I was sitting in Edwards, a pub in Ealing Broadway, London. It's a place I like to eat in frequently, and I like to relax with a half pint of bitter.
Now they played a certain song on the radio - though it turns out not to be a radio, but a computer sending songs out to the pub. I remember the wonderful indie guitar sound, and beautiful female vocals singing "oh, and i don't care..."
What was this song? It had a really catchy edge to it, and every time I visited Edwards they played it!
I asked a member of staff to find out the song, but that day they failed to play it, and could not find it, even though I tried to sing those few lines I could remember. So I used Google, and tried all manner of ways to word "and I don't care..." or ... "Why should I care...." and all I got was a whole bunch of other songs, similar words, but none even close to that elusive song. It was getting to frustrate me a little. If this song was so good, then what of the rest of the album? Who were they?
Now, here is the strange bit of the tale. I love buying cd's, and have amounted over two thousand of them. Sometimes I see certain cd's and I pass them by - this is what happened with Captain. It was on sale for a tiny £2.99, in a charity shop - the Heart Foundation, to be exact. It was there every time I visited that shop. I looked at the track listing on the back - nothing familiar. No songs called "I don't care" and no titles I was familiar with, and I left the cd with all the others I chose not to buy that day. The cd sat there for ages!!!
Today, Wednesday 12th December 2007, this morning, at 11.30, I went to eat in Edwards. I asked the barman a favour. "Hi, I'm curious about a song that you play here, usually between 11 and 12 am. I really like it."
And I sang those remembered lines, hummed as much as I could of the tune.
But the barman was puzzled. He couldn't place the song.
"If it comes on, give me a shout, and I will get someone to find out for you" was the barman's kind offer. I was thankful, and sat with my half bitter and a meal - a tasty big breakfast.
Robbie Williams was playing, along with other pop stuff. I was losing hope of my song coming through the speakers.
And then it did! I rushed to the bar - "This is it! This is the song!"
I must have seemed a little crazy, as I was so excited. The barman sent for a female staff member. She came to my table, paper in her hand.
"There we go", she said. "Captain - Broke - that is all it says for the song."
With big smiles and much gratitude, I had the band name at last. I could now go and Google the song, and hopefully find the album title. I could check HMV....
And then it hit me. Captain... Captain... I had seen this! I knew that name, had seen that cd! But where? I ran through my mind. Was it Star Sailer? I'd seen them on cd, never bought that one. Sailor... Captain? No No. I had seen Captain!!! I was sure!
I remembered where I had seen it, and that it was a sort of blue covered cd. I could check HMV - and so I did. It is not too far from Edwards, and my heart skipped a beat when I saw that very cd sitting in HMV - and the song Broke etched as deep in words as it was in my mind. Could it be... that I could get this cd cheaper... in the Heart Foundation?
It's coming on christmas time - it will be gone, I'm sure. Thoughts raced in my mind. HMV has it, but i need money back for christmas. I raced like a lunatic to the charity shop. And there it was, as it had been for so long. And for a mere £3.00 I had that song in my hands. What an amazing album it really is - and the only one released by the band so far. Now that is magic!
Wednesday, 12 December 2007
Sunday, 18 November 2007
Thoughts...
Philosophy Sandwich
You will need:
• Loaf of bread
• Butter
• Mustard (depending on preference)
• Ketchup / Mayonnaise / Salad Cream (if Mustard is not to your liking)
• Stanley Victor Keeling – Descartes 1934
• Sarvepalli Radhakrishnan – Indian Philosophy 1956
• Dr Martin Heidegger – Being and Time: A Translation of Sein Und Zeit 1996
• Friedrich Nietzche / Helen Zimmern – Beyond Good and Evil: Prelude to a Philosophy of the Future 1997
• Armand Augustine Maurer – Medieval Philosophy 1982
• Pierre Hadot – Philosophy as a Way of Life: Spiritual Exercises from Socrates to Foucault 1995
• Ludwig Wittgenstein - Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus 1981
• Deepak Chopra – Ageless Body, Timeless Mind 1993
• George Berkeley – A Treatise Concerning the Principles of Human Knowledge 1982
Make sandwich. Eat. Enjoy.
Ipod Discovered
Report: 200,000 M.E.*
They found it deep in the earth, a primitive gadget for recording sound, in the days when sockets and plugs were used by primitive men for harnessing electricity. This large and bulky object is inscribed with the glyphs I-P-O-D, and is fairly heavy considering its purpose.
The ipod used the old and tired formula of using a quartz display, and plugs for sound to enter the ears. Much has been done to replicate the power point used in those distant times, and the ipod is now running in several museums. Results show some wonderful glimpses into the music that this race enjoyed, albeit very simple compared to today’s standards.
• Modern Epoch (A.D. 200,000)
•
Tyrannosaurus – But Did We See Him?
1st Caveman Ghost: I never did see a Tyrannosaur. Did you?
2nd Caveman Ghost: No, not me. Not ever.
1st Caveman Ghost: They always depict us sharing the same space and time with a T. rex.
2nd Caveman Ghost: Yes, that is true. They don’t seem to be able to accept the fact that millions of years divide our existence.
1st Caveman Ghost: Well, there are those out there who doubt the existence of Tyrannosaurus itself.
2nd Caveman Ghost: Really? How can that be? They have the fossil bones to prove it!
1st Caveman Ghost: Yes, but tell them that, and they will draw a blank, never talk to you again, probably – and walk away, chuckling. You know the sort.
2nd Caveman Ghost: Indeed. It is hard for man to accept that which he has never seen – or maybe never will see – so denial is better than acceptance.
