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Post by Mark Jones Junior on Mar 8, 2009 18:41:16 GMT -5
'Ocean Re-united', Byte-Back Longton, Stoke On Trent, 7th March 2009 "One of the most famous software houses of the 80s and early 90s was Manchester-based Ocean Software. Several former employees of the company will be appearing at Byte Back to share their memories - professional and otherwise - of working for Ocean in it's heyday. Confirmed panel members so far are: * Jim Bagley - Whilst he was never an in-house programmer for Ocean, Jim worked for Special FX software developing Spectrum and Amstrad games such as Cabal, Gutz and Red Heat, all of which were published by Ocean. To see Jim's complete gameography please visit his website. * Jonathan Smith - 'Joffa' as he is affectionately known was responsible for programming games such as Daley Thompson's Supertest, Batman the Caped Crusader and Midnight Resistance - a full list of games he worked on can be found on his website. * Mark R. Jones - A talented artist, Mark was responsible for memorable Ocean loading screens including Wizball and Arkanoid II, and also produced in-game graphics for The Vindicator and Gryzor amongst others. Check out Mark's artistic work on his MySpace and YouTube pages. * Simon Butler - One of the most prolific contributors to Ocean games, Simon was responsible for in-game graphics for more than 30 titles on platforms such as the Spectrum, C64 and Amiga including Target Renegade, Platoon, Combat School, Elf and Navy Seals." 19 screen grabs from video: www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=94889&id=7203725234 photos from Lee Cowley: www.facebook.com/album.php?id=728092957&aid=64679Videos (about an hour and 9 mins all together): Part 1: www.youtube.com/watch?v=ueDFUNJKjesPart 2: www.youtube.com/watch?v=pL-fEgE_yZcPart 3: www.youtube.com/watch?v=bzWhpDKKtesPart 4: www.youtube.com/watch?v=VzNpZzc5GJ0Part 5: www.youtube.com/watch?v=9uyhJJXu12wPart 6: www.youtube.com/watch?v=SAwYz1MRnoMPart 7: www.youtube.com/watch?v=MHlB7W2q_ykPart 8: www.youtube.com/watch?v=KR_-E_RsRmgPart 9: www.youtube.com/watch?v=AYcIrDOoCHgPart 10: www.youtube.com/watch?v=zCqqKfb-x40Part 11: www.youtube.com/watch?v=a4qvXP-APj4Part 12: www.youtube.com/watch?v=97lXBljerBQ
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Post by Gary on Mar 9, 2009 4:52:18 GMT -5
Genuinely sorry I missed it - looks great! Didn't Bill show up?
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Post by Mark Jones Junior on Mar 9, 2009 7:26:19 GMT -5
Nope
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jof
New Member
Make me day, lad.
Posts: 19
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Post by jof on Mar 9, 2009 10:31:33 GMT -5
I just knew I'd die a death!
LOL!
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Post by Landstalker on Mar 9, 2009 12:38:59 GMT -5
Okey dokey
Here we are for those for have specifically requested the full low down on what was an interesting, slightly peculiar and incredibly revelatory experience.
If anyone takes exception at any of the following well that's just tough because I'm past caring really.
For the uninitiated, Byte back was a weekend of retro gaming with just about every home computer, console and related game on evidence and if it exists and wasn't there it most certainly wasn't for lack of trying. These guys must have garden sheds the size of Alexander Palace, or very obliging mothers with no other use for their attic.
Anyhoo...
A few months ago I was contacted and asked if I would make an appearance at Byte Back 2009, for a Q&A session called Ocean Reunited.
Seeing that Bill Harbison, Jimmy Bagley and Mark Jones Junior would also be attending I agreed and gave it very little thought after that.
So...time passed and the fateful weekend appeared and regardless of the fact that letting my mouth run away with me had never previously presented any great problems the prospect of appearing before an audience did give me the collywobbles to a certain extent.
But, onwards as upwards...
