I'd like some big stompy boots please madam!

Going to Whitby Goth Weekend soon, can't wait. My Mum is making a long black coat for me (very Neo!), just got some black jeans and some stompy boots. Not BIG STOMPY BOOTS OF ARMAGHEDDON!!!, my wages don't stretch to New Rocks right now! Listening to loads of the Mission & Sisters of Mercy in preparation!!!

In other news, two of my nephews have just started their first blog, I'll post a link once they've got some stuff on there! Good luck Bobs! x

Erm.... Hello again!

Oops! Long time, no post!
...and I'm currently feeling a little brain dead at the mo, will come back soon !

In other news, just watched indie zombie flick 'Colin'. What a yawnfest! I knew it was made on the cheap, but they could at least have had a plot in mind if they're going to the trouble of making a movie!
On the other hand, I'm currently reading the True Blood novels, which rock. Wasn't sure if they'd be my kind of thing but I'm really enjoying them so far.

Short story : "Courage"

Hi there! I've no news to speak of at the moment, so I thought I'd entertain you with an old short story of mine. This was previously published on the zombie movie website www.homepageofthedead.com . If you like zombie fiction, they have tons of it! Enjoy! 

‘Courage’ by Pete Regan.

Even now it seems somewhat unreal.

It was less than a fortnight ago that the first reports of the attacks came in from the States, alleged groups of madmen killing everything they could get their hands on. As we quickly discovered, it was more than insanity. It was a plague, the plague which would soon spread to our side of the Atlantic. There was of course isolated cases, the recently deceased making a comeback. The advice from our American counterparts who were beginning to suss things out, gave us a little heads up. As soon as anyone passed away we dutifully disposed of the corpse before reanimation took place. The television told us to stock up on lighter fluid, hammers, and saws, pluck up the courage to mutilate our dearly departed. Things would not go according to plan naturally, but things appeared to go smoothly enough for us to think that we would avoid the nightmare happening in America. How naïve we were…

The images of the massacre at Manchester will be burned into my consciousness until the day I too succumb to the madness. No one saw it coming; the US authorities were spot on. They safely got the evacuees onto the plane and out of the country before the airport was overrun, there should have been no infected on the plane! Of course we know what happened next, they were infected, we are all infected, it’s just that no one knew because they were still obviously alive. All it took was for someone to have a fatal heart attack or brain embolism or whatever, followed by the now familiar process of reanimation. The plane crashed of course, but it had already reached British soil, crashing into a Manchester housing estate.

I wish I hadn’t been watching the news bulletin that evening. It was like some kind of horror movie, but with the usual TV news readers and such. As with most viewers, I knew this was no hoax, yet still expected it all to turn out to be something along the same lines of the Halloween special that was on the BBC a few years back, or the infamous ‘War of the Worlds’ radio broadcast. There seemed to be an air of parody about it, the way the outside broadcast crew panicked on screen, running for their lives. They got too close. It spread too quickly. Like I said; unreal.

I’m still at my sister’s home, hiding in the attic with my niece. My sister is rummaging around downstairs. We prepared quickly, and well. We have enough tinned food and water to keep us going for a while, a portable radio, blankets, books for me, paper and crayons for Isobel. Mark went into town to buy a rifle or gun or something three days ago, not that any of us would know what to do with one! I’m sure everyone else thought about weaponry too, but our town has one little shooting and fishing supplies shop that I’m sure would have been raided long ago. I have a large kitchen knife and my wits!

Isobel wants her mummy, she’s been weeping and wailing and drawing those things to us like blood draws sharks. Mummy wants her too. Mummy decided to go downstairs to see if Mark was on his way back. It was the last thing that Mummy did and now Mummy isn’t Mummy any more. The thing that used to be my sister is staring right at me from the stairs, head tilted at an unusual angle. Thank God that Isobel isn’t looking at this. The ladder is still at the bottom of the stairway where I kicked it, neither Mummy, Mr. Leeming from down the street, or the other man have figured out how to use it. They just wait, clawing at the air between us, moaning.

I want to leap out. I want to grab Isobel and run to my car. I want to drive away from here and find someone else to share the burden of our new world. I want to escape our prison. I want to be the superhero who can evade monsters with only a kitchen knife in one hand and a toddler tucked under the other arm. Well, I don’t have that courage, this is not a movie. I may have the courage to use that knife on ourselves but for now I’m telling myself that there is still hope for escape. I don’t really believe it, even if we do get out, what then? The radio broadcasts stopped four hours ago; nothing dramatic, it just stopped. But it makes you wonder how it happened. Has the station been overrun? Is the local refuge (an army base approximately five miles out of town) still in operation? My mind is racing, fighting exhaustion with plans of escape, plans of defeat, plans of anything but staying in a cold dark hole on top of a crumbling council house. I’m going to try to sleep now; maybe things will look easier in the morning. Maybe Mummy will tire of waiting.

(C) Pete Regan

An imagination can be a very scary thing!

I'm home, the door is double locked and I ain't answering it to anyone til the sun comes up!

