The Hippo and the Herb (the first book I wrote) a sample chapter:

(Copyright Of Kris Rodgers)

(Illustrations by Laura Bath)

Tanglet meets the Shoe.

The shoe had been afflicted on Tanglet over five hundred years ago. It happened
in the vast, bloody battle of Turtle Hill. The Kerangian’s had been pushing their troops forward for the last fifteen months. This was their final offensive, a strategic stronghold, which would finally take the Palace, and win them the war.

But then again, divine intervention can be such a pain in the backside.

Theoretically and strategically the defending army should have been crushed that
day, but it turned out that the God Belle Phore had other plans. Little things started going wrong at first. The troop’s shoelaces would come undone, or their belts would snap, and their trousers would end up round their ankles. Swords, maces, flails, war hammers, iron shields, and other metallic weaponry would suddenly rust and disintegrate. The troops suffered awful toothache. It just got worse and worse.

Until Leviathon arrived.

Leviathon was the Kerangian’s Wizard. Their secret weapon, if you wish. He
brought fear and dread into the hearts of all mortal beings, and his power was immense. A lot of people actually thought of Lethiathon as a myth, or folklore. A tale to be told around old Azle’s fire.

Six hundred and ten dead men disagreed with folklore this day.

And not many would be telling tales.

Tanglet himself lived in awe of Leviathon, and dreamed one day that he could
achieve half his power. Tanglet knew, deep down that he might well meet the wizard in battle at some point. In fact, he had nightmares about it.

‘I have known about this moment for some time young Tanglet,’ Lethiathon shouted.

‘I scry’ He added smugly

A terrible storm was brewing over the battlefield. Leviathon’s long, red hair was
blowing in the wind. One hand holding his staff, and the other rubbing a rune, he looked huge, and seemed to be increasing in size.

‘You know I am no match for your power Lethiathon!’ Tanglet shouted back. ‘You
may as well finish me here, and be done with it!’

‘So be it, young wizard! So be it!’ Lethiathon agreed.

The sky was a swirling reddish brown colour, and the storm was now a brutal mix of
wind, rain, thunder, and lightening. Battle debris was being blown around like feathers in a hurricane. Tanglet was finding it extremely hard to stand properly, let alone fight. He was sure his time had come, and this involved a certain ceremony. To be destroyed by an older, wiser wizard, especially of Lethiathon’s status is an honourable affair. Tanglet held his staff with both hands, brought it to his centreline, and touched the knuckle with his forehead. He mumbled an incantation and then, throwing both arms to the sky, he shouted:

‘BE DONE WITH ME!’

The elderly wizard brought his staff to his centreline, and chanted:

‘Vista, colbort, Safian-kor!’

A massive blue bolt shot out of Lethiathon’s staff and hit Tanglet hard in the chest. At the same time a large yellow semi-circle flashed from Tanglets mid section, and absorbed most of the bolt’s ferocity. His shield rune had protected him, but this didn’t stop the young wizard from being hurled through the air, and landing in a heap behind half a dead general. The bolt had hurt him, and burned a sphere into his chest, but it had not killed him. Tanglet rose to one knee.

‘It was a good shot Sir, but you have failed to kill me,’ he murmured.

The wind blew even harder. Lethiathon walked to the weakened wizard, knelt down,
took his chin, and looked him hard in the eyes.

‘Do you really wish me to finish you without mercy?’ Lethiathon asked.

‘Isn’t that the way Lethiathon? Are they not the rules?’

‘So be it! Foolish boy!’ Lethiathon shouted, walking away.

The old wizard turned his back on Tanglet, raised both arms in the air, and started
chanting once more.

‘Simha! Pathos! Kiun!’

The incantation generated an aura of blue and green light that flickered all around the wizard. Tanglet was aware that the wizard was not only getting physically bigger once again, but was actually beginning to hover as well. He noticed his hand was shaking.

‘AFTA….BOSUN…..CRAYLARA!’ The elderly wizard screamed.

The aura twisted around the floating wizard, and cocooned him in an explosion of
light. The light then seemed to congregate into a very large orb above the wizard’s head, and swirled like a massive ball of fire. Tanglet could feel the energy and warmth from the ball where he was kneeling. He also noticed that the orb was beginning to suck in dead bodies and other debris that littered the ground. It was gaining power. Even the weather was being affected by Lethiathon’s massive spell...The wind was now deafening...Bodies span...The orb became bigger…and brighter…the lightening crashed...Tanglet screamed. Lethiathon’s eyes became black, and finally he let out a harrowing yell...

‘SOMLA! PASTORIA! DECAY!’

The orb sucked in on itself and shot its energy like a bow from an arrow.

Direct hit.

A spell of that ferocity would normally mean an instant death. If not an instant, and painful death, it would most certainly mean a terrible life long curse. In this instance it was the latter.

‘Why is it that I still breathe? What angel has saved me?’ Tanglet moaned, whilst
clutching at his chest.

He noticed Lethiathon standing over him, stroking his beard, and looking slightly
confused.

‘I…I….I just don’t understand it’ He stammered.

‘What happened?’ Tanglet asked.

‘You have cursed me haven’t you? What foul future have I to look forward to?’
Tanglet cried.

