero story with art by the ever-impressive Frank Quitely, it wasn't a patch on the glorious, tragic, yearning final issue of Seaguy's second act. Guess which one sells about ten times as much as the other?

It's remarkably civilised of ITV to put all their halfway-watchable shows in the same 90 minute block. Secret Diary of a Call Girl was always borderline, and now they're deviating from the book even more, not just normalising Belle but embroiling her in lamely generic plots about proteges and politicians - plus, the director seems increasingly inept at hiding the use of body doubles. Nonetheless, it's better than anything else ITV squeeze out, or would be if tomorrow it weren't followed by the debut of No Heroics. I haven't seen it yet, but it stars Nathan Barley and James Lance and is set in a pub for off-duty superheroes where the drinks include V For Vodka and Shazamstell, and thus even with ITV's reverse Midas touch in the equation, it basically can't fail. Then after that, Entourage, which is still ludicrous fluff, and still utterly wonderful. No need to check the rest of the schedules! And no need to bother with ITV1 at all, thank heavens.

How can people say there are no good band names left in a world with Adebisi Shank? If you don't agree, you presumably haven't seen Oz, and if you haven't seen Oz, that's between you and your conscience.

As much as I love Saint Etienne, neither of the times I've seen them before convinced me. But context counts for a lot; they're the sound of London on a good day, of the retro-futuristic spirit that gave the city things like the South Bank. So walking down from Bloomsbury and through the Thames Festival, with its gay Aztecs and giant butterflies and Lithuanian folk-dancers, and the show being in the Queen Elizabeth Hall (where Sarah incites quite the most polite insurrection I've ever seen, encouraging dancing in the aisles)...it helps them make sense live like they do on record. And well done Heavenly for managing to turn the foyer into a plausibly clubby space, too.
It was a strange weekend; even more than usual I was beset by the mutterings of whichever church father it was who lamented "Oh, that we had spent but one day in this world thoroughly well." Not that I think his idea of time well spent would have much in common with mine, but that line haunts me nonetheless. And this in spite of participating in a sitcom read-through accompanied by experimental booze science, getting some sewing done which I'd been putting off for months, a wonderful birthday dinner for a dear friend on Saturday...not such a wasted weekend as all that, but at my back I always hear, &c. There's a thought - the Marvell expert was out on Saturday, maybe it was his fault.
Oh, and sun dogs! Perfect examples, on the very day when I'd been reading the chapter of The Cloud-Spotter's Guide about them. While admiring which I was accosted by two antipodeans who wanted to borrow my mobile in exactly the sort of scenario which could have been a scam - but wasn't, thus restoring some fragment of my faith in humanity.

Speaking of faith in humanity - I enjoyed John Scalzi's future war novel Old Man's War, but thus far I like the sequel The Ghost Brigades even better. Partly this is because it answers some niggling questions I had about the setting - questions which weren't explicitly set up as mysteries and could simply have been inconsistencies. But more than that for its sheer ruthlessness, its recognition that when faced with a populous and implacable galaxy, humanity's greatest resource is that we are utter bastards. Of course, this is also why in reality, and even in my very favourite fiction, I would much rather we were just used as attack dogs in a galactic civilisation run by something halfway civilised, because the idea of trusting us to run the show is terrifying. But for the odd pulp thrill, Humans Versus The Galaxy has its charms.
(You might not expect a segue from that to the Lib Dem conference. But when Nick Clegg, name notwithstanding, says "most people, most of the time, will do the right thing"...I wonder whether he's grown up with the same human race I have, and even more than with his plans for tax cuts, I fear that his party is just too far away from anything I believe nowadays for me to vote for them in good conscience. On the other hand, he's dead right about the zombies and the Andrex puppy)

That was a good week off capped by a great weekend; starting with Pimm's and Peep Show, moving on via Greenwich and Ealing, then lounging around in the local park yesterday. We even got to contribute some local colour to a hip hop video, sitting around on the grass looking middle class with a picnic hamper and plenty of wine while the chap behind us lamented the gun culture on London's streets. The setting seemed slightly incongruous, but his lyrics were fairly conscious so I can only surmise that it was deliberate, pointing out to the kids on Green Lanes that rather than shooting each other, they could just go and sit on a tree stump like he was. Good luck to him.

