How I Spent My 40th Birthday...

...because one day I might look back on this blog as a record of the significant events in my life. Where was I when I turned 40?

Well, the day began in the JobCentre+. Sadly, my signing-on day fell on my birthday. I got there nice and early so as to get it out of the way and get on with my big day.

"Sorry, mate," said the bloke on the door, "you can't go in till 10 minutes before your signing on time."

"You've let me in 15 minutes before my signing on time in the past."

"Are you arguing with a jumped-up jobsworth? Wait another ten minutes."

The first question I'm normally asked during my signing on sessions is my date of birth, as proof of my identity. (As if anyone else would want to sign on in my place - it's not as though I even get Jobseeker's Allowance any more. I only sign on so they'll pay my NI.) I was therefore ready for a bit of banter about my special day and how lovely it was to be starting it amid the disenfranchised. Typically, today was the day I got - rather than a polite chat about my job-seeking activity followed by a swift signature and home - the Spanish flippin' Inquisition. No time for pleasantries. Still, nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition. Not even on their 40th birthday.

The rest of the day was much more enjoyable, although plans for lunch with family at my mate's restaurant were altered slightly when my Mum & Dad had to drop out. Unfortunately my mum had a bad fall yesterday and has cracked a rib. She seems pretty chipper, but I hope she'll be OK, and the fall won't damage her independent spirit.

The lunch itself was good - though I did eat far too much. The world's biggest burger. Tasty, but I suffered afterwards. Still, I can't overindulge on the drink anymore, so food's my fallback option.

Then back home for a nap - hey, I'm an old man now... napping is the future. Plus, I did only get about three hours sleep last night. Worrying about the big 4-0? Maybe. But what's the point in that?

Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.



I also received Happy Birthday emails from Saint Etienne, Keane (!?) and Bon Jovi. Which was nice of them. Thanks to all the real people who sent good wishes too.

Life Begins At 40...

So they tell me.

Guess I'll find out today.

Here's an appropriate song...

Countdown To 40: A Song A Year - 20 Is The New Teenage

The first ten years...

The troublesome teens...

And now, part 3 of my Countdown to...

21 (1993) Aimee Mann - I Should've Known

If I were being retroactive, I'd pick something like OU or Razzmatazz from the Pulp: Intro album, but sadly I didn't discover Jarvis till the following year. I did discover Aimee Mann in '93 though and even chose her debut solo record, Whatever, as my album of the year. Mr. Harris is probably my favourite track from that disc now, but this is the one that made me love Aimee at the time.

Meanwhile, the singles chart had fallen off a cliff. Number One as I got the key to the door? Oh Carolina by Shaggy.

22 (1994) Morrissey - Now My Heart Is Full

And I just can't explain so I won't even try to

Jarvis almost made it home once again, I could have gone with just about anything from His 'n' Hers. But then there's Vauxhall & I. Could this be Morrissey's finest 39 minutes as a solo artist?

I told you the birthday number ones just get worse and worse. March 19th, 1994? Doop. By Doop. Sadly, not this one...

23 (1995) Pulp - Common People

All hail Britpop, and its greatest hero finally makes it home. I could have chosen Sorted For E's & Whizz, but I'd just be being contrary.

Meanwhile in the charts... Love Can Build A Bridge by Cher, Chrissie Hynde, Neneh Cherry and Eric Clapton. Who all should have known better.

24 (1996) Ocean Colour Scene - The Day We Caught The Train

At last, proof that my favourite singles don't always come from my favourite albums. This was the year of Everything Must Go, Beautiful Freak and Murder Ballads... yet the song that most reminds me of my second stab at being a teenager is this exuberant blast of sunshiny retro-pop from Ocean Colour Scene. Hard to believe they were the first band I ever saw live.

Meanwhile, back in the charts... How Deep Is Your Love? Shallow, when it comes to the Take That version. Not so shallow they couldn't drown a few Gibb brothers in it.

25 (1997) Blur - Song 2

Blur were a great singles band and this was their greatest moment. Two minutes of noisy power pop that never fail to make me go "Woo hoo!" While Radiohead, The Verve and Gene were darkening my long player collection, Damon and the lads kept me smiling. This year's runner-up was a hymn to optimism from James: Tomorrow.

