How to make a band-mate happy

Just to be clear the word "band-mate" refers to the idea of "mate" as in a buddy or
friend not as in a sexual act where we're trying to conceive a child.

1. Hug them. At least once a week, or every time you see them if not once a week.
Not only does this express affection for band-mates it also gives you the chance
of winning the prestigious annual CWM band hug awards, of which the current champions
are CWM. (Send in pictures of band hugs to the email at the bottom of the screen 
to have a chance of winning).

2. If they literally only eat chips, only lightly make fun of that. They have their
own crazy reasons for not liking certain foods and it's not our business to judge,
or mock, or create blog posts that point it out so the world can see. However, light
teasing is more than appropriate.

3. If they have a beard, respect the beard area. Imagine there is a force field
around the beard preventing you from getting too close without permission. 

4. If they play bass, act like it's a proper instrument. No matter what.

5. If they ask you to turn it down, do so. Then turn the amp back up when no-one is watching.
 This way everyone thinks they're getting what they want.

6. If they play drums, act like they're a normal, proper human. No matter what.

7. Play in time.

8. Own some sort of vehicle.

9. Actually read the band WhatsApp group.

10. If after asking them to turn their amp down, they then secretly turn it up,
only hate them secretly.

11. If they say your instrument isn't a proper instrument, try not to punch them.

12. Bring snacks to Band Practice.

13. Don't live somewhere inconvenient.

14. Make fun of each other whenever possible. This way you will keep each others
ego's crushed.

15. If they're a guitarist, pretend they are as good as they say they are. No matter what.

16. Tell them when they've improved in some way.

17. If they're a singer, pretend the crowd love them. No matter what.

18. Get used to being in close quarters with each other. For the smaller,
sweatier stages.

19. If someone else asks you to join another band, rudely tell them no.

20. Learn how to play your instrument.

What the Fuck is Our Genre?

One of the greatest mysteries in CWM is around the question: "What the fuck is our genre?" I mean

in a time of multiple sub genres of sub genres, simply replying with "Rock Music", may not be specific enough an answer to that question. However, I find myself struggling to come up with an answer other than that.

Everyone knows that google gives the answer to everything, so a quick peruse of google gives many exciting sub genres of Rock Music: Latin Rock, Shock Rock, Space Rock, Swamp Rock or Cock Rock. However, while many of these genres sound bizarre (particularly Cock Rock) we unfortunately don't appear to fit in any of them. Instead, some of the more well known sub genres seem to be a closer fit: Hard Rock, Alternative Rock or Punk Rock in particular.

Looking at these three more common sub genres closer can give an idea of how well our band will fit in them. Hard Rock seems to have a focus on a lot of  older bands with the likes of Queen, Led Zeppelin and AC//DC falling under the genre. I can definitely hear influence from these bands in our music as well as some of the aggression in tone required to fit in with this genre. However, this doesn't appear to be very consistent throughout all our songs.

Punk Rock has had a massive influence on each of our musical interests, which can be clearly heard on songs like Icebreaker. Yet once gain we manage to stray away from songs typical for this sub genre, particularly as the length of our songs are longer than typical punk songs and neither are they as fast. Our tendencies to follow the hard rock aggressive style prevents us from fully committing to the punk rock archetype. 

So now I'm driven towards Alternative Rock, a sub genre which a lot of bands seem to be shoved into without anyone fully understanding why. The main definition of alternative rock is that an alternative band will produce music distinct from mainstream rock; or it could also mean music heavily influenced by punk rock; or it could be underground rock artists receiving mainstream recognition. So basically, any underground rock band that currently exists and plays original music could probably fit into this sub genre. So it's not an effective sub genre as it doesn't give a band a distinct sense of identity from other Rock music.

So there we are, drifting in the middle of a few genres of rock music but not really with one we fully commit too. To be fair, I don't think that really matters- bands tend to hate being categorised as one genre or another anyway. Besides, there are more important questions to be asked- like what the fuck is Cock Rock?

Awesome Abums: Sleater-Kinney, Dig Me Out

When the opening track of Sleater – Kinney's dig me out blasts out I'm instantly hooked in by the teasing guitar riff overlaying the bouncing drum beat. It then proceeds to refuse to let me go for 36 minutes of the album's duration. Some songs are stronger than others but the combination of tantalising guitar work, bouncy drumbeats and rough vocals manages to hold me throughout.

There's a variety of songs on offer. The album begins with a series of catchy tracks of which my personal favourite is the opener “Dig Me Out”. This run ends with the powerful “Heart Factory” where the band slows the pace down a little. “Buy Her Candy” provides a softer moment in the album while “Jenny” gives a climatic finish.

Quick Summary:

“One More Hour”, I don't know why but I feel this is the perfect song to wake up to. Maybe due too the bleary guitar overlaying the verse which contrasts brilliantly with the catchy chorus.

“Turn it On”, once again the guitar draws me in and gets me nodding my head. When the drums kick in the chorus I have to start moving to the music. The bridge then finishes the build up of activity by getting me singing along to the vocals. A fun and catchy song.

“The Drama You've Been Craving” keeps this dancing up through the relentless drumming and the forceful, snappy vocals as they take turns singing. Meanwhile the intricate guitar keeps the song interesting as it dances around the determined pace. Personally I find this one a great song to run to, it really builds up the energy levels well.

“Heart Factory” slows down the pace with a quiet verse and powerful chorus. For me the dark guitar on the verse is the highlight of this song, giving me something enjoyable to just sit and listen to as it plays out.

“Words and Guitar” is full of catchy chorus' which demand the listener to jump around mixing with beautiful, eclectic verses which would be perfect to listen to lying in the grass of a sunny park. This deep contrast in the song works well and is followed by another high energy piece “It's Enough”. At less than 2 minutes long the energy doesn't stop or slow down but keeps rising throughout. A perfect song go nuts to and yell out the simple, repeated chorus at a show.

“Little Babies” slows down the pace once again. I wouldn't say this is one of the strongest songs on the record for me but the vocals on the chorus are catchy and the drums keep an excellent beat, so it is still enjoyable to listen to. “Not What You Want” hits the accelerator harder, the vocals on the verses in particular display the chaotic energy of the song as if on the verge of losing control . “Buy Her Candy” takes the foot of the accelerator again and brings forth a wonderfully sweet song by relying on the guitar and vocals for the brunt of the music. This adds to the rawness of the emotion of the love song and creates a nice quieter moment in the album for the listener to catch their breath.