The hardest part of the morning of that day was trying to decide which side of my head I should comb the one remaining hair and being unable to come to such a major decision I went for the au natural look thinking that the glare from my dome would potentially blind any audience and take the focus away from anything that I might actually be saying.
But I needed not have worried about the attentive stare of the adoring masses, for little did I know that the organisers had in fact booked a cabaret act. One that even they were unaware of.
Where to begin???
Anyway, once I had left the comparative safety of Merseyside and crossed through border control into the hazardous badlands known as Manchester I found myself at the cornerhouse waiting for the arrival of Mr Jones who I had been informed would also be transporting none other than an Industry Legend....
Well for safety's sake, let's call him Pud Pud.
This iconic character would be enthralling his vast army of fans with mind-boggling tales of wonderment and a myriad anecdotes of the glory days of the industry when he strode like a colossus far above the ant-like and plebian hordes who clamored beneath his godlike feet.
But, as they say...the best laid plans of mice and men etc....
But I digress. Get used to it.
The Jones-mobile suddenly appeared and not recognising the person in the passenger seat, who I rightly assumed to be a friend of Mark I deduced that this god among men must be in the back seat and that I would be the one fortunate enough to travel alongside him, which no doubt would be something I could tell my astounded family when I returned home and my feet finally trod the common earth after this fortuitous visit to Nirvana.
Sliding into the spacious vehicle that is Mark's car, actually it's very nice and I'm just being fatuous... I found myself sitting next to and instantly being berated by someone who constantly waved his arms like some Balinese witchdoctor while his beetroot coloured face contorted itself into what at first I thought was a grimace of pain, or possibly the result of an unfortunate, unexpected and exceptionally loose bowel movement.
None of this proved to be the case, however, for once I managed to stop my eyes watering due to the almost totally overpowering and potentially paint-stripping fumes of a noxious mixture of lord-knows what types of alcohol and/or paint-stripper I did in fact realise that I was in the god-like presence of the boy-genius himself, Mr Pud Pud.
Gone the youthful apple-cheeks and the cheeky Harry Potter spectacles, although spectacle would actually be a word being used later in the day when this industry behemoth did indeed make one of himself...but more of that anon.
Here instead were the doughy features and oddly shaped and multi-coloured teeth of something that seemed to have been made out of a mixture of plasticine, cake mix and a rather large and precariously balanced cauliflower.
This nightmarish combination, put together with the shambolic whitterings that spewed forth from the graveyard that I could only assume was his mouth suddenly caused me to realise that I was destined to be sat next to this worrying mannequin for the duration of our journey and I immediately began to pray that Stoke on Trent was indeed just the other side of Hulme and that we would have arrived some time in the next fifteen minutes.
Unfortunately, geography, especially of the uncharted areas outside Merseyside and the civilised world has never been my strong point and if you speak to those who have actually met me they would hasten to add that it is very possible that I do not actually possess one.
These are most likely inhabitants of this under-developed and slightly backward region in the educationally deprived areas of our great nation and possibly from somewhere around Whalley Range.
We pause here to bow our heads and say a brief prayer for those less fortunate than ourselves.
Anyway...enough of those buggers...back to the narrative.
With many a knowing and I do feel slightly smug look into his rearview mirror at my poor and unfortunate self Mr Jones pointed his cadillac southward and we sped off to our date with destiny.
I made many vain and desperate attempts at conversation with young Mark and his very affable travelling companion who's name was lost to me due to the variety of barnyard noises, slurpings, cheeps, hoots, bleets and honking sounds that issued incessantly from the rather dubious figure to my left.
I attempted to smile in that way we do when encountering someone from a foreign country or the Welsh because although obvious that it's not their fault you can't help but feel pity for them tinged with a smidgen of disgust.
But, as I warned you I would...I digress.