I'm not quite prepared to go with the 'best superhero film ever' plaudits - for me Burton's two Batman films and Singer's two X-Mens are still to beat - but yes, Iron Man is extremely good. Given this is Marvel's first in-house production, there was a lot riding on it. Obviously, if comics writers are being asked to the set, consulted on the script, bringing the benefit of their experience then the end product is more likely to appeal to people like me than it is when the Hollywood studios start fiddling. But that's not going to do us a lot of good in the long run if the general public stays away. Fortunately, Iron Man appears to be making obscene amounts of money - which not only means that Marvel are likely to continue with this strategy, but that a similar fidelity is likely to roll out across other comics films. And I don't mean fidelity in the unthinking 'no organic webshooters' sense - but fidelity in spirit, not making changes for change's sake. ( spoilers )

On my wanderings last week, I managed to fill a few gaps in my comics collection - those last elusive issues of Warren Ellis' Excalibur among them - but I think my favourite finds were a few Dreaming issues. The Dreaming is widely, and for the most part rightly, remembered as a bit of an atrocity - the post-Gaiman Sandman spin-off which flailed around for a while before being turned into the ultimate unintentional Vertigo self-parody by execrable goth Caitlin Kiernan. But before it lost sight of its anthology remit, they got a few stories from better writers, among them Peter Hogan. Peter Hogan is one of those mid-period 2000AD writers whose American career never quite took off - John Smith is the other great example. I'm not going to claim him as a great writer, at least not on this evidence; his stories are a little too pat for that. But they also show great charm, a deft wit, and a better grasp of the unique atmosphere Gaiman conjured for The Sandman than anyone else who's played with those toys. At the very least Hogan should have had a career as a sort of lieutenant to Gaiman, the Millar (as was) or Waid to Gaiman's Morrison.

"I don't want to live in a country that emasculates the BBC," says Stephen Fry. One of England's great treasures defending another; if only there were some reference to or endorsement from Alan Moore it would be three for three.

Jason Webley fans! Are people planning to see him at Favela Chic in Shoreditch this Sunday, at the Green Note in Camden on Wednesday, or both? Not-yet-Jason-Webley-fans! Fancy seeing the best solo performer since Hawksley Workman, a sort of Tom Waits with an accordion and a closer connection to the human race?

Arguing with 9/11 conspiracy theorists is a self-defeating endeavour; if you refuse to accept what they see as the self-evident truth that an American cabal destroyed the World Trade Centre, then you're obviously part of the conspiracy yourself. The BBC recently showed a documentary debunking the lunacy; inevitably, this has now seen them named as another conspirator*. Not yet realising that the only sane response is to stick your fingers in your ears and start singing 'La La La La I Can't Hear You', the BBC has now defended itself. One item of the defence: "We no longer have the original tapes of our 9/11 coverage (for reasons of cock-up, not conspiracy)."
If you look at the comments on that piece, you'll get a fairly good impression of the sort of frothing insanity which characterises the conspiracy mob; you'll also note that not one of them finds this excuse remotely plausible.
Which means that they don't know anything of the history of how much classic BBC programming is missing from the archives.
Which means that not one of them can be a fan either of Peter Cook or Doctor Who.
Which is yet further proof of their general failure as human beings.

The 30th anniversary prog of 2000AD came out today. It's an incredible achievement, but they've taken the nostalgic side of this too far by including an utterly rubbish prequel to dinosaur-farming romp Flesh - and the whole thing would have been so much more resonant if Judge Dredd: Origins hadn't gone MIA mid-story.

The flu epidemic which followed the Great War killed something like 5% of the world's population - but without being followed by social breakdown or general chaos. So if bird flu gets its socks on, and accomplishes something similar - well, that's got to do a lot of good for the human carbon footprint, hasn't it? Which must be vastly preferable to the likely apocalyptic consequences of climate change. Help Us, H5N1 - You're Our Only Hope.

Have just been tooling around Hell as Beta Ray Bill, nicking enormous flaming swords off giant demons and using them to do over their mates. This entirely made up for the upsetting stuff with the clowns and the dodgems earlier, and has left me in an extremely good mood.

*At the last count the number of conspirators required would practically put them in the majority across the US and UK; added to the normal psychological flaws of the conspiracy obsessive, that desperate, childish need to believe that *someone* is in control of the world, the 9/11 mob must now be feeling terribly left out.