‘I seem to have cursed you, yes. It wasn’t quite what I was expecting either. I meant to kill you. So sorry about that, but the spell seems to have gone a little…er… wrong,’ the wizard tried to explain.

‘Wrong? What do you mean wrong? You are the most deadly bloody wizard in this
land. How could one of your spells go…wrong?’ Tanglet asked, whilst climbing to his feet.

‘Beats me,’ the elderly wizard replied.

‘Strange,’ Tanglet said, while making sure all his bits were still in the right places.

‘Then what exactly DID it do?’

‘Er….it seems to have given life to……your shoe,’ he said, pointing at the nine and
a half.

‘My shoe!? Tanglet started. ‘Well I never! Wizardry isn’t what it used to be is it!? I was expecting blood from the ears for life, or a plague of locusts that eat out my eyes, and nest in the sockets! A talking shoe?! Ha ha! What are you going to do next? Make my hair go curly!?’ Tanglet shouted smugly. ‘Well then, let’s meet this talking shoe shall we?’

Tanglet looked down at his feet, with his hands held firmly on his hips. His tutor
used to maintain this posture whilst ridiculing some poor unfortunate spotty child at spell school. It oozed a sarcastic authority.

‘Well ooo’s a likkle wikkle shoey woo then?’ Tanglet asked in his most sarcastic,
patronising baby voice.

The shoe yawned… waited for a second ……and then replied…

‘Bog off you fat Barold.’

It was only ten minutes later that Tanglet was witnessed shouting and waving his
finger viciously at his right foot. Lethiathon had to be escorted from the battlefield in fits of laughter. The war had been lost, but he could now die a very happy wizard, which he promptly did that night. Rumour has it that his last words as he lay dying consisted of ‘shoe’ ‘funniest bloody thing I have ever seen’ and ‘ow’. Tanglet had lived with the curse on and off for over four hundred years now. It appeared when it felt like appearing, and reasoned with no man. It was a living, breathing entity unto itself. Chewing gum stuck on a yeti is easier to get rid of, and that isn’t easy as no one has even found a yeti yet. Not round these parts anyway.

Even when the shoe wasn’t possessed, it would always find a way to be sitting on Tanglets right foot when the time came…sneering and jaunting. It
was immortal, and very smart indeed. Tanglet loathed it, and the shoe knew just how to push all the right buttons.

‘I wish you would wash your feet once in a while Barold. You stink,’ the shoe
sneered.

Tanglet pulled a bit of shoelace from his back molar, and sighed.

Short story: It moved in a puppet like manner!

(Copyright of Kris Rodgers)

I can’t help myself once the thought has entered my head. I know it’s pathetic. I know. There’s no one there. There’s nothing there. I’m going to run to the light and check anyhow.

After three.

One. Two…

Three!

Tappy tap tap tap. (Sound of me running to the light switch)

‘Click.’

My nasty intruder actually turns out to be my dressing gown hanging on the door.

Again.

Silly me. What was I thinking? No one can get in here. The place is like Fort Knox. Nothing human can possibly get in here.

Nothing human.

And then I’m onto the metaphysical. Ghosts don’t need doors. And there is no way I’m going to run and turn the light on again, just in case it turns into that horrible thing from the Raiders of the lost ark.

I’m not leaving this bed. Ever.

So I’m stuck.

Stuck with the things I think I can see and hear.

And then, like clockwork, the big one comes. All it needs is an invitation, and it’s in there. I try to resist, but its no good. Everyone has their creepiest thought. The one that waits and waits…

And then…

BOO!

I’m sorry. I’m being rude. Please, let me share mine with you…

I was in our local library, and I found a book on ghosts. I went through a massive spell of educating myself in any way concerning ghosts. That stopped very quickly when I found this book. I don’t recall the exact details. I think that is because of the massive effort I have put into trying to forget about it. I recall it being a book about ghosts in Kent, and there is a ghost in Canterbury cathedral that haunts on summer evenings…

A ghost of an altar boy.

As I said before, I don’t quite remember all the details. But I recall there being two psychic investigators that were trying to catch a glimpse of the phenomenon. But this ghost was like no other. When the two investigators did finally see it, they were disturbed enough to halt their investigations. It existed, that’s all they needed to know. The thing they found most disturbing about the young altar boy, was not the fact he existed, (which would have been enough for me.) it was the way he moved. Most apparitions float. Some just appear, and then disappear. The rest tend to mimic human movement, as they did in their previous life. But this one moved in front of the altar, from left to right, in…

‘A puppet like manner.’

Argggggggg!!

Like its hands, elbows, knees, torso, legs and head were tied to strings, and were being pulled by another force. This book was an investigation of paranormal phenomena. It wasn’t fiction. The two men were educated, and not biased in the existence of apparitions. They didn’t beat around the bush either. If they visited somewhere that was supposedly haunted, and found nothing, they would say so. Rather bluntly normally. But the altar boy existed. They recorded the air dropping in temperature. They both saw it with their own eyes. And as you can imagine, it disturbed them.

