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I once was lost, but now am found...

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It pains me. When you look at the world, and the tunnel it is hurtling down, it pains me. We are a mish-mash of do-gooders, communists, nazis and politcal correctors. The worst of the are the political correctors. The men and women who believe the people who are less well represented should be wrapped in cotton wool. The liberal feminists, who claim the uselessness of man, yet would cause war if he claimed the same back! the middle classes, who have neer been on an East London Council estate, complaining at the 'rights' of the ethnic minorities when it is blatantly obvious they are taking the system for a ride. I have no beef with any man who comes here to work, but i cant stand the people that live off the state for no reason, who hide behind the flaws in the system to take what they can, and contribute nothing of their own. Listen to me before you judge my words my brothers, i am not a rascist, and i am not a nationalist, i think the worst type of person imaginable is one who is born to a country, and will do what they can to take from it, without giving back. What is that if its not stealing? I will tell you, its Rape and its Pillage. These people have no understanding of the word work, they think the country owes them something, well fuck you, if owes you nothing. Providing you with the safety you live in, the free education you claim, and the health system that despite its faults, is the envy of a lot of the developed world. Fuck you if you think the country that protects and feeds, educates and heals you, owes you more... Fuck you. And those political correctors who believe it should keep on giving, well fuck you too... and your mother.

9/11 or as it should properly be known, 11/9.

Once again it smashes into the headlines and once again stirs up some of the most blood boiling embivalence my sould has ever been torn with.

Two major events happened on or around September the 11th this year:

The first involved a silence, the second involved a Book.

Now let me start with the obvious. I am in no way a racist person. I am pretty damned tolerent, and think that everyone should have the right to live, un-scared and comfortably in the place of their choosing. Now that that is said, i will also say, that i have numerous Muslim friends, and that, the fanatiscism that spawned those evil fuckers who went around crashing planes into building, setting off bombs on the London Underground, and doing all kinds of other horrid things, is only an excessivly small proportion of followes of Islam. However there were two things that bothered me, and i'm pretty sure they are going to stir up some controvisy.

1) In the UK We had a moments silence... What the fuck for? Dont get me wrong, it is absolutely awful what happened, and i do sympathise. However, It didint directly happen to us... we dont have a moments Silence to comemorate the Omagh Bombing every year, or the Blitz every year, I just dont understand what the hell it has to do with me? Americans, please do, and if i was IN America on any September the 11th, i would of course show my heartfelt respect to those that fell on that fateful morning, but i dont see why it was extended over here, When was the last time we had an annual moments silence for the poor bastards washed away in the Asian Tsunami? I'll tell you why my friends, its because this fucking Shitehole of a CUNTry is so far shoved up Americas Arse, that we can see Daylight whenever it opens its mouth. Its bollocks, it truly is, its the lowest of the low, its Arselicking, brown-nosing, and its wrong. In the end, out of Respect to the people who had perished, i did indeed hold my two minutes silence, but once again, can not understand why it was thrust upon me.

2) Pastor Terry Jones, had decided to burn a stack of Korans. Now, i'm not a great believer in the relevance of objects... a koran is a book, as is the bible, i appreciate the relevance of its holiness, and undestand it would piss a few people off. However, how in the blue fuck, do these people... who openly burn Flags, effigies and bibles get off complaining when someone is doing it back to them? it makes me angry, its typical, a rule for one, and another for others... what is this world coming to?? we've got people dying in Pakistan due to massive floods, and still their so called 'leaders' of these countries, are winging because of one nut-job getting off on his freedom of expression, yeah, thats what it is in essence. How about this, stop fucking complaining about nothing, and start delivering rice to your poor Citizens who are up to their necks in water...

...end transmission...

Once Were Warriors!