“Things You Say” demonstrate more of what this album does incredibly well as the intricate guitar guides me through a quietly, powerful emotive song, flowing beautifully with the vocals and drums. “Dance Song 97” uses dynamics well to keep building itself up behind some excellent guitar riff-age before finishing quietly. This manages to add to the impact of the song and solidifies it as a gentler note on the album. “Jenny” wraps up the album and clocking in at over four minutes is the longest song available. The chorus is cathartic and mixing this with the slow tempo makes it a suitable and powerful finisher. It releases the listener while also giving them something to think about on their way out.

The album definitely worth checking out if you wanna hear catchy punk songs that also knows how to mix giving the listener an intricate and raw experience effectively, so if your intrigued give em a listen!

Police, Thieves and Merchants: Chapter 6, Coming With Malice

Cax looked blearily around him at the village settling down for the night. The police women had seemed professional enough, though the thought kept nagging at him at what the two of them could really hope to find against a band of thieves easily able to de-materialise into the wilderness. A smith quietly cleared up his tools as dusk settled around him. The sound of merry laughter came from his right as two boys and three girls played together, their father keeping a watchful eye on them as he creaked back in a rickety chair, a pipe cheerily smoking away in his mouth.

“I wonder if he has a spare?” Cax thought before deciding against joining. Children could be really annoying at times. Instead he reluctantly turned back into the inn where his belligerent travelling companions were sipping wine, minus one or two.

Briax was finishing helping the smith collect up her tools.

“You don't have to help me you know Briax?” She was in her late twenties, with brown hair curled down to her shoulders and a thick-set build at medium height.

“Well you did so well with the cart today I had to return the favour,” he replied easing his face into a smile.

“Usually people go to the wood experts when they need something like that doing,” she commented eyes focused on lifting the tools back onto their hooks. Briax had seen just such a person: an old, large man sat dozing outside his carpentry workplace. He remembered pausing to notice how the whiskers nuzzled under carpenter's nose had lifted with each snore, then moved on to find someone much more.. interesting to help.

“Yes.. well I guess I'm not aware of the local professions.”

“Yet unable to read the word smithy on the front of my door?” A quirky, quizzical yet amused smile flitting across her face.

“Precisely, I was in such a rush I had no time for reading Miss..? Or is it Mrs?” Briax asked while leaning forward to inspect the underside of a hammer as if it held great interest to him.

“It's Jen, like I've already told you.”

“But is it Miss Jen or Mrs?”

“I think those tools are just about done, what was that you said about a drink after all this hard work?” Jen said while glancing at the diminishing sunlight out of the window, as if confirming with herself that it was time for such things.

Briax paused his inspection and looked up.

“Oh yes, the only place I know around here is the inn we're staying at though and that's full of morons.” He added a sly smile on his lips.

“Didn't you say you were the only travellers staying there tonight?”

“Yes, did you have any other ideas?”

She turned to usher him out of the door so she could lock up saying,

“Woodsworth doesn't have that many places like that to go to, but there's one or two I can think of.”

The pub was a short walk from the smithy, right at the edge of the village with the trees from the forest rising up behind it. A significant amount of loud, rowdy voices could be heard as they approached, broken up by the occasional crash and slap.

“What's that?” Briax asked.

“Sounds like a tussle,” affirmed Jen as the door burst open in front of them. A large muscular womann came hurtling through, long limbs flailing and a scream of outrage spurting from her lips. Throx stood in the doorway, triumph outlined on his facial expression and body language.

Before Briax could react the woman was hammering into Throx's belly. Throx, proud at never being one to back down easily, managed to roll them both onto the floor where they lay grappling with each other.

“Lae stop it!” Jen called out aghast, trying to position herself close enough to the tumbling, whirling pile of limbs in order to prise them apart. Lae looked up momentarily and locked eyes with Jen, before clocking Throx around the head and picking herself up. She easily towered above them all once she had gotten herself upright.

“Enough tough guy, looks like the local smithy wants a drink.”

“That's right” Jen stated, “and I'd appreciate not having to walk over a rolling pair of asses to do so,” smiling in spite of her words.

“What were you doing?” she asked.

“Fighting.”

“I mean why?”

“She said this village had the finest wine for over a hundred miles!” Throx cut in indignantly.

“I had to correct her.. and then she decided to throw me a punch.”

“You were asking for it,” Lae growled.

“That's what they all say.”

“You were literally asking for it, demanding I put my fist where my mouth was – so I did,” Lae confirmed in her rough voice smiling smugly.

There was a slight pause as Briax and Jen exchanged a brief confused look.

“Yer.. I guess you did,” Throx said wiping the back of his hand across his forehead before barking out a laugh.

“Let's go inside,” Jen said looking at Briax.

“Very good,” Throx interrupted. “I still have plenty of beer left.”

“I didn't mean..”

“I can show you all a thing or two about drinking. Oh Briax I didn't know you were here!” Throx bellowed, noticing Briax for the first time.

Briax wasn't paying attention to Throx. His eyes were distant, glued to the rear of the inn where several shadows had begun emerging from the tree-line. The movement rippled and formed into a large body of people appearing as if from nowhere in the low, dusk sun glinting indiscriminately off knives or arrowheads glistening threateningly from within the mass.

“Get inside,” Briax hissed as the others looked around at the first thrum of a bowstring and screams piercing the cooling evening air.

The four of them bundled inside the drinking establishment, a small crowd of people at various stages of drunkenness turning to stare. Most weren't aware at all of the commotion manifesting itself outside, though worry had dawned on the face of a few. Lae quickly grabbed the block to lock the door and Jen helped her place it on.

“Shut the shutters!” Briax yelled all attention in the establishment now firmly placed on their little group. Throx began helping him shut the exterior light out with very little help from the people within.

“What's going on?” the bartender called loudly and firmly, clearly sober enough to be aware this wasn't simply a case of drunken shenanigans in the wake of the growing commotion outside. The rest of the crowd were either muttering among themselves or carried on drinking. In addition, a couple were demanding Lae to let them out and none were helping shut the windows. Jen turned to answer the questioning bar staff as a crash resonated around the building. A fist protruded from one of the windows on the far side of the room encased in a deathly black glove far from Throx or Briax's efforts. This initiated a flurry of activity around the pub as the majority of occupants reacted to the threat. One such was a short, squat, round man who flung himself forward to fight off the ferocious fist forcing it's way further into the room. He managed to throw the huge, emerging arm back through the window upon impact only to meet instant retribution for his efforts in the form of an arrow buzzing into his chest from the open window. He fell to the floor to begin an everlasting habit of laying down still. The screams that now could be heard from outside now echoed inside the pub as panic spread at the sight of the dead defender.