1st Caveman Ghost: Have you ever seen a ghost, then?
Artificial Plants?
They are made of synthetic leaves and bark. They look like trees and ivy, and they smell like, no. They have no smell. Not yet, anyway. Well, not as far as I know.
They are like a real plant, only without the awful hassle – the tedious, monotonous task of daily watering. They don’t grow either, so they are instant. You can place them ideally in the locality of your choice.
So! Let’s all chop down the forests, and plant a plastic tree for every real tree instead! Let’s save the earth from her awful task of watering. Let’s put an end to those really difficult plants, they are so hard to get on with! Plastic is better. It takes eons to decay, and doesn’t give the carboniferous by-products of coal, that is so, so bad for our planet when it is burned, adding to the high carbon levels in our atmosphere.
We love concrete cities, and we hate the plants. We hate to see real flowers in the garden, so we pave over them, and make a driveway for our 4x4, and hey! That machine will never emit as much carbon as a decaying tree!
Plastic plants for plastic people! You know it makes sense… :o(
You will need:
• Loaf of bread
• Butter
• Mustard (depending on preference)
• Ketchup / Mayonnaise / Salad Cream (if Mustard is not to your liking)
• Stanley Victor Keeling – Descartes 1934
• Sarvepalli Radhakrishnan – Indian Philosophy 1956
• Dr Martin Heidegger – Being and Time: A Translation of Sein Und Zeit 1996
• Friedrich Nietzche / Helen Zimmern – Beyond Good and Evil: Prelude to a Philosophy of the Future 1997
• Armand Augustine Maurer – Medieval Philosophy 1982
• Pierre Hadot – Philosophy as a Way of Life: Spiritual Exercises from Socrates to Foucault 1995
• Ludwig Wittgenstein - Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus 1981
• Deepak Chopra – Ageless Body, Timeless Mind 1993
• George Berkeley – A Treatise Concerning the Principles of Human Knowledge 1982
Make sandwich. Eat. Enjoy.
Ipod Discovered
Report: 200,000 M.E.*
They found it deep in the earth, a primitive gadget for recording sound, in the days when sockets and plugs were used by primitive men for harnessing electricity. This large and bulky object is inscribed with the glyphs I-P-O-D, and is fairly heavy considering its purpose.
The ipod used the old and tired formula of using a quartz display, and plugs for sound to enter the ears. Much has been done to replicate the power point used in those distant times, and the ipod is now running in several museums. Results show some wonderful glimpses into the music that this race enjoyed, albeit very simple compared to today’s standards.
• Modern Epoch (A.D. 200,000)
•
Tyrannosaurus – But Did We See Him?
1st Caveman Ghost: I never did see a Tyrannosaur. Did you?
2nd Caveman Ghost: No, not me. Not ever.
1st Caveman Ghost: They always depict us sharing the same space and time with a T. rex.
2nd Caveman Ghost: Yes, that is true. They don’t seem to be able to accept the fact that millions of years divide our existence.
1st Caveman Ghost: Well, there are those out there who doubt the existence of Tyrannosaurus itself.
2nd Caveman Ghost: Really? How can that be? They have the fossil bones to prove it!
1st Caveman Ghost: Yes, but tell them that, and they will draw a blank, never talk to you again, probably – and walk away, chuckling. You know the sort.
2nd Caveman Ghost: Indeed. It is hard for man to accept that which he has never seen – or maybe never will see – so denial is better than acceptance.
1st Caveman Ghost: Have you ever seen a ghost, then?
Artificial Plants?
They are made of synthetic leaves and bark. They look like trees and ivy, and they smell like, no. They have no smell. Not yet, anyway. Well, not as far as I know.
They are like a real plant, only without the awful hassle – the tedious, monotonous task of daily watering. They don’t grow either, so they are instant. You can place them ideally in the locality of your choice.
So! Let’s all chop down the forests, and plant a plastic tree for every real tree instead! Let’s save the earth from her awful task of watering. Let’s put an end to those really difficult plants, they are so hard to get on with! Plastic is better. It takes eons to decay, and doesn’t give the carboniferous by-products of coal, that is so, so bad for our planet when it is burned, adding to the high carbon levels in our atmosphere.
We love concrete cities, and we hate the plants. We hate to see real flowers in the garden, so we pave over them, and make a driveway for our 4x4, and hey! That machine will never emit as much carbon as a decaying tree!
Plastic plants for plastic people! You know it makes sense… :o(
Sunday, 11 November 2007
Steve's DVD Collection
Final Fantasy VII - Advent Children: 2 Disc Special Edition 2005
K-Pax: Collector's Edition 2002
K-Pax: Collector's Edition 2002
Saturday, 10 November 2007
Friday, 9 November 2007
Castlevania 64 - Demon Castle Dracula's Apocalyptic Blog
Castlevania 64 - this has to rank among my all-time favourite console games, and I had the fortune of owning the old faithful Nintendo 64 machine - seems like an eternity ago now! This game was forever running on that dinosaur, and the only other game I played as much was probably Top Gear Overdrive.
Castlevania 64 is not an easy game to work with - the jumps are incredibly tricky, very frequent, and extremely frustrating. But the atmosphere is the key to this game, with superb music to help along the way. From giant skeletons to vampires sucking on the jugular, Castlevania is one game that has a special place in my memories, and I am extremely thankful that the game is now running on an emulator, all the details lavishly glowing from a flat screen monitor, which is much better than the small tv screen I used to stare into.
This is just some of the Castlevania 64 stuff I have been wanting to add here in blogland for yonks...
