Forget Mexican drug cartels - how Homeland Security is protecting us against Canadian sheep

Down in the south, there's a war going on. The border between Mexico and the United States has become a battleground, as illegal immigrants and drug cartels cross into American territory with impunity; bringing with them crime, violence and misery.

This is what the Mexico/US border looks like

But don't expect Homeland Security to do anything about it. They have bigger fish to fry; as I discovered this week.

Epic jacket was epic

Following the demise of my ankle-length leather duster (bought for the princely sum of $69 dollars from the Burlington Coat Factory)  I ordered a replacement winter coat from Canada - an RAF greatcoat modeled after the one worn by Captain Jack Harkness, on Torchwood.

.38 Webley sold separately

Today was the day it was meant to arrive in the post - but no such luck. Instead I received a report that my jacket was "detained at customs" because agents were concerned it was manufactured from that most dangerous and illegal of all contraband - wool.

Now, admittedly, I have a bad track record with border security (I've been detained, deported, have goods lost, stolen, broken and confiscated) but of all the flimsy excuses I'd ever heard for stopping a shipment, the chance that it contained wool must rank amongst the most ridiculous.

Is this America's greatest enemy?

I mean, is there some great woolen conspiracy I'm unaware of? Are American wool manufacturers finding themselves swamped by cheap wool from Canadian sweat(er)-shops? Have enterprising French-Canadian drug barons figured out a way to lace cardigans and jumpers with cocaine to sneak across the border into Vermont?

I couldn't tell you - but I can tell you that I'm narked.

I mean, the United States is essentially in a de facto state of war along the Mexican border and Homeland Security is concerning themselves with my coat? Because it's made out of wool?

I mean, I don't claim to be an expert, but I'm pretty sure thousands of sheep in Vermont trot gaily too and fro across thousands of miles of undefended Canadian border each and every day - and none of them get stopped and frisked by men with guns (or maybe they do. Perhaps those are considered Black sheep Ops.)

Anyway. As a result I have to wait an extra week for my beautiful new coat; and hundreds of criminals down south will be able to use my sartorial distraction to continue smuggling drugs and people into America with impunity.

Way to go, American border control! Another victory to your name!

Torchwood Returns!

Russell T. Davies - the complex genius who breathed new life into the Doctor Who franchise - is both a hero and a nemesis of mine. It's hard to ignore the fact that he created a visionary new imagining of one of my most beloved TV shows - but it's also hard to ignore the fact that he took that triumph and thoroughly smooshed it into the ground with spin-off monstrosity Torchwood.

Torchwood: Where plot and characterization fail to collide

Yet despite the cruel words I've had to say about Torchwood, I was insanely excited to hear star John Barrowman tweet that the ill-fated alien detection agency was returning for a forth season. Almost immediately, I've got high hopes about the return - after all, all the annoying characters have been killed off and I'm enough of a Barrowman aficionado to watch it purely for him.

However, I can't help thinking it also has the intense capacity to suck.

And that's the great contradiction with Russell T. Davies - everything he creates winds up in the annals of awesomeness or the slimepits of suck and there's never any 'middle ground.'

In that respect, he strongly reminds me of another science fiction legend - the great Joss Whedon. Whedon is the man behind Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Firefly (and used to live in my home city of Winchester, no less.) Both are chubby, poorly dressed and have the ill-fated capacity to bring brilliance or banality to whatever enterprise they touch.

Case in point, in Joss Whedon's example, is Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Simply the most sublime TV show ever, Whedon perfectly balanced comedy, horror and action for seven seasons, before finally wrapping the series up in a climax that saw the town of Sunnydale literally consumed by the Earth (explaining why California business insurance is so high - even with all the earthquakes!)

That triumph mirrors Russell T. Davies, who brought Doctor Who back from relative obscurity and created a brand new formula that made a forty-year-old TV show more relevant than it had ever been.

But while they both hit home runs, they also struck out with the follow-ups.

For Joss Whedon, that follow-up was Angel - which followed the adventures of Buffy's former paramour Angelus, as he tried to make a living solving mysteries in Los Angeles. Originally, I blamed the show's failure on star David Boreanz - but after watching him excel in the current TV series Bones I realize that the shortfall was firmly in the hands of Whedon.