Pud Pud, regardless of the unavoidable fact that we had seldom met and had never conversed for more than five minutes at a time over the three or four occasions our paths had crossed insisted on babbling on as though we'd shared a fox-hole for three action-filled weeks at the battle of the Somme.
Oh the things I didn't know about myself that he proceeded to tell me. It was all quite informative really, being told a myriad things about myself that had never actually happened and really it didn't seem to matter to either of us because the lack of details, such as dates, places or corroborating witnesses was dumbfounding.
It was just one great verbal torrent of bollocks that apparently kept this escapee from Little Big Planet amused as every syllable was punctuated with some form of laughter.
Each laugh was illustrated with his own particular brand of expressive modern dance as he twitched, jerked, wobbled and shook with wild and frenzied abandon seldom seen in someone who has not just discovered that a parker pen was never intended to be forcefully jammed into the wall socket.
Not realising that the human mouth was cable of such a wide variety of bizarre noises one could, through the Klingon-esque selection of grunts, snarls, growls, whoops and whistles have been entertained had you not known that the creator of this barnyard chorus was expected to hold court at some juncture in the forthcoming proceedings on matters both educational and entertaining.
But, always finding that a blase, devil-may-care attitude often pays dividends I forced myself to endure the sheer hell that was his company for the duration of the journey reconciling myself with the thought that the day could only promise events that would overshadow my discomfort by a country mile.
I was not proven wrong.
Upon our arrival at the delicate spa-town that is Longton, on the outskirts of the charming hamlet of Stoke-on Trent we disembarked and made our way through the local car-wash to the venue.
Here we announced our arrival and I must admit I was a trifle deflated seeing as there were no trumpets heralding the arrival of our stalwart companion.
But even if there had been, I can only imagine that the dissimilarity in his appearance from his glory-days to that of the present would have forced any bugler to attempt to drive this shambling potato-like creation from the premises forthwith with his trumpet, thus clearing the way for the true arrival of the incandescent majesty of the highly awaited Industry Legend.
Amid a variety of puzzled, worried and slightly incredulous stares from the organisation I entered the event all the time thinking that they in some way held us responsible for the change in appearance of their star guest as well as the rather unnerving behavioural traits he displayed with frightening regularity.
For anyone who was there I need not describe the Aladdin's cave of technological paraphernalia that filled the two exhibition rooms to the veritable rafters.
For those who weren't there, shame on you.
Anyway...Both Mr Jones and myself managed to dislodge this irksome humunculous post haste and did indeed get to wander quite enjoyably among the ephemera of the last two decades of all things game related.
Intermittently I would see the florid and flabby features of the turnip-headed annoyance through the anoraked crowd; although I must hasten to admit that while I have coloured this lengthy tale for entertainment's sake I can in all honesty say without fear of contradiction say that if there was indeed an anorak on the premises, then I did not see it myself.
I was, as you will have guess by now being smarmy and patronising. But if I didn't, then I wouldn't be me now would I?
Back to the tale.
The afternoon progressed with in a most equable manner, marred only sporadically as my perambulations would suddenly bring me into close proximity of the vacuous ramblings of the flailing figure that was Mr Pud Pud.
It was with deep-seated and more than a modicum of perverse amusement that I saw him trap some poor unfortunate in an inescapable corner and then proceed to regale him with a small but frenzied selection from his repertoire of wildly inaccurate tales from the games industry, animal calls from the rainforest all mixed liberally with what sounded like the Lord's prayer done in the manner of the entire cast of Fraggle Rock.
The afternoon progressed without any great unpleasantness and regardless of several attempts to advise the organisers to distract our befuddled companion and proceed without him they were adamant that the punters should get what they paid for.
Which is precisely what happened although I must point out that those who are expecting calamity, catastrophe and a debacle of biblical proportions will be greatly disappointed. This is merely a soapbox for me to vent my spleen over several irritating events on what was an otherwise enjoyable afternoon and which only underlined something about this industry that irritates me greatly, although having said that, for those who know me, they would just shake their heads and think that this could be just about anything, if not indeed everything.