And it disturbed me. But please don’t judge me to harshly. I was only twenty-four. And anyway, maybe I have a better imagination than you. It’s not my fault I can see this vision in such a vivid manner. It’s not my fault that I imagine this horrid apparition moving at the foot of my bed in ‘A puppet like manner.’ I’m only twenty-six now. I’m a child. I’m allowed to be scared of things that go bump in the night. Anyhow, why am I justifying how scary my image is? It’s my story! Hah! I don’t care how old you are, if it's scary…it's scary. And if I had a point, then this would be it.

Things that aren’t there have the ability to scare us.

When I think rationally about it, I know that my ghost doesn’t exist. But in the right environment, (pitch black-me in my pyjamas.) the thought can have a profound effect on me. My heartbeat rises. I sweat. I begin to feel a little icky. It hasn’t even appeared yet, and I am shitting myself. And it gets worse. I’m freaking out here. I’m shaking. It’s having a really negative effect on my body.

I feel so ill.

But it still hasn’t appeared…

I don’t care. It’s the thought of it appearing. What will it do to me? Will it attack me? What will it look like? Will it be as I imagined it? This is horrible.

There’s nothing there!

I’m not taking the chance of finding out. I’m scared stiff here. I’ve made my mind up. I’m not going to even peek. Ever.

The thought of my (bloody scary, I must add) ghost has immobilized me. I now feel really ill. My heart is pounding like Big Ben. But why? The ghost has never appeared. But I carry on thinking that it may. And every time I do this, it makes me feel ill. Not only does it make me feel ill, it also enforces my belief in the ghost. Even though it still hasn’t appeared, I believe in it more and more. This is negative thinking. This is fear. Have you ever thought like this? Have you ever negatively pre-determined what may happen in a situation before it happens? Yes you may do really badly in that exam. But on the other hand, maybe you wont? You are so nervous about the driving test. You may fail. You keep thinking about it-and in doing so-you give it more power. Keep thinking that way, and you may just get what you wished for. You may fail. What are you going to tell your friends? Your parents? How embarrassing. And then there is the financial side of it. It’s not cheap to take another test is it? Oh dear, what a pickle.

But you haven’t even taken the test yet.

Although you have begun programming the blueprint for the final outcome.

And it is this same type of thinking that will stop you attempting new things. ‘Just in case it goes wrong.’ Or ‘just in case you make a fool of yourself.’ I know so many people that are aware of the effect our thinking has on us. They have all the information, but they don’t put it into practise, just in case it doesn’t work. The fear of failure even, before failure has manifested.

So, how many ghosts have you seen?

And more importantly, how many ghosts have you thought you’ve seen?

Everywhere aren’t they? Bloody things. Next time one appears in your head, tell it to bugger off. And more importantly, try and be aware when you are creating them. Don’t forget, you give it its power. Any negative thought form is useless without your say so. Turn it around. Make another. Make a positive one...

Short story: Turn off the console

Turn off the console!?’ I hear you scream.

‘Is he mad?’

Many of my friends would disagree, but no, I am not mad.

*Spandex....

For many years my vocation was my playstation. For many years before that, I studied the fine works of Nintendo, Sega, and Sir Clive Sinclair. Technology has come so far so quickly, and my generation have been riding this ‘revolution’ for some time now. Consoles have been keeping our minds off our mind for a while, and nobody seems to mind. I didn’t.

I mean…

What else is there to do?

Euro 96 was well under way, and Chay and I determined that college could wait for a day. It had been waiting for a week already, so we decided that another day probably wouldn’t matter. Anyhow, football was way more important, and England had an old score to settle with Italy. Chay had beaten me severely down the arcade earlier that morning, and we decided to resume our fight on another battleground.

The Nintendo.

I’ll put my hands up here and be honest. Chay was the King of arcade football. I was certainly the Prince, but he was the King. Although it hurts me to admit it, he was the Pele of the virtual pitch. His intensity frightened me. Blisters and cut fingers were just every-day injuries when he played, and he played a lot. Yup, Chay was the Don.

But the console was a different ball game entirely.

He was crap.

Really bad.

I beat him repeatedly. Over and over. Again and again. With each hour that passed, Chay was becoming more and more agitated. It didn’t help that I would make some sarcastic comment with an irritating timing…

‘Cor! You’re crap mate!’

Shut up Kris.’

‘Oooo, how the mighty have fallen!’

‘Shut up Kris.’

‘Bloody hell mate! That one went into row D! Houston we have a problem.’

‘…’

And on it went. Later that evening Matt and Jamie turned up, and sat on the couch to watch the big game. They were both aware of Chays footballing prowess, and defiantly expected me to lose.

No chance.

Well, no chance except for the nine goals that the git put past me. I couldn’t believe it! I had been kicking his ass all day! And now that Jamie and Matt are here, he’s turned into some football prodigy!

‘He’s been like this all day.’ Chay sneered.

He was getting his own back.

And loving it.

I felt the rage building up inside me after every ball hit the back of my net. And with every goal, Chay would rub it in some more.

‘Dammit Kris. Why don’t you just give up?’

Matt and Jamie had no idea what was going on here! They believed he had been beating me all day long!

And with the ninth goal, and the nineteenth sarcastic comment it happened.

snap.

