Knightmare on Nerd Street.

"Babysitter of the year; 1990, 1992, 1993"

In the 1990’s, nerds were not cool. This is something of an understatement. In the 1990’s, being a nerd made you a Chess playing, Sci-Fi loving, unattractive, socially awkward male (very few were girls back then), whose place on the human food chain was so lowly regarded, their friendship was less desirable than that of a kid with terminal nits and worms – as well as very busy hands. In the 1990’s, being a nerd, geek, poindexter, egghead, boffin, or any type of pejorative mustered, left you nothing more than a charmless freak; a future basement dwelling, lifetime virgin of the highest order. 

In these times, nothing more epitomized their lifestyle than their undying love for Knightmare. For those unaware, Knightmare was an interactive fantasy Television show for kids, in which four children (usually male nerds aged between nine and thirteen) entered a mystical castle run by Tregard – a man whose heavy Fishermans beard, made him appear to have fiddled more minors than Maggie Thatcher. Inside this castle, three of the lads would sit in Tregard’s dungeon watching through a screen, as the fourth member was sent on his visionless, helmeted quest (to protect his eyes from the dangers which lie ahead, apparently), carrying nothing but an empty satchel and the wits of his team - in order to free a maid, retain a sword, or lose their virginities; the quests varied from time to time, and I’m guessing some of those contestants still haven’t completed the final one. 

Through each quest, there were many potential ways to die in the castles many levels – which, ninety-five percent of the time, they did; usually through missing a spell, neglecting to steal a pie from varying monsters. (Pictured – without his pie) Though why a skeleton spider monster needs to eat a fucking pie, is never explained. Or how he managed to pick it up? Other forms of death included pissing around too long in a room where daggers shoot from the walls, or tiles falling from beneath their feet; the castle must have been built by pikeys, I guess. The villains were pretty sadistic, killing little kids in helmets. And why they sent pre-teens in to do the job, instead of the SAS or Chuck Norris, I will never know.

"Give me back my pie!"

Every room entered would be met with the blind boy saying “Where am I”. I mean every last time. Worse still, he never took his helmet off, ever. The kid’s in an evil dungeon, always seconds from death in a building where every room is a cross between Dungeons and Dragons and the movie Cube, and he still keeps the fucking mask on. 

Bulging stomach sandpit sinking him to his death, still kept on. Pie eating skeleton breathing down his neck, nope. Shit, even the angel voiced wench/secret witch, with her seductive tones, couldn’t do it. I so hoped one episode she would say to one of them, “I’m stark bollock naked here, horny, and I know a spell to free a maid. Why don’t you take your mask off and have a look”. I bet even if the unfunny court jester –who kept popping up now and again, started bum raping the boy, he’d still keep the pissing mask on. If only Jimmy Saville had presented Knightmare instead.

That was the other portion of the show. The residents of the castle regularly met these boys, while doing very little else. Surely one of these dwellers would have eventually said to a particular boy “Look, you arseholes keep coming through here. All you ever want is a spell or food, or some shit like that. Maybe one of you could at least get me a beer or a copy of Razzle! And where are your parents? Of course, should the boy die in the castle, him and his friends were banished to the never lands for eternity. I actually thought that was genuine, until I saw a group who perished on a Thursday, appear on kids show Motormouth the ensuing Saturday. Unless Motormouth was also a part of this abyss; which is possible… Andi Crane was there too.

As the seasons progressed, Tregard bought in Pickle - a slim young Elf boy, as a dungeon companion. Likely born from his tiredness of bumming frozen kids; or no longer being able to seduce them with bread, water, computer games, and pies of deformed skeletons. Eventually, in 1994, and after seven years, the show finally ended. The dungeon closed its doors for the final time, and nerds nationwide turned their attentions to Mulder, Scully, and Captain Picards bald head on the Enterprise.

"Gargoyles Are Easy - Google it"

Last Friday however, Knightmare resurfaced on Challenge TV here in the UK – at a unique Friday 10pm slot.  Which I caught a showing of; hence this blog. Beyond the jokes, or the realization I love taking the piss out of the show. To be honest, watching it back after all these years, it‘s actually a pretty original, entertaining, fascinatingly creative product. The drama-school actors hammed it up with such passion, the rooms contained many original creatures; my favourites being Granite-arse, the talking wall which looked like an arse, and the low self-esteem gargoyle (pictured). And for thirty minutes a week, nerds felt a power which made all their wedgies and wet willies worth the pain. 