Castlevania 64: Game Soundtrack Album Front & BackSunday, 28 October 2007
Saturday, 27 October 2007
Steve's Horror Stories
I'm not very good at writing, but I do have a few ideas that I like to work with.
The Wooden Door - by Stephen Davies 2007
He had always been curious about that old building, just beside the entrance to the park. This strange little place seemed to have no purpose, being too small for storage. Besides, the park keeper had never been seen opening that old wooden door to this oddity.
Perhaps there was no way to open it, and it's purpose was now a forgotten matter. But it was very strange, because when passing this small building, one always felt the urge to open the small door - yet nobody had ever tried. Many people told their tales about this strange place, about how they could never seem to understand the compelling feeling about that door - the irrational desire to know what lies beyond, in that enclosed space.
All manner of suggestions arose after a few beers, from some sort of tardis, to a portal leading to the centre of the earth - all told in the best of humour, naturally. But what really did lurk behind that damn door? He had to know! He'd be the one to tell them, that he had opened it, seen for himself the hidden secrets.
He stood outside the concrete square building, thinking how very much like a crypt this place appeared - indeed, it would have been lost in a large cemetery, obscured by all the other tombs and mausoleums.
But it was plain and boring to look at, lacking the usual intricate carvings of a tomb, and without any inscriptions whatsover. And if there was any wording, what might it have read?
He looked at the door. He looked carefully. An old keyhole, rusty and disused. The wood had seen better days, and could probably be smashed open with little ease. There was no padlock, no bolt. But there was a handle, a round door-knob.
"open me... open me... go on! I know you want to!"
The words filled his mind, as they had so many times before, as they had to so many before him. He took in a breath. It was so silly, to think that he was being urged to open this door. But the reason he could not - would not - haunted him. There was a dark and sinister look to this place - the door appeared to be some portal to the depths of hell. It glared at him, and he pictured flames lapping around the edges of the wooden door. He could hear screams and laughter, and a million demonic creatures howling in torment from beyond. They beckoned him to follow them, to touch that handle, and...
descend steps? Vanish into some dark pit?
He still felt unsure. Hell, it was just a wooden door, a tiny little shed of some kind. It was built by human hands - and had a keyhole. What nonsense filled his silly head - all he had to do was make a break - grab the door knob, and tug it open.
He looked at the shubbery that grew around the base of the building - and then he realised something - he had never seen the back of the place. There was a tall wooden fence just behind the building, and the metal gates of the park began where the fence ended, to the left and right. But he could see a gap between the fence and the concrete mystery.
He peered around the back of the building, somewhat cautiously. Nothing - just the scent of soil, more shubbery and the boring back of the building, windowless and doorless, as he actually thought it would be. A few empty cans and crisp packets strewn in the gap reminded him that others had explored here before him. It would have made an ideal hiding place had he been a boy.
"Come now. You have a task to fulfill... Come and open me! Come and see..."
He frowned, and made his way back to the front of the building. What was it about this place? How could it be? No person had ever been able to open the door, as far as he knew. They had all recounted the same dread he felt now, as his eyes drilled into that wooden door, and felt the darkness inside tugging at his soul, pulling him like some magnet, to the very heart of the place.
And he did the unthinkable. His hand grabbed the door knob, twisting it hard in an adrenalin-soaked moment of madness. He pulled hard, but the door swung open with ease.
Every fear, every horror imaginable, every deep-routed insecurity and every phobia he had ever felt - every detestable thing he could ever summon up in his little frightened mind - came at him in a second, a second that felt like an eternity - as thousands of wails and screams echoed around him, and the sky turned to fire. No longer outside the park, no longer outside the building, and no longer outside the door, wondering...
He was there inside that dreadful place, to join the countless souls before him, who each in turn, had wondered like he had - of the horrors that lay waiting behind that wooden door.
Gone To Dust - by Stephen Davies 2007
Mr Clemence would often go to the local cemetery, to pay his respects to various family members buried there. He would lay flowers, and read the inscriptions upon the stones of his departed loved ones.
Autumn leaves blew about the quiet cemetery as he made his way down the path that led to the plot of his family. A light breeze, it was that morning. He saw the wooden bench he would often sit upon, to rest in quiet reflection. The rusty leaves were gathered around the bench like a carpet. It was so inviting, he decided to sit for a moment.
He looked at the scene. Beautiful trees reflecting sunlight on their deep brown bark, and glowing orange and yellow leaves moving in the wind. The white stones of the dead were all around him, rather like a city of stones, there to mark a nation of people who used to go about their busy lives, all now resting. He clasped his hands together, and look down mournfully.
When he looked up, he almost jumped. There ahead of him, with her back to him, was a little girl in a white dress. He had definitely not seen her before, as the cemetery was deserted. She seemed to be deadly still, her head lowered in sadness. The sunlight was shimmering upon the white of the dress, and it appeared to be glowing. Her hair was long and blonde, if not white.
Mr Clemence decided to move away, in case he might frighten her. He never looked back, never saw the girl's face. She must have been behind a shrub before he sat down, and he failed to see her. But it was sad to think of a child mourning for a lost one. A brother or a sister perhaps? Very sad indeed for her.
Mr Clemence reached the first of his relatives, his father. He gently placed the flowers down, and read the words on the tomb.
"In Memorium..."
Then he knelt at all the other stones of his loved ones, paying his respects to all the members of his family who had sadly left this world. He left flowers for each of them, and read each message on their stone.
"Here Lies.." "R.I.P."...