It took a very confused Matt and Jamie a lot of effort to pull me off of poor Chay. I went crazy. Ballistic.

‘Kris! Its only a game mate!’

I didn’t care. It felt like more than a game. It felt very personal.

Thankfully, Chay and I are still very good friends. And if ‘It moved in a puppet like manner’ taught you that what isn’t there has the ability to scare you, then this should surely teach you that ‘What isn’t there has the ability to make you beat up your good friends.’

I see it all the time. People punching walls, and kicking the cat. They are just pixels on our T.V screens and monitors, but we believe it to be real nonetheless. Again, the heart rate rises, we sweat, we beat up our friends etc. Ever noticed the horrible atmosphere when you go into an arcade? I believe this manifests from thousands of virtual conflicts between players.

It isn’t healthy.

Take up a martial art and do it sincerely.

Don’t get me wrong. I believe that competitiveness can be good if it is used in the right way. Sitting behind a T.V screen isn’t the right way, believe me. Your mind believes that you are kicking, driving, jumping, dancing, running, punching, flying, and your body is just sitting there static. You are receiving mixed signals.

One day you may mourn your youth.

Turn off the console…I dare you.

Short story: Imagi-nation

(Imagi-nation, copyright of Kris Rodgers)

It must have been quite disturbing for any passer-byers to see us attacking invisible monsters with a fierce fanaticism. We would freak out if the ‘gamesmaster’ placed a hoard of orcs in front of us as we walked. It was insane. We would be swinging our weapons and screaming whilst worried shoppers quickly made their way to the door. It didn’t matter where we played, we would play in shops, town, libraries, swimming pools, whatever, wherever. The thing that makes me laugh most is that we really didn’t care what people thought about us. We were so indulged in the fantasy world that we had created for ourselves that nothing else mattered. It normally worked like this:

One of us would be the Games master. He had the job of creating a story as we walked. He would also create the world that we lived in, and also the monsters that we would fight. This was normally Tom, or my cousin Phil (because they were the oldest). The group would go along with the story, and be totally evolved within the world that the games master was creating for us. We weren’t interested in the typical role-playing games that had already been written. We weren’t interested in throwing dice either. We just made it all up as we went along. It was common for us to spend whole weekends doing this. Walking, and using our imaginations all the time as we did so. Stupidly, we would often set each other dares to decide who became the games master next.

On this particular occasion, I was dared to swing on ‘old faithful’. Old faithful was one of those rope swings that makes you think ‘How the hell did they get up there?’ These swings seemed to appear everywhere in our local woods, but we never met the guy or girl that ever had the guts to climb these dizzy heights to attach it. We just presumed it was one of the ‘older boys’ again. So, Old faithful awaited my challenge. The rules stated (The rules were actually decided by Tom as he went along.) that I had to swing from half way up the tree, just holding on with my hands. This was difficult, because when you hit the highest point of the swing, the pressure was so harsh that it was hard to hold on. Sitting down is fine. But no. In this instance, Tom wanted me to just use my arms alone.

The git.

So I Swung.

‘WHOOSH!’

Lush blue skies awaited me when I eventually awoke. These skies where outlined by the leaves and branches of trees. It was beautiful. After a while, four mysterious figures stood over me.

‘Are you Angels?’ I asked dizzily.

Angels my arse. The four figures looked at me. Looked at each other, and then burst out in uproarious laughter.

It turns out that I didn’t make the highest point of the swing, because I passed out before I got there. I tumbled into the trees below, and eventually hit the floor. Because of this, I hadn’t actually completed the task, and didn’t get to be games master.

Harsh.

Even though potentially hazardous to our health, I believe that this was a healthy way for us to act as children. Too many kids nowadays do not use their imaginations like they should. They watch films and cartoons that do all their imaginative thinking for them. T.V and movies lead children to think that life will be much more than what it is, and I think that this is dangerous. The hardest years in my life were in the period of transition between a child and adult. I’m not talking about puberty and the awkward teenage years here either. I’m talking about the mid-twenties, where you still are young, but are expected to conform to the boring world that awaits us in our adult lives. The realisation that we may have been lied to by Disney and other ‘fake dream’ companies is a harsh and uncomfortable one. This is also why (in my opinion) so many young people drink and do drugs. They want to escape, have fun again, and be like children again. They want to forget about the reality that awaits us all. But if we still use our imaginations, and creativity, we can still be like children. Art and music are a great form of escapism, and if you are lucky, you might even make a living from it.

Wouldn’t that be nice? Being like a child, but still conforming to the restricting world that takes all the wonder and magic out of life…

I’m trying. I hope you are too.

Writing my first Bass education book...

It's difficult, because I want to put a completely fresh edge on the typical education book that you can buy. Most, are dry, un-involved, and let's face it...a little boring. I want to add a bit of a spark.

But, this isn't easy as it's important that a lot of stuff that you find in the boring books is actually covered! There are no short cuts, and there are rules.

So what I need to do is to communicate those rules the best way I can, but in my own way. In a way that people can understand and really benefit from.

So here it goes. I'll update all progress right here.

