Neanderthal and Proud

I was pleased to read that in most humans, up to 4% of our DNA is Neanderthal. A comparison of the genomes of humans and Neanderthals reveals that most people living outside Africa can trace up to 4% of their DNA to a Neanderthal origin, a consequence of interbreeding between Neanderthals and Homo Sapiens after humans left Africa.

(I'm taking this from this article in The Guardian)

Modern humans and Neanderthals shared a common ancestor but parted company in the evolutionary line some 350,000 years ago. But as a result of subsequent interbreeding, around 60,000 years ago in the Middle East, between 1% and 4% of the DNA in modern Europeans and Asians was inherited from Neanderthals.

I like this. I have sometimes felt sorry for the Neanderthals. They were intelligent. They used tools, and their brains were as large as those of Homo Sapiens. And they made it through millions of years of evolution all the way to only 30,000 years ago, before dying out.

It can't have been much fun, knowing that your species was dying out, and watching it happen, while Homo Sapiens took over. I had a sad image of the last Neanderthal left, feeling very lonely, unable even to find another Neanderthal to talk to.

But this news makes it not so bad. If there was some interbreeding, the last Neanderthal might well have got himself a nice Homo Sapien girlfriend, and passed on his genes. So it wasn't all tragic loss.

Yes, I can definitely feel some Neanderthal inside me.

Neanderthals were shorter than modern humans, with strong cranial features. They were powerful, robust and suited to cold climates. A study suggests some Neanderthals may have had red hair and pale skin.

Well, that sounds like the Scots, actually. I wonder if Neanderthals had also had strong accents and drank too much? Maybe I'm more than 4% Neanderthal. I feel this might explain some things.

Still Here

I have survived, for the moment, the great volcanic crisis. But I'm sort of expecting it to erupt again, and don't feel entirely safe yet. It's another thing to worry about.  I know one day I'll be digging myself out with a shovel.

I suppose the massive destruction and loss of human life would all be worth it if I were to find that it was up to me to re-populate the planet with Scarlett Johansson, the only other survivor. Though I suppose the chances of that happening are quite remote, really.

Ho hum. After Lost in Translation, I am always going to be a little disappointed in life. I know I'm never going to meet Scarlett Johansson in a hotel in Tokyo. She will never rest her head on my shoulder while wearing that really great pink wig. In this rather dingy area of South London, I'm just not going to bump into her. So that will always be a lingering regret.

Back in the real world, I've been trying to format some writing in .epub, a modern ebook format. Having downloaded the necessary software, I've found it not to be as easy to use as I hoped. These things never are. I've surprised myself over the past decade by learning stuff like HTML and CSS and Photoshop and desktop publishing and whatever else I need to get by these days, but I often find it something of a struggle.

There is one football fan forum I visit, where, in the off-topic section, fans sometimes ask for help with computer problems. Unfortunately, the answers from other football fans inevitably include the suggestion 'Try wiping your cock across the screen.' Which, I must admit, did make me laugh the first time I read it. But I don't think this will ever really be that helpful.

Buried Under Volcanic Ash

I write this blog to say farewell to my readers, before London is buried under a giant cloud of volcanic ash. This, I imagine, is only a matter of time. With the volcano in Iceland still spewing debris into the air, and the enormous cloud heading our way, I have abandoned all hope of survival.

Future generations may dig me out one day, a relic of the past. I hope when the time comes, and the great cloud engulfs me, that I'm not doing anything humiliating. If I'm going to be dug up in the future and displayed as a museum exhibit, I don't want to be captured for eternity in the toilet. I'd like to be engaged in something more dignified. Reading maybe, or playing my playstation. That would be OK. Or a lover's embrace, perhaps. That wouldn't be such a bad way to go.

So, farewell. I will attempt to go out with dignity, like Pliny the Elder who died heroically, attempting to rescue people stranded at Herculaneum by the eruption of Mount Vesuvius which buried Pompeii. I didn't expect to end my days at the hands of an Icelandic volcano, but you can never really predict the future. Damn these Icelanders and their volcanos.

T-Rex

Last week I did an telephone interview with a Scottish newspaper, the Daily Record, which went well.

I used to deliver newspapers, including the Daily Record, in the morning, when I was at school in Scotland. That was OK, as far as I remember. I didn't mind delivering papers. Possibly there were a few harsh words bandied about when I encountered the milk boys - uncivilised louts, mostly - but nothing too serious.

It does feel like a very long time ago, however. Thinking about my paper round left me feeling old. Gloomy about this, I decided to cheer myself up by immediately buying a T-Rex t-shirt from eBay. And I felt very pleased with this garment, before reflecting that really, you'd have to be quite old to actually buy a T-Rex t-shirt. Hmm. Still, I like my new t-shirt. I put it on then watched some videos of T-Rex on youtube. I have always been a big fan of the band, and Marc Bolan surely remains unsurpassed as the prettiest male pop star in history.