Mr Clemence folded up the carrier back that had held all the flowers, put it in his pocket and began to head back. He surveyed the golden carpet of leaves and the white plinths all about him, like stone tears in a garden of sorrow. He was thinking of conversations with his loved ones, of times gone by. Those memories were so clear in his mind.
Then he saw something, lying on the ground, there at the foot of a celtic cross tombstone. It was a doll! He wondered at it for a moment, and thought about picking it up. Looking at it, he saw the pretty face staring at him. Victorian! Porcelain! Won't find many like that these days - how strange to leave it there. Must be a special gift for the dead. Can't harm to take a look at it. He bent down, and stretched out his fingers to grab the doll.
Mr Clemence jolted back quickly, after his hand touched the doll. He had momentarily watched in horror as his fingers fell into the face of the thing, as it crumbled to dust at a single touch. A horrid, gas-like scent eminated from the space where the doll had been.
It was at a more hurried pace in which Mr Clemence left the cemetery that autumn morning. Fear and confusion rushed about inside his mind, as he looked up the path towards the exit.
The little girl was still there, he knew that much. He had seen her shape, glowing in white, just near the bench, where she had been before. He looked straight ahead, so as not to draw attention to himself, and passed the girl, his heart beating in fear. But should he tell her to leave this horrid place?
She whispered something inaudible as he passed her. He stood still, turned to look at her. Her back was still facing him.
"Dolly! I want my dolly!" she said softly. But he heard her clearer this time. "I want my dolly..."
She turned quickly to face him. It was then that he saw she had no eyes, and she smiled through bone and teeth, where her lips should have been...
The Wooden Door - by Stephen Davies 2007
He had always been curious about that old building, just beside the entrance to the park. This strange little place seemed to have no purpose, being too small for storage. Besides, the park keeper had never been seen opening that old wooden door to this oddity.
Perhaps there was no way to open it, and it's purpose was now a forgotten matter. But it was very strange, because when passing this small building, one always felt the urge to open the small door - yet nobody had ever tried. Many people told their tales about this strange place, about how they could never seem to understand the compelling feeling about that door - the irrational desire to know what lies beyond, in that enclosed space.
All manner of suggestions arose after a few beers, from some sort of tardis, to a portal leading to the centre of the earth - all told in the best of humour, naturally. But what really did lurk behind that damn door? He had to know! He'd be the one to tell them, that he had opened it, seen for himself the hidden secrets.
He stood outside the concrete square building, thinking how very much like a crypt this place appeared - indeed, it would have been lost in a large cemetery, obscured by all the other tombs and mausoleums.
But it was plain and boring to look at, lacking the usual intricate carvings of a tomb, and without any inscriptions whatsover. And if there was any wording, what might it have read?
He looked at the door. He looked carefully. An old keyhole, rusty and disused. The wood had seen better days, and could probably be smashed open with little ease. There was no padlock, no bolt. But there was a handle, a round door-knob.
"open me... open me... go on! I know you want to!"
The words filled his mind, as they had so many times before, as they had to so many before him. He took in a breath. It was so silly, to think that he was being urged to open this door. But the reason he could not - would not - haunted him. There was a dark and sinister look to this place - the door appeared to be some portal to the depths of hell. It glared at him, and he pictured flames lapping around the edges of the wooden door. He could hear screams and laughter, and a million demonic creatures howling in torment from beyond. They beckoned him to follow them, to touch that handle, and...
descend steps? Vanish into some dark pit?
He still felt unsure. Hell, it was just a wooden door, a tiny little shed of some kind. It was built by human hands - and had a keyhole. What nonsense filled his silly head - all he had to do was make a break - grab the door knob, and tug it open.
He looked at the shubbery that grew around the base of the building - and then he realised something - he had never seen the back of the place. There was a tall wooden fence just behind the building, and the metal gates of the park began where the fence ended, to the left and right. But he could see a gap between the fence and the concrete mystery.
He peered around the back of the building, somewhat cautiously. Nothing - just the scent of soil, more shubbery and the boring back of the building, windowless and doorless, as he actually thought it would be. A few empty cans and crisp packets strewn in the gap reminded him that others had explored here before him. It would have made an ideal hiding place had he been a boy.
"Come now. You have a task to fulfill... Come and open me! Come and see..."
He frowned, and made his way back to the front of the building. What was it about this place? How could it be? No person had ever been able to open the door, as far as he knew. They had all recounted the same dread he felt now, as his eyes drilled into that wooden door, and felt the darkness inside tugging at his soul, pulling him like some magnet, to the very heart of the place.
And he did the unthinkable. His hand grabbed the door knob, twisting it hard in an adrenalin-soaked moment of madness. He pulled hard, but the door swung open with ease.
Every fear, every horror imaginable, every deep-routed insecurity and every phobia he had ever felt - every detestable thing he could ever summon up in his little frightened mind - came at him in a second, a second that felt like an eternity - as thousands of wails and screams echoed around him, and the sky turned to fire. No longer outside the park, no longer outside the building, and no longer outside the door, wondering...
He was there inside that dreadful place, to join the countless souls before him, who each in turn, had wondered like he had - of the horrors that lay waiting behind that wooden door.
Gone To Dust - by Stephen Davies 2007
Mr Clemence would often go to the local cemetery, to pay his respects to various family members buried there. He would lay flowers, and read the inscriptions upon the stones of his departed loved ones.
Autumn leaves blew about the quiet cemetery as he made his way down the path that led to the plot of his family. A light breeze, it was that morning. He saw the wooden bench he would often sit upon, to rest in quiet reflection. The rusty leaves were gathered around the bench like a carpet. It was so inviting, he decided to sit for a moment.