Meanwhile, increasing the business insurance rate of everybody who lives in Cardiff, Russell T. Davies mirrored Whedon's exploits with Torchwood - a spin-off show that followed the adventures of what was arguably his greatest creation: Captain Jack Harkness.

But despite being arguably unsinkable (Captain Jack, played by John Barrowman, is so charismatic even I'd question my heterosexuality around him) Torchwood was a convoluted mess that spent far too much time pontificating about Davies' political opinions (Welsh devolution, gay marriage) than preventing alien invasions.

It's finally time for residents of Cardiff to check their insurance information and prepare for another alien invasion now that a new series is being commissioned.

And for us beleaguered sci-fi fans, we're left wondering whether Russell T. Davies will decide to emulate Whedon's best with this new series - the simply astounding Firefly - or the worst - the nonsensical mess that was Dollhouse.

Whatever the result, it's worthwhile acknowledging that Whedon is no less than two sci-fi series ahead of Davies - yet has ultimately failed to hit commercial gold.

Doctor Who: Not Gay Enough?

This weekend, the BBC announced the new face of their flagship sci-fi show, Doctor Who.

Replacing the wildly popular David Tennant in the role of television's best loved time-traveler will be twenty-six year old unknown Matt Smith.



Matt Smith, best known for... erm... nothing in particular, was handpicked by producer Steven Moffat, who's taking over production duties from Russell T. Davies.

"As soon as Matt walked through the door," Moffat boasted, "I shouted: 'That's our Hitler!' The floppy hair, skinny frame and androgynous features made him an ideal choice for the role."

In previous years, the role of Doctor Who has been handpicked by Russell T. Davies, who stuck to a single, unbreakable rule in casting: "Nobody gets the role unless I want to shag them silly."

From Sore Thumbs

"As soon as I saw Matt Smith," Moffat explained, "I knew that Russell T. Davies would have fancied him. That pretty much sealed the deal for me."

In addition to being lust-worthy of Queer as Folk producer Russel T. Davies, rumors have spread that Matt Smith has even been known to act, on occasion. He appeared in the BBC drama 'Party Animals' and has apparently stared opposite Doctor Who alumni Billie Piper before (possibly as a bee in her '98 music video 'Honey 2 the B.')

Moffat further explained his casting choice to us:

"Russell T. Davies is a great man. In addition to reinventing Doctor Who as one of the most entertaining and critically acclaimed sci-fi series ever, he also managed to make it quite astonishingly gay."

Almost as gay as his previous TV series, Queer as Folk, but, of course, not nearly as gay as Doctor Who spinoff, Torchwood.

"With Russell going," Moffat lamented, "Doctor Who is going to lose an awful lot of it's inherent gayness. That's why we needed a lad like Matt Smith to take the lead role. To compensate for losing Russell, we need to make season five of Doctor Who just as incredibly, unapologetically gay as humanly possible."

"Therefore, we going to ramp up everything to whole new, previously unheard of levels of gayness. You think the same-sex kissing shoehorned into every episode was gay? Just wait until you see Matt Smith totter onto the screen in a pair of stilettos and wrestle the leader of the Cybermen into submission!"

[Editorial Bear: Apparently that episode idea has already been scratched as 'not gay enough.']

"We have a great legacy of gayness to continue," Moffat concluded, "and with Matt leading the way, I've no doubt that we'll succeed."

Season Five of Doctor Who, starring the utterly inconsequential, wet-blanket Matt Smith, will air on the BBC in 2010.

BONUS MATERIAL: Just to allay fears that the new season of Doctor Who will not be gay enough, here is the new star, Matt Smith, in pearls, earings and a frilly white nightie. Apparently this was from a play called That Face.

The Captain Jack Harkness Principle

We British and American men are a homophobic lot.

While girls merrily go about smooching and snogging each other in clubs, bars and prime-time television shows, we men are rigid about our sexuality because, well, ick.

Two girls making out with each other is hot and doesn't make either of them gay or bisexual.

Straight girls smooching in a bar. Following the smoking ban, the only reason to go out any more.

In fact ginger goddess Linsday Lohan, who has spent the last few months dating English singer-songwriter Samantha Ronson, definitely declared she wasn't a lesbian when the relationship came to light. In fact, when pressed if she was, at the very least, bisexual, Lohan only reluctantly admitted "Um... Maybe."

