Ancient Aliens Anonymous

My name is Jake, and I’m an Ancient Aliens-aholic.

I binged on Ancient Aliens today.

It’s been a while. But I’ve relapsed. In the absence of any Fact or Faked (faked, more often than not) or Finding Bigfoot (or Not Finding Bigfoot, as it should be called) Ancient Aliens is my playground of choice.

But stumbling across a plethora of episodes back-to-back was something that I just couldn’t pass up. So I watched them. And by watched them I mean “fell asleep on the couch and absorbed all of their idiocy subconsciously”. But the bits when I was awake – amazing.

One episode focused on Star Children, which are basically any child who is far too clever for their age. Like the kid in the UK that joined Mensa at two, or some other kid who gave a science lecture on acids and alkalis when he was six. Or some other kid who had a PhD by the time he’d started shaving. Those sorts of children. Oh, and the Dalai Lama. Anyway, they are not the product of pushy parents or anything like that. Their not children who have been robbed of their childhood and forced into a life of academia while they’re still essentially shitting themselves. They’re aliens.

Obvious really, when you think about it.

No-one’s quite sure what it is they are here to do – but they obviously have some purpose on the planet. To usher in an age of peace or somesuch is one theory. And, I think you’ll agree, one of the best ways to achieve peace is to have it rammed down your throat by a precocious 12-year old who has more qualifications than you, or a child who might not be aware of what Lego is but can pick out the next item in a sequence of shapes.

But one of the episodes I slept on and off through was a very, very serious-toned one which – for the bits I was awake for – seemed to say that, essentially, the film – and subsequent TV series – Stargate may as well have been a documentary for everything that happened in ancient Egypt.

“This wall painting clearly shows a head emerging from a wormhole…” they would say.

And I would look. And I would appreciate that I was still a bit asleep but if anything that should make it easier for me to fathom out. But I couldn’t see it. It’s like all those Magic Eye things that occupied most of the 90s but now don’t exist anymore. I could never see any of them. Never. Sometimes I just said that I could so that I wasn’t beaten up in the playground of something for being that kid. “Oh yeah, dolphins. Wow, they look so real.” And it’s apparently the same with primitive drawings of wormholes. I really struggle with that.

To me it looked like, at best, a bust of someone on an occasional table. I mean, maybe that’s what a wormhole looks like. That’s part of the problem of understanding whether or not it is a head emerging from a wormhole – a wormhole is a theoretical thing that has been imagined for things like Stargate and everyone ¬†assumes to be some kind of swirly tube affair, but it might look like a table. In which case the Egyptians got it spot on when they did their interior designing.

Then again, it might just be that the Egyptians knew their heiroglyphs would be around for ages and threw in some particularly shitty pictures of mess with people. You know, maybe it was bring your kid to work day, and they just stuck their kid in a corner with a bit of blank wall, gave them some paints and told them to go to town on it.

But that wasn’t mentioned. Because it’s not aliens.

But as that guy with the hair that believes everything says “The universe is infinite, which means the possibilities are too…”

So I’m calling it as an occasional table.

Stargate Ikea.


Farewell Leonard Nimoy

Farewell Leonard Nimoy
Now you have boldly gone
While Zachary Quinto shares your role
There can be only one.

Farewell to you, Mr Spock
Your station now unmanned
No-one can replace you
Not even Yeoman Rand.

You locked emotions deep inside
That’s what the Vulcans do
Humans tend to be more open
And they’ll shed a tear for you.

The crew stand at salute
None amongst them have dry eyes
You brought adventures to life
On the Starship Enterprise.

Farewell Barry Mayfield
Columbo’s medical foe
You used dissolving stitches
And hoped no-one would know.

But you overlooked a disheveled cop
A mistake that many made
And he arrested you for murder
And in prison’s where you stayed.

So farewell Leonard Nimoy
Your legacy will not end
You are and always will be,
Undoubtedly, our friend.

Repeat Link

Oh Sky when you updated the planner
To remember the shows that we view
I thought that it was a great idea
But oh dear Lord what did you do?

Elementary came back a week ago
The tale of a famous detective
But when it reappear back in the planner
It appears to have gone defective!

Oh Sky when you updated the planner
You said that the shows would re-appear
You didn’t say that they’d record every single time
All the repeats, so many repeats. Oh dear!

The first episode back, just on its own
Was on at least four times last week
And each one was taped, for no real reason
And about that I really must speak.

I’ve just spent an age deleting them all
And making sure I’m not going mad
Don’t get me wrong though
In principal this change makes me glad.

There’s nothing more annoying that finding a show
That came back a week in the past
But can it just tape the once? That would be great
Surely it’s not much to ask?

Food Caught

There is a quirk in construction in Leeds. When someone had the bright idea to approve the building of Bridgewater Place, they didn’t reckon on the fact that, somehow, due to the shape of the building and it’s position close to the road, it would act as some kind of amplifier for wind speed.

That oversight led to a person being crushed beneath a blown over lorry.

And now it leads to the road being closed when there is anything greater than a slight breeze.

Which is why, for the last two nights, I’ve found myself hoofing it across Leeds to catch the bus from one of the other bus stops on the route.

Unfortunately for someone who comes home at 5.30 in the evening and is a bit peckish, the stop is positioned directly outside Red’s BBQ – a meat-filled haven of yumminess which I am now more than familiar with the menu of.

So much so, in fact, that even typing the fact that I am familiar with the menu has my mouth watering.

On Monday, I actually had an inner dialogue with myself in which I had blown off going home at the usual time for the pleasures of eating more meat than any one person should eat, of eating so much that my new nickname would be Captain Meat Sweats, and really bloody enjoying it.

I mean, I didn’t do that because I’d make a kick-arse macaroni cheese the day before and it was waiting to be devoured, but the thoughts were definitely there. Some primal part of my brain just crying out to be filled with meat.

On Tuesday, once more driven to that bus stop, I opted to not stand by the window of Red’s, I couldn’t take the pressure. I couldn’t swear that I wouldn’t break down and go in for something.

So I stood further down the road.

Right next to a delicious looking burger place.

Damn it.


When I started to write this blog
I had the internet
Now as I have to start again
3G is the best I can get.

I’m staring at the router
I’m watching the lights flash
And everytime they don’t go green
I mutter, “Oh drat! Oh dash!”

I like to stay connected
It’s in everything I do
My life is always on the grid
My words are in full view.

If I wanted to not go online
My information source disappeared
I’d go and live an Amish life
I think I’d suit the beard.