Some Book News

Soft Skull's re-issue of Dreams of Sex and Stage Diving is now available in the USA. As always, the publisher has produced a nice edition with a good cover. Soft Skull have really done a good job publishing my books in America.

This edition will be available in Britain a little later - August, according to amazon.co.uk

Curse of the Wolf Girl will be published in Germany in September this year, and in Italy in November. I'm not yet certain of the date for Greece.

--

I'm currently playing Prince of Persia on my new PS3. This is rather different from the Prince of Persia PS2 games, but still very good. The Ratchet and Clank PS3 games were great as well. (I should thank the friend who introduced me to both these series of games.) If only these games companies can keep putting out such fine products, I may never have to write, think, socialise, or even leave the house ever again. I quite like the sound of this.

Manholes of Venus

Talking about adverts in old Marvel comics in my last blog reminded me of their early 80s adverts for Atari games and consoles. I specifically remember one advert where some kid had a really uncool game system, and everyone mocked him for it.

A little internet investigation locates the advert in question -



Isn't this a tragic tale? Particularly poignant is the cruel way the girl with the blond pony tale rejects Maxy. No doubt Maxy organised the whole games night merely as an excuse to invite her over. But when she finds out he only has inferior games, she storms out, crushing him with the cutting phrase 'Later baby.'

Young Maxy would undoubtedly be devastated. Later in life he'd need therapy for his romantic failures. Even then he'd never really be comfortable around girls.

The blond haired girl does appear again in the last panel. But by then it's obvious she only likes Maxy for his games. You can tell from her body language that's she's not really interested in him. Probably by this time she's secretly dating the lead guitarist in the local speed-metal band.

What really sticks in my mind about this advert is not just the way Maxy is spurned by the woman he loves, it's that the game he's mocked for owning is called 'Manholes of Venus.' At the time, nothing struck me as odd about that name. But now I think about it, it's a very strange title for a kids game. Manholes of Venus? Did whoever wrote the advert realise the various interpretations you could put on that phrase? It sounds like something written by Petronius for the Emperor Nero, detailing events at their latest orgy. I really want to play Manholes of Venus.

At the time, at the start of the 80s, an Atari games console would have seemed to me like an unobtainable luxury item. I never knew anyone who owned one. But I recently bought myself a PS3. Ha. Take that, writing career.

Dunking

I've noticed Oreos in the supermarket recently. As far as I know, Oreos only arrived in Britain fairly recently. They didn't used to sell them here. However, I was aware of them before that, because they were often advertised in the American Marvel comics I read when I was young.

I examined at the packet in the supermarket, and wondered about buying them, but was put off because they contain artificial flavours. I'm picky about artificial ingredients (Mostly for no good reason. I have many pointless food phobias.)

But while Oreos might be a fine product, they are associated with behaviour which strikes me as very strange. Their adverts say you should dunk them in milk. I've always regarded this as odd behaviour. Deviant in fact. The notion of dunking a biscuit - or cookie - in a glass of milk makes me vaguely ill. What's the point of dunking a nice biscuit in a glass of cold milk? Ew. You need tea to dunk cookies in. The drink needs to be hot, to be absorbed properly. It should be tea. (Possibly coffee, although I would regard that as letting standards slip a little)

There's no getting round it. Dunking anything in a glass of milk is just weird. But I'm quite suspicious of milk, generally, so perhaps I'm biased here.

Here is the cover for the American edition of Curse of the Wolf Girl, which is due to be published in August.

Pretty Shoes

An email arrives from Amazon, advertising shoes. I'm puzzled. I have bought books and games from amazon. But I wasn't expecting them to start sending me adverts for shoes.

I look at the shoes. I don't like them that much. But are mens' shoes ever that nice, really? I never know what would make for a nice pair of mens' shoes.

Browsing some newspaper sites - possibly with shoes on my mind - I noticed this gallery of shoes in The Times, as pictured here. There are a lot of nice shoes here.

As I may have mentioned before, I am useless at describing things like shoes. If shoes appear in any of my books, there's generally very little description. I couldn't accurately describe any of the shoes shown here. I'd need pictures. But I understand it's generally frowned on to put pictures in your novels, for things you can't describe very well.

(Can anyone describe shoes? I'd be interested if anyone could write a good description of any of these shoes)

It must be quite difficult to walk in these high heels. I'd be hopeless at it. I'm clumsy at the best of times. In high heels, I'd break my ankle before I got out the front door.

I don't suppose as many women are as obsessed with shoes as people pretend. But I have met some who are. I sympathise. I generally sympathise with peoples' obsessions, whether it's high heels or model train sets. Go with your obsessions, I say.

In Lonely Werewolf Girl, Thrix and Malveria are obsessed with shoes and fashion. But they don't suffer for it. They're not made to pay any sort of price for their obsession.

The new edition of Lonely Werewolf Girl from Piatkus has now been published in Britain. Also, the publisher sent me cover art from Curse of the Wolf Girl, which I like. I thought that was due to be published in September or October, but I notice it's listed for August on Amazon, in Britain and the USA.