Franklin

Say hello to Franklin. He was born on September 21st, and came home with us today to be part of our family.

Isn't he lovely?

The 99 Minute Barrier

Peyton Westlake was horrifically burned. Dead to the world, he became...Darkman.

I am like Darkman in several respects, one of which I would like to describe to you. Today, I broke my 99 minute barrier. I haven't perfected a light-resistant polymer of course, but Westlake's scientific triumph in the field of synthetic skin is paralleled by my economic one: I just got promoted.

From the 1st January 2009 I start a new job, and as exciting as that is in itself, I am especially elated at the prospects this could afford my family. A house of our own, a child, a wedding. These things are possible because of what I shall refer to as "Brinkman's fortune".

Tomorrow I undergo an operation to remove all four of my wisdom teeth. I'm not sure what I will look like when I come out, but the idea of having a bandaged face (and perhaps a dirty raincoat) as I leap from the windows of Nuffield Hospital is an appealing one.


"My teeth. They...they took my teeth. Hmmv!"

Try harder

For a number of years, on and off, I've been writing articles and game reviews for a British Xbox fansite. This has pretty much been the only effort to develop my writing since I graduated in 2003, and although I seem to be generally well regarded by my small readership, I do worry that I should be doing more.

2003 was also the year that I lost my father. I held myself together somehow; the worst year of my life was, in the end, the most productive and memorable of them all. My name became a little longer. I became a father (of the step variety). Rob and I bested the hounds and bears of Transylvania. And Sarah, my solace and salvation, gave me my soul.

The 5 years since then have been happy ones. However, if Spaced taught us anything, it's that contentment is the enemy of achievement. So I worry: when someone on www.britxbox.co.uk says that my "review skillz are too awesome for this place" (thank you, MoBiUGeArSkIn), does he have a point?

I do love writing my reviews, and I'm thankful that the community of BXB appears to respect my efforts. I will continue to contribute there for as long as they allow me to, but the desire to produce something less ephemeral continues to gnaw.

I have an idea for a novel. I've been thinking about it for a while, but now...well, I've committed the suggestion to the internet, haven't I? Perhaps that vague promise will encourage me to realise the ambition. If you're wondering what the idea is, know this: it will have zombies. It will have robots. And that is all I shall tell you.

Incidentally, my latest review (for Golden Axe: Beast Rider) is available here.

Starting again

A friend of mine has been keeping an online journal for several years now. Since I moved away, this has served as one of few remaining connections to my old life and, especially in light of a diminished family presence (the relatives I still care for live many miles away), I value it as a quite precious resource.

After a failed attempt several years ago, I have been thinking of starting my own blog in the hope that it might present a similar touchstone to old friends. Primarily though, for my own benefit, I want to make an artefact of my thoughts - as I read my friend's journal, it occurs to me that too many of my own memories are plucked bare by time or uprooted altogether.

So, I'm starting again.

This weekend, my aunt and uncle visited us, along with their four children. I had not seen them for over five years, during which time I had been living with my new family - Sarah and her two daughters (whom I like to think of as my own) accepted and loved me at a time when everything was falling apart, and for that they will always have my devotion. Nonetheless, a persistent sadness has festered over the rending of my original family. Anne and Simon's visit has done much to lift this weight.

Our children played with their children; Anne and Sarah spoke like old friends, drinking wine; Simon regaled us as warmly and charismatically as I always remembered. Why had we not done this earlier? Two distinct families became one and the same, as if it had always been so.

I had to hold back tears as they left, assuring myself that this was a new beginning, and that none of us would let five years pass between us again. As Sarah consoled me I realised how lucky I really am.