FOR the most wild, yet most homely narrative which I am about to pen, I neither expect nor solicit belief. Mad indeed would I be to expect it, in a case where my very senses reject their own evidence.

Yet, mad am I not -- and very surely do I not dream.


Gaping hole.

There is something missing in my life.  Where there was once compassion and warmth, there is now a gaping chasm.  A feeling.  A guttural, sinking sensation, chewing and pulling and clawing my soul into the oblivion. 

And I am powerless to do anything to stop it.

I am of course talking about the end of the Metal Gear Solid Franchise in its current form.  Disturbed by the ending of MGS4, and emotionally crippled by the news of Hideo's stepping down and Snake's likely retirement, I present a series of letters to the characters, which will hopefully bring some closure to my life.  Spoilers ensue.

You are awesome.

To Solid Snake, David.  Find your peace, my friend.  Lay down the Socom Mk 23 and the Stinger missiles, light a few cigarettes and chomp down on some premier rations.  Move back to Alaska, shave that moustache, purchase some grey-away and take a nice long bath.   

And then come back.  For as long as there are other nationalities with indiscernible accents, there will be bad guys for you to kill, and villages to rape and plunder.  Have you not learnt that man cannot be trusted?  You must stick around as a reminder to any mortal man with perceptions of grandeur, that you are the shit.  Left to our own devices, we will make killer dinosaur robots - that much is a given.  Please come back.

To Raiden.  You died in MGS4, don't try to tell me you didn't: there is nothing more to it.  I want you to know, that I forgive you.  I forgive your long wispy hair and skin tight leather suit.  You were the Joel Schumacher of the Metal Gear franchise, but you redeemed yourself with your epic death.  Please stay that way.

To Hal.  Stop falling in love with murderers.  I do not think you are suitable to raise a child if you are going to be constantly placing them in the care of criminal masterminds.  Please die.

To Liquid/Ocelot.  You were awesome.  I will never again dislike a villain as much as I disliked you, congratulations sir.  However, where do you get off kicking my ass in Europe?  Seriously?  How do you not have arthritis, you were born in the 40s for goodness sake.  Anyway, please find a way back from the grave so I can kill you once more.

To Meryl.  Girl, what are you thinking?  You could have been with the awesomist, sexiest, most badass hero ever to have lived, and instead you chose a diarrohoea-ridden rookie?  And when did you make that decision exactly?  In the fifteen seconds you met the real Johnny?  Yeah, your marriage is going to last. 

Snake had the gruffest, most sand-papery Eastwood-inspired voice of all time, and you chose the comic relief character who you once pummelled and mugged.  You have a silly mind, but you are hot.  Please become a vegetable.

So I fear that my life will never again be complete.  Since the age of 11, I have accompanied Snake on many an adventure, learning valuable life lessons and key sneaking techniques in the process, that quite honestly, would have left me unprepared for real life otherwise.  If I had Metal Gear Solid 1, I could return to my Playstation and begin reliving the dream.

Wait.  I do have a PSOne.  What am I doing h



Passion is not smart, justified, nor is it consistent.  It is not verdict pending conversation, neither is it of concern to external pressures.  It is not for monetary gain, not out of necessity, and is not a weapon.  It is seeing beyond reason, overcoming logic and pursuing your own madness.  It is faith and courage - it is never giving up and never straying from the path, picking a course for the rest of your life and tailoring it to the cause.
Passion is danger, is pain, is love.

Just finished my first screenplay, all 42,000 words.  When I sell it I'll let you know ;-).
Decreasing the estimated time of arrival on the SatNav/GPS - time travel is possible.

Proposed excuse for getting caught speeding - Mr Policeman sir, you don't understand - AC/DC were on the radio.

How many brilliant writers wrote their best material whilst unemployed?

I need an arch nemesis to bring out the best in me.

I will absolutely be the daily three piece suit kind of old gentleman.

My intoxicated better half, has started wiping my outgoing message box, just to make sure that come morning I have no idea what texts I sent out the night before - I have an arch nemesis.

All my best.