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Last Updated: 10/03/2005 14:23:04
Welcome To Hellville - Part 4 (1/2)
By Rich Mills
11th November 2040
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Next Page,
Part 1,
2,
3,
4,
5,
6,
7.
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Addict vaccine, social behaviour training, helicopter strafes overhead, government propaganda
drenched lo-fi media docu-slice-of-life info-mercial broadcast, fed straight to your hole.
(Written on a Planet Coffee branded paper napkin.)
The napkin referred to above was found inside a box of old stuff I happened across.
Well I say happened across what I actually mean is relocated to a better home.
Not that the home the stuff came from is or was a bad home!
Quite the opposite, the original home of the box of stuff once belonged to my Grandparents.
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I can remember staying weekends there as a young child. Weekend after weekend, through long
summer days and cold winter nights I sat with my Grandfather either listening to the rugby
on the radio and watching re-runs of Bonanza on Satellite TV.
My Grandmother would occupy my young mind with card games, puzzle books,
conversational riddles and things to do with flour and water, a load of old magazines
from a jumble sale and a pair of scissors.
The latter I now know to be Dadist and Surrealist methods of collage creation, but that's by-the-by.
Then I thought it was a load of messy fun that killed a Sunday afternoon.
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The idea of this exercise was not to waffle on about the golden days of my childhood round at my Grannies house.
The point of this exercise is to document what I have found in the box, or at least what it
appears I have found in the box.
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How I came across this box... Cutting a long story short!
I was on the water bus going past my Grandparents old house, noticed it was up for sale.
In a moment of nostalgic spontaneity I rang the agent and arranged a viewing.
Came to viewing, no agent turns-up to meet me, I get pissed-off and ring office to complain.
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Full of apologies, agent off-sick and short-handed in office, but I can come and collect the keys if I want!
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Shoot down, grab keys, next thing, I'm at the front-door to Grandma's house. Fucking Hell!
So in I go, soak-up atmosphere, it stinks!
People have been using it as a toilet and a shooting-gallery; shit and needles everywhere.
I find (the) box among it all.
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The box contained items that hold great interest for me,
and being a collector of such paraphernalia as my Grandmother would say after a visit to the
jumble sales, It looked like it needed a good home and no-one else seemed to want it.
That last bit I just justified to myself, just as my Grandmother did.
She may have brought home bags and bags of what appeared to be junk, but she'd have fought
hard for those treasures she held aloft as she came blustering in through the back-kitchen
door after a hard afternoon down at the church hall.
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I'm getting off the point again. The Box! Itemised list of contents:
VHS format video tape (E240) - Sony brand
VHS format video tape (E180) - Sky brand
2 x CD-R
1 x DVD-R
Chrome Audio Tape (C90) - BASF brand (very old... Mid. 20th Century)
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20 Gig IDE hard-drive from an old PC - Fujitsu brand
A well decayed black plastic bound note-book.
Some other stuff! (Including the napkin.)
I had been digging through the box, running tapes, cleaning down data streams, mending scratches on
CD's, and just generally seeing what information I could retrieve from all these aging bits and pieces.
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Time spent away from the daily grind forces you to assess where, in life, you have been - and
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Fiction - Welcome To Hellville - Part 3 By Rich Mills
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Boring! It's far too wet and miserable to venture outside for a good few days now. Six months and that's it - I'm out of here. Eight at the very most!
All depends on how fast I can save to get myself over to the Southern Hemisphere.
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Fiction - Kat Out of the Bag Chapter Six By Steve Rudd
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Support for any given country's government can be a funny thing, but never hilarious.
The Maoist rebels in Nepal, in an ideal world, would have the government of the
landlocked country instantaneously overthrown.
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Sitting down for dinner in Syabru, with neither friends nor family for thousands of miles around,
I resigned myself to the fact that I was on my own.
Yet it's surprising how conversations can take off with complete strangers, as I
began
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Fiction - Kat Out of the Bag Chapter Four By Steve Rudd
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Kathmandu is both toxic and intoxicating. As soon as you get there you want to leave, to escape the evil
wrath of smog that clogs the arteries and stifles all sense of being. Like most cities in the
Third World,
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Fiction - Welcome To Hellville - Part 2 By Rich Mills
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The filter system in Panal (The aging-should-know-better-arty-farty-toss cafe bar that
should have been closed down 30 years ago.) must have been faulty. I'm still feeling really crap
this morning, two days on now. Either that or I'm coming down with a wet season cold.
Which is a major pain in the arse
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Fiction - Kat Out of the Bag Chapter Three By Steve Rudd
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The first time I saw her she was working the streets, and working them well. I was sat, as I recall, in a cafe situated in
the tourist-overrun Thamel area of the city.. a cafe that could have been anywhere in the world.
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After recent heavy rains I'm now trapped in the flat. The Wet Season is fully upon us now, it seems to arrive earlier each year. Not that I'd mind tropical storms if we got the tropical summer to go with it. Instead this summer was cold and grim, as it has been since as long as I can remember.
My Dad does talk
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Cry-Baby Jim Breaks. He pioneered it, they say.
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Skegness had all borne witness
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I've got a really nice room, when the door's closed I feel ever so safe and warm. It's quiet as well,
just the swish of the wind in the trees outside. I like the trees; they hide the big tall fence.
My watchers say the fence is there to keep me safe, and that's their job too, they're always there
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