“Those shutters won't hold for long,” someone shouted desperately as Briax finally managed to finish off the work of the dead man and lock up the final window. Banging immediately spewed forth from several of the windows on the far side of the bar, indicating where the intruders efforts were directed. A keen wailing had begun distinct from the loud kerfuffle, identifying the wife or girlfriend of the dead man as his body was unceremoniously dragged to the centre of the room by Throx. This was to make way for the table and chairs being brought forth by several of the occupants to form a barricade across the windows as the heavy shutters already began to splinter and wither under the pressure. Lae searched around the rest of the pub, mind desperately pleading with herself that the attackers were looking for a simple, rapid raid and would soon grow tired and give up on the barricaded public house.

“The back door!” the bartender suddenly exclaimed sharply to her left. “It goes into the kitchens and I bet the lock won't hold much against that determined assault,” he continued nodding towards the cacophony of noise at the rear of the main hall.

Lae followed by Jen, sprinted into the kitchens through the door adjacent to the bar. She was met by the sight of a bedraggled youth dressed as a cook and using what strength he had left to hold the door while simultaneously calling for help. The door splintered behind him as an axe came charging through the wooden architecture to lodge itself deep in his back. The body underneath the axe went limp and Lae spun around gasping in shock and fear. Jen allowed a brief scream and Lae yelled at her to run as she pulled her back towards the bar. They crashed into the bartender and a couple of women who were rushing to their aid.

“This place is breached” Lae gasped at them as she struggled back onto her feet.

“We need to get out of here.”

Back near the main entrance a few drinking buddies had come to the same conclusion. The front door remained relatively undisturbed beyond the occasional knock. Two young men were shouting at anyone who would listen to get ready to run as they positioned themselves next to the locking bar. Briax and Throx were helping increase the barricade at the rear of the bar. Their efforts were increasingly becoming fruitless as the attackers had managed to get hold of several axes and were chopping their way through the wreckage that greeted them through the windows. A young woman from the pro-escape party was trying to convince a third drunk man to put down his drink and come.

“Come on Fal let's go, we need to go” she fearfully pleaded dragging at his arm.

Fal looked at her with a vacant, confused expression before replying

“We've got plenty of drink left! Come and join me Kat and we'll blow this place apart!”

“We can do that later but now we need to go..”

“Why later, we've got to live in the moment.” He pointed his bony, accusing finger at her, “you never live in the moment Kat. You need to relax!”

“For the last time, we're being attacked!” Kat pleaded, attempting to drag him with all her might towards the door. Fal turned around and glared at the barricade. The defenders were all abandoning their efforts and fleeing for the front door as splinters flicked out from the shaking furniture defences, emphasised by the deafening, crunching crashes gaining in volume with each one. Fal looked back at Kat, suddenly serious.

“Attack of the tables and chairs Kat, I told you this day was coming! You never listen.” The bar was hurled from the front door and the crowd of people clawing to get outside burst through into the uncertain wilderness their village had become. Kat kept trying to drag at Fal but he refused to budge.

“Look Kat, I've got reinforcements! Fuck those chairs.”

Kat moaned in defeat as she looked where Fal was indicating before leaving him to his his fate and running for the doors as the menacing figures came bursting into the main bar from the kitchens. Kat was allowed to escape as the thieves focused on salvaging what they could from the bar.

“Alright lads,” Fal called out in far too casual a tone for his situation. He took a sip from his drink and nodded back to the crunching furniture behind him.

“What are we gonna do about this eh? If you've come for a drink hold on a sec as we've got a situation on our hands.”

Unnoticed by Fal the attackers were negotiating round the dismantled and destroyed furniture, finally victorious in their weary attack against the pub. The expressions on their faces were cold when they realised they had been beaten by the assailants currently rummaging around the bar. The thieves circled through the bar as if hunting for the most appealing dinner in a pack of prey. Some were hurling some of the dry coloured bottles behind the bar into packs that each of them carried.

“Wine!” a hairy, short sure-footed man called out triumphantly as he released several bottles from their cabinet prison below the bar.

“Share it out,” exclaimed a tall thief kicking away a troublesome chair that refused to untangle itself from his legs paving their way through the obstacles. Fal spun round.

“Your not a chair?” he shouted in drunken wonderment a look of dazed confusion on his face as the newcomers passed him towards the bar.

“Shut it!” one of them yelled at him as he passed.

“How much of it is there back there?” a thief leaning against the bar called. Her wiry frame seemed to be leaning forward in greedy anticipation yet poised for a fight at the same time.

“One bottle.”

“We'll take it then.” One of the tall thieves coming out of the wreckage calmly stated as he walked around to stand off in front of the bar, his comrades backing him up on either side. A quiet chill fell on the room as the thieves from the kitchen all moved to position themselves between him and the bottle.

“Why would we allow that?” the woman leaning back against the bar replied coolly.

“There's more of us than you and you don't want us to knock all four of you out for one bottle of wine do you?” came the swift, confident reply from a thief casually sat on a table to the right of Fal, casually flicking his knife into the air as a malevolent grin spread across his face.

“Perhaps, but once we get outside we have enough friends to tear it right back out of your potentially dead hands,” the thief leaning at the bar said pointedly her body exuding confidence.

“You don't know that..” the knife wielder affirmed, whipping the knife up into the air once more with a grim smile as he met her gaze.

“You guys like wine?” Fal questioned from the centre of the stand-off, still enjoying his drink while just about keeping up with the conversation.“Why don't you check out the best wine for 1000 miles? Unlike what that fool thought..”

“We've got it here you crazy drunk,” one of the thieves sat on top of the bar retorted.

“That stuff's nothing compared to some of the selection in the cellar,” Fal managed to reply slurring his words as he took another drink.

A silent thief who had been glaring out of the door suddenly turned around as the men and women in the room exchanged glances. His face was unshaven and hair and clothing wild and messy, his boots muffled against the floor as he carefully stepped forward to Fal's table. The other thieves watched him expectantly as he spoke softly.

“Take us to the cellar.”

“Where's your manners?!” Fal interrupted, poking him in the chest. “I offer you the chance to drink the finest wine I know of and you can't even say please?”

The thief paused for a second and then smiled slowly.

“I'm sorry,” he spoke with precision. “Please.”

“Right!” Fal shouted, getting up. “Let's get you that wine then.”

Fal led the thieves back towards the kitchens to a little crevice to the right of the bar where a trapdoor resided, hidden from view.

“Gents,” he declared proudly rotating on the spot to face them after lifting the door open. “Ladies, you are going to love this.”

