Going Postal

What wonder is this – Bank Holiday viewing that’s fun, original, beautifully put together and has us glued to the screen for two hours on two consecutive nights?

It can only be Mister Pratchett.

Last night, my son dozed off on my shoulder and I sat, my arm going to sleep, absolutely bloody riveted. If I have a complaint, it’s that there were too many sodding adverts, thank you Sky!

But! A flawlessly paced and solid narrative, a charismatic performance by Richard Coyle as Lipwig, ably supported by the stern schoolmistress sexiness (it’s a cheap shot but, hell, it works) of Miss Dearheart. We fell in love with Stanley and his pins – the moment of his perforation genius brought twitter tears to many, I think. Stanley is the geek in us all, we decided – and it’s pure comic insight that takes a single, recognisable quality and turns it into loveable character with which we can all empathise.


Charles Dance made a beautifully austere Vetinari – but all were utterly upstaged by the outrageous ‘Evil Genius’ overacting of David Suchet as Reacher. He was bad, he was glorious – and he was kind of hot (sorry, that might just be me)…

The thing at which Sir Terry has always excelled is taking modern clichés and referencing them in a Discworld context – so the three ‘x-files’ geeks who bust the code of the Clacks, the industrial regulations of the Golems, the media and corporate wars that made up a strong part of the story – and not forgetting ‘Extreme Pins’ magazine – all of these draw us in and bring the Discworld to vibrant life. We can identify with it, because it’s so close to our own experience.

Gorgeous set, snappy dialogue, perfect timing – and a wonderful cameo by the Man Himself at the end – what else is there to say?

One thing.

The final race sees the triumph of a book (more than one, if you include the ledger) over technology.

Perhaps Going Postal was making a point?

MonQee Business: An Hour with Terry Pratchett

A confession of Heresy: I’m not a Discworld fan.

Don’t get me wrong, The Colour of Magic put fantasy on the UK best-seller lists, gave the genre a massive kick up the credibility ladder… With much respect to the man who penned it, it just never floated my turtle.

Meeting him, though, has made me wonder if I still have a copy.

Funnier than his fiction, sharper than his bright brown gaze – bandy words with this man at your extreme peril. Five minutes in his company and I’m not engaging in repartee, his (what else?) rapier wit is straight under my guard and curling me round jabs of laughter in my stomach.

His energy is palpable; his insight unparalleled – he challenges with the bifurcation of science fiction from fantasy. Even as I answer, he’s there before me – with how sf is mainstream, time-travel is current. I counter with the popularity of post-Cyberpunk; he turns my riposte with an image of a vacuum cleaner whooshing from a wall-slot – his description reducing the office to hilarity.

His family weave through his wit – his daughter who, unsurprisingly, ‘can write a mean plot’ and his approval of her bloodgore-writing boyfriend – a father to be proud of, I think.

He talks about Spaced like he’s lived it, about the new Star Trek like he fears it and about a random plug-in for Oblivion whereby an adventurer can take his mother Questing. The concept that Mum is always one level up is hilariously astute – I mean, who ever gets the better of their mother?

The thing that disarms me, though, is his comprehension of the nature of geekdom – his experience and insight paint word-sketches that are caricatures in accuracy. From the fandom’s stalwart ‘comic book guy’ to the shapely ladies with the echo-chamber cleavages; from the families that love Discworld to his immediate identification of me as ‘geekarina’ (as oppose to ‘geekette’), nothing misses him.

In his hour in the office at the London Megastore, he signed some five hundred copies of ‘Nation’ while he kept up the barb of his badinage – and he signed one more thing.

The MonQee has been waiting for the pen of his master, and now, secure with his final signature, the auction is going ahead here.

Sunday is World Alzheimers Day.

Please don't forget.

Show Me The MonQee

He’s met some top talent, been through twenty-two episodes of adventures and has had every part of his anatomy scribbled on… hey, hey he’s the MonQee, and he’s finally come to rest in the art toy cabinet at the Forbidden Planet London Megastore.

In addition to the host of names from the previous MonQee post, a thank you to the kings of UK space opera, Neal Asher and Alastair Reynolds. And a huge thank you, too, to Terry Pratchett himself for his approval for and support of the project: the fact that his email arrived on my birthday had to be a coincidence!

The MonQee Project is now live here. This completely unique piece of urban vinyl will be auctioned through MissionFish on eBay as part of the Forbidden Planet’s thirtieth anniversary celebrations. To find out more: watch this space!

All proceeds, of course, go to the Alzheimer’s Research Trust. The MonQee, we hope, will go to a very good home – he deserves nothing less.

Ook!