So far, I have briefly covered (and will add more to):

Chords, and their use.
The art of creation.
Creating interesting Bass lines.
Playing with three fingers.
Playing with other people.
The value of Practice!
The value of Visualisation.
Playing with droning notes.
Percussive playing.
Singing and playing Bass.

Each of the above also have plenty of exercises to learn.

14/02/11 Added:

Today I added two slap and pop exercises, and two new tapping exercises.

I also pretty much finished the "How to create Bass line" section. It was hard without going too deeply into theory, but I think it worls pretty well. Just some basic ideas to get people up and running.

17/02/11 Added:

Today added another ten exercises in different styles and genres.

18/02/11 Added:

The first 20 example riffs from the book are now recorded and ready! Whoohoo!

14/03/11 Added:

Up to 50 Bass riffs now recorded and tabbed.

Discussed the Bass-line creation part.

Playing with others is finished, but I'm considering doing a coupld of videos for it?

A bit of time off from this now, as I'm moving home!

Don't forget, that's the first twenty. I aiming for 101!

Short story: The sam and Joe show

The Sam and Joe show (Copyright of Kris Rodgers)


At about the same time that I was meeting my first love in the village, I also met two brothers that lived there, called Sam and Joe. Sam was a stocky chap, with a cheeky face that reminded me of Jackie Chan. I don’t know why this was. Sam wasn’t even Chinese, but he had that cheeky smile, and the same comedy run as the movie star. Joe was a little younger than Sam, and was apparently better looking.

I always thought Joe looked like a chipmunk.

Both of them had one of those characteristic laughs that you cant help laughing at. As soon as they start laughing, anyone in a certain radius would be off too. And they roared their laughs until they had no air left, and could only whimper. Sometimes, this was even funnier than the original laugh. This comedy factor was added to by the fact that neither of them had any eyebrows. This had been caused by an accident that included:

A stolen motorbike that for some reason didn’t work.

Darkness.

An opening of a petrol tank.

A lighter very near a petrol tank to see if there was any petrol in there.

And a big BOOM.

As you can guess, there was petrol in the tank.

Those four eyebrows would not grow back for a very long time.

The main thing I recall about S and J was their confidence. They really believed in themselves. This is what attracted me to them I think. Their spirit and energy was worrying sometimes, and would often get them, and anyone that was around them in a lot of trouble.

(sigh)

For example:

The first day I met S and J was on the bus to school. I doubt very much that they were actually going to school, but they caught it anyway, because it was going into town, and funny things happened in town. They told me that after school, everybody normally makes their way to the five-a-side pitch to go and play football, and I was invited. So that afternoon, we all got off the bus, and made our way to the pitch.

Except it wasn’t a five-a-side pitch. It was the village primary school playground, that seemed to have an unusual amount of ‘Trespassers will be prosecuted’ signs plastered up everywhere.

Anyhow. Everyone was already set up, and the school bags had been placed down to make the makeshift goalposts. Before starting, Sam warned me that every now and again, one of the local residence would ring the police, and tell them that we were playing on the grounds. He then told me not to worry, because he would keep an eye out, and if any police came, he would tell us in plenty of time, and we could make our escape.

(sigh)

I think you may have an idea of where this is going. If you know Sam and Joe, you defiantly do.

So we started playing football. But every five minutes, we would have to stop the game, because Sam had shouted ‘LEG IT!’ Of course, we all split up, and made our way into the fields, where the police would have trouble pursuing us. After running very fast for a few minutes, we would hear a ‘NOPE! FALSE ALARM!’ from the far-away distance. Sam did this over, and over, until finally everyone stopped running, because it was getting boring, and was pretty much ruining the game.

Then, all of a sudden, Sam ran past us with that Cheeky Jackie Chan look on his face. This time, he hadn’t shouted anything. He just ran.

‘Where’s he going?’ I asked the others.

And before anyone got a chance to answer, they had arrived.

‘Er…afternoon officer.’

And at that exact point, a little voice shouted in the far-away distance.

‘leg it!’

So that was my first telling off, courtesy of Sam and Joe. There were many more to come, and I quickly realised that if either S and J ran…you ran. No questions asked.

Another one of S and J’s favourite pastimes was ‘Garden hopping.’ This ‘game’ consisted of a large street of terraced houses, which are common here in England. The ‘contestant’ had to run through all of the gardens of these houses, late at night, and make his way to the other end, without being caught or eaten by a dog. There were many obstacles to be overcome on the way, including bushes, hedges, fences, walls, paddling pools, climbing frames, and plenty of other typical garden objects, that would try and get in your way. The contestant also had to prove his endeavours by stealing a ‘trophy’ on the way. This was proof that you had actually completed the task, and normally consisted of a pair of old mans underpants, that were ripped from a washing line.

I have so many funny stories about S and J, and I am sitting here giggling as I think about them. I could fill a whole book with their cheeky adventures, but time is getting on, and I have to draw the line somewhere.

And I shall draw it in saying that Sam and Joe moved to Australia.

Where Sam became a heroin addict.

I always thought that Sam would go on and do great things. As I said before, his energy and spirit was brilliant. I never once thought that something like that would happen to him. I knew that he wouldn’t do something conventional, like a typical nine to five job, but he was certainly intelligent enough to do something great. I couldn’t believe it when I was told, but after I started to think about it, I think we should have seen it coming.

