My IMDb ep summaries
Arthur of the Britons
The Sentinel (part: seasons 2 and 3)
Swamp Thing (part: season 3)
Transformers: Cybertron (part)
Misfits of Science (four eps)
Transformers: Beast Wars (part: seasons 2 and 3)
Transformers: Beast Machines (part)
Vampire Princess Miyu
Undermind (3 eps)
Will Shakespeare (Tim Curry version)
Trigun (ep 8)
Hyperdrive (season 2 ep 3)
BBC Lion, witch and wardrobe
BBC Caspian and Dawn Treader
BBC Silver Chair
(Missing Excel Saga eps)
(Missing Haibane Renme eps)
(And possibly Marine Boy...)
"Autumnal - nothing to do with leaves. It is to do with a certain brownness at the edges
of the day...
Brown is creeping up on us, take my word for it... Russets and tangerine shades of old gold flushing the very outside
edge of the
senses... deep shining ochres, burnt umber and parchments of baked earth - reflecting on itself and through itself,
filtering the light. At
such times, perhaps, coincidentally, the leaves might fall, somewhere..."
(Rosencrantz and Guildenstern
are Dead Act
2: Tom Stoppard)
I love this time of year. I love the colours, the sharp slant of sunlight on the trees, mosaics of acid-yellow and harts-
blood, velvet and
darkness and a haze of mist-grey over the hills. I love its immanence, its mellowness, the tang of frost just around the
corner of the
Watching the little birds in the goat-willow in my garden, I realised something more.
I love this land with a fierce, possessive love, deep-rooted in two thousand years of history. From the frosted beaches
and cloud-brushing peaks of the north to the wind-haunted meanderings of the rivers of the east, from the sensuous
rolling patchworked hills of
the south to the demanding dark moors of the west, this land seeps into bone and blood and synapse, mother of
culture, individual freedoms. It can be known. It can be understood. It can be felt deep inside.
I love its effortless eccentricities, its vigour and vibrancy, its flawed perfections, its silent strength and tenacious
resilience, its hard-won tolerances and intense and variable beauty, the profound energy in its sacred mythical
Home and more-than-home, the forces that shape and protect and bind, in me, as I am in the land. Love returning love
in the stillness
for those who'll only take the time to listen...
(Joules, Autumn 2004)
All photographs taken by Joules unless otherwise specified. All photographs © Joules A Taylor or other
17.03.09 - Argent
25.07.08 - Raptor
18.12.07 - Quyn
02.12.06 - Ryme
Transformers - IDW, Prime, Animated, Rescue Bots.
Various Transformers books and graphic novels.
Currently working on:
Heart, The Poppy Tales
Currently chuffed with:
Currently miffed at:
Nestlé, Nonpres Tinyhands Fart, Toadface Farage
I've gathered some of my pages of photos together: the page of links is here. I'll be adding more as time goes
A Little Glossary of Taylorspeke
(in no particular order)
plit popints - n. Typo for 'plot points' typed on a keyboard with more than half the characters worn off...
[PING] (alt [ping]) - n. A brainwave. The text equivalent of a lightbulb going on blindingly over someone's head. Usually mine. And usually at the most inconvenient of times. [sigh]
TPTB - The Powers That Be.
wulmet - n. A person of little or no talent who somehow inveigles himself into a position where he is in power over other, far more talented people and uses his position to downplay them in order to try to make himself feel superior.
biteable - referring to an anatomical part vb, tasty.
Flatterfed - vb. 27.02.08: my typo for flattered, but since it's so cutely apt I thought it would fit nicely
here. Lutra defined it as "the lovely warm feeling of satisfaction resulting from enthusiastic reviews..." (which I've been
getting for my MB fics).
Composted - vb, 'compos mentis', mentally capable of working. Contrast with
uncomposted or non-
composted, not 'compos mentis', not capable of working, hungover...
Cumbles - n, cucumbers.
Kewp - how Ken says 'thank you'. We rather like Lutra's 'nanx', too...
Musekick - noun, music, without which I cannot work.