Hendrix Blog

There were Three Warriors. Armoured warriors here my friends, not scantily glad and massively built blonde mean with pig tails and beards. There engines we're idling, and they were ready to go.
Two Anti-Tank Infantry Sections sat waiting patiently in two of them, and a Rifle Section in the remaining one. They sat, their Clammy hands holding their rifles, their faces, greasy with cammo cream, there hearts thumping with in time with the distant artillery.
A right click, and they rumbled into action, crushing grass and flower, and breaking clear of the woodland surrounded area i'd Chosen to deploy in.
The Country club to the right of our battle line was already chaotic with shit, shot and shell and the constant shouts and calls over the network were becoming indecisive and I tried in vain to drown them out. We trundled along the length of a plowed field. To our right, we handrailed a long strip of thick forest, thick enough to conceal us, but to long and dense to be tackled by the lads on foot. I'd ferry them North with the Wagons, drop them off, and shoot back to pick up the Reinforcments who had parachuted in not long since our deployment.
We reached the Forward Rendezvous without making contact. A clicked order and smoke cannisters shot from the ports of the Warriors and they screamed to a halt, their rears shooting into the air as the forward brakes bit into the soft ground. The rear doors shot open and the troops ran out, at a sprint, through the smoke and into the forest. The manouvre lasted less than two minutes, and we were ready. The Warriors were stayed on station until the lads were in position, then shot back to the forming up point to collect the next platoon.
I was in my own world at the time and calls and shouts from the other field commanders were skimming by un-noticed. I was oblivious to all but my own. My lads were waiting in ambush, laying quietly in the thick brush, ready. We were so far in front of our front line, that we knew the Warsaw Pact bastards wouldnt expect us, and right on cue 4 T-80s, Heavily armoured Machines who’s only role on the battlefield was to deal shitty death to anyone brave enough to try and thwart their insatiable lust of command points! Their powerful cannon can be costly when fired on un-protected troops, and more horrorfying, they can crush men beneath their tracks – if you allow them to get close enough. The boys on the deck had orders not to fire unless given the direct order by myself, and I wanted to balance the timing, allowing them close enough to warrant accuracy and effectiveness on the part of my own arsenal, but not too close so that they pose a quick turn threat, and my Sections are turned to the consistency of crunchy strawberry jam.
I waited patiently, and at a time I considered best gave the order and the pine scented forest air broke into the horrid whiff or cordite and scorched metal as the lead and rear vehicle were lost in a spray of Anti-tank rockets. Quickly a further Salvo from both AT Sections rendered them destroyed, and the Enemy commander tried in vain to deploy a smokescreen, but they were too close, and after reloading, we quickly dispatched the surviving two in a similar fashion.
I considered this a great success. I had lost very few men in the initial contact, and each of the Sections was still comfortable above 80% strength, and what was more, my Warriors were now trumbling back with more troops. I flashed back to a memory my grandfather had shared with me when I was a lad ‘If it aint broke, don’t fix it!’ had been a common anecdote, and despite any training I’d received in life, I decided to keep my ambush team in the same position, and try the ambush again. This went against everything I’d ever been taught about the art of ambush whilst serving Queen and country, but gaming instincts and the odd ‘what the hell!’ came into play. Plus I decided the enemy wouldn’t really expect me to still be in the same position.
I Reinforced my lads with another two AT Sections and another Rifle Section to give protection from Air or Infantry attack and waited.
And this, my friends, is where it all began to go wrong. As I watched another Column, this time of T-72 tanks approach my killing zone, a flash through the air and blinding flash announced the presence of an enemy bomber. A Frogfoot I thought, but had no time to identify as my infantry we’re engulfed in a swift corridor of Burning Napalm. I was pissed, but with another reinforcment, and a swift deployment back into the Battle Area would mean no major loss. However, this is where the Arguments began. I was immediately engulfed with ‘Hendrix u n00b!’ ‘LOL @ Hendrix’ and ‘n00b team!’ messages. These persisted until the match ended, and I logged out. Similar things like this have happened since, and before.

So to sum up, I ask you my friends, Why are the World In Conflict Community, such fucking pricks? I’ve played many, many games online, and never before, have I met a bigger bunch of self possessed, nasty, elitist bigots. Its just stupid. The game is without a doubt the best crafted RTS experience I have ever had the pleasure of gracing my hard drive with, yet the community suck. Its shrinking because of pricks like these, and it pisses me off! Any thoughts?