But anyway...
The appointed hour approached and it was by now that with some trepidation we wound our merry way to the Executive Suite where the masses were congregating, eager for scandal, industry scuttlebutt and a glimpse of the legend that is Mr Pud Pud.
Collecting our nerves behind stage, such as it was we listened to the introduction, which regardless of several technical hitches went well until the fateful moment when, without being announced; the twitching, quivering, gibbering figure of this god-among men launched himself out into the glare of a multitude of flashing cameras, clicking mobile phones and several professional film crews.
This in itself would not have been such a bad thing had he possessed a single coherent braincell that was firing on all cylinders.
As this was not the case and has not been the case for a considerable number of years things began to head towards a very slippery slope at a rate of knots.
The first unfortunate event was the fact that within two seconds of entering from behind stage those legendary feet that once were striding in the clouds above us mere mortals failed him and he went sprawling onto the stage like a sack of spanners.
The silence that filled the room from the sudden sharp intake of breath on the behalf of quite a large crowd of fans of the legend that was the Pudding shaped one was almost tangible.
Illusions could be heard shattering as the undercurrent began, with mutterings of "who is that?" and "NO!! Really?"
Boyish allegiances fell underfoot as their hero sat on the floor oblivious to not only all the horrified looks or indeed the fact that gravity, that harshest of mistresses had once again brought him down to much further than his knees. He not only had feet of clay, obviously the daft bugger had legs of jelly and for all we knew, a knob of butter.
He had fallen in their estimation and now lay in front of them looking like nothing more than somebodies three week-old laundry and with an odour to match.
Now most people would attempt to regain their composure, stand up, make a joke of the whole thing or be shamefaced about the incident. But not Mr Pud Pud; obviously this is a regular occurrence in his life which conjecture suggests is fueled with a variety of alcohol and/or ingredients we can only hazard a guess about.
So, having said this, the gelatinous one merely sat on the floor with his legs crossed and the misshapen globe on top of his neck filled with what I have heard described as a shit-eating grin.
The level of vacuity that filled this visage was positively withering to behold and if there were indeed any small children present I can only assume that their parents will be faced for several years to come with large psychiatric bills now that their children have actually witnessed something that puts paid to the lie that the bogeyman does not actually exist.
But conversely, it might also have a positive effect and this pivotal event will be that moment of clarity and epiphany when they realise that bodily abuse is not such a good idea and that self-preservation, abstinence and sobriety could actually be a reasonable rule of thumb.
All of which is total bollocks, but everything in moderation eh?
Despite several attempts to remove this grinning gargoyle from the floor and indeed the stage and take him to somewhere less public and which might also have attendants with large butterfly nets and a selection of long white coats with sleeves that fasten around the back, the proceedings continued and the remainder of the less venerated guests took their places on stage.
For what I was assured were alphabetical reasons, but also possibly for my sins I found myself sitting next to Mr Pud Pud who was now slumped precipitously in what one could only describe as a semi-conscious state on a small chair that did not appear capable of sustaining him in an upright state for any prolonged period of time.
The brave soul that was Mat Corne, our master of ceremonies steeled himself against further unpleasantness and went straight into the presentation and all appeared to be going relatively well regardless of the mouthy scouser who hogged the short-lived microphones for most of the entire event.
Every so often, the slumbering or catatonic lump at the stage's edge would rouse itself from whatever mental state it was in and wax lyrical in one of the many unintelligible tongues at his disposal.
A wide variety of emotions would pass across the lumpen features of the mythological figure at at the drop of a hat while he uttered what could have been pithy aphorisms or gems of wisdom that could save mankind from the brink of destruction and issue in an age of enlightenment and wholesale beneficence mostly it sounded like an ocelot chewing on a shoehorn.