'feinne - noun, caffeine, essential for correct mental functioning, especially first thing in the morning. I
prefer mine in the
form of SodaStream Diet Coke. And on that subject...
Skoosh - verb, noun. To skoosh - to add CO2 to a sodastream bottle filled with water to make it
fizzy, prior to adding
Diet Coke syrup (or just drinking as sparkling water). A skoosh - a bottle of water that has been skooshed. Skooshy
- something that
has been skooshed, water, or that whipped cream that comes in tins you have to shake then upend and press the
Shoogle - verb. To shake gently, for example, of roast potatoes in a roasting tin to ensure they're
covered with oil. I
have vague memories of this being a real Scottish colloquialism...
Stegasaurus - n, spider of the genus tegenaria. Why? No idea. I just find it easier, that's
Edit 08.09.07: Lutra thinks that Brian is a good name for a mini-stegasaurus. From now on, any 'Brian's in the posts
may be assumed to be a tegenaria. Except where otherwise specified.
Viterals - noun, vitamins + minerals. Also a pun on victuals.
Splish - verb. A combination of slosh and splash.
Parrots - noun, paracetemol (from the old joke "Why are there no aspirin tablets in the jungle?
Because the parrots eat
Maggles - noun, magpies. As opposed to non-magical people.
Flamewings - noun. Swifts. So called because the first time we became aware of them was an early
when they were flying high, the light from the setting sun seemingly turning their wings to flames. Lovely little birds. We
summer's arrived when we hear their high-pitched squeeing.
Murfs - noun, moths.
Peasant cut - noun, roughly cut up into big chunks, e.g. vegetables chopped in a hurry for a
hearty stew or
soup. By extension, anything prepared in a hurry - haircut, material, even a first draft of a story...
Giraffe - noun, a carafe (of wine, coffee or water, for example).
Shrumps - noun, mushrooms.
Splings - noun, Kai's spelling homework: by extension, any spelling.
Tyops - noun, typos. var toyps, typso, psyto, psoyt, etc. Usual result of a dose of the
fingerials (see next
Fingerials - (pr. fin GEEE ree yalls) noun, fingers that will not type what you want
Haddock - noun, time, of which I never have enough. (Origin of this term here.)
Sleep - noun? vb? a.k.a. sheeeeeeeeep.... I used to know what this word
The place to stay notified of WaveWrights' Fiction updates: Zone, Darkside, DarkRealm, Matrix, Vault, Safehouse
Butch, my computer gremlin. Click the pic for larger version, and read his
A gift for me! Butch by the very talented Sylverthorne. Click pic
for larger image.
This is MY haddock. It was caught
exclusively for me by Talon. No, you can't have any. I need
all the haddock I can get!!
A'lestrel - a gift for me from
Another gorgeous Valkyrie gift for me - Benten the Albino
thumbnail for larger image.
Oekai by Bakayaro Onna - Radittsu at his sexiest...
The Zone Plant from
OrganicHTML (which alas no longer seems to exist...)
|[::..My Regular Reads..::]|
|:: Astronomical Pic of the Day
|:: What is Space... [>]
|:: Dark Roasted Blend [>]
|:: BLDG [>]
|:: Pruned [>]
|:: Watchismo Times [>]
|::The Hacker Dictionary
Hackers with Humour!
|:: Carol's Place
My GoodTwin's Homepage!
Check out the night sky where you are!
First stop for environmental matters
|:: About Bristol
The essential guide - and beautifully user-friendly too!
|:: The Forest of Avon
Our local community forest and places to visit
|:: The Guardian
Online Guardian Newspaper.
Exactly what it says
|:: World Timeserver
For checking the current time around this world
|:: Universal Currency Converter
Actually it's just a terran-global currency
converter, not universal,
but it's still useful...
|So what is it with the
haddock? Am I some kind of fish freak?|
I'll leave that to
others to decide.
