Obviously I’ve had many requests for interviews, but I find
that most (if not all) journalists are amateurish misquoting trivialists, more
interested in the sexual proclivities of their subject or whether he knows the
price of a pint of milk than how (not if) certain high-profile Hugo Award
winners stole ideas from his P6 homework jotter.
As a result I’ve chosen the only worthy interrogator of a
mind as rich and varied as my own – myself. Below is Part i (of at least ii) of
a probing, insightful, but not intrusive series of interviews which I conducted
recently.
In order to keep things above board and avoid accusations of
soft-peddling myself (and also as a form of defence, given my past run-ins with
“journalists”), I took a suitably combative tone with the interviewer.[1]
Perhaps it would help if you imagined the words in italics
being read by a computerised voice, similar to that in Channel 4’s
long-cancelled Star Test[2]:
Proceed…
Q: Name?
A: I think for now it’s best we stick with the formal terms.
You can refer to me as “Pwn” or “Mr Pwn”, but only if you’re able to pronounce
it correctly.[3]
Q: Occupation?
A: Well, if you were to ask me for some terms to describe my
role within society, and particularly philology, I would have to say visionary,
deliverer of insight, eschatologist, heresiarch, innovator… I could go on.
Q: Please do…
A: Soothsayer, naysayer, truth-seeker, skeptic, cynic and
lore-smith. Were you to ask me about my formal occupation, I would have to say
IT project manager/developer. Level 3, but really I should be at Level 4 by now
given the amount of acting up, additional tasks and patch-up jobs I’ve had to
do, especially during Chanreeka’s (likely spurious, at least indulgent)
maternity leave. Anyway, it’s safe to say that I’m well beyond a 3.5 pay grade
once you factor in my hard-negotiated privileges and the likely dividends from
my research project into the impact of circadian rhythms on SQL servers.
Q: You’re from Northern
Ireland
A: Well yes, it is technically correct, but I haven’t lived
there in quite some time.
 |
| Why would you leave? |
Q: And do you sense the influence of Northern
Ireland
A: That’s quite a vague and, I would argue, offensive
question. What exactly do you mean?
Q: Very sorry. Do you think that there is an inherent or
even archetypal Northern Irish element within you work?
A: Works
Q: Sorry, within your works?
A: Well, I do work primarily in the English language[4], so I
suppose it was fortuitous that my birth occurred in a country which speaks the lingua
franca[5]
of the WorldWide Web. Without the ability to spread my message over The Internet,
I would likely have to do so by travelling from town to town in a simple hatchback,
the back seats removed to make a small nest, relieving myself I can’t imagine
where. It would certainly be difficult to hold down a 35-60 hour a week job
whilst doing so, and I might look like some kind of feckless hippy.
It might have been different had I succeeded as an infant in
persuading my unadventurous parents to move to mainland China where I would
have picked up Mandarin and Cantonese with ease. Let’s face it, everyone knows
“they’re next” and it wouldn’t hurt to be able to shout a few commands and
negotiate some special privileges when the time comes.
But on reflection, I think I was better off staying where I
was. Have you seen what they eat?
Q: You mention your parents, what influence did they have
on you?
A: Little. They may have driven me to school, bought me a
proportion of the books I requested, and allowed me to convert their
conservatory into a forge in anticipation of supplying weaponry to the
countless fantasy epics I believed would be filmed in Ulster in the post-Peter
Jackson The Lord of the Rings glut – but I can’t say they were
particularly supportive.[6]
 |
| Quite the conversation starter at dinner parties |
Q: And do you see them often?
A: Infrequently but regularly. I return for 6 days over the
Christmas period as that is all I can allow myself to abide.
Q: Why is that?
A: The atmosphere is quite oppressive. The temperature of
the house is a good 2-3°C
higher than it needs to be, and the volume on every radio, television and
appliance is persistently set too high. Add to that their general reluctance to
engage in discussions apportioning blame for the ills of the world on forces
and peoples normally considered “off-limits” by the mainstream media[7], and
you’ve got a very uncomfortable environment.
Within 2 days the dry heat makes the skin on the soles of my
feet start to crack. By day 4 my lips have gone that way too and my feet look like
one of those doctored “dry lake” pictures you see on the cover of The
Independent.
Day 5 my hair actually feels dry, not simply to the
touch, but profoundly dry to the extent my scalp can sense it. Day 6 I tend to
leave with little more than a bag of leftovers and a few new hardbacks (often
from the wrong imprint).
I’m currently working on a proposal for cost-saving
psychological prisons and think that the experience of my parents’[8] house
would make a good base model for Category D(iv)[9]
violations – parking offences, naming your child after a television character, standing
on the stairwell of a bus.
TO BE CONTINUED.................................
[1]
Publishers may wish to note the skill and fluidity with which I switch between
“voices” in this piece, showing my versatility as both writer and raconteur.
[2] This
was the first video to come up, it does not imply any endorsement of the
interview subject.
[3] To
rhyme with “own” “grown” “sewn”, not “gown” “hewn” nor “awning”.
[4] I
have a functional knowledge of Sindarin, Braavosi, Jawa and French. I have also
been known to throw in elements of Latin and Ancient Greek to spice up my
prose, safe in the knowledge that I will not be mistaken for one of the swarthy
native speakers of those long-dead languages.
[5]
See above footnote.
[6]
Can I just take a moment to pre-empt the accusations of ungratefulness which
will likely emanate from a certain residence in Ormiston Grove. Firstly, I was
a minor, and so unable to legally drive myself anywhere, nor obtain a lucrative
enough job to afford hardback first editions of the interminable Dune
series. Regarding the forge, I would like to point out that Game of Thrones,
the far from optimistically-titled televised adaptations of George RR Martin’s A
Song of Ice and Fire, started filming in Northern Ireland a mere 9 years
after the release of Jackson’s first film. Perhaps with a little more foresight
and faith in their son, a certain couple would have what is essentially a money
factory in the prefabricated room which juts out into their garden, rather than
some mass market wicker furniture.
[7]
You know who I’m talking about
[8] I
feel obliged to point out that the house shouldn’t really be jointly considered
“theirs” as my dad has contributed a good 70% of the equity, but the English
languages does not currently have an appropriate possessive adjective for those
circumstances.
[9]
I’m still waiting to hear back from the Ministry of Justice, and have my
suspicions that my dossier has not been passed through the correct channels. If
anyone knows the direct e-mail, or better still home address, of the Justice
Secretary please get in touch through the blog.
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