He looked at the scene. Beautiful trees reflecting sunlight on their deep brown bark, and glowing orange and yellow leaves moving in the wind. The white stones of the dead were all around him, rather like a city of stones, there to mark a nation of people who used to go about their busy lives, all now resting. He clasped his hands together, and look down mournfully.
When he looked up, he almost jumped. There ahead of him, with her back to him, was a little girl in a white dress. He had definitely not seen her before, as the cemetery was deserted. She seemed to be deadly still, her head lowered in sadness. The sunlight was shimmering upon the white of the dress, and it appeared to be glowing. Her hair was long and blonde, if not white.
Mr Clemence decided to move away, in case he might frighten her. He never looked back, never saw the girl's face. She must have been behind a shrub before he sat down, and he failed to see her. But it was sad to think of a child mourning for a lost one. A brother or a sister perhaps? Very sad indeed for her.
Mr Clemence reached the first of his relatives, his father. He gently placed the flowers down, and read the words on the tomb.
"In Memorium..."
Then he knelt at all the other stones of his loved ones, paying his respects to all the members of his family who had sadly left this world. He left flowers for each of them, and read each message on their stone.
"Here Lies.." "R.I.P."...
Mr Clemence folded up the carrier back that had held all the flowers, put it in his pocket and began to head back. He surveyed the golden carpet of leaves and the white plinths all about him, like stone tears in a garden of sorrow. He was thinking of conversations with his loved ones, of times gone by. Those memories were so clear in his mind.
Then he saw something, lying on the ground, there at the foot of a celtic cross tombstone. It was a doll! He wondered at it for a moment, and thought about picking it up. Looking at it, he saw the pretty face staring at him. Victorian! Porcelain! Won't find many like that these days - how strange to leave it there. Must be a special gift for the dead. Can't harm to take a look at it. He bent down, and stretched out his fingers to grab the doll.
Mr Clemence jolted back quickly, after his hand touched the doll. He had momentarily watched in horror as his fingers fell into the face of the thing, as it crumbled to dust at a single touch. A horrid, gas-like scent eminated from the space where the doll had been.
It was at a more hurried pace in which Mr Clemence left the cemetery that autumn morning. Fear and confusion rushed about inside his mind, as he looked up the path towards the exit.
The little girl was still there, he knew that much. He had seen her shape, glowing in white, just near the bench, where she had been before. He looked straight ahead, so as not to draw attention to himself, and passed the girl, his heart beating in fear. But should he tell her to leave this horrid place?
She whispered something inaudible as he passed her. He stood still, turned to look at her. Her back was still facing him.
"Dolly! I want my dolly!" she said softly. But he heard her clearer this time. "I want my dolly..."
She turned quickly to face him. It was then that he saw she had no eyes, and she smiled through bone and teeth, where her lips should have been...
Friday, 26 October 2007
Steve's CD Collection
A Perfect Circle - Thirteenth Step 2003
Banished - Deliver Me Unto Pain 2005
Dragonlord - Black Wings Of Destiny 2005
Dragonlord - Rapture 2001
EMF - Stigma 1992
Evermore - Real Life 2006
Janan - The Seeker Of Wisdom
Jan A.P. Kaezmarek - Finding Neverland (Promo) 2004
Julian Kahn - Halloween Party 2005
Annie Lennox - Songs Of Mass Destruction 2007
Lit - Lit 2004
Machine (Featuring Lucie Johnston) - Please Yourself (Promo) 2006
No.1 Sci>Fi Album - Sci-Fi's Greatest Hits 1997
Stephanie Mcintosh - Tightrope 2007
Mimi Burns - Compilation 2007
Rocket from The Crypt - Circa: Now! 1992
Rocket From The Crypt - RFTC 1998
Theatres Des Vampires - The Vampire Chronicles 1999
Tristania - Illumination 2007
Turisas - Rasputin (Promo) 2007
Banished - Deliver Me Unto Pain 2005
Dragonlord - Black Wings Of Destiny 2005
Dragonlord - Rapture 2001
EMF - Stigma 1992
Evermore - Real Life 2006
Janan - The Seeker Of Wisdom
Jan A.P. Kaezmarek - Finding Neverland (Promo) 2004
Julian Kahn - Halloween Party 2005
Annie Lennox - Songs Of Mass Destruction 2007
Lit - Lit 2004
Machine (Featuring Lucie Johnston) - Please Yourself (Promo) 2006
No.1 Sci>Fi Album - Sci-Fi's Greatest Hits 1997
Stephanie Mcintosh - Tightrope 2007
Mimi Burns - Compilation 2007
Rocket from The Crypt - Circa: Now! 1992
Rocket From The Crypt - RFTC 1998
Theatres Des Vampires - The Vampire Chronicles 1999
Tristania - Illumination 2007
Turisas - Rasputin (Promo) 2007
Library Of Horrors