The show was revamped this summer as a one-off special; as part of YouTube’s "Geek Week". And while the cast came off to me as a mixture of Franz Ferdinand and Paramore visiting their mad bearded uncle, the show retained its elements of charm; the kind which helps create articles like this, almost two decades later. But it wasn’t cool back then to like Knightmare. And the open love of it probably got a few poindexters beaten up. 

Of course, the flame of Tregard, Granite-arse and the rest, is kept alive and well in the minds of it's loyal fanbase. But in the 1990’s, nerds were not cool. How times change… 

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50 Things Which Make Me Just Like Everybody Else.

1.   I carry around a host of scars, no one else can see
2.   I often feel misunderstood
3.   I am not Bob Hoskins (Bob Hoskins is excluded from this one)
4.   The only answers I have, are those which help myself.
5.   When cut, I bleed
6.   I am an artist of my own expression
7.   My body has 206 bones
8.   I am smarter, funnier, and better looking than I realise
9.   I wish I were happier
10. I wish I were richer
11. I wish I were younger
12. Some days, solitude delivers clarity
13. Some days, solitude delivers insanity
14. I have never lived a day in the nineteenth century
15. I find newborn babies adorable
16. I am slower than Usain Bolt (Usain Bolt is excluded from this one)
17. I was born on a planet called Earth
18. I wouldn't drink beer if it contained no alcohol
19. I talk to myself
20. I pick my nose
21. I control impulse, but not all the time
22. I am driven by survival, then replication
23. I am aware most forms of public transport stink of Piss
24. I will sleep for at least a third of my life
25. I have committed all seven sins
26. I am 99% oxygen, carbon, hydrogen, nitrogen, calcium, and phosphorus
27. I am less famous than David Beckham
28. My then is a memory
29. My now is a moment
30. My tomorrow is a dream
31. Viewing life as negative or positive, is my choice
32. I cannot prove anything beyond this life, in this life
33. I have never visited Mars
34. I enjoy laughing
35. I am riddled with eccentric foibles
36. I downplay my abilities
37. I cannot wear a beard as cool as Jesus Christ
38. I make at least one mistake each day
39. I have never met Vincent Van Gogh
40. I have masturbated at least once
41. A man and a woman are responsible for me being here
42. There are no shape-shifting reptilians around me
43. I am not under the control of the Illuminati or New World Order
44. I am a perpetrator
45. I am a victim
46. I know more now than I did ten years ago
47. I hide my strengths, and expose them.
48. I hide my weaknesses, and expose them.
49. One day I will die
50. I am alive

Moonlight Thinking.

Throughout my life, I’ve always felt like someone on the edges of society. Kinda like the square peg which only slightly fits into that circular hole it is meant to adapt into. Too street wise for the intellectuals, too intellectual for the street wise. Too determined to be a failure, too lazy to secure success. You can pick your cliché here from all manner of tired statements. But my point is, I have spent most of my life feeling an odd sense of isolation from humanity, while conversely connecting with it, in ways which appear genuine to most people I meet; born from those wonderful acting skills, we all learn in the nature of protection, in the more dangerous side of this game of life.

This, however, is nothing exclusive to me as a person. It is essentially the life of a thinker. People who think a lot, often find themselves spending more time consciously wondering about shit, then actually doing stuff - while concurrently balancing these extremes. It is like taking the pleasures of life and trying to understand them all, instead of just allowing ourselves to enjoy them. It is also why thinkers need avenues of brainless activity, to both allow themselves a mental break, as well as tune back in to physical reality. I go to the gym, watch Wrestling, and in general search for entertainment in the stupidest of life's aspects, to help avoid falling into the abyss of an over-analysis which serves no purpose, in the grand scheme of having fun; in a life far too short to forget how to enjoy.

But it is difficult for the thinker. For while physical activities are easy to share with others; as they can be seen and understood. Thoughts and ideas are much more complicated to hand to one another - as our own processes are different, and the mechanics operate with greater convolution. In other words, it is much easier to play bat and ball, then to group together and design a puzzle.

Who knows. It is late, and a lot of this sounds like pretentious bollocks, when I read it back. And I am writing more of a personal, self-gratifying, random log here, than a well thought out blog article. Those of you who read this may well wonder what I am talking about. This is not a clever, thought provoking series of words, it is just a bunch of jumbles before I go to bed. Blog writing is hard work, and most are read by a few number of people. But I keep going, because I love to write, and love words. The beauty of this blog however, is I didn't allow it any thought. At least I don't think I did. The edge's are not always clear...

