It's the evening of Valentine's Day, it's a Saturday, and I'm updating my internet site.

To compound matters further, my last entry was about aliens during which I used a mathematical formula to estimate the number of intelligent civilisations in the galaxy.

You might therefore conclude that I am a geek of the highest proportions.

And in many ways you'd be right.

But I like to think in many other, very much more important ways you'd be sorely mistaken.

So tonight I am attempting the impossible. I am sitting here on Valentine's night, updating my Weblog, and I am attempting to convince you that I am far from sad.

And I begin with a defeat. I must immediately concede the point that I am writing this defence because I know that many will see the time and date of this posting and draw, paint, and scribble their own conclusions. Essentially this post is a blatantly transparent attempt to justify the worthiness of its own existence. Yet I still believe I can pull it off.

And I will go further. While I'm outlining the negative, I may as well lay it all on the line. I'm 27 years old and I live with my Mum. I work with computers. I wear glasses. I'm not particularly good at sports. I have an interest in science. I enjoyed reading The Lord of the Rings. I watch the Discovery channel. I own a book called The Dictionary of Difficult Words. I possess several 6 hour videos of Simpson episodes I taped off the TV (with the commercials carefully edited out). My favourite author is a Science-fiction writer who nobody has heard of called Vernor Vinge. I'm seriously considering casting my vote for the LIberal Democrats at the next election. I keep wishing I owned a telescope and lived under clear skies. I own an Ozric Tentacles record.

Yet I remain as confident as ever.

Okay, I admit to a certain amount of geekiness. I even worked in a bookshop once. But traditionally geeky things are not purely the persuit of geeks. I cannot dodge the cultural things: Lord of the Rings, science fiction novels, Ozric Tentacles - this is cleary the list of a man with sandels and pasty skin. And whilst I admit to the odd bout of skin whiteyness (I'm sure this isn't a word) after a bout of night shifts, I have never owned a pair of sandels and I like to eat all the meats of our cultural stew. My favourite label is the mega-trendy Warp Records, I consider Stevie Wonder to be a musical God, and I write music which is influenced by Boards of Canada, Orbital, Plaid, Mr Bungle and many other cool artsists who you may never have heard of but neverthless should be assured are ridiculously cool and happening oh yes.

Never mind that somewhere in that previous paragraph is an incredibly obscure Simpsons reference.

And I'll have you know that I am only living at home with my Ma because I am saving to go travelling around South East Asia and I do not intend to come back until the vast sums of money I have saved as a result are nearly spent. Before I moved home I had found it very difficult to save on account of my fantastically active social life. You see I lived in zone one in central London and things are a mite more expensive - especially when you live with friends. We did have a swimming pool, a steam room and a gym in our block of flats. We used to get lots of visitors and then they'd expect us to have a drink with them after we took them swimming. Selfish bastards. We had a lovely view of the London skyline and everything, so we felt it a waste not to entertain friends at dinner. You can see why I needed to move out. Although I work with computers folks, it's actually a cool sounding television job. We just need computers to run our automation. My job title is Transmission Controller. Or at least it will be until I set off on my travels where at leats four independently-sourced friends (two of which are female; not that it should matter - but it does seem to help my cause considering that the stereotype I am attepting to argue myself away from is a right scaredy-cat when it come to girlies) are hoping to meet me midway through their tours.

Not so fucking sad now eh?

Not convinced?


I wear cool looking clothes. Honest. Remember during the indie years when every young fucker in the country was wearing blue suede Adidas trainers? Shit, I was wearing those years before everyone else. I'm not trying to claim I started it, that would of course be ridiculous. But I remember climbing Ben Nevis in my Adidas Sambas and I was still wearing them three years later. One day I was in Our Price (not such a cool record shop to be in admittedly but it was my local store at the time), I happened to looked down and I actually remember thinking to myself: "Fuck me! Everyone's wearing the same bastard shoes!" That's when I shod my shoes. Those were the days when we used to get into indie night clubs around central London on the guest list because my mate's girlfriend and her friends knew all the DJ's. How could anyone used to waltzing past long queues outside Camden Palace or the London Astoria be a geek I ask you? It was a while ago mind. I did it more recently though, when I did some A&R scouting for a couple of record labels. Those are the people who go to gigs and find new talent. Godly cool types one and all. Too many arseholes though. Having said that some friends of mine who were on Top of the Tops recently are lovely chaps.

Sad now?

Yes? No?

You may have noticed that many of my claims to cool are justifyed by my knowing of other cool people. Firstly I would defend to the death my right to bask in reflected glory. But mainly I would point out that cool cannot be judged in any other way. Like guilt under the British system of justice, it is a thing to be handed out by a jury of one's peers. If my peers are cool, and they accept me as their friend, than so I am also cool. Cool people do not fraternise with geeks.

Except in Happy Days.

I would also like the following to be taken into consideration: I do not watch soaps. I do not like Pop Idol or I'm a Celebrity Get Me Out of Here or any other shallow crap. In fact I don't generally like ITV at all. I use swear words a lot (that's got to be good right?), although I have been increasing my use of parenthises recently. I have yet to use three consecutive exclamation marks (like thus: !!!) expect when I am being ironic. I use irony very often. I am extraordinarily sarcastic. I like football - the sport of the gods. I have a healthy stubble, but I want never to sport a beard. Even though I claim to be bad at sports, it is only because I set myself a very high standard. I have a liberal attitude towards drugs. I don't get stressed. At all. About anything. No honestly, I consider it one of my greatest talents. My work love me because of this. Or suffer panic attacks. Of my five closest friends, I stress again: two of them are female. Indeed a boast for a supposed geek. Neither of these females are the two I hope to meet up with in South East Asia later this year. I have no allergies. I have no phobias. My favourite Beano character after Gnasher was Dennis the Menace. I wear one of those cool belts that is essentially a strap that goes round your waist with the end bit hanging down over a pocket - only cool people realise these are trendy.

I leave my fate in your undoubtedly callous hands.