And in an alternate reality to my own, The Spice Girls were having their 4th Number One as I reached my mid-20s. I can't even remember the title.

26 (1998) The New Radicals - You Get What You Give

Another song that stands out by not belonging to one of the year's best albums. 1998 gave us my favourite record of the 90s, Pulp's public breakdown on This Is Hardcore. But the single of the year belongs to Gregg Alexander, a man who hated being a rock star so much he went off and wrote songs for Ronan Keating.

Sadly, I can't find my other favourite single of 1998 on youtube. Child Psychology by Black Box Recorder must be too dark for the video collective.

March 19th 1998, the Number One was It's Like That by Run DMC vs. Jason Nevins. Which is a damn sight better than we've managed throughout the rest of this decade so far.

27 (1999) Travis - Why Does It Always Rain On Me?

I thought long and hard about this one. It would have been so much cooler to pick something by The Magnetic Fields (69, my favourite album of '99), The Flaming Lips or even Ooberman, but as much as Fran Healey has damaged his limited rep by writing MOR-pap for the last 10+ years, this is still a perfect gloomy-pop song that captures a snapshot of my life in 1999. I remember watching them play it live at a festival just before they went big, in the rain. Perfect.

Besides, it could have been worse. I could have chosen my last birthday Number One of the 20th Century. Boyzone murdering Billy Ocean. When The Going Gets Tough... the tough put their hands over their ears and go lalalalalalalala.

28 (2000) Everclear - Wonderful

Neither of my two favourite singles of 2000 meant much to the public at large. I've written about Black Box Recorder's The Facts Of Life before, but Wonderful by Everclear is a curio. An American band who have never bothered the British charts, this is their greatest moment. More upbeat power-pop packed with smiley hooks, handclaps and a 'na-na-na' chorus... masking a dark lyrical undertow.

Please don't tell me everything is wonderful now

Far less Wonderful, my first birthday chart-topper of the 21st Century: Bag It Up by Geri Halliwell. WTF? Is that Geri singing about her shopping? I'm not sure I've ever even heard that record. I am sure I never want to.

29 (2001) Eels - Souljacker Part 1

Ben Folds came close with Rockin' The Suburbs, but this rocks harder.

And on my birthday? Pure And Simple by Hear'Say. The charts are officially dead.

30 (2002) The Flaming Lips - Do You Realise?

The song I want playing at my funeral. Kind of apt for my 30th birthday?

But as I actually turned 30, Will Young was at Number One, marking the funeral of the singles chart as we knew it. Simon Cowell slaughtered the damned thing before our very eyes.

Ten more years to go...

Countdown To 40: A Song A Year - Teenage Wasteland

So the countdown to March 19th continues (one in the eye for all those who believe we'll have to wait till December 21st for the 2012 apocalypse) and I'm back to picking one song for every year of my life so far.

These were my choices from 1972 - 1982... and now, on with the show.

11 (1983) Yes - Owner Of A Lonely Heart

What!? I hear you scream. You chose this over A New England or any of the songs on your favourite Costello album, Punch The Clock? I know, it's shocking, isn't it? I was never a huge Yes fan but this one album - this one song - soundtracked so many of my teenage memories. It's partly that killer riff, partly the sentiment (I was that Owner Of A Lonely Heart), partly John Anderson's angelic vocals... and yeah, partly the Trevor Horn sheen. It's not one man and his guitar singing an out of tune song about how all the girls in his school were already pushing prams: it's impossible to compare the two. But it'd be a few more years before I fell for Billy Bragg. When I was 11, this rocked my world.

Speaking of which, Number One in the charts on my 11th birthday? Another Jim Steinman classic. Turn the pomp up to 11 with Total Eclipse Of The Heart. Brilliant.

12 (1984) Bruce Springsteen - Glory Days

This is where it starts to get difficult. Do I pick a song that would mean more to me in later life, something from The Smiths or Rattlesnakes by Lloyd Cole? Or do I go with my gut and settle for the one album that screams 1984 louder than anything else in my head? Not the best Bruce album, but certainly the most iconic. And when you're 12 and only just finding your pop feet, that's all you want.