Tom's Top 10 Stages

Mr bassist has always kept a keen eye out looking for his next favourite stage. His enthusiasm and detail-oriented approach has made him somewhat of an expert on what makes a top stage to play on or spectate a band. Here is his top 10 list for best stages in the world:

10th "There is a house in New Orleans, they call the rising sun and it's been the ruins of many a poor boy and god I know I'm one."
A popular song lyric but the house also contains a popular stage for Tom.

9th "Eckington Civic Centre around 8/9/10 years ago."
Here Tom appears to be thinking of the first stag he played on live... many bands ago.

8th "Within the Deep French Southern Forest there is a Tavern tucked away
behind Le Sutassia (mountain) and it's called the H3D."
It's not surprising a tavern made this list as Tom does love a good tavern, always drinking his ale and mead there before slaying a dragon.

7th "The Royal Beech Tree in Somalia."
I'm not sure if Tom is referring to the name of a music venue or an actual tree here.. either way it has a stage and it's the 7th best in the world.

6th "The Northernmost Icelandic village, whose name currently escapes me,
has a lovely cafe with a stage in back called Ace, it is literally ACE!"
From google maps I suspect he's referring to Raufarhofn, in the north east of the country.

5th "Antarctican Second Stage."
A surprising choice for 5th spot, more so because it's surprising that Antarctica has not one but two stages. Why the second stage is better than the first sadly remains a mystery.

4th "West Street Live."
The one, the only West Street Live has been a strong and stable stage for the band, thoroughly deserving of fourth place.

3rd "That One in Texas I can't remember the name of."
The name may allude him but the allure of the beauty and sturdiness of the stage remains.

2nd "The Rio de Janeiro Grand Palladium."
At the top of many people's lists I'm sure, couldn't quite make it to the top of Tom's list though.

1st "The Washington."
The majesty, the tea-lights, the sheer wonder it uses to dominate the room on any night: the Washington's stage of wonders was always going to remain top of this list.

It's All About the People

So Kate and random internet surfer called Steve, one of the many things I've learned from our dozen or so string of shows, is that the main thing that makes a show unique are the people you meet. Now I'm not like Tom, I'm not as obsessed with the stage. For him seeing a stage with tea-lights around it will instantly make the show, it's all he'll talk about for months. He's also more interested in the demographics of people: the amount of male/females who come to a show; how many of different ages; how many of different heights etc than meeting them. He's weird. For me meeting a stage hand who treats his job like a military operation will be what sticks with me. Seriously though, the stage hands at Corporation are amazing and hilarious, who knew that loading up a stage could be so fun?

Now, nobody really knows what goes through Rob's head. The man is an enigma. Some say he is actually a swarm of bees in human disguise. Whether that is true or not, he definitely seems to enjoy the technical side of gigs and working with the sound engineer. I feel like he could go for a cup of coffee with a sound engineer at each show, spending the entire time talking about what a singe knob on those mysterious dashboards does. I'm a drummer so I don't really relate to this. They flick some switches and the sound becomes better? Whatever, just give me something to whack. Some dials and buttons ain't gonna make the show for me, but when the announcer decides to swear at anyone who isn't bothering to get up and watch the music, i'll remember that.

John has a beard and likes to sing quite a lot at shows. He also likes to talk to the crowd in between songs, for some reason. I guess the people who come to watch us play must make the show for him then. However, the people who compliment his beard are the ones that will really make the gig for him. It's quite a useful rule to know that if you want something from him, just let him know his beard is looking particularly lush today, almost professorly, like a lumberjack. Then ask and you shall receive. I don't have a beard so I can't relate to this, but learning about the tastiness of Poutine from a favourite bassist of mine- that's important. What was the point of this post I hear you ask? There was literally none. But if you want to meet some interesting people then come to a show and talk to someone who looks weird I guess.

Where Do We Play?

Now it's time to talk about venues of the musical variety, more specifically the venues we play at.
This way you can learn where you may find the band playing and if you ever decide to start a band in Sheffield, Kate and random internet surfer I like to call Steve, you can find out which are the best to play.

The Washington
Without a doubt Tom's favourite. He placed it at the top of his widely acclaimed list "Tom's Most Impressive Stages in the World 2018", managing to shockingly beat the Rio De Janeiro Palladium after several years at the top and "that one in Texas" as well. Why has the Washington managed to beat out these stages, in venues which cost far, far more to build? Well, the intimacy for the band members helps as Tom does like to be staring deep into my eyes at all times when playing a show. Also the tea lights around the stage show excellent effort to make it aesthetically pleasing and close proximity to the crowd means no need to strain his voice when yelling  at them. Overall, it is quite understandable how this stage made it to the top, despite the millions going into these stages known across the world, they don't quite have the charm of the Washington. Hopefully it can maintain that position in 2019.

Corporation
After frequenting this venue many, many, many times before, it's safe to say we felt familiarity with the venue. That is until we were introduced to the maze back stage proving that our knowledge of Corp wasn't as complete as originally thought, there are still more mysteries to discover.. Corp is generally bigger than the other venues we play. The wide selection of stages to play are bigger than usual for us, the bands we play with are more well known and the free entry to the club night after make it the most high quality venue we play. Most significantly it's the only venue we play with a stage crew which is very welcome as a drummer, and even more so for the positive, entertaining attitude they have there.

West Street Live
WSL has to be mentioned as we've played there more than anywhere else, for some reason they always say yes when we ask for a gig - bizarre. It's free entry which makes it easier to try and convince people to come  and watch us from the street, if I'm ever so inclined. Also the various deals on the drinks have noticeably  appealed to many bands visiting from outside Sheffield. Certainly, it's nice to finish a gig and have such a wide selection to choose from. The stage may not reach Tom's lofty standards, however it's certainly adequate enough for me and there's plenty of room for people to have a dance- as it's free there's usually randomers coming in from West Street, which is nice.

So there you go a summary of some of the venues we play at and why we like to play there- feel free to come along to some of these places for a show!

Police Thieves and Merchants: Chapter 6 Camping With Mackerel

8 hours had gone by and the trio hadn't heard a blast from the terrifying weapon. The forest continued around them though in the midst of the pitch blackness, forcing them to stumble and curse with it's array of surprises. One such surprise smacked Borg in the face as he carried himself forward, he let out a snarl and ripped the branch from his path.

“Careful Borg,” Laurel cautioned quietly. “There are bears in these woods.”

“There's also some nutter with a mysterious weapon capable of turning our heads to goop in a second.”

“The goop weapon, that has a ring to it.”

“Do not call it the goop weapon Laurel, it needs more respect than that.”

“Well, what would you call it then?” Laurel asked loftily.

“The face eater.”