50 Great Horror Stories
Edited By John Canning
1988 Guild Publishing
CN 8736
Editor's Note
Michael And Mollie Hardwick - The Ruff
Ronald Seth - The Werewolf Of St-Claude
Michael And Mollie Hardwick - The Hand Of Father Arrowsmith
J. Wentworth Day - The Man Who Turned Into A Cat
J. Wentworth Day - The Dead Killed Him In His Own Grave
Ronald Seth - The Devil In The Flesh
Michael And Mollie Hardwick - The Bo'Sun's Body
Michael And Mollie Hardwick - A Warning To Sceptics
Michael And Mollie Hardwick - Double Damnation
J. Wentworth Day - The Tongueless Woman Of Glamis Castle
Geoffrey Williamson - Trapped In A Flooded Tunnel
Ian Fellowes-Gordon - The Girl In The Flame-Red Dress
Michael And Mollie Hardwick - With This Ring
Michael And Mollie Hardwick - The Vampire Of Croglin
Ian Fellowes-Gordon - Donovan's Drop
J. Wentworth Day - The Beaked Horror Which Sank A Ship
J. Wentworth Day - The Dog-Man Horror Of The Valley
Geoffrey Williamson - They Ate Their Young Shipmate
Michael And Mollie Hardwick - The Mate Of The Squando
Michael And Mollie Hardwick - Ripe Stilton
Michael And Mollie Hardwick - The Princess Of Thebes
Vida Derry - Death Takes Vengeance
Vida Derry - A Date With A Spider
Michael And Mollie Hardwick - Ole Rockin' Chair
Vida Derry - The Frightened Corpse
J. Wentworth Day - The Vampire Of Castle Furstenstein
Frank Usher - The Great White Bat
Michael And Mollie Hardwick - Let Sleeping Bones Lie
J. Wentworth Day - Sung To His Death By Dead Men
Michael And Mollie Hardwick - The Man Who Hated Cats
Geoffrey Williamson - Accusing Eyes Of Vengeance
Frank Usher - The Walking Dead
Ronald Seth - Visit From A Vampire
Ronald Seth - The Exorcising Of The Restless Monk
Ronald Seth - The Recluse Of Kotka Veski
Ronald Seth - The Secret Agents And The Corpse
Frank Usher - The Bath Of Acid
Ian Fellowes-Gordon - The Girl In The Train
Frank Usher - The Black Dahlia
Ronald Seth - Scent Of Death
Ian Fellowes-Gordon - The Face Of Mrs Cartwright
Ian Fellowes-Gordon - The Events At Schloss Heidiger
Ian Fellowes-Gordon - The Birthday Gift
Ian Fellowes-Gordon - The Attic Room
Ronald Seth - Footprints In The Dust
Frank Usher - Amazonian Horrors
Vida Derry - The Image Of Fear
Michael And Mollie Hardwick - Lullaby For The Dead
Michael And Mollie Hardwick - Rose: A Gothick Tale
Michael And Mollie Hardwick - The Eyes Of Thomas Bolter
1988 Guild Publishing
CN 8736
Editor's Note
Michael And Mollie Hardwick - The Ruff
Ronald Seth - The Werewolf Of St-Claude
Michael And Mollie Hardwick - The Hand Of Father Arrowsmith
J. Wentworth Day - The Man Who Turned Into A Cat
J. Wentworth Day - The Dead Killed Him In His Own Grave
Ronald Seth - The Devil In The Flesh
Michael And Mollie Hardwick - The Bo'Sun's Body
Michael And Mollie Hardwick - A Warning To Sceptics
Michael And Mollie Hardwick - Double Damnation
J. Wentworth Day - The Tongueless Woman Of Glamis Castle
Geoffrey Williamson - Trapped In A Flooded Tunnel
Ian Fellowes-Gordon - The Girl In The Flame-Red Dress
Michael And Mollie Hardwick - With This Ring
Michael And Mollie Hardwick - The Vampire Of Croglin
Ian Fellowes-Gordon - Donovan's Drop
J. Wentworth Day - The Beaked Horror Which Sank A Ship
J. Wentworth Day - The Dog-Man Horror Of The Valley
Geoffrey Williamson - They Ate Their Young Shipmate
Michael And Mollie Hardwick - The Mate Of The Squando
Michael And Mollie Hardwick - Ripe Stilton
Michael And Mollie Hardwick - The Princess Of Thebes
Vida Derry - Death Takes Vengeance
Vida Derry - A Date With A Spider
Michael And Mollie Hardwick - Ole Rockin' Chair
Vida Derry - The Frightened Corpse
J. Wentworth Day - The Vampire Of Castle Furstenstein
Frank Usher - The Great White Bat
Michael And Mollie Hardwick - Let Sleeping Bones Lie
J. Wentworth Day - Sung To His Death By Dead Men
Michael And Mollie Hardwick - The Man Who Hated Cats
Geoffrey Williamson - Accusing Eyes Of Vengeance
Frank Usher - The Walking Dead
Ronald Seth - Visit From A Vampire
Ronald Seth - The Exorcising Of The Restless Monk
Ronald Seth - The Recluse Of Kotka Veski
Ronald Seth - The Secret Agents And The Corpse
Frank Usher - The Bath Of Acid
Ian Fellowes-Gordon - The Girl In The Train
Frank Usher - The Black Dahlia
Ronald Seth - Scent Of Death
Ian Fellowes-Gordon - The Face Of Mrs Cartwright
Ian Fellowes-Gordon - The Events At Schloss Heidiger
Ian Fellowes-Gordon - The Birthday Gift
Ian Fellowes-Gordon - The Attic Room
Ronald Seth - Footprints In The Dust
Frank Usher - Amazonian Horrors
Vida Derry - The Image Of Fear
Michael And Mollie Hardwick - Lullaby For The Dead
Michael And Mollie Hardwick - Rose: A Gothick Tale
Michael And Mollie Hardwick - The Eyes Of Thomas Bolter
The Mammoth Book Of Frankenstein
Edited By Stephen Jones
Robinson Publishing 1994
ISBN 1-85487-330-X
Edited By Stephen Jones
Robinson Publishing 1994
ISBN 1-85487-330-X
Introduction: It's Alive!