But for guys, the rules are different. For most Brits and Americans, bisexual = gay. Metrosexual = gay. Owning a Madonna CD, driving a Miata, watching HGTV (unless you're married) or even admitting to one of your male friends that they scrub up nice = gay.

In fact, the only way to avoid accusations of latent homosexuality is to practice borderline misogyny, spurn female companionship, advocate angry homophobia and spend your entire time hanging out with your (male) pals (during which time, ass-slapping and hugging is acceptable and encouraged.)

Fortunately, one man has arrived from the future to save us men from ourselves: Captain Jack Harkness.

The dashing time-travelling secret agent, made famous on Doctor Who before he was given his own prime-time BBC show Torchwood, runs by a very basic principle: If it can consent, you can have sex with it.

That's why actor John Barrowman is on screen flirting with robots, alien trees and men, women and anything in between. And both men and women love him for it.

Captain Jack is tall, gorgeous, charming and dresses in 1940's style RAF clothes. Women want him. Men want to be him. And some of them want him as well. In fact, despite America and Britain's rampant fear of gay-ish men, there seems to be this carte blanche when it comes to Captain Jack.

Captain Jack Harkness staddling 'the big one.' Not in any way gay at all. Nope. No sir.

You can quite happily admit that, yes, John Barrowman is a damn good looking guy without a crowd of angry lager louts them accusing you of being a 'pillow biter' afterwards - largely because they feel the same way about the handsome Captain Jack.

As far as Mr Harkness is concerned, any concept of sexuality - gay, straight or in between - is outdated and just plain 'quaint.'

Ask Militant Ginger

After the success of the last one, it's time for another session of Ask Militant Ginger.

These are genuine questions entered into search engines that have driven people to my blog:

How do you plot out a mystery novel?

An intriguing question! As you know, I'm an obsessive fan of 'plot plans' and planning out stories and novels chapter by chapter before beginning to write them. It's the only way to prevent 'writing yourself into a corner,' which is the Number 1 reason for writer's block.

A mystery novel is one of the harder types of story to write - it has to keep the reader guessing throughout and the payoff at the end has to be both unexpected, but entirely logical.

Acclaimed mystery novelist Ron Lovell has written extensively on this subject and you can find his musings here. The best bit of advice he gives is this: "Be fair with readers—lead them to the solution of the crime methodically, planting clues, and don’t bring someone out of nowhere that the reader does not know or care about."

After all, a mystery novel is just a wordier form of Sudoku. Half of the fun is trying to guess the ending.

In regards to that, therefore, it's important to not just have a crime and a criminal - the author has to create many and varied clues, red herrings, motives and suspects to keep the reader on a merry-go-round right until the final page.

The mystery novel is one of the most challenging and rewarding writing experiences to embark upon. Good luck!

Why can't we get peanuts on the plane?

By far and away, my most-read posting was "Why People with Peanut Allergies Annoy Me,' which was a tongue-in-cheek article about how frustrating it was that the dramatic increase in peanut allergies has caused some airlines to dump the traditional 'in-flight' peanuts and replace them with dreary pretzels.

The reason for this unfortunate move is that even the slightest residue of peanut dust or oil can trigger a possibly fatal reaction in some people. In the enclosed space of an airplane, with constantly recycled air and the lengthy amount of time between stops, a simple bag of peanuts might be a death sentence to some passengers.

Whether that's Darwinism at work or not is subject matter for another post.

Oi! Shut up, Ginger!

I'm not quite sure why that chain of words pointed towards this blog (hopefully it wasn't a suggestion.) However, this common cry in England is something that I've blogged about many times. Try this post if you're curious.

British people hate gingers, for some absurd reason. Add to that an institutionalised complicity in abuse levelled at redhead people and you've got a country that's miserable to grow up ginger in. I've thought about this subject a lot (I was even interviewed on a BBC documentary about it.)

But without my anger at the way I was sometimes treated in the UK, I'd never have got worked up enough to appear on television or even start the Militant Ginger blog. So Nietzsche was right all along!

Is Lily Allen a Mockney?

I love British songbird Lily Allen. Her perky, funny, cynical music is a real breath of fresh air in an increasingly processed and bland industry.