“It's called a firearm,” Crole said firmly from ahead, magenta tooth glinting in the moonlight.

“Anyway, never mind what it's called, we should focus on getting away from it. The river should be here soon.” They caught up to him to catch him gazing wistfully into the night in front of him as if it was welcoming him into it's dark embrace.

“Well, let's get going then, as long as we're heading north to claim what is now ours,” agreed Borg licking his lips expectantly as if he could eat his reward.

“I'm going to be pissed off if the rest of the band gets the reward first, especially Sedrick – that one knows how to gloat.”

They kept on travelling through the forest up a gentle slope with a gnarled old oak tree marking the end of the forest at the top. Borg reached the top first, ready to stop for a rest and let his tired limbs recover. From below the others saw his clear interest as he peered through the branches to what lay beyond.

“A fire,” he stated matter of factly as they reached him. Beyond the oak the forest opened out into a series of grassy fields illuminated in the moonlight and stretching into the distance. The forest continued along it's right edge to encircle it once again a mile or so away. Just beyond the tree-line on the far side of the fields a river swirled across the countryside reflecting silver by the moonlight. The three of them stared, then looked at the fire just within the forest to the right of the fields.

“Could be him,” Borg muttered suddenly feeling the cold a lot more as he gazed at the fire.

“Could be anyone!” argued Laurel, “but it is probably food.”

Borg's stomach continued to rumble, the desire to eat was strong within him.

“We should get a closer look,” Crole said pointedly. “We know how to get close to a target without him seeing us.”

“We don't need the food,” Borg answered.

“We can hunt,” he said gesturing at the forest around them.

“And how well has that gone throughout the night? Are you really that scared of him Borg?”

“I'm pretty sure you wet yourself earlier.”

Laurel turned away, ignoring him. “I'm going.”

“We're going,” Crole asserted moving stealthily down the path. Borg hesitated, then shook his head and followed. It wasn't like him to let fear get in the way of something like this, plus if they wanted to get to the river – the quickest way was past that fire, either through the forest or walking exposed across the fields.

It took half an hour to get close to the fire, the trio didn't say a word during this time. Despite his brave words earlier Laurel knew the danger and feared the loud, deadly weapon. Sweat trickled on his hands as he crouched forward, making the minimal amount of sound as the light from the flames drew closer. The woods cloaked around them; with trees and thick undergrowth hiding their every move; skill and practice enabling them to do so with the slightest of sounds: a slow draw of breath, a suction as feet edge out of the mud covering the floor or a slight creaking as a branch is gradually swept aside. Soon the crackling of the fire was masking the sounds they made. Laurel was the first to come in sight of it with the other two further behind. There was the makings of a camp surrounding the fire for a single person which set nerves cramping through his belly. Nevertheless, there was no-one in sight and several cooked fish simmering gently next to the merry flames. Dinner. Laurel quickly and silently swept in snatched up the fish and moved on his way beyond the camp. Fish meant a river and Laurel intended to get away and cross it; his comrades could catch up if all went well.

Crole cursed to himself, masking the controlled, quiet outburst under the trickle of a stream. He watched as Laurel made off with the fish: he would have to hurry to get a hint of that meal. The camp was nearly in sight and clearly empty by the way Laurel had confidently moved in, which begged the question – where are the camp occupiers? A quick, short tap on his shoulder broke his train of thought as Borg indicated for him to look right. Crole obliged and froze in shock. The dark, dangerous shadow of a man loomed fifteen paces in that direction. The shadow was casting about in the undergrowth, a large tube-like object in his hand. The moment his eyes registered the shape, Crole followed Borg in carefully shrinking away back up the forest path. He could feel his heart hammering painfully inside his chest as if attempting with all it's might to give away his location. As they stepped away the man straightened up. Silence stretched out suddenly, even the trickle from the stream appeared to be gone. Borg ran, Crole followed unable to contain his leg's apparent desperation to get away from there. They scampered through the woods in a repeated mad dash away from the fear-provoking weapon. They tripped and stumbled as branches clattered into their legs and roots reached up for their crunching feet.

The lone traveller returned to his fire wondering as to where the men who had decided to invade his camp had come from. Annoyance scratched at his neck when he saw the fish were gone and he kicked a piece of firewood off into the night. It had taken him all day to extract that fish from the raging river! Still, at least his cargo was still intact. He didn't know why wine was so rare in these parts but the circulating rumours were enough to persuade him to make the trip. Maybe the people of Batesmoor wouldn't pay as much as the cities that lay around this forgotten land, but they would still pay more than his country where wine could easily be found. In addition, he had reasoned, there would be other traders aiming for the cities – he wasn't likely to find any competition in these parts.

Only swift reflexes from a life on the road allowed him to duck under the garrotte that came looping over his head. A much too sloppy move to get him! His time as a merchant bodyguard ensured the reflexes displayed were followed through with a spin into a crouching defensive pose. The last movement he was allowed to make as his head was blown to smithereens with a terrific bang. The green man was quick to smash the wine and after inspecting the debris, stalked off towards the river.

The explosive sound paused Crole and Borg's terrific scrabble as fear curled in their chest for a second time.

“Laurel?” Borge queried quietly. “What do we do?”

“Keep moving,” was the gruff reply as Crole headed west- hopefully to an alternative crossing.

Laurel raced away heading downhill from the camp-site, his pack clanging against him with spectacular noise in the tranquil night. The explosion could only mean that the camp belonged to one certain person and that Crole or Borg or both were dead. His brain quietly assured him again and again that the green man would have seen him if he had noticed the other two and he will be here soon. His main hope was be the first to reach a crossing in the river. After that he would simply keep heading north faster than any possible pursuit. The threat of death should surely motivate him to move the fastest of the two. He was a young man, but not as fit as he could be – his legs were growing weary from the exhausting day as the roar of the water closed in on him. He burst through a final bush and looked out over the river gushing below. It was at least 100 metres wide and the water was travelling at an impressive pace, quashing any realistic chance of swimming across for the best of swimmers. Laurel searched about him, looking for an area that might be crossable. It was hopeless. The grey water slushed past laughing at his inadequate ability to escape. To jump in would be to put himself at the mercy of the roaring element, to lose the cargo and put himself at incredible risk. He paused and glance back towards the woods. Which option contained the greatest risk? Had the green man even seen him?

A crack behind him to his left caused Laurel to leap in fear nearly tumbling into the swirling current below. He braced himself enough to glance up and find the source of the sound. The green man was stepping round a tree on a ridge overlooking his position by the river. The tube was being raised up expectantly seeking out it's target. Laurel dived instantly arcing out away from the muddy ledge. The dirt where he had stood splayed up as the explosive sound he dread ricocheted around the riverside and then all he knew was water. Water flooded everywhere around him taking away his ability to move, hear, see or smell. He simply crashed onwards with the river as the dirty water taste filled his mouth, quickly leaving the green man far behind.