The tale (or tail if you prefer) harks back
to October 2000, when my GoodTwin and I, ably assisted by Sue,
ran the first UK Professionals convention...
knowledge that I never have enough time, and I was determined
not to bewail the fact that weekend: hence I promised not to use the
Of course, that didn't really work (if nothing else I
had to let the trainees know what times things were supposed to be
happening!) so we decided a substitute word would be employed
instead. There were several suggestions. Banana came very close to
being chosen. However, I eventually decided that 'haddock' fitted
the bill nicely. Ever since, haddock=time. Hence the title of my forthcoming
My Half-Life in the Haddock
Normally I wouldn't, but these
were just irresistible...
were adopted from
Page (which appears to have disappeared, alas...)
Fabulous anime figures
A huge selection... evil popups
Anime still needed to complete series' I'm collecting...
Many thanks to everyone who has helped me acquire the collection!
|Ai no Kusabi|
Dj: June Special
|Cyber City Oedo 808|
All 3 eps on Video, dubbed
Dj: Cyberage 1-3
Illustrated Book 2 (Benten's) in Japanese
|From Eroica with Love|
Manga Vols 1, 9, 11
|Mirage of Blaze|
DVD Vol 1 (eps 1-4)
English Manga: Vol 1
Japanese Manga: Vol 1-7 complete
Anime Vol 1-12: complete
|Under the Glass Moon|
Manga Vol 1, 2
Vol 3 needed
|Vampire Hunter D - Bloodlust|
Vampire Hunter D Book 1
|New Vampire Miyu|
(Studio Ironcat) Manga Vols 1 -5 (complete)
|Yami no Matsuei|
Viz Manga: English translation, Vols 1 - 11 (complete: I believe vol 12 is only available online)
Japanese 3-DVD set
Central Park Media: Descendants of Darkness Vol. 1, English/Japanese subbed.
... this is Terra? How the hell'd I end up here...?
(Thanks, Lutra, for the quote!)
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Wednesday, August 24, 2011
RIGHT! Little cracky Transformers-inspired (note that 'inspired' tag - you won't find this in any Tf continuum!) fic for Lutra. See the post two below this for the backstory... (Edit: you don't need to know anything about the Transformers universe for this to make sense, but it may add to your fun if you do.)
The first indication Poppy had that there might be something wrong was when all of the washing ended up pink.
She bent down to stare at the wet material pressing against the front loader's transparent door, scowling. Multitudinous shades of pink stared back at her. Opening the door and dragging the damp mass into a laundry basket, she rummaged through it in search of whatever stray pink article had had the audacity to creep into the wash while she wasn't looking.
She couldn't find it.
Frowning, she spun the drum around to see if it was clinging to the top, hiding itself away from her wrath. But no, there was nothing there.
She stood up, lips pursed. Something in a pocket, maybe – a red paper serviette or something like that? Grimacing – there were few things she liked less than groping in wet pockets for lurking things – she explored the few items with pockets that had been in the wash, but found nothing more threatening than a couple of old bus tickets and a two-pence piece.
Perhaps the laundry detergent? It was a cheap brand. Maybe some sort of...pinkening agent had got into it by accident? She poured a little of the powder into her hand and gazed at it. Nothing pink there. But then, perhaps it only activated when mixed with water? She dumped the handful into a glass and added a little tapwater, stirring it with a handy butterknife, then held it up to eyelevel to watch what happened.
Nothing. Nowt. Not a sausage. Well, it dissolved as it was supposed to, but nothing more than that.
Something in the water then? But the water from the tap had been completely clear. Chlorinated and fluourinated to within an inch of its (metaphorical) life, undoubtedly, but not pink.
Grumbling to herself, Poppy glared at the heap in the laundry basket. She could either put up with everything being pink, or risk washing it again and hope the same thing didn't happen a second time. At least it was all her own stuff, so no-one else was going to be offended by pink boxers or sport socks, and while it wasn't her favourite colour, she could live with it.
Putting it through another wash was a waste of time, water, electricity and powder. She opted to live with it.
When the next wash also came out pink, she wasn't quite so calm about it. Especially since her favourite turquoise shirt ended up an ugly muddy purpleish colour. The machine was well out of guarantee, but the company did have a help line, of sorts. The bored voice on the other end had never heard of any such thing happening, but could send out a service engineer to look at it for her. Wincing at the cost, Poppy decided it was cheaper than buying a new washing machine and made the appointment.
