So this is what 2011 looks like. I had always wondered. In fact, I had hoped for flying cars, self-cleaning houses and robot policemen, but that still appears to be no more than a pipedream… Oh well, maybe in 2012.
As for me, the last time I updated here, I bemoaned the fact that I’d been neglecting this blog for far too long and promised to remedy it. Granted, that was back in June of last year, but I don’t recall issuing a time limit, so no matter how long it’s been… I still win.
The reasons for the paltry activity levels of this blog are manifold, but due mostly to the fact I’ve been so busy. An influx of copywriting work has kept me on my toes and a roof above my head and takes up the daylight hours of most weeks. I have also been busy with Head Full of Snow, ensuring regular updates over at my psychedelic, prog and folk rock review website. My intention is to give that a new lick of paint sometime in 2011. Whether I find the time is a different matter entirely.
While we’re on the subject of stop-motion animation, today just happens to be the birthday of the granddaddy of them all (well, after Willis O’Brien that is).
Yes, Ray Harryhausen, the man who gave us the wonderful creatures that inhabit films such as The 7th Voyage of Sinbad, The Three Worlds of Gulliver, the original Clash of the Titans, and, of course, Jason and the Argonauts, is 90 of the Queen’s years old.
Long before the shiny and sparkly CGI was used to divert the attention from a lack of character development and plot, Harryhausen was providing the special effects that brought to life mechanical Minotaurs, giant Cyclops, towering Krakens and an army of skeletons.
Things have been quiet of late in these parts. Jeffman shows willing but must try harder…
A combination of HFoS, research, various other writing projects and a shouty daughter have conspired to keep me from filling you in on all the tedious details of my life. However, a brief respite from the unforgiving schedule of staring blankly at a laptop screen between bouts of nappy wrestling gives me the opportunity to share a spot of news regarding the old writing thing.
As mentioned previously, last week was given over to watching my favourite genre of film, the Spaghetti Western, and posting reviews over at LateMag.
Despite an almost overwhelming sentiment of badwill to all men, for me the Spaghetti Western makes perfect Chrimbo viewing. Not entirely sure why. Possibly because the first one I ever saw was A Fistful of Dollars, one Yuletide, a very long time ago. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.
When not meeting the constant demands of the shouty daughter, or writing various bits and pieces for this and that, or penning yet another slice of award-worthy prose for Head Full of Snow, I’m rewarded with the occasional moment to myself. I generally put these to good use by doing a spot of writing.
On Sunday I began the novel which will see me set-up for life once it’s written and published. Can’t give too much away, for obvious reasons, but it’s set to be a rip-roaring adventure of Edgar Rice Burroughs proportions, with a tongue that remains firmly in the cheek.
The web wizzard in charge of Roy Wood’s official website has been in touch and a copy of my article, as it stands at the moment, is now in the hands of Birmingham’s finest, and beardiest, bard.
Following on from my previous aborted attempt at locating Great Barr Hall – a decent view to photograph, anyway – I decided to take another look. This time I was prepared, having consulted both Google Maps and a mate of mine who’s known to walk his Staffie around there.
So off I ventured onto the half-built estate that’s sprung up on the grounds of the old St. Margaret’s Mental Hospital and, more importantly, into the woods that surround it.
The research I undertook (all 30 seconds of it) prior to my expedition paid dividends, as instead of the tangled jungle of undergrowth I encountered last time, the woods quickly opened onto a steep, makeshift drive, lined by trees and the ruins of outbuildings, which inclined down to Great Barr Hall… or what remained of it
Those of you aware of my Head Full of Snow site, will already know it’s my haven for reviewing psychedelic rock, prog rock, acid-folk and many other magical variations thereon. If you don’t, get yourselves over there immediately after you’ve read this, not a second before, mind.
The thing is, I mostly pay for the stuff I review myself, therefore giving a completely unbiased view from the perspective of a man who, like the punter who’s reading it, has weighed in with the appropriate sum and lightened the load on his pocket.
However, nowadays I’m getting sent more and more stuff from artists, record labels and PRs for review, which, as long as it fits in with my own remit for Head Full of Snow, I’m more than happy to do. But it beggars the question, now that I’ve thumbed a ride upon the corporate gravy train, so to speak, can my words still be trusted?
So I’ve recently written this article for a music magazine chronicling the musical career of Roy Wood. Trouble is, it’s lacking a touch of colour that can only be injected by a spot of input from the bearded Brummie himself.
So, with it being such a lovely day(!) and the shouty daughter otherwise engaged at mother and baby club, I decided to go for a stroll around the new estate by us. I took my camera, as I had a plan.
The estate is built on the grounds of the old St. Margaret’s mental hospital in Great Barr – or the “Great Barr Idiot Colony” as it was originally called in the less enlightened early 1900s. The buildings that made up the hospital stood alongside Great Barr Hall, a Gothic mansion that has stood in some form or other since the late 1700s. The Hall was used as part of the hospital between 1918 and 1978.
The main buildings of St. Maggies, as we’ve always known it, are completely gone, but as far as I’m aware Great Barr Hall still stands, albeit in a state of disrepair, having been partially burnt to the ground just prior to the new houses being built. Here’s an aerial map of the old hospital grounds.
My aforementioned plan was to get some snaps of the Hall.
I’m sure sitting here at 3.40 in the morning bashing out a review of some obscure progressive rock album is of little benefit to either the mind or the soul. The body? Certainly not.
But while a 3 month old shouty daughter sleeps soundly above, like a man serving a life sentence on a day release, I have to grab any opportunity I can, writing whenever and wherever. If that means being active during the psycho hours – a time traditionally favoured by murderers, burglars, the criminally insane and milkmen – so be it.
Anti-social timekeeping is nothing new to me. A night creature of sorts, I have always preferred the darkness to the light. It’s within these realms that, if confined to barracks, my first taste of many a cult movie or TV show has been savoured. You can usually tell you’re in cult territory by – amongst other things – the ungodliness of the hour, the obscurity of the title or the lowness of the budget. Another key ingredient is the often small, yet dedicated audience that the film or show will enjoy – although this is obviously impossible to gauge at the time of viewing.
Nick James is a freelance copywriter and blogger, providing web and print-based copywriting services to businesses across all industries. He also writes Head Full of Snow. To discuss your needs and receive a FREE, no obligation, estimate, get in touch today.
news, writing | Jeffman | 
January 5, 2011 4:12 pm | 
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Nick James is a freelance copywriter and blogger, providing web and print-based copywriting services to businesses across all industries. He also writes 