Mary W. Shelley - Frankenstein; Or, The Modern Prometheus
Ramsey Campbell - A New Life
R. Chetwynd-Hayes - The Creator
Basil Copper - Better Dead
Nancy Kilpatrick - Creature Comforts
Robert Bloch - Mannikins Of Horror
Daniel Fox - El Sueno De La Razon
Manly Wade Wellman - Pithecanthropus Rejectus
John Brunner - Tantamount To Murder
Guy N. Smith - Last Train
Peter Tremayne - The Hound Of Frankenstein
Graham Masterton - Mother Of Invention
Adrian Cole - The Frankenstein Legacy
Dennis Etchison - The Dead Line
Lisa Morton - Poppi's Monster
Karl Edward Wagner - Undertow
Roberta Lannes - A Complete Woman
David J. Schow - Last Call For The Sons Of Shock
Brian Mooney - Chandira
Kim Newman - Completist Heaven
Paul J. McAuley - The Temptation Of Dr Stein
Michael Marshall Smith - To Recieve Is Better
David Case - The Dead End
Jo Fletcher - Frankenstein
Mary W. Shelley - Frankenstein; Or, The Modern Prometheus
Ramsey Campbell - A New Life
R. Chetwynd-Hayes - The Creator
Basil Copper - Better Dead
Nancy Kilpatrick - Creature Comforts
Robert Bloch - Mannikins Of Horror
Daniel Fox - El Sueno De La Razon
Manly Wade Wellman - Pithecanthropus Rejectus
John Brunner - Tantamount To Murder
Guy N. Smith - Last Train
Peter Tremayne - The Hound Of Frankenstein
Graham Masterton - Mother Of Invention
Adrian Cole - The Frankenstein Legacy
Dennis Etchison - The Dead Line
Lisa Morton - Poppi's Monster
Karl Edward Wagner - Undertow
Roberta Lannes - A Complete Woman
David J. Schow - Last Call For The Sons Of Shock
Brian Mooney - Chandira
Kim Newman - Completist Heaven
Paul J. McAuley - The Temptation Of Dr Stein
Michael Marshall Smith - To Recieve Is Better
David Case - The Dead End
Jo Fletcher - Frankenstein
The Mammoth Book Of Victorian & Edwardian Ghost Stories
Edited By Richard Dalby
Robinson Publishing 1995
ISBN 1-85487-338-5
Introduction
Anon. - Ghosts
Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu - Schalken The Painter
Dinah Maria Mulock - M. Anastasius
Fitz-James O'Brien - The Lost Room
Charles Dickens - No.1 Branch Line: The Signalman
Anon. - Haunted
Henry James - The Romance Of Certain Old Clothes
Mary E. Braddon - John Granger
Harriet Beecher Stowe - The Ghost In The Mill And The Ghost In The Cap'n Brown House
Rhoda Broughton - Poor Pretty Bobby
Amelia B. Edwards - The New Pass
Erckmann-Chatrain - The White And The Black
J.B. Harwood - The Underground Ghost
Frank Cowper - Christmas Eve On A Haunted Hulk
Theo Gift - Dog Or Demon?
J.E.P. Muddock - A Ghost From The Sea
Richard Marsh - A Set Of Chessmen
Bram Stoker - The Judge's House
Grant Allen - Pallinghurst Barrow
E. Nesbit - The Mystery Of The Semi-Detached
Ralph Adams Cram - Sister Maddelena
Lettice Galbraith - The Trainer's Ghost
W.C. Morrow - An Original Revenge
Alice Perrin - Caulfield's Crime
Robert W. Chambers - The Bridal Pair
Robert Benson - The Watcher
Thomas Nelson Page - The Spectre In The Cart
S. Baring-Gould - H.P.
Lafcadio Hearn - Yuki-Onna
M.R. James - The Ash Tree
Allen Upward - The Story Of The Green House, Wallington
A.C. Benson - The Slype House
Bernard Capes - A Ghost-Child
Alice Perrin - The Bead Necklace
Clive Pemberton - A Dead Man's Bargain
Tom Gallon - The House That Was Lost
Henry James - The Jolly Corner
F. Marion Crawford - The Doll's Ghost
Ambrose Bierce - The Moonlit Road
Alexander Harvey - The Forbidden Floor
E. Nesbit - The Shadow
William Hope-Hodgson - The Gateway Of The Monster
Robinson Publishing 1995
ISBN 1-85487-338-5
Introduction
Anon. - Ghosts
Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu - Schalken The Painter
Dinah Maria Mulock - M. Anastasius
Fitz-James O'Brien - The Lost Room
Charles Dickens - No.1 Branch Line: The Signalman
Anon. - Haunted
Henry James - The Romance Of Certain Old Clothes
Mary E. Braddon - John Granger
Harriet Beecher Stowe - The Ghost In The Mill And The Ghost In The Cap'n Brown House
Rhoda Broughton - Poor Pretty Bobby
Amelia B. Edwards - The New Pass
Erckmann-Chatrain - The White And The Black
J.B. Harwood - The Underground Ghost
Frank Cowper - Christmas Eve On A Haunted Hulk
Theo Gift - Dog Or Demon?