Meanwhile, if I'm feeling old, I just need to look at Bruce Springsteen in this video. God, he looks about 12 - and yet, he'd been making records for well over a decade by the time he finally made the big time.

At number one on my final pre-teen birthday? Lionel Richie, Hello. At least it wasn't I Just Called To Say I Love You.

13 (1985) Huey Lewis & The News - The Power Of Love

Oh god, when will he get past his American rock phase, you're wondering? Not just yet. Huey Lewis was another of my teenage heroes, helped along by Michael J. Fox and his DeLorean. Yes, this was the year of How Soon Is Now, and if I'd opened my ears properly I might have realised Morrissey had written that song just for me. But despite my teenage moodiness, I had an optimistic spirit and Back To The Future was my teen movie. Well, that and Ferris Bueller's Day Off. Huey and the gang made three great albums prior to this one... and never came close again. Maybe that's what sent my tastebuds off in other musical directions?

It could be worse. The Number One that marked my ascent to teenagerdom? Easy Lover by Phil Collins and Philip Bailey.

14 (1986) The Smiths - There Is A Light That Never Goes Out

Well, it couldn't really be anything else, could it? Even though I wouldn't properly appreciate this song for a good few years, it probably had a bigger impact on my life than any other record in my collection. It made me love The Smiths and forgive Morrissey anything. Back in '86, I was listening to far more Fore!, Graceland, Slippery When Wet and A Kind Of Magic. But The Queen Is Dead became my retrospective teenage anthem. It's hard to believe I didn't love it when it first came out.

By the way, if There Is A Light... hadn't been released in 1986, it wouldn't have been replaced by any of the records above. No, this year's runner up, and the song that most reminds me of teenage school discos, is Caravan Of Love by The Housemartins. Just in case you were wondering.

Number One as I turned 14? Chain Reaction by Diana Ross (with a little help from the Bee Gees.) Now that's what I call music.

15 (1987) Prince & Sheena Easton - U Got The Look

So many records say 1987 to me, yet it's hard to pick just one that stands out above the rest. Too much choice. My two favourite albums of the year are Tunnel Of Love and Strangeways, Here We Come yet neither produced a truly iconic single. I was tempted by Barcelona, Livin' On A Prayer or Sweet Child O' Mine, but while I don't rate Sign O' The Times the album as highly as many critics (though it's title track probably does say more about 1987 than most other songs released that year), this was the single that finally made me love the little purple freak.

My birthday Number One at 15? Everything I Own, a watered down cover version of an old reggae standard by a past-his-prime Boy George. Hardly one of the year's musical highlights.

16 (1988) Morrissey - Every Day Is Like Sunday

Damn it, I really wanted to give this one to Billy Bragg and Waiting For The Great Leap Forwards, but it doesn't quite compare to trudging slowly over wet sand back to the bench where your clothes were stolen. What does?

On the day I reached the age of consent (not that anyone would consent back for a good few years), the ironic Number One was I Should Be So Lucky by Kylie Minogue, a hideous slice of SAW-ed off landfill pop. And do you want to know something even worse? I actually bought the damn thing. I must have been desperate...

17 (1989) Del Amitri - Nothing Ever Happens

The late 80s were a dire time for music, though I still managed to find plenty to keep me going. As with the best of his songs, Justin Currie's debut hit combines apathy with misanthropy in a way few other artists could or would ever attempt. For 1989, it was this or I'll Sail This Ship Alone.

Meanwhile at Number One on March 19th, Madonna reached her artistic pinnacle with Like A Prayer. IMHO.

18 (1990) The Inspiral Carpets - This Is How It Feels To Be Lonely

This is how it feels to be 18. This, November Spawned A Monster and Birdhouse In Your Soul paint a curiously accurate picture of my last year of A Levels. Happy 18th!

Meanwhile, topping the charts on my birthday? Dub Be Good To Me by Beats International. I liked him in the Housemartins, I even dug Fatboy Slim, but this one wasn't a Norman conquest for me.

19 (1991) Bob Seger & The Silver Bullet Band - The Fire Inside

An unusual choice for the year that brought us Smells Like Teen Spirit and Losing My Religion, but this has long been one of my favourite songs. Elvis Costello almost stole the year with The Other Side Of Summer, but in the end Bob is Number One with a Bullet Band.