You see, people always put Sam and Joe down. Especially in the village. If something got broken, or went missing, then it ‘must have been Sam and Joe’. No questions asked. In most cases when they were younger, it wasn’t even them. They had this from a very early age, and as the years went on, I believe that they started to act in accordance with this. S and J were not ‘bad’ people, they were just very cheeky, and slightly misguided. I don’t believe that anyone is inherently bad. It is just certain things, and certain factors that cause people to ‘go off the rails.’ I feel really bad for Sam, because if he got to the point in his life where I am now, I’m sure he would have realised that how he reacted to people, was because of they way they treated him. Hindsight is a very powerful thing, and I have learnt most of my lessons by looking back, and reminiscing.

Be careful of what you say to people, because one day they may believe it.

I wish you all the best Sam.

Short story: Stagnation

Stagnation (Copyright Kris Rodgers)

It’s cold.

It’s wet.

It’s dark.

I’ve been stuck up in this tree for over an hour now. The beers in my backpack have been my only comfort for this duration.

I shouldn’t have done that. The beer has heightened my emotions, and now I’m sincerely scared. Am I the only one left? Are they coming for me? Where are they?

Down below, in the park, I know that they are there. Hunting me.

It’s irrelevant that they are hunting me with fake plastic guns. I am still scared.

Eventually, the headset makes a loud ‘DDTDTDTDTDTDTDT’ noise.

I have been hit.

I am dead.

Steve got me. I can tell. I can hear him laughing, and shouting ‘I GOT HIM!’ to the rest of his team.

We used to play this game often. It’s called lock-on, and consists of two teams with virtual laser guns, and headsets. Lame I know. Most of our battles took place in the crazy six months that preceded the millennium celebrations.

We like to think that the millennium evening went on for six months.

So we used to do strange things like running after each other with fake guns. Actually, our games were quite intense and violent. The scuffles and panic that resulted when you were to close to shoot someone always ended up with someone hurting on the floor.

The price of war.

About this time, we were also training in the martial arts quite fanatically. As well as this, we used to go on massive bike rides, late at night, into the wilderness. Again, someone would normally end up hurt, due to the consumption of way too much beer etc on the journey, and no lights. A lot of us used to do these silly things as well. Our youthfulness (in our mid twenties) was quite addictive, and we gained more and more people looking for a fun time. Yeah, going down the pub is fine. It can be a laugh. And yeah, sitting in watching videos etc can be a laugh, but I have never laughed as much as I did when we did these other things together. But what worries me most, is the way that our group morale got down as soon as we started slowing down these pursuits. Instead of going out, we started staying in, playing on the play station, and watching movies. More arguments occurred, and people did seem to become genuinely unhappy.

Now, I have a theory on this. Stick with me, because it’s an interesting one. Shout at me if you disagree. I’m open to all interpretations.

When we were being active, and exercising, we were happy. We were using our bodies in the way that whatever intended. We were fit, healthy, and happy. The endorphins rushed around our bodies, making us on constant highs. When we stopped, we got low. Now, apparently, something like fourty per cent of our country is depressed. Do you wonder why? We sit in front of our televisions, eating crap food, and doing nothing with our bodies and minds.

Picture in your mind, a still clear pool of water. Now, if you were to put your hand in that water, and swish it about a little, it would stay vibrant. If the water keeps moving, its stays oxygenated, and has no time to stagnate. But if the water is left, then it will become unclear, listless, and stagnant. This is a great analogy of our own bodies. We have to keep exercising and moving, or we will become depressed and stagnant.

Remember, apathy is a killer.

And in addition to this, to me, the best type of exercise seems to be anything that stimulates the cardiovascular system. Exercises such as bike riding, running, martial arts, swimming etc. The other great thing about exercise is that it takes your mind off your mind. You don’t tend to have much time to think when you are being active. This is another factor in why an active body serves as a great remedy to depression.

Prozac generation? I don’t think so. Get up and move.

Short story: Mooo!

Mooo! (Copyright of Kris Rodgers)


I look back on my youth with a big ol grin on my face. The things that I have experienced with my friends can get me smiling on any dark day. I give thanks to all my life experiences, because it has been a great adventure so far. But as I get older, the magic seems harder to manifest. Like with my good friend Dave, the world I live in is slowly trying to beat my youthful optimism down. But I’m not going to let it. I refuse to give up and give in like most of my young friends. I see it all the time; people that used to be so vibrant and alive look like they are carrying the world’s burdens on their young shoulders. It shouldn’t be like that should it? Don’t let it. Stay young of mind, and live your life like a great adventure, because that’s what it is.

Anyhow, enough of the preaching. Here’s another odd memory.