She's a mouthy little bint, though. Failing to mince words, she's attacked Bob Geldof, calling him a sanctimonious prat - and suggested that everybody who bought debutante/amateur porn star Paris Hilton's first album should be rounded up and 'killed off.'

And she's said it all in the most curious 'Lahhhnnndan' (i.e. London) accent.

Is she a fraud?

Well, the answer is YES. Talented she may be, but the working class pretensions are entirely fake. Raised from a showbiz family (she's the daughter of Keith Allen) she was a student at Bedales (where my brother and I went) which is about as far removed from a rough upbringing on London's dirty streets as it's possible to get.

What is Thoughtcat?

That's an excellent question!

Thoughtcat's creator, Richard Cooper, describes it as "a bit more than a blog, yet not quite a magazine."

What that translates to is an arty little corner of the web dedicated to some true literary gems. Top of this list is the work of notorious writer Stephen Miles, whose adventures in competitive writing - recounted in 'All my Own Work' - make for thrilling reading.

Thoughtcat 'published' Mile's hilarious and poignant book through Lulu - so while Richard Cooper might not know quite how to categorise the company, I'd pin it as a daring and innovative publisher on the forefront of the Print on Demand revolution.

Check out their site - and Stephen Mile's book, here.

Do ginger people smell?

What an offensive question!

If anything, I smell slightly of Hugo Boss cologne and Lynx deodorant. But in general, I don't think I smell any different to anybody else!

However, there are claims that 'ginger' people (as in redheads) have a slightly different 'body odor' smell to them than other people. Slightly more 'metallic' is one way it's been described.

Whether there's any truth to that, I couldn't like to speculate.

It's worth pointing out that Japanese people claim westerners smell like 'sour milk' because of our high dairy diets. If there is any difference in 'smell,' it's almost certainly for a dietary reason than any kind of genetics.

Do pretzels contain nuts?

Considering most airlines have replaced peanuts with pretzels, we can only hope they don't - otherwise the problem they're trying to solve (peanut allergies) will still plague them.

According to my sources, the delicious salty pretzel, a southern German treat dating back to the twelfth century, is actually made from nothing more potent than wheat flour and yeast. The dough is twisted into the distinctive 'pretzel' shape and then dipped in sodium hydroxide or sodium carbonate (plus a sprinkling of course ground salt) prior to baking.

A very low fat, low calorie snack, pretzels can either be cooked as fluffy, doughy 'bread' (which is often eaten with spicy German mustard) or as tiny, hard snacks about the same size as crisps or potato chips.

While the factories in which they're made might also produce peanut snacks (cross contamination is always a risk) it is generally safe to assume that pretzels contain no traces of nuts whatsoever and are perfectly safe to eat.

What are the Torchwood Headsets? What is Captain Jack's Bluetooth?

In brimming-with-potential-but-in-actuality-dire Doctor Who spinoff Torchwood, the dashing Captain Jack Harkness is famous for his billowing 1940's RAF greatcoat (as my brother described it - just a 'great coat') and his bluetooth headset, which is permanently attached to his right lughole.

According to my extensive research, the headset Captain Jack uses is actually hand built by the BBC prop department for the show. Other character, such as the deary Ianto, use a Jabra BT250v or similar brand.

What are the New Jersey Department of Motor Vehicle rules on traffic circles?

Despite the fact that they're gaily building more and more of them across the great state of New Jersey, when it comes to the rules regarding traffic circles (what we Brits call roundabouts) they're wonderfully vague.

I quote:

New Jersey Motor Vehicle Commission, Driver Manual, Chapter 4, Page 38: There are not [sic] set rules for driving into, around and out of a traffic circle in New Jersey.

So there you have it. Enter at your own peril.

Fin

And finally, because while we all hate Torchwood, we LOVE Captain Jack, here is a gratuitous photograph of John Barrowman as 'Cap'n Jack' at the Plass Roald Dahl in Cardiff.

For the record - so I don't need to mention it in the next edition of Ask Militant Ginger - the car in the background is a modified Range Rover (not a Land Rover or Freelander as many people have suggested) and the revolver Jack's holding is a World War 2 era Webley.

See you next time!

Torchwood Sucks America

My sister in law has a different cable company than we do, so she receives the wonders of BBC America.