I worked a late shift today, which (due to my self imposed taxi ban) means walking home through quiet Lancaster streets at night. Shortly after setting off, I was approached by an elderly man. He explained that he was looking for the road out of Lancaster toward Kendal. Being a non-driver I did my best to explain what I thought was the best route, but he didn't seem to get it. We bid eachother a good night and I continued on my way.

Ten minutes later a car pulls up beside me. It's the old man again. This time he asks if I can get in the car with him and direct him. Now I would never get into a strangers car. Not even a young, attractive strangers car. Not even if they offered me sweeties or to show me some cute puppies. So I made another (brief) attempt at giving directions, before making a feeble excuse along the lines of 'but I'm not going that way, sorry!'. I was, but thought it best not to let on.

I then crossed the road, taking a short detour along a road I didn't really have to go down, so that it looked like I really wasn't going his way. There I saw a very petite lady, walking two very big dogs (or possibly bears - it was dark). One of them growled and lunged at me, the very frail looking petite lady barely able to restrain it. I ran, a little, then composed myself and walked at a more leisurely, less panicked girly pace.

As I progressed the streets seemed deserted and quiet. Too quiet. Then I passed St. Peters Road. I went to a house party there once. The house had a creepy stone cellar. A 'Hammer Horror' cellar. A 'Hammer Horror' cellar that looked like it should contain medeaval instruments of torture, or kinky bondage, or a blood splattered pentagram daubed across the floor, or all three. I started to walk like a panicked girly again.

Without thinking clearly, I crossed the road into Canal Walk. Quiet, deserted canalside Canal Walk, with the cleverly altered sign that now said something rude. The stretch of canal that I suddenly remembered was the site of two recent muggings. My panicked girly walk became a panicked girly jog. Ahead of me I saw two hoodies walk onto the bridge at the end of the path. I don't think they noticed me, thankfully.

A few minutes later I'm back on my own street, home only a few short minutes away. What's that? Distant footsteps. Whispered indecipherable syllables. I turn my head to look behind me. There's no one there. I continue. Again more footsteps, more whispers, closer now. I look again, no one there, silence. I half run into the door, turn the key, enter the dark lobby at my block of flats. The lights are flickering.

As I get onto my corridor I am hit by a dank, chemical odour eminating from an open door. Rationally, I think it's only paint fumes. The neighbours are decorating. Irrationally, I imagine the neighbour has killed his girlfriend and dumped her in a bath full of acid. The scent of her eroded body filling the air. Quickly, I pace up to my door, then I hear a loud creak. The fire door beside me swings open. I just barely pull myself together and greet the neighbours girlfriend, coming in through a haze of cigarette smoke. Phew!

...and that's the story of how I was nearly mugged by hoodies, molested by an old perv in a satanic dungeon and mauled by rabid bears (and a ghost) before discovering a grisly murder.

I think I need some stronger medication!

Sleep well! x

WebGod has spoken! Repent sinner!!!!

I've just been clicking away at the "next blog" button to browse other blogs, only to find that about 95% of them are by people writing about their faith, preaching gospel, (which of course is a good thing - I recognise that many people gain a lot of comfort and strength through following a faith. I used to myself, a long time ago.) etc....

Is this a devine message through the power of the internet????

If so, well, I'm screwed! ;P

I've only just started and I'm on the topic of religion already! I didn't mean to, honest! Random wierdness to commence soon.....

UPDATE: Just started browsing again. Got 4 poetry / creative writing blogs, followed by more faith blogs. The WebGod knows me too well (I've attended CW classes and write in my spare time) and is playing with my fragile little mind! Argh!

Bleh!

Typical! I finally start a blog and I'm stricken by writers block!
So.....hmmm... what's new?....

1. Diets suck!: I've had the "CardioTrainer" suite of apps on my android phone for nearly a month, and all was great. I've lost half a stone! Then, WHAMMM!!!! Plateau time! My weight loss stopped last week and hasn't budged since, despite me having a very active week. My body fat loves me and doesn't want to leave.
To be honest, I'm not 'dieting' dieting, just following a vague "don't take the piss" diet. I'm strictly logging everything into "Calorific" (a food diary app). On the other hand I'm out walking every day, sometimes swimming. I've imposed a ban on using taxis. I suppose I'm doing the right thing, but maybe I need to push myself to do more.

2. Work: I won't go into too much detail on a public blog, but I recently stepped down from a manager post to a support post. It was a very hard decision to make and I do occasionally wonder if I've done the right thing, but I'm noticeably much more relaxed and happier than I've been for a long time. I worry that I'll struggle with the drop in pay, but other than that all is well!

3. Life in general: I'm still a bit of a hermit, but hopefully things will get better. I've been a slave to depression for a very long time now, but over the past couple of months I've started to recover! I'm feeling a lot more optimistic anyway! Just need to pluck up the courage to reconnect with old friends, I've been off the radar for far too long.

So, that's me for now. Hopefully I'll soon have an athletic body, a rampant lovelife, a serene state of mind and a big fat lottery win! Speaking of money....

4. £££: Would anyone like to buy a kidney?!

hugs!
Pete. x

ooh, Being Human is about to start, must dash!

Hello world!

Everyone else is doing it so here I am! Welcome to my blog!

I'm a little doodahed right now so I'll be back with something hilarious, weird, obscene or just intensely boring!

mmm... brainzzzz!