Lee.

Bon Jovi In Birmingham.

"Caddy Set"

The music of Bon Jovi may never stand in high regard amongst the ‘experts’ of Rock Music folklore. Lyrics too generic for Springsteen. Guitar work too formulaic in relation to Slash or Satriani. Songs too poppy for lovers of Led Zeppelin. Shit, even the singing is never compared to Freddie Mercury. Essentially, it is – as a friend of mine once put so bluntly, easy to compare the music of Bon Jovi to dry toast; warm, tasty, and full of energy – but lacking that something to ever consider ‘exceptional’.

It is a bright, sunny day. I stand in the middle of what is the football pitch of Villa Park, in the town of Aston, Birmingham. This is a view people such as Frank Lampard and Steven Gerrard, will have seen many times over; I wonder how wonderful it must feel, to do something you love in front of thousands who love you back for doing it? I am with my girlfriend waiting to see Bon Jovi. For me this is the first time, for her, something she has done many times over. I ask why she keeps seeing them so often? “Because they are amazing live!” she says. Surely dry toast cannot be that good?

The stage before me resembles the front of a Cadillac, and the first thing I notice are the variation of ages, styles, and sizes of the fans around me; as well as the amount of Bon Jovi tattoos they carry. There is a loyalty about these fans; the kind 95% of Justin Beiber or One Direction followers will never know. Most have been with the group since their first breakthrough in 1983, while many others have joined along the way and never left. There are even a fair few Bon Jovi lookalikes floating around; my favourite, the skinny fella, who I thought resembled Pat Sharp more than the lead singer. Must be weird living your life as somebody else. Not my thing, but it keeps others happy – and probably ramps up his pulling power.

Between the four hours wait, support arrives in the form of beer, Kings Of Captains, a local band, and to my shock and delight, Coventry’s finest. The Enemy. An odd group to support Bon Jovi, but one who nailed their set with an intense, passionate, professional display or raw melodic brilliance; they will only get bigger, trust me. Come 7:30pm, we were given the “30 minutes countdown,” just to build tension, I guess. It worked. Even though personally, at this point I still wasn’t that into it as the hardened surrounding Jovi-ites. (Do they have a name?)

Come 8pm on the money, the main event started. As soon as the seasoned middle-aged rockers hit that stage, the crowd cheered in a defining roar which never once let up, and I was fortunate to witness pure rock royalty, make three hours seem like thirty minutes. The group went through all the classics, a few lesser known numbers for the hardcore fans, a couple of covers (Status Quo, how good is that!) And they played throughout, like it was their last night on Earth. By the time the second encore had finished, and feeling as if I had witnessed one of the truly special gigs of history, most fans carried a general tone of, “This level is about normal for them.” The toast was more of a cooked croissant, and part of a larger meal, really.

As far as Bon Jovi himself is concerned. He comes across as a man, who has crafted his trade down to a science. Yet has the ability to work as an artist in its frame - from the singing and energy of his performance; seriously, the guy is 51 and never stopped to pause for a second. Clearly influenced by Frank Sinatra, Elvis Presley, and Bruce Springsteen - and living in an age where musicians seem more concerned with selling trainers, and Twitter photos, there is a feeling Bon Jovi is one of the last true Rock Stars of our time. Not another classic drug riddled waste of history, but a true professional showman… someone who simply loves to give back in performance, a little of the immense wonders life has given him already. A lot of acts treat their fans with contempt; these guys have a warm, long-term relationship with theirs – it shows on both sides, whenever they get together. It’s pretty healthy, and isn't going to change anytime soon.

And this is exactly what the ‘experts’ neglect to mention about Bon Jovi. While there is always someone else who does the separate things just a little better; and I use the word 'just', because the dude has a bloody strong voice, the guitar work is solid, and the songs deceptively emotive. When you total the sum of its parts altogether, there really is no finer band out there playing music to entertain, as a way to remind us to simply enjoy life. To consistently perform at the level they have and still do - for three decades. And to have each gig leave the entire crowd feel like it is both the greatest show they ever played, as well as belonging to one giant arse, private party - in which they are the evening’s hosts, is something remarkable. 

Their music isn’t designed to make you think, it is designed to make you dance, celebrate, and smile. They perform again at Hyde Park in a few weeks. My girlfriend is going, I am not. If I’m honest, should I get the chance to see them again? I will. And to convince someone who only really liked their music to do such a thing after one show? Put it this way; I have only eaten dry toast once... Croissants are with me for life.

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