And on my 19th birthday? The Stonk by Hale & Pace. Bloody hell.

20 (1992) Bruce Springsteen - Human Touch

I went with my gut on this one. Neither of the two albums Bruce released in 1992 are among anybody's favourites. There were far better records released this year - including Automatic For The People, It's A Shame About Ray and Generation Terrorists. But this track carries a kind of crushed yet hopeful romanticism that's always made it stand out for me. I guess it reminds me of being 20 more than any of the above.

My 20th Number One birthday song was Stay by Shakespeare's Sister. Morrissey gets the last word in as usual.

Back next week with the run-up to my 30th.

Countdown To 40: A Song A Year - The First 10 Years...

So, March 19th 2012. That's the date. The date my life finally begins. I can hardly wait. Maybe Marvel will call me up and ask me to write Spider-Man, Morrissey and Bruce will pop round for a coffee and Kate Winslet will pop round for... unlikely, really, what with Louise's shotgun and everything.

Or perhaps it'll just be another day like all the rest.

To mark the countdown to this momentous milestone, I thought I'd look back on my life so far through the medium of song. Some time ago, I ran a feature here called My Life In Music in which I chose a favourite album for every year I'd been on this earth. This will be sort of like that, except this time it'll be just a single song. It won't necessarily be my favourite song from each particular year... but one that's meant more to me throughout my life than most others released that year.

0 (1972) Harry Nilsson - Without You

The record that was at Number One as I came squealing out into the world on that grey Sunday lunchtime. Although this was Harry Nilsson's biggest hit, he's made far better records and this one was both overplayed and then tragically eviscerated by Mariah Carey. I've always been a huge Nilsson fan though, so I'm happy to settle on this as my original birthday tune.

1 (1973) Billy Joel - Piano Man

As I turned one, the record at the top of the charts was Cum On Feel The Noize by Slade. A fine tune, even if I always had issues with Noddy's spelling. But the autobiographical Piano Man was Billy Joel's first big hit and one of the records that first attracted me to his songwriting as a teenager. Yes, I was that cool.

2 (1974) Harry Chapin - W.O.L.D.

Another great singer-songwriter of the 70s, Harry Chapin never matched the level of fame achieved by Joel or even Nilsson, but his excellent story songs always manage to bring a smile to my face or tear to my eye. W.O.L.D. is probably his best known track, the story of a has-been DJ... I'd meet plenty of those once I started working in radio.

Number One as I turned 2? Billy, Don't Be A Hero by Paper Lace. I can live with that, given that my first name is William, though I always preferred The Night Chicago Died.

3 (1975) Bruce Springsteen - Thunder Road

Could this be the hardest choice I'll have to make on this countdown? In any other year, the winner would have been Bohemian Rhapsody. Hands down. Queen were my first big band as a kid and Bo Rap just blew me away. And then a few years later, I discovered Bruce. Born To Run and this. Two songs from my favourite album of the 70s, a record that has meant more to me than just about any other in my life.

So you're scared and you're thinking that maybe we ain't that young anymore

Number One on my third birthday? Bye Bye Baby by The Bay City Rollers. Oh.

4 (1976) Queen - Somebody To Love

So I had to pass on Queen last year - hopefully this will make up for it. One of the most joyous songs about being a sad sack lonely bones I've ever heard. Thank you, Freddie, this one kept me going throughout my teens.

Cheesy disco at #1 as I turned four: I Love To Love by Tina Charles. I wouldn't necessarily turn off the radio if that came on. You become more tolerant of old cheese as you become an old cheeser yourself.

5 (1977) Meat Loaf - Bat Out Of Hell

Ah, Jim Steinman, another hero of my teens. Nothing succeeds like excess. I don't care what you say, this record bleeds rock 'n' roll all over your carpet.

Number One on my 5th? Chanson D'Amour by Manhattan Transfer. A ratty-tatty-tat.

6 (1978) The Boomtown Rats - Rat Trap

As with Bat Out Of Hell, here's another song that owes more than a little debt to Born To Run. For about five minutes there, Bob Geldof was the Irish Springsteen. Then he lost his muse and went off to try and save the fookin' world.