Hippies. That’s what we are. Hippies. Hippies with attitude. Hip hippies maybe. Matt and I would grab our acoustic guitars every summer evening, and make our way to ‘The thinky place’. We also used to frequent ‘The thinky place’ when life was getting us down. It was on top of a hill with great view of the whole town. In the evening, the sunset is breathtaking, and you can witness this show in all its splendour. It always felt good that the whole town was down there, moving, stressing, shouting, crying, screaming, and we were up on this hill away from it all. It felt good that we were appreciating the sunset every evening, and we could never understand why we were the only people up there. That was heartbreaking, but at least we were here to enjoy it. That’s another negative thing our world does to us. We forget to enjoy the beautiful world that we live in. There is so much great stuff out there to see and hear, but people tend to lock themselves in front of the T.V and miss it all. Nature is magical, and like the magic in people, we are slowly but surely murdering its innocence.

Anyway…

Hippies…

And proud.

 So, the Thinky place was a great source of musical inspiration, and that is why we used to take our guitars up there. Every evening, we would bang out some new tune that we had written earlier in the day. It was great. A few beers, music, the sunset, and an overwhelming feeling that everything would be all right if we kept living like this. Nature was keeping us warm, and the whole show was there for us to witness for free.

What could be more inspirational?

Bull’s are from nature. Unfortunately, this bull wasn’t that inspirational.

The song had finished. A nice fly-away ending to compliment the setting sun. I don’t think the bull appreciated our style of music though. Maybe he was more of the punky type. Whatever his musical preferences, he didn’t look too happy at all.

‘Matt.’ I whispered.

‘Look behind you.’

Opening his can of beer, Matt turned his head.

Big bull. Right behind us.

Snort snort.

‘O.k mate.’ I whispered.

‘Just pick up the sweets and guitars, and we’ll walk away slowly yeah?’

And with that, we picked up our stuff and made our way down the hill.

It followed us.

Snort snort.

I don’t quite remember what happened next, but I do remember saying ‘Whatever you, don’t run.’ whilst my legs ignored the advice I was giving to Matt. That’s the worst. When you are in a group of people, and you all think something is chasing you. The panic that ensues at the back of the pack is hilarious to witness if you aren’t the poor git that is back there. That’s why I made up the ‘Whatever you do, don’t run’ rule when I was very young. I used to tell people this whilst slowly making my way to the front of the pack.

Once I got there, I legged it.

Worked every time.

So, I was in front of Matt when we started speeding down the hill. At this point, it had got pretty dark, and we had been dropping sweets and beer as we ran. All I could hear was ‘RUUUUUUNNNN!!! ITS CHASING US MAN!!’

I could hear it.

CLOMP CLOMP CLOMP CLOMP.

‘ARGGGGGGG!’

At one point when we were running, Matt fell silent.

‘Matt!! Has it got ya?’ I shouted back.

As if he would be able to answer me if it had.

Then out of the shadows:

‘ARGGGGGGGGG!’ Matt began once again.

It was still chasing us. Trying to carry a guitar and a bag of sweets, running down a dark pathway with brambles either side, whilst being a little tipsy is not easy, I can tell you. Having a huge bull giving you the incentive to run a little faster doesn’t help either.

Eventually, we arrived at the fence that was keeping the bull from the rest of the world. Screaming, I tried to scramble over the fence in a blind panic. All I could hear as I was trying desperately to avoid the barbed wire was:

‘QUICK! MOVE! ITS COMING!’

and…

CLOMP CLOMP CLOMPETY CLOMP.

Then all of a sudden I was airborne. All I remember was the awkward landing in a graveyard, and my guitar landing on top of me a split second later. A second after that, Matt landed in a heap next to me. A second after that, a huge bulls head smashed through the fence snorting and snotting in true bullish fashion.

Thankfully, the bull couldn’t get any further. That didn’t stop us from running away like two hysterical girls though. We ran all the way through the graveyard, and ended up collapsing in fits of laughter. It turns out that the source of my flight had not been the bull, but had in actual fact been Matt throwing me over the fence. I’m not a light person, and Matt could not lift me, let alone throw me on a normal day. But in this instance (that being-Matt trying to avoid having a bull surgically removed from his backside) he could. In the right circumstances, I believe we can achieve anything like this, but it normally takes a nasty catalyst to get us there. You must have heard the stories of people lifting cars off their loved ones after a crash? Or people demonstrating super-human qualities in times of trouble. Believe it or not, it happens a lot. The power is there within us, but unfortunately, most of us don’t know how to harness it in the world we live in. Yogis and Fakirs have known about this for thousands of years. They know what we can achieve, they know the power of the human mind, and they know what effect it can have on our bodies. Martial artists like Bruce Lee have also been using this power to demonstrate what we can do if we use the right application. His one inch punch could send a heavy man flying, even though Lee was only standing a couple of centimetres away. He demonstrated this on many occasions. The Chinese call this ‘power’ chi. The Japanese call it Ki. Whatever you want to call it, it exists. It is fascinating stuff.

Sometimes I wish I had a bull chasing me all the time. I would get so much more done.

Short story: On staying on the path

 On staying on the path. (Copyright of Kris Rodgers)

Excuse the Hollywood-esqueness of this story.  But I can tell you, hand on heart that it is 100% true.  I swear on my Musicmans (for those of you reading this without a knowledge of Bass guitars, a musicman is a make of Bass, and my pride and joy!) life.