Well, another Christmas, another moan!!!
This glorious Decebuary my droogs, has come along and like tolchocked me right on the top of my head, leaving me sprawling. It started with the glorious Swine flu. Spending 6 days laying on the seetee, coughing my lungs up, fighting back a real horrorshow pain in the gulliver, and flitting through hot and cold spells, all the while my work begins to pile up.
Nearly dying was compounded when i returned to the graft last Wednesday. A killer day, a tonne and a half of work for your humble narrator. I rabbited away for a sullen 12 hours before deciding it was time to return to my abode to get a bit of spachka.
Before rousing the morning following, i was woken by a telejingle from my boss and governor, informing me that there had been a fire at the repro house during the middle of the nochy, and that when i arrive i was to bring, if available, a set of wellington boots. Owning not a pair of said footwear, i opted for my old Army boots, and set off on the rattler to my place of graft. Arriving to a scene of utter chaos. During the nightwight, some bratchny pikey had parked an automacar in an alley by the side of our building and proceeded to torch said vehicle, the resulting flames catching some of our file copied proofs in the kitchen area, and causing an inferno that satan would be proud to warm his rookers on.
The glorious London fire Brigade, god save them! arrived at the Rabbit, and proceeded to douse.... sorry soak, the entire building with copious ammounts of corporation ale, that is, water. As one can Imagine, a mixture of computer based products, and a vast majority of paper related articles, and said water, do not mix. Everything not destroyed by the fire and its resulting thick thick black smoke was gutted by the water.

Thinking this was the worse that could possibly happen, while govereeting with the insurance veck, he informed us that they could probably save our hard drives on the macs we use. A streak of glimmering light in what was at that time a dark and miserable time. We got ourselves a new office, and have a new mac.

However my droogs, things got worse, as some other pikey bastards, broke into the wrecked building and stole anything of value.

So now you know my absence... and I end with wishing you all a very merry Christ's Mass and a Happy new Year!

Hello again my droogs.

now under normal circumstances, I only ever use the moddb blog for Mod/mod related issues, but now, it appears something else must adorn my wall for my good chums to take a butchers at.

Friday, just gone, had possibly one of the strangest and proudest moments of my adult life. But for this story to begin my friends, I must start way back, as a wee lad.

note 1
Tucked tightly into my bed, Thomas the tank engine bed covers, and a lamp burning its ugly flourescent glow next to my pillow I laid and dreamt my young boyhood dreams. It was not an uncommon experience, my friends, for your humble narrator to recieve burning visions, and vivid accounts of like, falling into a muddy hole, and being not able to pull my battered body out, and helplessly drowning, sinking lower and lower, and all along the smell and taste of the thick mudding burrowing deeper and deeper into my nostrils and mouth. I reported these to my mother figure, and she put it down to an over active immagination, and it wasnt until later life that accounts of things I'd personally seen crawled their way in and replaced these horrid images.

note 2
My family is made up primarily of Anglo Irish descent. Both Grandfathers being from the Emerald Isle. Now Grandmothers are a different matter, on my fathers side being from Spain, but on my mothers, I knew them to be of German/Jewish Heritage, coming over to the glorious United Kingdom somewhere in or around the 1880s. My Maternal Great Grandmother was a wonderful woman in her Youth, she dodged a falling building during the blitz by only a few feet as it collapsed following a direct hit, and survived an unexploded doodlebug landing solidly in the rafters of her East London Home. When older, she began to.... well lose the plot my friends. She sported a thicker moustache than Josef Stalin (although I am told that this was not her choice!) She had this wierd habit of Calling me Audrey (I am serious, this is not a sketch from Bottom) But we put this down to the fact that she was well and truly, over the hill and far away.

note 3
My Maternal Grandfather, had four Uncles. 3 We're killed on the the opening gambit of the Battle of Loos in 1915 (25th of September 1915), the other thankfully survived.

The Unwraveling truth.
Well by fans, Friday saw a bit of a lull in the continous work-stream at my office, so i thought i'd lend my hand to a wee bit of Artwork for my mod, and then post it on facebook.
Note the comment from a Certain Bob Fox. Robert Fox is my great Uncle, and his wife has researched the family tree. He makes mention to a great, great, great uncle killed in the 2nd battle of ypres. So I prodded for more information. It came to light:

His name was Aubrey Gluck. Reference to 'audrey'

He was in 12 Rifle Brigade. The same Regiment as me

He Died on the 15th of September 1915. His 21st Birthday and the same day as the relatives from my Grandfather.

His freind wrote to my great great great grandmother telling her he was hit and fell into a shellhole, and that he went to get him out but was hit himself. I can only link this to the nightmarish dreams of my youth.

now this may not mean anything to you, but to realise I had a relative from the Rifle Brigade, who died for king and country, make me so proud. And the erie other notes, make it much more worthy.

User Posted Image
this picture was taken during the christmas truce in 1914 and is now widely reproduced for books. My Great great great uncle is second man from the right.