I'm 6. If you're coming to my birthday party, you might hear today's Number One song playing from my sister's record collection. Wuthering Heights by Kate Bush. Fantastic.

7 (1979) Elvis Costello - Oliver's Army

Another of my early songwriting heroes - though like Bruce, Billy and Jim I didn't really discover him till I was a teenager. Costello gleefully admits he stole the jubilant piano chords in his biggest hit from Abba. That's the way to do it.

My 7 year itch birthday song? I Will Survive by Gloria Gaynor. Excellent.

8 (1980) Robert Palmer - Johnny & Mary

Because I might not have room to squeeze Batley's finest in to my countdown later in the decade, here's one of his finest moments. I was a huge Robert Palmer fan growing up - he left us far too soon.

Alternatively, I might gone with Hungry Heart, Geno or Ashes To Ashes... or perhaps even the Number One as I turned 8: Going Underground.

9 (1981) Queen & David Bowie - Under Pressure

The bassline not even Vanilla Ice could kill. And here's my confession: I almost gave this year to Making Your Mind Up by Bucks Fizz. Not because it's a record I've spent a lot of time with over the years, but at 9 years old I thought it was just about the coolest thing ever. And not just that bit when the girls tear off their skirts... although that might well have been the first time I showed an interest in such things.

Number One at 9? Jealous Guy by Roxy Music. Better than the Lennon version.

10 (1982) John Cougar Mellencamp - Jack & Diane

And yet another Man Who Would Be Bruce. I've always loved this track - I think it might be the combination of power riff followed by acoustic plink. That and the romantic Americana... though it was years before I understood what "sucking on chilli dogs outside the Tastee Freez" really meant. Oh, and the mid-song drum-breakdwn before JCM goes into his glorious gospel refrain. There's so much to love about Jack & Diane. No wonder it edged out Come On Eileen and the entire contents of Nebraska...

Oh yeah, life goes on
Long after the thrill of living is gone

As I hit double figures, the song at the top of the charts was The Lion Sleeps Tonight by Tight Fit. Which is a good point to pause as any... I'll be back soon with my terrible teens. And some songs from Manchester, I reckon...

What's Another Year?

Sunset Over Slawit is five today, and it's been a pretty tumultuous year here at SOS-towers. This was the year I lost my job, crashed my car and fell foul of the local nutter.

On the plus side, I began training for a new profession, launched a successful comic and started a new music blog.

That last one seems a pretty crazy thing to do as the blogosphere itself continues to shrink (we said goodbye to RB and Dan this year, among others) and my own available blogging time decreases (it's amazing how much more free time there was in the day when I had a full time job). But The Mixtape Lives On is a fast-fix for my blogging cravings and I've always preferred writing about music to just about any other subject. Makes you wonder whether this blog will see a sixth birthday... I guess only time will tell. With the exception of Steve, I doubt anybody would really miss it.

Yay! Happy blogbirthday, me! Anyone for cake?

Lo! A Beast Is Born!

Geek-post alert!

I don't see why I need to apologise for that, since the five of you regularly reading this blog have surely by now proved either your geek credentials - or at the very least your geek tolerance.

Anyway, I discovered this rather cool website, Mike's Amazing World of Marvel Comics where you can check out the Marvel comics that were out on the day you born. (It's kind of like checking out what was Number One in the charts on the day you were born*... for people with even fewer friends.) Even better, to cope with the peculiarities of periodical publication, you can search both by comics that were cover-dated the month of your birth and comics that were actually on the stands.

Here's mine, by Cover Date... and On Sale.

There were some great comics available around this time - including Avengers #100, Hulk #152 (Trial of the Hulk), Marvel Team-Up #1 - plus the first appearance of Luke Cage in Hero For Hire #1. Which means, in a way, Luke Cage and me are exactly the same age. But TSHFKA Power Man wasn't the only character making a debut (of sorts) in March 1972...

Here's my pick of the most appropriate cover from the month of my birth.

In other comics news, it's Omega Red week over at Thoughtballoons. Not a character I'm hugely familiar - a Russian Wolverine baddie with "carbonadium tentacles" who can drain the life force from his foes - but I had more fun with my one-pager than I expected.