BBC America is the BBC's own television channel in the states, which shows all of Britain's finest TV shows (Top Gear, Doctor Who, Torchwood and... erm... Cash in the Attic.) They're paid for by advertising, so your favourite shows get interrupted every ten minutes for commercials for car insurance and overpriced mineral water.

But you still get them! And that's the main point.

This evening, while babysitting nephew Jared, I got my Doctor Who fix with two back-to-back episodes, followed by two episodes of the Who-spinoff Torchwood, staring everybody's favourite omnisexual time traveller, Captain Jack Harkness.

Watching Torchwood again was quite fun - and I was impressed by the production quality and the (over)acting of John Barrowman as Captain Jack. His gloomy performance in Torchwood has been somewhat explained during his brief return to Doctor Who - so I don't mind so much that he's not up to his charming par.

But in all other respects, watching Torchwood again reminded me of how terrible it is.

It's appalling, it truly is. A real wasted opportunity sustained purely by John Barrowman. And here are the reasons why:

1. The cast are truly terrible. If 'Torchwood' is meant to be this top secret, elite government organisation, why are the 'top' agents all absolutely incompetent, totally unprofessional and so horrifically, over-the-top WELSH. This is the 21st century, people! Don't you think the Torchwood recruiters might have slung their nets slightly wider than Cardiff Bay?
2. The writing is awful. Russell T. Davies might produce gold when he's behind the helm of Doctor Who, but Torchwood is a series of hackneyed sci-fi cliches and recycled movie plots, interspersed by utterly unbelievable romantic and sexual melodrama. And if that wasn't bad enough, Russell T. Davies commits the most heinous of writing crimes... His characters - badly written, incompetent and unlikeable as they are - act without rhyme or reason.

And that's what gets my goat.

Two dimensional as they are, the characters should at least remain true to what brief character attributes Russell T. Davies has deigned to give them. But they don't.

Their actions are cynical and mechanical, servicing the increasingly unlikely plots or injecting totally unbelievable drama by their illogical adventures. They make no sense.

It's lazy, it's dreary and it spoils what has the potential to be an exceptional British sci-fi classic.

The next season of Torchwood is hotly anticipated. Hopefully Russell T. Davies will look more closely at the big picture and make some investments in characterisation - instead of steamrollering us with his pro-Wales and pro-gay agenda.

Torchwood is entertainment, not a party political broadcast. Keep it that way, Russell, and your message will still get across - just like it has with Doctor Who.

What am I writing for Nanowrimo?

Well, it's only a few days away, so I decided I'd better bite the bullet and actually decide what I was going to write this year.

It wasn't very easy. To be honest, my mind has kind of ground to a halt when it comes to creative ideas. Even my blog post yesterday was fairly pathetic - I only published it when I eventually decided all the research into the best seller list was worth showing off (and mentioning all those best sellers might earn me a few extra visitors.)

But part of the Nanowrimo ethic is to concentrate on actually sitting down, shutting up and WRITING rather than flouncing about, wondering what to write.

It's DOING instead of talking about it. The very act of writing, with discipline, is the first step towards possibly becoming a novelist.

So I have decided to 'do it.'

Now my decision this year was to write something totally unrelated to Adventure Eddy. That's pretty much all I write about in my spare time and it's time to give the exhausted 'redheaded rogue' a well deserved breather.

For the month of November, Eddy has taken his rusty old Pontiac Firebird to a delightful hotel I know in Devil's Bridge (that's in Wales) where he will spend four weeks drinking draught Premier, eating steak dinners with onion rings and trudging through the Welsh woodlands. It will be damp and cold and character forming, so good for him.

And occupying the vacant space inside my imagination?

Out of the list of story ideas I outlined last time, the lucky winner is to be The God Squad.

The God Squad.

I have given much thought to what makes a book successful. One of the attractions has to be controversy. Take the Di Vinci Code. A fairly run-of-the-mill thriller became one of the greatest selling books of all time because it flirted with religious controversy.

That idea, plus the fact that the characters were already fully formed inside my head, inspired me to pursue The God Squad as a project. It's not particularly religiously controversial - but it's plot is involved with religion, how it's perceived and one possible way religion and reality coexist.

Plus it's got vampires and monsters in it. Religion+Vampires+Monsters = Bestseller.