Some time ago, in the late summer, I was going for one of my wanders.  I normally wander quite a bit, taking my bass with me, and if there is no-one around, i'll have a little jam, and maybe write a little song or riff if i'm lucky.  I normally do this out in the sticks, because it's much more inspirational out there, and is so much better to play music in.

I'd gone quite far on this occasion, and it started to get a bit dark.  I had a good idea what direction I needed to head off in to get to where I wanted to end back up.  Instead of turning around, and going back the way I had come, I found a fork in the path, and took another track that headed back in the direction I wanted to go.

As it got darker and darker, I noticed that there was a wood I had to go through to get to the other side of the path.  Now, I'm the first to admit that my imagination can still get the better of me (even at 33) on certain ocassions.

(Those ocassions normally being me, walking through a dark woods with beasties and spooks that probably don't exist, but defiantly exist inside my stupid head whilst I am doing so.)

I had gone some distance at this point, and turning round, to go back the way I came would certainly double my journey time.  It was the safe option, but not the exciting one, and one that would take quite a while.  I stood there for a short while, looking behind and forwards, before I made my decision to carry on.

I grit my teeth, held my bass like a battle axe, and began to walk through the dark woods...

Now, I can't say that that decision was a comfortable one for me.  If i'm honest.  I couldn't see the path, and it just got darker and darker as I walked on.  I felt spiderwebs on my face.  I heard things.  I saw things.  (Well, at least I think I saw and heard things.  The reality is probably very different.)  The path was muddy.  The only way I knew I was going in the right direction was by attentively staring at a slight bit of light in the far-off distance.  This...became my mantra.

The light got closer and closer, step by step, and when I actually saw the exit hole of the woods, I ran.  I ran like a six year old runs up the stairs when it's dark, and they think something might be behind them.  It had that same panic.  I ran like a girl.  I ran for my life.

Unfortunately, in my panic, I didn't run very well, and fell over quite a few times.  Me being on the floor, just added to my panic, and I let out a little scream as I scrambled to my feet again.  As far as was concerned, the non-monsters and ghosts were right over me.  And they had big teeth.  I kicked out at empty space, and swore at nothing.  Got to my feet, and moved quickly on to the exit...

...and what I saw when I got there was mind-blowing...

I came out onto the top of a large hill that looked over a Castle.  Above that was the biggest orange moon I have ever seen in my life.  It was spectacular. I just stood there and watched.

It was so spectacular that I hadn't realised I was covered head to toe in mud and cow shit.

And here comes the Hollywood and hard to believe part.  At that point, a massive firework display started at the castle.  I sat down on the floor, and watched the Moon, castle and fireworks.  I picked up my plop stained bass, and started playing.  I then put it back down again because it was too cold.  I just sat and watched.  It was amazing.

Now, what does this have to do with bass playing you may ask?  Well, apart from not recommending dropping your bass in cowpats, quite a bit!

To get to where we want to be, we need a goal of some sort.  Like my light at the end of the wood, you need to have it firmly in your head.  Now, regarding bass playing, that could be to learn a new technique, gain more strength, learn more scales, find a band, do a gig, become a millionaire rockstar, or whatever.  The goal, is your own personal goal, and only you can, and should choose it.

And this doesn't only relate to bass playing.  It can be anything in life.

The journey I set myself was a difficult one.  I couldn't see the light at the end of the woods when I entered it.  I had to persevere a bit before it appeared.  Sometimes in life, we have an idea where the goal is, but we can't see it yet, so we have to go on.  We have to move forward.  We have to try.

Now, the easy option would have been to give up, turn around and go back onto the original path I came from.  That was the easy option.  To give up.  But I had to muster enough mental strength to carry on.  Even though I was scared to death (I really was), and had no idea where I needed to be, I knew the exit was in that general direction.  And when I finally saw it, I headed to it.  When I fell over, I got up and carried on.  I never stopped.  If I had done, the ghosts would have got me.

When you start your journey with your bass, or whatever in life, you will come across a metaphoric wood like mine.  You won't know where you're going.  You'll be confused, and a bit lost.  The easiest thing to do would be to give it up, turn around, and go for the easy option.  The known path, rather than the un-known.  The track most walked.

Also on this path will be lots of mental monsters that you will find.  Those monsters that whisper to you in the dark "give up" "You can't do this"  "You will fail", but you have to shut those monsters up, and keep on keeping on...

...because Sometimes in life, we make monsters in our head that don't exist.  Our own personal monsters, that feel very real.

But trust me when I say this.  You'll appreciate the goal so much more if you have to fight for it.  The castle, fireworks and moon were proof of this for me.  The journey may seem too hard, and you will really want to give up.  It's at these times the monsters will start their whispering.  Ignore them.  Move on.  You'll feel lost, maybe a bit lonely, but move on.

It was lucky I had my bass on me, because it made me link this story with the journey we take when we take up an instrument, or anything worth achieving in life. That is why I am sitting here in the cold, watching the Moon, Castle and Fireworks whilst frantically writing it down.  The path is behind me.  This is spectacular.

Stick with it and fight for it.  Trust me.  It'll be worth it if you do.

*Just an added footnote.  As I was walking back down the hill to my car, I fell over, rolled most of the way down and hurt my knee a bit.  I have no idea what this means.