I'm still reviewing over at Rob's Comics On The Ration blog too - click here to read what I thought of Black Widow: Deadly Origin.

Speaking of Rob, do take a moment to pop over to the Crisp Biscuit Blog and check out his Amazing Alternate Voting System Fantasy for the truth behind last week's ultimately pointless UK elections... and his Amazing Royal Wedding Fantasy for the truth behind... well, y'know, the Royal Wedding.

*That would be Harry Nilsson, singing Badfinger's mournful masterpiece Without You. Which seems equally apt.

You Never Die On Facebook

Driving to work yesterday morning, I stopped to admire the Sunrise Over Slawit. It's a sight I only get to enjoy on certain weeks of the year - by next week, when the clocks go forward and the sun rises an hour earlier, I'll be too late to catch it. Luckily I had my camera with me this time. This is the old Wireless Station on the appropriately named Pole Moor. The lines in the sky are jet trails, I hadn't noticed them when taking the picture, I certainly wasn't trying to line the first one up with the pole...

Turning 39, I've been thinking a lot about getting older. Is it wrong to be looking forward to retirement at my age? I'm so fed up of the working grind and feeling uninspired by how I spend the majority of my waking day, I long for a time when I'll be able to get up when I like, go out and enjoy a sunny morning like this, spend more of my time writing and doing the things I enjoy. I suppose that's only natural, but I don't want to start wishing my life away either...

In the Grauniad magazine this weekend they had an article featuring photographs and interviews with people who had lived beyond their 100th birthday. It made sad and sobering reading. Although some remained positive, many spoke of simply waiting - even wishing - to die. They appeared to have little pleasure in their lives, had long since lost most of their friends and even family (one man, aged 108, told of how his only son died at the age of 64), and couldn't even rely on their own bodies any more. So much for living to a ripe old age.

Is it better to burn out or fade away? A former colleague of mine died last year, still a young man. I hadn't spoken to him in years but we'd exchanged brief communications on Facebook. I'm reminded of this every time I visit that site now, because his profile is still active. Either his family haven't been able to delete his account (it's hard enough when you're alive - imagine trying to do it for someone who's died) or they've decided to leave it open in his memory. The internet grants us all immortality, whether we want it or not. If you're reading this post in the year 2085, I hope I'm not still around to read your comments...

I don't want to die tomorrow, but I have no desire to live forever - or past my usefulness either. (Some might argue I'm already living on borrowed time in that regard.) I just wish I had more time to enjoy the prime of my life...

We should all be allowed to retire at 40. 20 years of the working grind is enough for anybody. Maybe then I'd get to lie in the sun more like our Wispa...

(Because what the internet really needs is more pictures of cute cats. If you're reading this in 2085, I doubt that has changed.)

This Is The Last Birthday I Will Ever Celebrate...

...and sadly, I have to celebrate it with Bryan May... why couldn't it have been Freddie?



Still, on the plus side, life finally begins next year...

...and at least I'm not as old as Bruce Willis, who's 56 today.

Friday Flash - Shooting People Is Good

Today is my fourth Blog Birthday. Four years since I crawled onto the internet and set up this blog, unsure of whether it was something I wanted to be doing, but driven to it by forces beyond my control. Blogging has changed beyond all recognition in that time. It has risen and fallen, and many of its brightest stars have since moved on to twitter, facebook or just quit the internet altogether (or have they?) Maybe the best days of blogging are behind us... or maybe the renaissance is just around the corner. If I could predict anything on the internet, I'd be much richer man than I am now.

Anyway, it's Friday, so time for a #fridayflash. Sadly the weather disruption has ruined my chances of producing a new story for you this week, so here's another repeat, from way back in 2008. Hope you enjoy it...

Shooting People Is Good



Be honest now – you all wanted to shoot somebody today.

Maybe it was your boyfriend, or that dude cut you up on the freeway. Maybe it was a politician – lord knows Lee Harvey set every one of us an example with that. Maybe it was your sister or your ma, your high school gym coach or that jerk in accounts screwed with your expenses four months running. Maybe it was that creep hit on your girl in the roadside, or the motorcycle cop followed you a steady thirty all the way home, or the drunk who threw up all over the steps of your building. Maybe it was Hannah Fucking Montana – seriously, who’d blame you for that?