Rest in Peace
Rifleman Aubrey Gluck, 12 Rifle Brigade
See you at the Rendezvous my uncle
Rifleman Anthony Barker, 7 Rifles

Celer et Audex: Swift and Bold

So my droogs, lets assume that the button has been pushed and a bright flash followed by roaring thunder has rendered you to live in a hole for the past three weeks like some kind of cave dwelling rat. Lets also assume that there is still enough of a centralised communication system to sound an all clear.

So you emerge from your hole, be it shelter, basement, cellar or simply a few doors placed at an angle against the inner wall of your ones beautiful family home. 'What kind of world am i waking up to my brother?' i hear you ask. Well lets not beat around the proverbial bush about this... things are gonna be fucked... proper fucked. Lets start with the obvious things. The Infratsructure of what was once your nice suburban street, complete with Ford Escort On the driveway, and quant little trees, and a nice traditional red post box on the corner is going to be pretty different from when you last saw it.

What has happened?
Assuming again that your lucky (or indeed unlucky) enough to be 8 miles from a 4 megatonne blast (thats 8m tonnes of Explosives.... not for the faint hearted). Now my droogs, your humble narrator will not bore you with the scientific nonsense of Uranium bullets firing down pipes into other crap, we'll cut to the chase, and the question on your mind...'what the fuck is this thing actually going to do to me?' Most Nuclear weapons are delivered via missile. There are two ways that our ghastly enemies can use these missiles on us (Strategically my friends, im talking of taking out cities rather than taking out army formations etc) and each one has its pro's and con's. We'll start with the ground burst. This, quite simply, is when the weapon hits the floor before detonating its payload. This minimised the effect of the blast of the weapon. Unfortunatly the major by product of this is Fallout (no my droogs, hundreds of copies of a certain RPG do not suddenly spawn in the wake of a huge mushroom cloud) Fallout is dust/dirt/soil/shit that is sucked up during the negative shockwave, and sent through the core of the explosion, exposing it to high levels of radioactivity. It is then carried hundeds of miles with the wind, and deposited over Farmer Griff sitting on his tractor, 80 miles from ground zero, bleakly wondering why his 'farmers wives' hasnt been delivered for the past few weeks. Now air-burst, as you can imagine, is when the warhead is set to detonate above the ground, anything from a few feet, to a few hundred feet, and greatly increases the damage caused by the positive and negative blast waves, but due to the higher proximity to the solid ground, creates much less fallout.

The Blast Itself
Lets look at the airburst a little closer shall we... In the 1985 Scenario, A Soviet SS20 missile detonated its 2 2.6 megatonne wareheads simoultaneously, 500m directly over Battersea Power station in London. The initial flash would of burnt the pain off of buildings, and given partial and full thickness burns to people standing up to 6-8 miles away. Newspapers in the gutters would of caught fire. Sails on boats would of melted, and people with light clothing (such as shell suits and nylon tops) would of flt them begin to melt into their skin. A second or So later the explosion would begin to move outwards. This is know as the positive blast, and would involve winds moving up to 3-400 miles an hour. With winds of these speeds, vehicles would be picked up and thrown like toys, older buildings would be flattened, people would be picked up and thrown like petals in the wind. Unfortunately, this would then cause an immense vaccum, that would urgently need filling, so the winds would rush back, this time towards the blast in what is known as the negative blast. Luckily the two blast waves should put out a majority of fires caused by the flash, but do not think for one second my good droogs that this means there will be no fires. Now all in all, that is all we need consider from the blast at this point. More will be explained as we progress.

So What does my Street look like now?
Well for a start, the small Georgian houses built at the turn of the last century are relatively sturdy. Had you been closer they could almost certainly have been wiped aside like Barry Scott wiping away some horrible mess with a cloth soaked in Cillit bang. However we're lucky, the roof has gone bye-bye, and you now have no windows. The blast has knocked down all telephone and power lines, so your now off the national grid, and there no way BT are gonna make a house call after this. Its safe to say, that by all practical means, you are on your own.