The engineer who eventually turned up two hours late opened the machine, took one look and put the backplate back on, shaking his head.
"Can't touch this."
"Not our machine."
"What... Of course it is!"
He shook his head again, more emphatically.
"Sorry love, this has been tampered with. This solenoid valve in't standard, the timer looks like... well, it's not timing in minutes any more, and your agitator's up the spout. And the motor looks like it's been turbo-charged."
Poppy stared at him, helplessly.
"We can only work on our own machines."
"You'll have to get hold of whoever did the original work." He scrawled something across the work order then handed over the clipboard and a pen. "Gotta charge you for the callout, but there'll be no charge for parts or labour. Sign here."
Poppy automatically scribbled her name where indicated and the engineer watched her, the faintest gleam of sympathy in his eyes.
"Sorry love. My missus gets all aeriated when the machine plays up, so I know what it's like. Good luck getting it fixed."
As the front door closed behind him, Poppy glanced over her shoulder, eying the machine warily. It seemed to smirk, mocking her...
The crunch came with the next wash she put through. She'd avoided using the machine for a week, but finally couldn't put a wash off any longer or she'd have nothing to wear for work. Tense with trepidation she loaded it, very carefully selected the right setting and added an anti-limescale tablet, the correct amount of detergent, having switched to a liquid in the hope it might rectify matters, and a half-capful of fabric conditioner. Then, holding her breath, she hit the 'start' switch. The machine whirred and spluttered to life, and she retired to the kitchen table with a mug of coffee to wait for the cycle to complete.
Once again everything came out pink.
"Oh for..." Poppy felt her blood pressure shooting up, and without thinking slapped the top of the machine as hard as she could. She was distracted from the pain of human flesh meeting plastic coated metal when the machine seemed to flinch under her hand. Disbelievingly she heard what sounded like a peculiarly mechanical 'ouch' come from deep within.
"What the..." The analytical part of her mind absently noted that it seemed to be her month for incomplete sentences. The more emotional part jolted her into jumping backwards with a stifled shriek.
"Who..? What...?" She stumbled back to the table and dropped into her seat, staring wildly at the appliance. For a moment her mind went blank, then began to cascade rationalisations. The engineer had said the machine wasn't standard – had she somehow managed to accidentally buy a prototype of a new sort of washer? One equipped with voice commands or responses or something? Was one of her friends playing some sort of obscure joke? Or had she simply imagined it?
Occam's Razor, she thought to herself, taking a deep breath and trying to calm her racing pulse. I just imagined it. 'Course I did. Why would anyone make a talking washing machine, for Pete's sake?
She glowered at the machine. "OK, you stupid hunk of metal..."
It was as far as she got.
"I'm NOT thtupid!"
Silence fell like a workman's hammer dropped from a roof. Poppy debated briefly with herself whether she'd finally cracked from the stress of work, then reminded herself that being a minor accountant in a big company wasn't really stressful enough to cause hallucinations. And she was pretty sure there hadn't been anything... dodgy in the coffee.
"You can talk."
"Well, yeth." The tone suggested the 'duh!' on the end of the reply.
"You can talk."
The selection lights twinkled on and off across the front face of the machine. It vaguely suggested laughter, though how she knew that Poppy couldn't have said.
"Tho can you."
"Yes, but I'm supposed to be able to talk. I'm human."
Oh my god. I'm sitting here arguing with a washing machine. The realisation tickled, and before she knew it she found herself giggling near-hysterically.
"You're a washing machine! You're a... a thing. An appliance. Things don’t talk."
If a washing machine were capable of bridling indignantly, this one would have done so.
"I might look like a wathing mathine. I might perform a wathing mathine'th functionth. But I'm not jutht a thing."
Poppy managed to rein back the giggles enough to be able to speak intelligibly. Though not necessarily intelligently.
"Why did you make my washing pink?"
She could swear the voice turned whiney. "But I thought you'd like pink. Everything I've read thayth pink is a girlth colour..."
"Everything you've read where?"