The who don’t matter. All that matters is we both acknowledge the truth. You wanted to shoot somebody today, and you didn’t. For all those crazy reasons that keep our half-assed excuse for society from drifting into anarchy and chaos. Morals and decency. Conscience and consequence. The law. You didn’t do it, and it’s chewing you up inside. But imagine for one moment you didn’t have to worry about any of that. Imagine you could shoot whomsoever you wanted, whenever the mood took you – without fear of arrest or reprisal or guilt. Imagine you could work out those frustrations in the moment, bask in the swell of satisfaction, gratification… justice…. then move on with your day. Be honest now…

The first time it happened was an accident. I hadn’t seen him and he shouldn’t have been out there. I arrived at the range a little after seven – I was the first one there and Crebbins was still sweeping out the yard. He waved at me from across the compound as I set up. I was eager to try out the new Westley Richards 20 gauge I’d bought from an old-timer out on the Circle Hill Road. Guy was selling off a bunch of old shotguns – said his wife had died so he no longer had any need to keep them in the house. Most of them were crap, but this one… this one was a beauty. 28 inch barrels, nitro-reproofed, with a solid silver safety and red sandalwood stocks. I’d been careful not to go straight for it, gave some consideration to the junk before settling on my jewel. If the old man didn’t know what a peach he had here, I sure as hell wasn’t going to let on. In the end I got it for seventy-five, two cases of ammo thrown in. I could have sold it on for five times that, and maybe I might have done just that. I’m not sentimental about these things, a profit’s a profit. Turns out though, this particular gun was worth a whole lot more.

Like I said, I hadn’t even seen him. No way I could have known he was out there – why would he be? Why would anybody go wandering across a live shooting range, seven in the morning, like he’s taking the air on Main Street? Turns out he was a retard – mentally deficient, like – dragged out into the country on a whim the night before by some reckless kids from Johnstown, then left to find his own way home. Poor fucker couldn’t read the signs, it was simple as that. He just saw the lodge in the distance and started out towards it. A little barbed wire and a few red dangers weren’t going to stop him – he was in a flap, and he wanted his ma. He came climbing right up out of the ditch in front of the target area just as I pulled the trigger on my new Westley for the first ever time.

Those people you wanted to shoot today… how far d’you let that particular fantasy play out? Maybe you lined them up through the hood ornament on your car, maybe you tossed them what Mr. Raymond Chandler used to call The Gunman’s Salute – two fingers and a little click, back of your throat, followed by a mouth-filling boom. Maybe you actually imagined the blood – the stain of it, blotting cross the fabric of their shirt, just like in the movies. You’d have to be pretty far gone to picture the insides of their skull blooming up like fungus from an old tree stump – the full-on ‘NC-17’ special effects – but hate’ll do that to you, and I don’t reckon we know the half of what goes on in most people’s heads but never gets out fully into the light. That’s probably for the best, you ask me. The world’s a scary enough place as is, don’t you think?

The retard’s head didn’t explode or nothing. This is a bird gun we’re talking here, and what would be the point splattering your duck all over the horizon? There’d be nothing left to eat, certainly nothing worth having your picture took with. So a nice, neat hole, no bigger than the end of your forefinger, and down he goes.

“Shit!” Lest you think I’m a callous… some kind of cold-blooded type… well, I’d never shot a man before, and while certainly I’d thought about it just as many times as you have, it’d never been without provocation. This was just some innocent kid, not even playing with the full deck, I had no truck with him. No, he sure as hell shouldn’t have been out there, but don’t for one second think I thought he deserved it.

“Oh Tom, oh Tommy – my god, Tommy, what did you do – what did you…?” That was Crebbins, running out after me across the range, mewling like a just-spayed tomcat, though I knew his concern wasn’t so much for the kid as how this all might lose him his license. That range out in Tilbury closed after an accidental, though rumour has it there was more going on behind the scenes facilitated that particular termination.