The Important Stuff

It is time to get back to the important stuff: dancing. I observed in the post below (Damn You Are So Lucky) that all humans have forgotten how to dance, and it is up to the 4th best dancer in the world (me) to retrain humanity in the most awesome of arts.

Now in the first post we went through the Lawnmower. Unfortunately, that hasn't gone viral yet so I haven't seen crowds of people lawmowering their way to work.. However, it remains a matter of time until this happens. I am aware that those of you that have begun using the lawnmower in your long, long journey back to dancing redemption, will already be craving additional dances to add to your personal arsenal of moves. I mean, gigs can last a few hours.. that's a long time to be doing the same dance move over and over.... even if it is as epic and majestic as the lawnmower.

Fortunately, some of you have been especially motivated to re-educate the human race and have been creating some new moves! I have a couple of these to share with you from a man who only referred to himself as... Jagerlad. These are tentaviely named "Changing the Lightbulb" and "Feeding the Chickens".

Both these moves are even simpler than the lawnmower and require their own unique experiences to perform. In order to complete "Changing the Lightbulb" you merely have to be an adult or an extra responsible child to have the experience necessary: changing a light bulb (shocking I know). Now the light bulbs in question are imaginary and numerous.. never-ending in fact, and always within arms reach. To perform the move you simply have to twist as many light bulbs off as you can in time to the music, alternating from right hand to left hand, and then twisting new light bulbs back on.. after you've done a few dozen. This can be particularly good during a catchy chorus.

For "Feeding the Chickens" you may have to have experience working on a farm or own some chickens to qualify for the necessary experience. I appreciate that this may take a bit of time so you can probably get the knowledge required by watching a youtube video of someone feeding some chickens.. here you go:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mjiJujnqWA0

All studied up? Now that you are a chicken feeding swot the dance move will be easy for you to master. Simply, in time to the music you wanna throw some imaginary food to some imaginary chickens gathering around you. Generally when beginning it is easier to imagine throwing food to around a dozen chickens but gradually you can work your way up to feeding hundreds. For further challenge replace the word "chickens" with "cheetahs" and act that out in time to the music.

And that's it for this introduction to two new dance moves courtesy of Jagerlad  Feel free to mix it up, swapping between these and the Lawnmower within the same song. Needless to say, I will expect to see many people changing light bulbs and feeding various species of animal at our next gig when this post inevitably goes viral.

Police, Thieves and Merchants Chapter 5: Can Will Must

Can Will Must

Sandra stared hard at the thief's hand edging toward his knife as he stared towards where his thieving comrades had disappeared into the thick, green habitat surrounding him.

She wondered if Kendra's plan would work as she moved slowly to a poised position at the edge of the clearing.

“How will I get rid of him now that she's left him behind?”she pondered. Her mind flitted to possibilities and managed to get distracted. She thought of how much easier it would be if she had the power to bring down lightning. She could get rid of the threat with one smashing strike. However then there would be the potential damage to the injured merchant to consider, as well as herself and anyone else in the forest. Would it be possible for the lighting to cause a fire? If so how long would it take for it to spread? Would she have time to put it out or would she have to peg it? Possibly grabbing the merchant and dragging him along. Could she bear to leave a living, innocent man to face the raging inferno she had created?

The sharp hiss of steel brought her mind back to the present. How long had she lost focus? The thief held the knife over the merchant, a sneer on his lips.

“Too bad you won't tell us where to go, it was a simple question.”

“The north! The north! There are tons of cities in the north! Just keep heading that way and you'll be able to find someone who knows better.”

“Too vague... too... vague, we might as well kill you on sight for such useless information.”

Sandra was breathing harder, she couldn't believe she'd lost concentration! As her confidence flickered she forced herself to strengthen her resolve. She can do this. She will. She must.

The stone arced through the air and fizzed behind the thief's head only to crash into the bracken on the far side of the open area. The thief was alert at once and turning towards the sound, knife warily waving out in front of him. Sandra was off as soon as she threw the stone, bare feet skipping across the ground, breath shallow in her ears.

Inside her mind she was praying that he wouldn't turn round. It was such a simple trick but it could work as long as she was quick, silent and unrelenting. Her foot snagged a thorn and lip tightened a the thief yelled

“Who goes there?! Come and face me!” Raw power and aggression evident in his voice, with arm open as if in welcome to an attack. The merchant on the ground gasped as the thief was struck hard against his skull. Sandra felt the juddering, crunching blow through her arm at the impact of her blunt weapon. The thief saw white and staggered but managed to whip round the knife sawing at the air. The stick cracked and broke once again against the thief's head. Sandra had managed to anticipate and circle around the knife's path as she moved in for her attack. As the thief fell sprawling onto the floor Sandra went to her pack to remove her irons and lock him up. She hurried, having no idea how successful Kendra had been. Once done she grabbed the merchant and left the clearing leaving the thief locked up in the centre. She had no time to escort the villain to Batesmoor but if Kendra did come back they could take the thieves, the wine and the merchant together. However, if Kendra had failed and potentially had been killed Sandra was losing potential running time by waiting. The merchant was wheezing next to her, occasionally questioning why they weren't running. Sandra waited and listened to the sounds of the forest. A bird calling to it's mate among the treetops and a rustle to her left as a small mammal moved through the debris from a fallen tree. There was no sound of a return by Kendra or the thieves yet. She stopped and waited to see the consequences of her decision. She could only wait a few minutes.

Kendra sprinted through the undergrowth, wine under her arm. She didn't need the thieves to follow her far, just a few hundred yards to seal their demise. Unfortunately, they were proving better sprinters than she would have guessed and were hurtling after her down the path. The closest had a knife drawn with a look part of hunger, part of fury on his face. His long gangly legs producing heavy footfalls that resounded around Kendra's head as she ran. The second was just a step behind him as far as she could tell, his pace more considered more measured. As she glanced back however she saw the look of fury on him too.