For those who have never seen an ocelot chew on a shoehorn, I can tell you it is not a pretty sight; accompanied as it is by such a grotesque aural accompaniment, but I can say with some conviction that it will not stay with me as long as the memory of this entertaining afternoon and the industry giant I was so fortunate to encounter on this rainy Saturday afternoon.
As the proceedings did what they were intended, and proceeded, our worst fears were realised and some semblance of consciousness began to return to the potentially dormant Pud Pud.
His jabberings grew louder and his spasmodic flailings resumed along with the libelous comments about myself which all hinged on his vast catalogue of memories of the times were did or didn't share together.
But nipping things neatly in the bud, I managed to draw matters to a quick conclusion with several broad and oft-repeated broadsides at the games industry in general, one or two people and or companies in particular and then wind it all up with a glib monologue that was; to quote the bard "a tale … full of sound and fury; signifying nothing.”
A rousing cheer, a round of applause, a smattering of back slapping and we were done with nothing more than a headache from trying to juggle lord knows how many balls at once as I attempted to listen to what we were being asked, form coherent and potentially entertaining while truthful answers that would shed some light on the truth behind the glory days of Ocean development, all the while keeping an ear out for the blithering halfwit to my right who constantly was trying my patience with his continual and spurious tales of things that never happened.
Not only did we have all of this to contend with, we were subjected to a constant stream of bile and invective against not only Ocean Software, who fluctuated from second to second from being a glorious paradise of creative thought and development to being a preferable choice of holiday location to lifetime in a Turkish prison.
We also had to endure a constant repetition of his intolerable sour-grapes attitude towards Mike Lamb who if we were to believe the jabberings of Pud Pud is the veritable Antichrist.
"A guy called Mike Lamb picked up where I left off when I moved to Special FX Software in Liverpool. He wrote Robocop, which would have been my next game had I stayed."
This beggars belief, as the lumpen one who at the time was, or felt that he was the golden child left Ocean somewhere around December of 1986 and yet Robocop was developed on the Spectrum by Mike Lamb in 1988. Bizarre!
Other comments that he made hinge on things he has stated online:
"Early on it was okay, but they ended up with too many in-house people."
It doesn't take rocket science to read between the lines and see that once the limelight moved away on to other potentially equally or even more talented coders then it became a bitter pill.
The resultant mess that presented itself on Saturday could be due to these factors. I don't know, but it's all just a tad convenient to say otherwise.
Early success, youth pandered to and an ego built through constant encouragement, then the crushing blow as the company has the temerity to grow around him and take him down from his pedestal.
Several vain and fruitless attempts to regain lost glories follow and then denial sets in, fueled with bitterness, resentment and a refusal to accept the obvious.
Having personally know two other youths from the same period who both went through almost identical experiences, one is now almost as addled as Pud Pud and the other gassed himself on the Moors.
Not wanting to finish on a sombre tone, I can only say that the majority of those who entered the industry at the same time came through virtually unscathed.
Some, like Mike Lamb went on to great things, rewards justifiably achieved through hard work, talent and perseverance.
Some came through with pretty much what they came in with but also a lifetime of experience and some great memories and for that I am eternally grateful.
Others came through thinking themselves short-changed, deprived of what they feel should have been rightfully theirs but were not prepared to do anything about it other than bitch and whine.
For them I feel nothing. You get what you work for. If you don't get something, you didn't want it badly enough or never had the talent to reach it.
So anyway...to finish all I can say is that while I did indeed approach Byte Back 2009 with more than a little trepidation I thoroughly enjoyed myself. It's great to see not only games that myself and my peers developed still being played or being held in high regards, but to see that it is encouraging a new generation of game developers who want nothing to do with the lumbering monster that is the UK games industry but are determined to find ways around this obstacle to bring their own brand of games to the market.
I wish them every success, maybe I can join them for the ride.
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Post by Landstalker on Mar 9, 2009 14:03:53 GMT -5
While I wait for my account to be activated on the World of Spectrum forums I shall use this time to reply to my own post.