“Go call an ambulance!” I shouted back, more to get Crebbins out of my vicinity than because I believed the kid stood a chance. Not many folks survive a headshot, not even from a gun like this. Maybe at a greater distance – but this was the nearest target on the range, little over 15 yards, and sure enough his lights were out by the time I got there. And that hole – that perfect little red-black hole just above his left eyebrow – I couldn’t help but stare into it, though I couldn’t tell you exactly what I expected to see.

What happened next, I don’t rightly recall. After the clarity of that one moment, the rest of the morning blurs away like cream in your coffee. I remember Bob Cornell came out from the Sherriff’s Office; I knew Bob from back in Junior High, we was on the wrestling team together. He was a good man, mostly. He asked me some questions, then he asked ‘em me again, then he said how he’d have to take my gun in as evidence, and I remember how that felt then, like this was the most devastating part of the day, like I just couldn’t abide the loss of that Westley – not for nothing.

“First I need – I need to clean it on out,” I remember saying that, telling him. But that was an excuse. In back of my head, I had this notion – and it’s just as crazy as it sounds now – that if I could get another couple of cartridges in that thing, I could hold off Bob Cornell and his deputy. I could get away, the Westley with me, and hide it where they’d never find it.

Of course he tried to stop me – that was his job. “You’re in shock, Tom, you’re not thinking right. You can’t—“ But he never had won a bout, Bob Cornell, not against me, and I wasn’t about to let him start now.

“Just need to clean it out,” I told him again, “just need to—“ Right then I must of sounded like the kind of idiot goes wandering across shooting ranges seven o’clock in the a.m., but I couldn’t let him take that gun. Even if he pulled his own weapon on me – for tampering with the evidence and that – I couldn’t let him stop me.

So I broke open the action and the spent cartridge popped on out of the breech. Bob Cornell shouted at me to stop. I wasn’t listening. I reached down and plucked out what was left of the hull, then…

Then I was back at the beginning. Bob Cornell, his deputy, the paramedics and all the crime scene boys… they were gone. The sun was lower in the sky and Crebbins was still going round with his broom. It was the quiet hit me first. After all the clamour and palaver the morning had become, I’d forgotten it’d ever been this quiet.

In my hand, two fresh cartridges, waiting to be loaded. I checked my watch: 7.14 a.m. A breeze came out of the pines and stroked cool fingers long the back of my neck. Geese crossed the sky, safe as houses. It wasn’t the season yet anyhows.

“You OK, Tom?” said Crebbins, leaning on the handle of his broom like he was about to start singing ‘Oklahoma!’

I looked around me and off towards the first set of targets. I didn’t need to think this through. There wasn’t any doubt. I knew exactly what had happened.

“What the hell kinda place you running out here, Crebbins – there’s a fucking kid out on the range!”

Crebbins went white, but not as white as he’d been the last time this moment played out. He set out across the grass, still carrying his broom – waving it and shouting at the kid who was walking towards him too now, arms splayed in panic.

“Mister, I’m lost, mister… Where’s Johnstown, mister, where’s 43 Beech Street, where’s my ma, mister, where’s–?”

I knew exactly what had happened, and somewhere deep inside, I knew it’d happen again. Whenever I wanted it to.

Say you could shoot whomsoever you wanted, take out whatever frustrations you had – watch them suffer, watch them die… and then put everything back just the way it was, with nobody any the wiser? Say all you had to do was carry that gun round with you day in day out – get yourself one of them fishing rod cases, one of them zip-up pool cue bags – hell, a fucking violin case, you don’t mind the cliché. Say whenever the mood took you – and you’d probably find it took you a whole lot more as the days went by – you just get out that weapon and hold it straight in their face. Whichever one of them pissed you off most that moment. See the look in their eyes, hear them trying to talk their ways out of whatever they did to upset you in the first place, listen to them beg… begging’s always good… then click. Click – boom. You know what I said earlier ‘bout a bird gun not making much mess? From a distance, no. But get it right up between some bastard’s eyes – right where the sweat off their forehead beads down onto the top of their nose – pull that trigger right then, and you won’t get no pretty little nickel-shaped hole. You’ll get what they deserve. What everyone deserves, one time or another. You know what I’m talking about.

Come on now, be honest with yourselves – given a gun like mine… how many people would you have shot today?