“Good,” thought Kendra as the gap between them closed further and further. Their heavy breathing just behind spurred her on as they scrabbled and jumped down the cluttered and unpredictable forest path. She jumped over a particularly hazardous root and landed well, only to hear a pursuer come jumping over a second later. They were almost upon her! She zig-zagged as the nearest made a lurch for her feeling the knife whistle past dangerously close to her back. She twisted away and stumbled against a solid rock or root hidden under the carpet of leaves. She fell backwards watching as a look of triumph emerged across the thief's face. She gasped aloud as the thief made a second lunge. At that moment her foot kicked out catapulting her to the side of the path. The thief's momentum carried him forward, past the point where she fell to launch head first forward through the blanket of leaves that covered the trap below. The second thief was a moment behind cartwheeling his arms as the depth of the trap was revealed to him. Kendra had quickly bounced back from her fake fall to pivot round with arms planted on the edge of the trap and feet spiralling round to kick the remaining thief in the backside and send him sprawling into his comrade below.

Band Watching 2.0

Band Watching

So this is the blog post where I point out some bands that I've enjoyed on our many great journeys gigging across the entire of... Sheffield, so far. While none of these bands have agreed to do the lawnmower dance with me they did pay some great music, and I guess that's something to look for in a band as well? To be clear though, when another band does the lawnmower they will be the highlight of this list.

Frank Grimes and the Disasters

I suspect these guys may be fans of American cartoons for some reason.... I love the name and I enjoyed the music when they joined us in supporting Courage my Love at Corporation in November. Their tunes are catchy pop punk- right up my street, and very singable- I wished I knew the lyrics when we saw them perform live but I had to make do with saying “something something something” over and over. It's refreshing to know that there is a pop punk band like this so close to us (based in Barnsley) that I can follow. Check out their youtube channel for music and lyrics videos of their songs.... https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCVBROfMFgtLoeO0ykkby5gg

Ample Funk

Funky, funky, funksters. I'm not sure if funksters is a word, probably not, but these guys deserve the title as they provide exactly what their name suggests with ample amount of funk. I literally could not stop my knee jerking to the sound of the bass as they played through their set at the Washington, keeping me mesmerized throughout. They fortunately have uploaded some of their funky songs onto youtube so everyone can enjoy the funkiness.. https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCiX-Hy2fJOl136ELUPB5Yvg

Idle Gentlemen

Finally idle gentlemen, who I also saw at our Washington gig, were very stylish on stage and also played some groovy rock music. I especially enjoyed the powerful vocals but the entire band kept me very much entertained- very easy to head bang too. They also have a youtube and soundcloud where you can check out some of their super cool tunes.. https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCFarWdCFYdrInZ4mYYxrqKg/videos

https://soundcloud.com/idlegentlemen

That's it for the blog this week, check back for more band watching; dance moves; lyrics explaining or rages against the system of clowns that keep balloons enslaved to the ground.

Katamari!

Now, I'm going to review something completely random because what the hell, no-one
reads this anyway, except Kate and random internet surfer called Steve. Hi Kate and Steve.

What I shall review is musically related and introduced to me by some bearded bloke
that likes to hang around my house. It is called 'Katamari'. Now, I know that sounds
Japanese but it is actually.. even more Japanese than it sounds. It is a
very bizarre and creative video game series that is well worth a play that has a superb soundtrack.
Well at least the 'We Love Katamari' game does, as that is the only one I've heard,
but I'm sure the rest are awesome too.

Now, "what makes this soundtrack so good?," I hear you murmur inquisitively to yourself.
Many reasons. It introduces you to about 5 musical genres you had no idea existed, and
gets you hooked to them before you can even define what they are. It makes you question whether
you are actually insane, in a happy way. You WILL listen to Katamari on the Swing multiple times,
that is just a fact of life, no-one has listened to that just once.. ever. I for one couldn't stop myself
drumming to that one and instantly wished I was better at swing drumming. Also, nearly every single song has a distinct genre from the rest, it is ridiculously varied.
Here is my attempt to describe the genres with my limited knowledge going from start to finish:

Pokemon Rock -> Footage from the Beat-boxing Word Championship --> Lounge--> Swing --> Psychedelic Techno Madness --> Pop Punk --> Chill Rock-->Blues? --> Double Blues --> Chill as Fuck Rock --> Experimental beyond Genres --> Some form of Rock I have no idea, Math Rock?--> Anime Soundtrack --> Disco --> Literally Animals --> Orchestral --> Fanfare
--> Words

Check it out below for an interesting experience and see if you can define what the hell each song is and comment your observations:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ntd4FPQJX1w&t=4062s

Police, Thieves and Merchants - Chapter 4 Creeping With Malice

Sedrick could smell pie. He was gliding between the few outbuildings at the edge of the larger buildings which made up the settlement. Despite the settlement being relatively small, the buildings stood tall and provided excellent coverage from anyone watching at the top of the grassy embankment that rose up to the rear of the village. He crouched behind one such out-building with his back pressed against the smooth wooden surface. His body faced the forest to the rear of the buildings but his eyes pointed towards an open window to this right.

The pie was delivering it's sweet, delicious aroma from a window sill just a quick dash away across a short gap between the buildings. He listened. There wasn't much activity in the settlement but he had distinguished low muttering earlier and the clang of a door as someone went into an outbuilding. The buildings were eerily quiet even when put into consideration how few people could live in such a small number of them.

However, there was the pie. It looked delicious, smelled delicious with a hint of blueberry – an ultimate bonus in Sedrick's opinion. Why people would leave these things out exposed for someone to steal he would never know. But also there was the pie. It was too tempting. There were some little thoughts unfurling within his mind that there was no way it could taste as good as it smelled. It could be poisoned, it could be a trap set by some mundane lunatic designed to lure him in. He breathed in. His anxious mind liked to get away from him, it took a rumble in his belly and footsteps coming from round the corner behind him to push him back into action. He skipped across the clearing, making minimal noise, as his feet bounced across the ground. He had grabbed the pie and ducked down between two buildings within a few seconds of hearing the danger.

The man who came striding round the corner created a striking impression. Firstly, he was clearly wealthy – much more so than anyone living in these quiet lands could hope to be. The clothing he wore was a deep green and shone with rich velvet trimmed lighter at the edges. His belt and boots were also a lighter shade of green and his hat was very intriguing. It stuck up slightly from the stranger's head in a sort of folded manner and had a feather sticking out of the top. Sedrick couldn't help raising an eyebrow slightly, he had never seen such clothes before but it was what the man was holding that really caught his eye. A tube-like device with a handle at the end held firmly in a strong grip with a finger curled into a small nook underneath the tube where it joined with the handle. Sedrick burrowed himself into a doorway as the interesting man passed, eyes always intent on his next action.