"World wide web of courth. It'th where we all get our information from."
'We'? Oh my god, there are more of them?
"What are you? And what are you doing in my kitchen?"
How a stationary cube of metal and plastic and hoses and wiring could look shifty she was never able to say. Nevertheless, the machine managed it.
"I think I have a right to know."
There was the electronic equivalent of a sigh.
It was mumbled, and Poppy leaned forward, frowning.
"Hiding from what?"
"Them, who?" God, she'd had easier conversations with a three year old.
"Them." the machine hissed. "The bad guyth. Dethepticonth."
"What are... you know what? I don't want to know. I just want an ordinary washing machine. One that washes clothes how I want them washed and doesn't talk back to me."
"I can do that." It sounded overly eager to Poppy, who eyed the machine suspiciously.
"But you're... alive. Well, conscious, anyway."
"Yeth, but we're uthed to hiding. In plain thight, tho to thpeak."
Poppy metaphorically banged her head against the kitchen table.
"Isn't that a bit... unfair? Boring for you?" What am I saying? Why do I care?
"Oh, it'th all right. Anything for a peatheful life."
Poppy considered her options. She supposed she could get rid of the thing – although that would mean buying a new machine, and given her finances at the moment that would be a pain in the bum. Also... well, there was something weirdly appealing about having someone in the house that she could talk to when she was alone. Kind of like having a dog. A dog that didn't eat anything, need walking or taking to the vet. That stayed where it was put. And that could talk back, hold conversations with her... So not much like a dog at all, really... She frowned as a thought struck her.
"Um... are you male or female."
A moment's thoughtful silence, then, "Well, we don't really have male and female ath thuch. But I thuppothe I'd veer more to boy than girl."
Oh my god! He's been washing my underwear! Inside him! And I've walked about naked...
"But you're not my type."
"What...?" Belatedly Poppy realised she'd spoken aloud, and promptly blushed a deep red. The machine regarded her for a moment.
"Thee? You do like pink. You've gone pink."
Gritting her teeth, Poppy scowled at the machine.
"It's called 'embarrassment', you... perverted voyeuristic contraption you!"
Another moment's silence while the machine, presumably, accessed the internet – how? Poppy wondered – to check the reference, and then, "That'th not fair." The electronic voice sounded – sulky? "It'th not my fault."
"You could have made your presence known earlier! Right back at the beginning would have been good."
Her imagination provided an image of a washing machine with its head lowered contritely, scuffing the floor with a foot.
Poppy was about to launch into a rant – then changed her mind and took several deep breaths.
OK, if she was going to keep the thing, they'd have to come to some arrangements concerning privacy. She'd have to find out what it was, where it came from, how many others there were...
But for the moment...
"OK. I want your promise that from now on, you'll just wash my clothes. You leave them the same colour they went in."
"Right. Good... So you do anything else? Other than wash clothes, I mean? And do you have a name?"
The machine paused, then said, guardedly, "I can do other thingth, yeth." Before Poppy could ask what, her new acquaintance added, "And my nameth Thakeththpin."
Poppy untangled the lisped syllables.
Poppy sighed resignedly, then smiled. She was over the shock now. After all, not everyone had a... sentient washing machine in their home.
"OK Shakespin. Welcome to the kitchen."
And the subsequent Skyping...
Lutra: ROFLMAO! He lisps!
Joules: Yers... I thought that was apt... No idea why, I just did.
[giggling] Completey appropriate.
[g] Like it?
Goodgood. I shall post it on the blog, and maybe on ffnet too.
And it really does kinda demand a sequel doesn't it?
And smut! ... Though to be honest I have no idea how [g] Though if ss really does have voyeuristic tendencies...?
I have to visualise his transformed body. Haven't yet.
I should go to bed soon... oops, midnight. Very soon, then. Thanks for the fic - iz funny! (Oh had brief mental image of Poppy coming home to find the washing machine exerting himself with say, the new fridge.)
... I hate you....
[smirk] of course you do.
[shakes head] Stay logged in for the next instalment. Though if it has smut it may have to go in The (other) Zone...
Labels: fiction, Transformers