Kalix. Fluch der Werwölfe

This is the cover for the German edition of Curse of the Wolf Girl, to be published by Fischer in September.

I put the title - Kalix. Fluch der Werwölfe - into Google translator quite enthusiastically, hoping it might translate as Kalix fucks the werewolf. Which would have been a brave choice of title by the publisher. But it turns out that fluch means curse. That does make more sense really.

Summer appears to have arrived. I have celebrated the sunny weather by having several clumsy household accidents, then sitting in front of my Playstation in a gloomy state of mind, wondering why I'm so clumsy. Some genetic condition, perhaps? Well, I suppose there are worse things than being clumsy.

The Handsome Young Millar

I don't have many pictures of myself when I was younger. No one in my family took photos, and later, when I left home, I didn't own a camera either.

I regret this. I wish I had a picture of me as a long-haired schoolboy in Glasgow, on my way to see Led Zeppelin. And I'd like a picture of myself with red spiky hair, walking along King's Road in London in 1977, but I don't have that either.

I did just find this picture from a year or two later. I think I'm 22 or 23 in it, though I maybe look a bit younger. And quite a nice-looking young chap, though I say it myself.



For some reason, the main thing I think, looking at this picture, is how extremely shy I was. I spent long periods on my own, probably wondering how people got girlfriends. I don't really remember that period of my life as being much fun, really.

But life did become a lot better later. By the time I was older, wrinkled, broken by life's strain and so on, I was at least much more confident. And confidence is the main thing really, so I have learned.

Some Gloom

I was quite surprised at the strength of my reaction to the General Election. Though the young Millar was, of course, an enthusiastic radical, ready to demonstrate with a placard at a moment's notice, and maybe even storm a barricade - OK I never stormed a barricade - you do get more apathetic as the years go by.

It becomes increasingly appealing to just to lie on the couch, warm and comfy, watching TV or just staring into space, rather than actually worry about politics. I do a lot of staring into space these days. And TV watching. (I did manage to rouse myself to go out and vote.)

But despite my greatly diminished appetite for politics, current affairs, and anything which actually requires thinking, I was moved to outrage when the Liberal Democrats agreed a pact, giving us a Conservative government. It's such a grim prospect. Surely no one who lived through the long years of Margaret Thatcher could ever welcome these people into power again? Urghhhh. I despair.

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.

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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.