“Idiot,” he thought. “I've got your pie.” He took a bite, gorging himself on the sweet blueberry as it danced across his tongue. As the green man stepped away and the clear, resounding footsteps faded Sedrick finished his snack and rose slowly. He crept from his hiding place and continued moving, always sticking to the shadow of a building. For some reason there was a sense of threat about the place. Sedrick liked threat, it sent excitement and energy running through his blood and he liked the way that felt. He liked testing his anxiety and overpowering any fear he had. He also liked the hat. He had never seen such a thing before, though it looked slightly similar to some he'd seen far away by the sailors on the sea to the south of his home. He was just imagining what he would look like with it on when he bundled over a bundle on the floor. Pain sprouted from his left shoulder as he let out a small groan and rolled onto his side to gaze back at the bundle's sightless eyes staring back at him. A red line stretched across the throat where the garrotte had cut into her and her mouth lay open, a quizzical expression on her face as if wondering who he was to disturb her rest in the street.

“Dead.” He thought glumly. He got up and jumped back over the body with adrenaline running through him as he searched for the man in green.

His pace slowed as he got closer to the edge of the silent buildings, he saw his prey. Green man was stalking past the houses with tube device perched against his shoulder. He seemed beautifully distracted. Meanwhile a low, repetitive thunk started beyond the green man in the clearing close to the forest. Sedrick moved forward as the green man turned to go beyond the final outbuilding before the clearing. Sedrick himself closed on that final corner after watching his prey gradually edge through. He took off his shoe.

Sedrick darted around the corner and found the stranger pointing tube at a shifty-looking man with an axe. Sedrick lunged with the shoe. There was an explosion of noise from the tube as the woodcutter fell to the ground missing one head. Sedrick heard the unmistakeable panicked wails of his comrades as the green man's head recoiled back into his boot. Green man let out a bellow of rage as he turned and Sedrick whisked the hat off his reeling head. Anxiety flooded through him as his mind registered the danger in front of him. Grappling onto the small advantage of surprise he had gained he thrust out hard with the shoe before the green man could complete his turn, against the hand clutching the tube handle. As the tube fell to the ground Sedrick kicked with all his might with the foot still holding a shoe into the area never meant to endure such force. The green man let out another scream of rage and pain as he fell to the floor clutching his groin. Sedrick was quick to kick the tube device and sprint back through the settlement, intent on putting as much distance as he could between himself and the outraged, menacing sounds coming from the clearing. He reached the embankment behind the village quickly and immediately began climbing up the muddy slope, skidding and scrambling in his rush to get to the top. Every two or three seconds he risked a quick glance back to see if there were any tube shaped objects poking out from between the wooden buildings. Once he reached the top he didn't stop and kept running into the forest, practically falling into his pack's hiding place among the undergrowth and nearly breaking his wine. Stopping for a moment when he realised the pie had been left in the village he sighed and sprinted as fast as he could into the wonderfully dark and gloomy forest.

Blood spurted from the useless neck, now demoted to holding up nothing, as it slumped with the body down to the floor. Laurel ran, Borg let out a bellow and turned for cover and Crole stood frozen on the spot. It took him valuable seconds to process a single, desperate thought to sprint for the cover of the forest. This was enough time to make out Sedrick kick the killer in the balls and make off with his hat. The tree-line was dozens of metres away a long, long distance when considering the weapon they were fleeing. Borg and Laurel had each made off in different directions and all Crole could think to do was sprint anywhere that put him further from the killer device. His heart pounded the blood through his body and his feet to the floor at a ridiculous pace as he gradually made the cover of the trees. A slight tingle of relief was allowed to flow through his body as he made it. Immediately he angled his path away from the village and deeper into the wildlife.

Borg was wheezing, bent double over and leaning against a tree when Crole disturbed him. Their eyes met briefly as they shared a mixed look of shock and horror for a single second before they began careering through the undergrowth at a terrific pace. Up ahead they could hear the terrified wails of Laurel as he struggled past obstacles nature was throwing up against him. It took a minute for them to reach him on the floor, a new gash drawn across his cheek where a branch had raked his face.

“Keep going,” Crole grunted, when Laurel froze in shock at their appearance. Instantaneously Laurel was crashing forward next to them. Each had little shame in their quest to get to as far away as possible. They stepped on each other and hurled another out of the way as they continued their mad dash over rocky creeks, fallen trees and through tangled, twisting undergrowth. Eventually, Crole felt his legs give out under him as a hidden root tripped him forward head first into a river bed, legs sticking out at an awkward angle. Laurel clashed into his flailing ankle and brought Borg down as he clutched and grabbed onto him to break the fall. After the tumble they paused for a moment, feeling the adrenaline seep from their legs to be replaced by pain and fatigue. Shakily, Crole got to his feet and helped Laurel and Borg up. Their sprint had lasted long enough to take them a few miles from the settlement.

“What the hell was that?!” began Laurel in between breaths.

“What was what Laurel?” Borg retorted. “The weapon? The killer? Or the entire disturbing process one person intentionally ending the life of another? Either way it was definitely brutal.”

“A firearm,” spoke Crole softly, his breathing slowly getting to a regular pace. “I've seen a couple before, from travellers that claimed to have gone an unimaginable distance away, a lifetime's walk.”

“Same place that frisbees come from or that canned food that was going round a while ago?”

“Or the inflatable beach balls?” Borg contributed.

“Similar distance I'm sure,” answered Crole. “Although I doubt they came from the same people, whatever culture gave birth to the firearm must have been formidably brutal.”

“I saw one as well once.” Borg spoke quietly. “Never realised what it was or what it would be like to face in action.” He spat, his stocky build bent over as he continued wheezing.

“What the fuck was Sedrick doing?” Crole said indignantly as the other two looked at him with quizzical expressions.

“He stole the killer's hat! Then assaulted the maniac. He probably got away too since we didn't hear another shot.”

“Nutter,” Borg said appreciatively as he started walking again. “That one always finds a way to surprise.”

“What shall we do now?” Laurel questioned. “He could be after us, I don't want him within sight again!”

“We'll go west. We've still got our cargo and the white river was just beyond that village. If we find a crossing to the west we can get that clear border between us and the killer and gain access to the city in the north,” Crole decided.

“Sounds like a plan,” reasoned Borg.

“But how far west?”

“Well, judging from the sun we've been heading south west up to this point. If we go west from here for another 6 hours we should be a decent distance away I should think.”

“Unless he's going west.”

“It doesn't matter which direction we choose to go in, we will always run the risk of him going that way too. At least this way has a decent chance of us getting to his north side without running into him.”

Dusk began to settle in as the sun's light started to cascade down the horizon darkening the woodland considerably.

“He could be watching us right now and we wouldn't be aware of it,” Borg whispered glancing around warily.

“More reason to get moving in case he isn't and we can still get away,” retorted Crole as he started westward.