Apparently Jonathan Smith without even knowing of this posting has already gone online saying that I was talking crap.
he woke up onstage and there I was talking crap.
prior to this comment he goes on the record stating that in order to have the balls to even show his bloated face at the event he took ketamine.
Hmmm
A horse tranquiliser that if taken by humans can cause hallucinations
"Ketamine produces effects similar to PCP and DXM. Unlike the other well known dissociatives PCP and DXM, ketamine is very short acting, its hallucinatory effects lasting fifteen minutes when insufflated or injected and, up to an hour when ingested, the total experience lasting no more than a couple of hours. [62] Like other dissociative anaesthetics, hallucinations caused by ketamine are fundamentally different from those caused by tryptamines and phenethylamines. At low doses, hallucinations are only seen when one is in a dark room with one's eyes closed, while at medium to high doses the effects are far more intense and obvious. [63]
Ketamine produces a dissociative state, characterised by a sense of detachment from one's physical body and the external world which is known as depersonalization and derealization.[64] At sufficiently high doses (e.g. 150 mg intramuscular), users may experience what is coined the "K-hole", a state of dissociation whose effects are thought to mimic the phenomenology of schizophrenia.[65]. Users may experience worlds or dimensions that are ineffable, all the while being completely unaware of their individual identities or the external world. Users have reported intense hallucinations including visual hallucinations, perceptions of falling, fast and gradual movement and flying, 'seeing God', feeling connected to other users, objects and the cosmos, experiencing psychic connections, and shared hallucinations and thoughts with adjacent users.
Users may feel as though their perceptions are located so deep inside the mind that the real world seems distant (hence the use of a "hole" to describe the experience). Some users may not remember this part of the experience after regaining consciousness, in the same way that a person may forget a dream. Owing to the role of the NMDA receptor in long-term potentiation, this may be due to disturbances in memory formation. The "re-integration" process is slow, and the user gradually becomes aware of surroundings. At first, users may not remember their own names, or even know that they are human, or what that means. Movement is extremely difficult, and a user may not be aware that he or she has a body at all."
So this numpty has taken a drug used in veterinary medicine and then we're to believe that he can judge the veracity or value of what someone is saying are we?
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Post by witchfinder on Mar 10, 2009 11:57:17 GMT -5
Hi chaps, just wanted to say that it was a pleasure meeting you all on Saturday and looking back on it now, I'm happy to have been involved in the Q&A even if it didn't turn out quite how I had imagined! Really enjoyed your summary of the day above Simon - I was roaring with laughter whilst reading it... ;D Cheers, Mat
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Post by tandemar on Mar 10, 2009 13:32:01 GMT -5
Hi Mat,
Thanks for inviting us all. It did indeed take a slightly surreal twist but we came out relatively unscathed.
I did get a pretty fair rap on the knuckles on the WOS forums for having the gall to dare to knock the majesty that is our legendary friend.
But once all evidence was presented there seemed to be a swift about-turn of emotions with one or two apologies
I even got a cursory one from the person in question but then he just did the usual and started feeling sorry for himself and making a million excuses.
Knowing, as he did that he would be completely out of it if he appeared at the proceedings...why in god's name did he even waste everyone's time by turning up?
It probably would have been time best spent at a drugs rehabilitation centre.
And obviously, a few glib comments and the fact that one is completely oblivious of one's actions makes all the difference and exonerates you I suppose.
Needless to say his legion of fans all began clamoring around again once he started with the self-pitying comments.
I wonder how often this kind of behaviour takes place in his day to day life?
It doesn't bear thinking about.
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jof
New Member
Make me day, lad.
Posts: 19
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Post by jof on Mar 10, 2009 15:41:17 GMT -5
You nasty people!
I didn't rehearse a bile mounted script.
I was there for a laugh and to enjoy myself.