Holy Dog shit, what now?
The first thing your going to want to do is probably contact some other poor wanker who has just been through the same shit. Probably not a wise idea. The first thing you need to know about the human mind, is the speed in which is regressed back to an animal state. The average joe bloggs has evidently, very recently seen a large proportion of his brood and friends wiped out, and all his earthly possesions burnt to a crisp. Chances are - he aint gonna be in a talkative mood. On top of that, a lot of people (yourself included) are probably suffering from severe shock. The major problem with this is that the initial symptoms of shock, and the initial symptoms of radiation sickness are the same, so one of two things is going to happen. 1) your going to end up dieing from shock (wrongly believing you have radiation sickess) 2) Your gonna die of radiation sickness! - Ha! not if we can help it, lets get started so we can hurry up for the repopulation phase thats sure to come up if we're lucky!

1) Get some shelter/cover from fallout. The initial dosage of radiation from the flash and blast will already be killing you if you didint seek cover from it, but we cant be worrying about that. People seem to think fallout lasts for thousands of years and will kill you no matter what, this is untrue. By simply putting on a couple of overcoats, a few pairs of trousers, and a pair of gloves, you can almost tripple your chances of survival. Wear a mask if possible, and ensure that, when you go back into your house or shelter, that you take them off and leave them outside.

2) Find some grub. You should really of stocked up on scoff and water before. IF you havent, then my suggestion is to find a weapon, and go and steal your neighbours (hey what do i care, im hoping i died in the blast). Water is very difficult to obtain. The government is advising you to keep your bath tub filled with water and covered, will this is a good start, but its going to go off unless we don something about it. Try and get some chlorine tablets. You can get these from any army surplus store, and a chemist should be able to help you out with a civilian equivalent. Expectedly, the best food for this kind of situation is tinned. Anything tinned is a good idea, but remember to ration it out. Its no good eating like barry white on day one, if your gonna have to eat like lindsey lohan on day 12.

3) Work out what the hells going on. Try and find a radio, and some double A batteries. Take them out of the wifes dildo if necessary (but dont remove them from the tv remote - heavens above people, just cos we've been nuked doesnt mean we must behave like savages). If this fails, then venture out, if you can. Dont go to far from your humble abode as there is always a risk of some nasty toe-rag getting in and doing the dirty to your wife and daughter. Remember, protect your family unit, they are now the most important thing to you (especially if you run out of food and need a quick source of meat - kidding!)

4) Protect and survive. Or as we like to call it in the British Army, Survive and Fight. You've already done all the surviving possible up to this point, so now its time to start thinking of protecting the family, and yourself. Barricade your home. Dont scare the wife and kids, but ensure them that you will look after them. Keep easy exits available incase it becomes necessary to evacuate the abode quickly, and above all, tell them you love them frequently, as you never know what is round the corner.

5) What for the emergency government to make an announcment. Chances are, central government is now a blackened smoking hole (slightly more effective than it has been for years) They will eventually be there to pick up the pieces and re-take power. And if they dont, what the hell! sieze power!

Next week, we'll discuss seizing power, the bolshevik way!

The Hatch

Hendrix Blog 3 comments

Me and gabriel (fallen angel) Visited Kelvedon Hatch

For those not in the know, Kelvedon Hatch was the regional command centre
the South-East of England if a nuclear attack took place. Basically it
is a 3 story nuclear bunker semi built into a hill. Its near the town
of Kelvedon Hatch, which is roughly 7 miles from Brentwood.

Getting there.
the train to Brentwood guys, then get off and get on the 501 bus, then
get off at Kelvdon hatch. Follow the road (be careful, there is no
pavement) towards Ongar, and it will be on your left. You'll have to
walk through a tangle of roads that cut through fields and its pretty
difficult to get to.... but i guess thats its purpose.

User Posted Image
The entrance to the bunker

First impressions
its a standard looking guard house, relatievly unimpressive in itself.
There is a humber pig parked outside (i have a love affair with the
humber pig, as the rest of the team knows!) There is also a Green
goddess fire engine in a shed, and some kind of missile (which me and
gabriel failed to identify!)

Into the Darkness
surprised to find a sign telling you to pay at the end of the tour, but
worry not. You grab a 'wand' (basically a large hand held device that
talks you through the tour) from what was once an armoury, and then
step through the first set of reinforced doors. This was the first
impressions of what it would be like to be living and working in these
conditions, and let me tell you, a chill ran down my spine. There is an
air raid siren playing on loop as you enter the immersion shaft, a long
tunnel maybe 100 yards long. There are beds hanging from the walls, and
push bikes to get people about. You walk down and are told the
schematics by your wand.

