I had to join Farcebook again. An old school friend keeps sending Christmas cards and I can't send them back because the dipshit never includes a return address. He mentioned Farcebook, I looked him up and found him - and he's a bloody Marxist now! He was a hang 'em and flog 'em type at school to the extent that the Tory furthest to the right would have said 'Now hang on a minute'.
Well, I thought, I could hardly introduce him to my current Farcebook persona. He'd send the Red Army round to my house. So I have another one, designed to sell my books to commies. They won't like the Brown Gorgon's poem in 'Fears' but they'll appreciate the Coagulation one in 'Dark Thoughts'.
I am shocked and dismayed to find an old school friend has fallen into the deepest trench of Socialism but well, a good capitalist never lets an opportunity slide. I'll be a capitalist one day, if I ever have the money. It's not likely to be soon. Anyway, the books are politics neutral so far and when Panoptica is finished, the far-left and far-right (same thing really) will either read it as something to be aspired to or they'll wake up. As long as they buy it.
There was another of our group who joined the BNP for a while. Again it was odd because he has no racism in him at all, no beef with immigrants in the slightest. At school, we'd have pegged him as the future socialist. People are strange.
A third is into mediaeval battle re-enactments. I last heard of him years ago when he said he had given up smoking. His Farcebook pictures show that he is now bald. I am not. Therefore stopping smoking will make your hair fall out. Hey, it's as scientific as anything the antismokers have ever come out with. At least I have a verifiable sample.
We were a small and scruffy group, the dirtbags that even geeks avoided. We played wargames in one guy's room because he had a long, narrow room with the wargame board along one wall. It was a tray, about fifteen feet long and filled with seven hundredweight of dirt for shaping the day's battle. The 'pieces' were 1/72 scale Airfix models and they had to be right. Not just thrown together. We had the book of rules, played that way for about ten minutes then said 'sod it' and got the airguns out. Eventually we just filled the models with cut-off match heads as we built them. I didn't smoke then but the stuff we inhaled must have killed us all by now.
Oddly enough, the only one who is dead was the non-smoking non-boozer (we were barley wine afficionados in the days before it was weakened) who played for a professional football team and was never involved in our chemical escapades. He wasn't there when the Strepsils tin filled with weedkiller-explosive went up. He wasn't there when we had to keep hosing down the shed because our bonfire became somewhat overlarge. He did not partake of the apple wine that had aged so wonderfully strongly.
All the rest of us are alive and well. The ex-smoking swordsman, the Commie, the Hulk and me.
Funny old world.