The God Squad is Buffy the Vampire Slayer meets the Di Vinci Code.

The Premise

Have you watched Torchwood? It's the BBC series about a team of incompetent Welsh people who secretly combat alien threats to Earth's security. It's a spin off of Doctor Who and is largely only viewable thanks to that lovely John Barrowman - a guy even the most homophobic and repressed rugger-bugger will admit is 'a bit of all right.... for a bloke.'

Torchwood is terrible, but it's premise is interesting. That's why The God Squad, when we're not marketing it as Buffy the Vampire Slayer meets the Di Vinci Code™ is going to be marketed as The Real Torchwood™.

Aliens bore me. I'm much more interested in monsters, ghosts, myths and legends. Therefore, my 'real Torchwood' consists of a Vatican sponsored team of monster exterminators.

A team of heavily armed, ruthlessly trained priests who are sponsored by the Vatican, the Church of England and the British Government to destroy anything 'extra-Biblical' that's upsetting the status quo in England. There are similar teams across the world.

Extra-Biblical, you ask? Whassat, then?

I don't know if you've ever read this, but it's one of the bits I remember from all my brief theological studies back at Lampeter. Back in the old testament days, angels and man used to coexist on earth. They used to coexist so closely, in fact, that sometimes angels would 'lay' with humans and the resultant offspring would be Nephilim, half human, half angel creatures.

God was all big and shouty in those days, so he was outraged. Had Jesus been around, they might have resolved something peacefully, but instead God decided to wash the earth clean with a great flood. He told Noah to build an ark and then let it rain for forty days and forty nights.

After the Flood

Now I'm postulating here, but in my book's world, the resultant flood washed away not just the Nephilim, but also all the other mythical creatures that Noah didn't take samples of onto the ark. Unicorns, griffins, dragons, vampires, goblins, trolls... The whole lot.

The 'old' pagan monsters were washed away and the 'new' Christian world was born, repopulated by the non-heretical ancestors from Noah's Ark. That's where we learnt our understanding and tolerance of 'acceptable' animals (like dogs and cats and tigers and duck-billed platypi) and developed our fear and hatred of 'unacceptable' mythological creatures.

The thing is, floods aren't entirely effective at wiping things out. Some of the creatures survived. Dragons and griffins escaped to the mountains. Satyrs and unicorns found safety in caves. Even some of the Nephilim survived (their descendants would later became professional basketball players, I assume.)

The survival of these 'cryptozoological' animals explains why dragons, chimeras and werewolves have cropped up in the popular imagination for the last four millenia - and why we're scared and hateful of any animal not listed on Noah's passenger list.

Ever since the creation of the Catholic Church, cryptozoological animals have been ruthlessly hunted down and destroyed by top secret teams of exterminators. This has helped spread Christianity across the world (settlers to Africa, for example, exterminated the very real monsters that terrified the tribesmen.)

It sounds morally reprehensible (for example, what have unicorns done to deserve extermination?) but on the whole, it's not a bad thing. Cryptozoological animals are generally very fierce, very dangerous and, after surviving the great flood and millenia of persecution, very pissed off.

The Dream Team

Having established the world we live in, in which mythical creatures live in the shadows and threaten the safety of decent, God-fearing people, let me introduce The God Squad.

The God Squad is the modern day incarnation of the Vatican monster-hunters. Since the cryptozoological exterminators pre-date the existence of the Church of England and the British Government, the current 'God Squad' operates with complete autonomy on British soil, reporting only to the Vatican (although receiving advice and support from the Church of England) and enjoying Diplomatic Immunity via Vatican City.

The God Squad is a six man team, based in a large Victorian house in Victoria, London (actually overlooking Westminster Cathedral.) This house, which includes a chapel, laboratory, luxury sleeping quarters, a massive occult library, a shooting range, 'danger room' and garage complex, is known as The Sanctum.

It is maintained by Carruthers, a stuffy British butler.

This is the headquarters where the God Squad await the call to action, heading out across England to investigate (and eliminate) any reported supernatural activities.

The team itself consists of:

'Fitz' Fitzpatrick: Vatican Liaison. A charming, fast-talking Irish-American from New York City, Fitzpatrick is responsible for planning, organising and executing The God Squad's activities. He was born and raised in a Roman Catholic orphanage, so he's (in theory) a good Irish catholic. He's not a priest, though, and he was raised on the streets of New York City, so he's tough, cunning and streetwise (not to mention a little amoral) too.

