Category Archives: Apocalypse

The Zomboss

Last night, I watched Survivorz,  a pretty mediocre British zombie film. The acting was actually a little better than most low budget films of the genre. 

A lot of the sets were reminiscent of the now defunct Slingshot 2.8 hours later. And, near the end, it became apparent why. 

Alex Noble, the Zomboss and former Slingshot zombie trainer, appeared in a scene near the end. 

I had to move quickly, so the picture’s somewhat blurry. 

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Unfortunately, our Chinese waving cat is no more. The cat, which is alleged to bring good fortune, seems to have attracted the opposite. 

It sat in our window, reliably waving to passers by for a year or so. Until it was hit by a bottle of beer. And, so, the cat-beer bottle encounter ended very badly. The beer bottle was in several pieces. The cat was intact, but wet and without movement. And the window hadn’t coped particularly well either. 

We’re currently in our local public house, rather than the planned Kings Cliffe. After effecting a professional (equal to Wadds was here) temporary repair, arranging for a replacement, and organising someone to keep an eye on the house (excessive, I know), we’re now discussing a revised departure time. 

I do have a theory that the incident was racially motivated and carried out by non-locals. 

Today (an average Saturday)

Today began with a mild hangover. A lie-in prevented anything major.

When I emerged from my sleep of weird, but now long forgotten, dreams, I was greeted by mid-morning sunshine. Which prompted me to take a picture of my zombie garden.

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Which is looking much better now that the grass is getting longer. This afternoon, we went shopping for festival supplies.

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Five boxes of beer, two boxes of wine and a bottle of vodka should just be enough. Although my second in command will also need supplies.

This evening, I caught up with yesterday’s Graham Norton show on iPlayer; I don’t often watch it, but Cyndi Lauper was one of this week’s guests.

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OK, I know she’s had some work done, but she still looks great for 61. And her voice is holding up pretty well too.

I then watched Soaked in Bleach, the film about the days leading up to Kurt Cobain’s death. There was the expected murder/conspiracy theory, with a possibly forged suicide note. But, even if those arguments are discounted, it’s clear that something weird was going on. It’s worth watching.

I have housework tomorrow.

 

 

2.8 hours later

Another couple of pictures from our time volunteering for 2.8 hours later.

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These pictures, and a few others, were spotted by a friend on someone’s Facebook page. I don’t do Facebook, so she asked them to mail me some. The bloke who took the pictures is considering a role as a zombie next year, a great way to spend an evening in my opinion.

Here’s a video I’ve found from last year; I’ll have put up a link at the time, but here it is again 2.8 hours later 2014

And another from this year 2.8 hours later 2015

 

I was leaning on a lamp post …

Yesterday evening involved growling at people again. Our number was reduced from last week’s three zombies to two (me and Lucy), but Ian was running, so we were three at the zombie disco (plus our new friend, ‘Michael’. And quite a few other people, both colleagues and customers).

From the beginning of the evening, Lucy …

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And me …

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This week, I was slightly less mobile since I was chained to a lamp post. While my chains were surprisingly comfortable, It was a pain to keep having to adjust them between groups af people.

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And this was my lamp post, just around the corner to Gateshead stadium.

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I’d intended this, second, year to be my last, but we’ve pretty much decided to do it all again next year. The cameraderie amongst zombies (and runners) at the zombie disco was the deciding point.

Cats and zombies

On Friday evening, I resumed my duties as a zombie. While I did ache a little after my four hours of chasing people around Gateshead, I’ve not experienced the same level of pain as last year. Saying that, I did two nights last year. And there’s still next weekend to come.

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On a different subject, there was a knock at our door yesterday. I answered after checking for obvious signs of Jehovah’s Witnesses or Salespeople. At our door were a man with a little girl. The man asked whether Sandra was home. When I told him that Sandra doesn’t live here, he explained that he’d been entrusted with the safe delivery of his grandaughter to another grandparent. He knew that she lives in one of the cottages in our street, but didn’t know which one. So he’d asked his grandchild to point out the house. The little girl had apparently pointed to the waving cat in our window.