J.E.P. Muddock - A Ghost From The Sea
Richard Marsh - A Set Of Chessmen
Bram Stoker - The Judge's House
Grant Allen - Pallinghurst Barrow
E. Nesbit - The Mystery Of The Semi-Detached
Ralph Adams Cram - Sister Maddelena
Lettice Galbraith - The Trainer's Ghost
W.C. Morrow - An Original Revenge
Alice Perrin - Caulfield's Crime
Robert W. Chambers - The Bridal Pair
Robert Benson - The Watcher
Thomas Nelson Page - The Spectre In The Cart
S. Baring-Gould - H.P.
Lafcadio Hearn - Yuki-Onna
M.R. James - The Ash Tree
Allen Upward - The Story Of The Green House, Wallington
A.C. Benson - The Slype House
Bernard Capes - A Ghost-Child
Alice Perrin - The Bead Necklace
Clive Pemberton - A Dead Man's Bargain
Tom Gallon - The House That Was Lost
Henry James - The Jolly Corner
F. Marion Crawford - The Doll's Ghost
Ambrose Bierce - The Moonlit Road
Alexander Harvey - The Forbidden Floor
E. Nesbit - The Shadow
William Hope-Hodgson - The Gateway Of The Monster
The Mammoth Book Of Vampires
Edited By Stephen Jones
Robinson Publishing 1992
ISBN 1-85487-108-0
Introduction: Children Of The Night
Clive Barker - Human Remains
Brian Lumley - Necros
Brian Stableford - The Man Who Loved The Vampire Lady
F. Marion Crawford - For The Blood Is The Life
Ramsey Campbell - The Brood
Robert Bloch - Hungarian Rhapsody
Edgar Allen Poe - Ligeia
Richard Christian Matheson - Vampire
Hugh B. Cave - Stragella
David J. Schow - A Week In The Unlife
Frances Garfield - The House At Evening
R. Chetwynd-Hayes - The Labyrinth
Karl Edward Wagner - Beyond Any Measure
Basil Copper - Doctor Porthos
Bram Stoker - Dracula's Guest
Dennis Etchison - It Only Comes Out At Night
Peter Tremayne - Dracula's Chair
Melanie Tem - The Better Half
M.R. James - An Episode Of Cathedral History
Manly Wade Wellman - Chastel
Howard Waldrop - Der Untergang Des Abendlandesmenschen
E.F. Benson - The Room In The Tower
Graham Masterton - Laird Of Dunain
F. Paul Wilson - Midnight Mass
Nancy Holder - Blood Gothic
Les Daniels - Yellow Fog
Steve Rasnic Tem - Vintage Domestic
Kim Newman - Red Reign
Neil Gaiman - Vampire Sestina
Shadows Over Innsmouth - The Return Of The Deep Ones
Edited By Stephen Jones
Victor Gollancz 1994
ISBN 0 575 06572 9
Introduction: Spawn Of The Deep Ones
H.P. Lovecraft - The Shadow Over Innsmouth
Basil Copper - Beyond The Reef
Jack Yeovil - The Big Fish
Guy N. Smith - Return To Innsmouth
Adrian Cole - The Crossing
D.F. Lewis - Down To The Boots
Ramsey Campbell - The Church In High Street
David Sutton - Innsmouth Gold
Peter Tremayne - Daoine Domhain
Kim Newman - A Quarter To Three
Brian Mooney - The Tomb Of Priscus
Brian Stableford - The Innsmouth Heritage
Nicholas Royle - The Homecoming
David Langford - Deepnet
Michael Marshall Smith - To See The Sea
Brian Lumley - Dragon's Bell
Neil Gaiman - Only The End Of The World Again
Robinson Publishing 1992
ISBN 1-85487-108-0
Introduction: Children Of The Night
Clive Barker - Human Remains
Brian Lumley - Necros
Brian Stableford - The Man Who Loved The Vampire Lady
F. Marion Crawford - For The Blood Is The Life
Ramsey Campbell - The Brood
Robert Bloch - Hungarian Rhapsody
Edgar Allen Poe - Ligeia
Richard Christian Matheson - Vampire
Hugh B. Cave - Stragella
David J. Schow - A Week In The Unlife
Frances Garfield - The House At Evening
R. Chetwynd-Hayes - The Labyrinth
Karl Edward Wagner - Beyond Any Measure
Basil Copper - Doctor Porthos
Bram Stoker - Dracula's Guest
Dennis Etchison - It Only Comes Out At Night
Peter Tremayne - Dracula's Chair
Melanie Tem - The Better Half
M.R. James - An Episode Of Cathedral History
Manly Wade Wellman - Chastel
Howard Waldrop - Der Untergang Des Abendlandesmenschen
E.F. Benson - The Room In The Tower
Graham Masterton - Laird Of Dunain
F. Paul Wilson - Midnight Mass
Nancy Holder - Blood Gothic
Les Daniels - Yellow Fog
Steve Rasnic Tem - Vintage Domestic
Kim Newman - Red Reign
Neil Gaiman - Vampire Sestina
Shadows Over Innsmouth - The Return Of The Deep OnesEdited By Stephen Jones
Victor Gollancz 1994
ISBN 0 575 06572 9
Introduction: Spawn Of The Deep Ones
H.P. Lovecraft - The Shadow Over Innsmouth
Basil Copper - Beyond The Reef
Jack Yeovil - The Big Fish
Guy N. Smith - Return To Innsmouth
Adrian Cole - The Crossing
D.F. Lewis - Down To The Boots
Ramsey Campbell - The Church In High Street
David Sutton - Innsmouth Gold
Peter Tremayne - Daoine Domhain
Kim Newman - A Quarter To Three
Brian Mooney - The Tomb Of Priscus
Brian Stableford - The Innsmouth Heritage
Nicholas Royle - The Homecoming
David Langford - Deepnet
Michael Marshall Smith - To See The Sea
Brian Lumley - Dragon's Bell
Neil Gaiman - Only The End Of The World Again
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