Father Sam McCoy: Apothecary. A grizzled, middle-aged New Yorker, McCoy is the medic and healer of the group. He is a fully licensed doctor as well as a priest. A lifelong friend to Fitz, the younger American often looks up to McCoy as a father figure.

Father Huxley: Inquisitor #1. Not to be mistaken for Friar Tuck, Huxley is a monster of a man, as strong and muscular as he is fat and leering. A God fearing priest, Huxley is often driven by his rather lascivious nature and this has caused scandal after scandal for the Catholic Church. They were at their wits end - until they realised his firebrand persona could be directed towards the enemies of the Church. Huxley is dressed in an ankle length cassock, has a loud, booming voice and is best known for his great strength and use of his famous 'Crucifax' to smite the unGodly.

Father Mandrake: Inquistor #2. At a wiry seven feet tall, this former Masaai tribesman is a terrifying sight. Mandrake (he changed his name when he converted to Christianity) was a hunter, bushman and missionary in Africa for many years, until his unswerving accuracy with his .577 Holland & Holland rifle attracted the attention of the Vatican's 'monster hunters.' Mandrake's already imposing demeanour is make even more terrifying by his habit of carving scripture into his dark skin as 'penance' for dark thoughts he is tortured by, but never shares. A quiet, gentle man, he is utterly deadly with a kisu, rifle or his bare hands.

Rupert Hawkins: Librarian. A one time Oxford don, stuffy upper-class Hawkins was recruited by the Vatican for his encyclopedic knowledge of British history and mythology. He has memorised the Bestiarum Vocabulum, which is pretty much the officially recognized Vatican 'What's What' of monsters. A fund of knowledge, Hawkins is not a combat operative and is more likely to cower under a table, clutching an ancient book, then join the two Inquisitors battling evil. when push comes to shove, however, Hawkins can defend himself adequately with a WWII-era Webley revolver.

'Kitty' Katherine - Sororitas. Every monster hunting team has one female member, due to the fact that women and femininity are very powerful in the pagan world the Vatican is trying to exterminate. An icy cold, utterly composed Oxford scholar, Kitty is fairly fearsome. She's rail thin, pail and always conservatively dressed. While Hawkins concentrates on the monsters and mythology of Britain, Kitty is a walking encyclopedia for magical, occult and Wicca activities. She knows the Malleus Maleficarum like the back of her hand and can also perform many of the occult ceremonies and spells outlined in her books.

So that's the Team

There's our gang, all holed up in that big house in Victoria. They train and study and (in the case of the two 'Inquisitors') pray until the telephone rings and they're alerted to another supernatural conspiracy. Werewolves in Wolverhampton. Harpies in Hardwich. A blood drinking cult posing as Boy Scouts.

When the call comes in, they pile into The God Squad-mobile which is lovingly tended by Scruggs, the mechanic. This vehicle is called, for reasons that have faded into obscurity, Traveler.

A Rolls Royce Flying Spur, with custom coachwork (it's something between a hearse and an estate car) and an updated engine, reinforced chassis (including bull bars) and over sized tyres. It's the sort of thing that makes the Torchwood Range Rover look like a Dinky Toy.

Crammed into Traveler - aside from enough seats for the entire six-man gang - is a mobile laboratory, medical lab, a small reference library (which Kitty and Hawkins tailor for each mission) and, of course, a gun rack containing enough firepower to blow most supernatural entities back to the biblical days.

Highlights from the gun collection include Mandrake's Victorian-era Holland & Holland .577 Nitro Express rifle (utterly deadly, but elegant) and Father Huxley's Armsel Striker 12 gauge semi-automatic shotgun (basically a drum-fed Tommy Gun that fires shotgun shells instead of bullets.)

Throw in handguns and rifles for the less violent team members (all of whom are trained to shoot) and it's a pretty lethal team - plus Hawkins keeps specialised kit on hand to deal with werewolves (silver bullets) vampires (charcoal rounds) and whatever else might come their way.

What's the Story?

Now you've got the gist of what I've invented, forget it all.