Sure, things went 'literally beyond my head' - and that was silly of me, and a mistake. I don't do geeky things like this, and that was my mistake for doing it.
I'm sorry if I've upset people. That was NEVER my aim.
Everyone has their agender. Mine was to smile - when I really wanted to run away.
I guess I don't think I'll hear the last of this - but that's okay, I can just switch off the computers and do something else. Or keep them on and pretend to be someone I'm not.
Either way, you won't see me again. Ever. And I'm sure there's people here that think that's just fine. But I do too! So that's okay.
Oh, and Simon, I had a go because you did first.
Who are you going to remember? Me or the others?
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Post by Paulie on Mar 10, 2009 17:24:54 GMT -5
Simon, that was just like old times - your mastery of the English language is a joy to behold. I haven't laughed so much in years.
Joff - don't just vanish - if you need to talk you've got my email address. Seriously.
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Post by tandemar on Mar 11, 2009 5:08:19 GMT -5
Just for the record Mr Smith, I have never spoken badly about you, either to your face or otherwise.
And if you really wish to check the events, ask Mark Jones and Phil about Saturday.
I got into the car and you launched immediately into your rant about my "violent" ways as I sat there offering you my hand and trying my damnedest to be pleasant while you just babbled incoherently due to your chemical induced state.
On the WOS forum you actually announce PRIOR to Saturday that you planned to be "off your face".
You also say "Simon hated me from the start!"
I don't know you well enough for that... I never did and why you seem to think we had some form of industry connection and knew each other is beyond me.
We shared working companions and that was it, we knew some of the same people.
We never worked together, never mixed socially and never spent more than a few minutes in each others company when I came to see Karen, Chas or Paul.
I certainly don't hold you in the high regard that the Spectrum forums appear to, especially after your recent performance and the feeble excuses you have given since.
One can only assume that this medicated condition and the subsequent effects are nothing new to you and as such you were fully responsible for being in such a state, and for your behaviour as a result.
To then state that you don't remember, or that it was beyond your control or that you were not in any way to blame for your behaviour is the most feeble of attempted cop-outs.
Planning before-hand to be "off your face" and knowing full well that you would not be in control of your actions negates all form of excuse.
And your woe-is-me-nobody-loves-me-I'll-just-disappear-then attitude since is pathetic.
Your main problem is that unless people are telling you how wonderful you are you just don't know how to cope.
Stop looking for sympathy, accept responsibility for your actions and grow up!
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jof
New Member
Make me day, lad.
Posts: 19
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Post by jof on Mar 11, 2009 10:42:05 GMT -5
Simon.
You have got me all wrong! And it is just wonderful that you and everyone else did too!
I love you to bits!
My fault? I have no ego! So stop saying I have.
I'm not after anything.
Fame. Money. You liking me.
But, whatever happend there, I fucked you off!
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Post by Paulie on Mar 11, 2009 14:41:06 GMT -5
No doubt I'll get flamed to hell and back, but, for the love of god, Simon, please stop.
Whatever Joff's problems are - this really isn't the place to air such vitriol - it certainly doesn't help Jonathan, no matter what your feelings are towards him either after Saturday or from years passim.
You're always banging on about "us kids" and how you were the only grown up at Ocean (which in many ways is valid), so how about being even more grown up about this and let it drop.
For the record, and call me a fan boy if you like, but Joff certainly was one of the best (if not THE best) spectrum programmer of all time. I hired him at Warthog a few years ago, and there was no sign of EGO then or back in the 80's.
Everyone is entitled to an opinion, it differs from yours, which is fine, but Joff was a superstar back then, and I'm actually genuinely worried for him now.
Joff - answer your bloody email!
Paul.
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jof
New Member
Make me day, lad.
Posts: 19
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Post by jof on Mar 11, 2009 15:11:58 GMT -5
Just got your email and I have replied.
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Post by jpickford on Mar 12, 2009 5:18:06 GMT -5
God job you weren't a shit programmer jof!
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