Because like the clever opening of Torchwood, this story is not about Fitz or McCoy or any of the other God Squad members. They're just supporting characters.

The REAL main character is a hard working Doctor at Winchester Royal Infirmary. The scary old Victorian hospital is being closed down and she's in charge of a arranging the packing up.

This doctor (who is currently nameless) reluctantly becomes part of The God Squad team when she stumbles over what looks like a very dangerous, messy and most-certainly extra-Biblical conspiracy right in the heart of Hampshire's cathedral city.

Huh?

Since they're all deranged 'exterminators,' grizzled New Yorkers or snooty scholars, I didn't think any of The God Squad characters would make a good main character - so by recruiting a reluctant 'normal' to the squad, we-the-normal-public get to follow a character we can relate to and care about.

The Mary Sue - your eyes into their world.

It's the oldest trick in the book - think Gwen in Torchwood, Winston in Ghostbusters. Even Wesley in Star Trek: The Next Generation. The best one is probably Rose - just your normal, every day chav - in Doctor Who.

They are our doorway into these magical stories.

When you've got a host of exciting, unusual, powerful, dangerous characters, it's neither sensible or believable to try and tell the story from their perspective. That's why, for example, Buffy the Vampire Slayer is a regular girl who just happens to be a slayer (teenage America mutters: that could happen to me) while the interesting characters (like Spike) are centuries old vampires (nobody but Anne Rice believes that could happen to her.)

Hopefully this kind hearted, brave but tragically human doctor will be the key to helping my story come alive.

And last but not least...

Well, that's the background to the story. Notice I haven't even begun to outline plot... That's something I'm going to have to throw together before November 1st.

But it's certainly an interesting arena to play in. And if I can include plenty of gratuitous violence, some gore, some sex, some character conflict and lots of humour, maybe The God Squad could turn into something really exciting to write about.

Bluetooth Bollocks

If you're Torchwood's Captain Jack Harkness, you can get away with wearing a 'Bluetooth' headset all the time. He's a time-travelling, bi-sexual badass and needs to be able to answer incoming distress calls at the touch of a button - and talk with his hands free.

However, if you are not part of an elite government sponsored alien-killing strike team, yank that expensive blue tooth set out of your lughole THIS INSTANT.

They're ridiculous.

Yet more and more people are wearing them. Every day, in the office and the street, I see people strolling about with shiny Motorola earpieces sticking out of the side of their head. And what's worse? They use them!

Just today, I was standing in the elevator when the person next to me said: "Hey, how're doin'?"

"Erm, fine," I said, bemused. The guy gave me a look that could wilt flowers.

"Didya catch the game last night?" He continued talking, apparently to thin air. "Yeah, the Pats kicked their butts."

It was only then that I realised he was on a Bluetooth headset, hidden under his floppy mullet.

I hate them! People walking around have conversations to thin air. Nobody knows who they're talking to - or if they're talking to anybody. Hell, it used to just be the vagrants and drunks on the streets of New York who would rant nonsensically to invisible friends. Now everybody's doing it.

The worst, though, has to be when a 'Bluetoothed' colleague wanders up to your desk to ask you something.

"You got that copy for me yet?"

I open my mouth to speak and suddenly they hold up their hand. The international signal for: Shut the hell up.

"Oh, hey, George," the buggers will start ranting, "I thought it would go straight to voice mail."

Then they start having a conversation with thin air right in my lughole, looming over my desk like the grim shadow of death. And I, of course, have to wait until they've finished relaying the latest NFL scores before I can finish my conversation with them.

It drives me MAD. I'm sure the first Bluetooth related office execution is only a few months away. Please, Lord, give me a prescription for Xanax or something so it's not me who starts the trend. I could do quite a bit of damage with a staple gun if properly riled up.

So, for the sake of world peace and office safety, PLEASE, people! Loose the Bluetooth headsets!

Didn't anybody SEE the episode of Doctor Who in which the Cybermen took over the planet with Bluetooth headsets? All the people on earth suddenly got zapped into obedience by a 'Bluetooth update' sent by Trigger from Only Fools and Horses (who was, by the way, the least convincing bad guy EVER.)

They've got to go.

But until then, I'm going to sticky-tape a pencil sharpener to my ear and have a one-sided imaginary conversation with absolutely nobody, just so I fit in.