User Posted Image
The Entrance Shaft

The blast doors
you've traversed the shaft, and are not at the entrance to the bunker
actual, the most impressive thing, is the scale of the blast doors.
They are massive, and bloody heavy looking. Each door aparantely weighs
more than a car... not something you want to run into after a few
pints! Following the tour we walk into various government rooms,
control and computer terminals spread all about...

i wont spoil it for you and tell you about ever room, but a few things
you need to take into consideration here. These rooms are not made for
space or comfort, they are designed for efficiency and protection. The
ceiling is adequately high, gabriel may of ducked at a few points, but
he does that a lot as he's a tall bastard... me being an respectable 5
foot 10", had no worries in getting around. The rooms are narrow
mostly, there are air filters in every room, hanging from the ceiling
like strange UFOs. There are also small comms boxes, voice to voice
communication i guess between different areas of the shelter.

The air

thing that did disturb was the taste of the air. Its recycled as you
can imagine. There is a constant odor of dirty linen, and sweat... and
this is before a large group of men has been living in it for weeks on
end. Your eyes will begin to ache slightly at the fluorescent glow of
every single bloody light!

The displays
They have
really goneout to town on finding information and items from the cold
war. There are civil defence items strewn about, there are maps, videos
and dummy's in period costume... perhaps the most interesting thing for
me and Gabe, was the stuff from the bunker itself. The torches fixed to
the walls, the communication equipment, the plotting boards, everything.

Probably the most eye opening part was the cardboard coffins laid out towards the end of the tour.

The exit
for about an hour and a half, watching all the videos and in our
element, it was time to go. We made our way yo the exit, where there is
a cafe and left via a creepy corrugated shaft leading to a shot of
darkness above... walking back to kelvedon hatch, and then back to

User Posted Image
A Ghost in the exit??

Lads it costs approximately £10,
this is paid at the end. If you wish to take photos, you must pay £5
and sign a form. There are drinks available during the tour, and is a
cafe at the end of it.

From London Stratford it cost about £40 for the pair of us.... including travel but not including the slap
up greasy breakfast we had.

I would advise anyone with an interest in the cold war to do it.



Pus we got a tonne of reference for the mod!!

The team

Hendrix Blog 2 comments

Hello again Comrades.
Thought I'd take a minute or two to discuss the benefits of having a decent mod team. Now before I begin, I don't pretend to have the best mod team in the world, but rest assured, if I ever started my own independent development studio, the first thing I would do is employ my regulars contributors.

I'm not going to mention names, but it will not be difficult to work out who I am talking about if you decide to look into it.... and face it, what kind of sad life do you have if you do!

The mod was started by myself after watching a few films and reading a few books on a similar subject. I toiled for a few months, and then convinved a good friend of mine to come aboard as a 3d modeler and coder. We had worked together on a few other mods in the past and are a good team and personal friends outside of the modding community... despite the fact that he lives in the low countries.

I had a chap apply to join the mod a few months before christmas. After viewing his development portfolio, I was really impressed and obviously gave him a job on the mod. He told me he's applied to join a few months before, but to no avail (I have no idea why, and can only assume he never spoke to me). The guy is extremely dedicated, and shoots through personal strife to produce some of the best work that 1985 has to show. This guy is seriously on the ball, and knows more about 3d modeling than I do about beer. I decided to give him responsibility for the whole 3d modelling team, and under him it has blossomed.

Through this same chap, we managed to recruit one or two more lads, mainly from the colonies.... oh sorry, i mean States. Although he is a yank (and lets face it, it is illegal to discriminate!) he is a top bloke, who is also producing me a decent stream of high quality models, in good speed. I have just to mention something that would look good in my mod, and the next day without fail it is sitting nicely in my inbox.

We have another lad, this time a northerner, who again was a good modeler, and more importantly, brought with him the ability to compile his models directly to the source engine. Now this wasnt a major drama before, as we had people who could do it, but never anyone who could do the entire process. This brought a new life to the mod in a sense that he was getting prop models turned out in an extremely impressive time.

We have a few more very talented guys in the process of joining, and look forward to them producing some amazing content, but we'll see.

I have always been a person willing to give someone else a chance. I have had many a modder come to me without a portfolio wishing to join. I will take anyone who wants the opurtunity to come aboard, as long as they shows signs of improvment. I do not tolerate deadwood but completely appreciate that modding is in most cases a hobby, and that personal life comes miles in front, that is the way it is, and that is the way i expect it to be.

I think that overall working with a decent team, a group of individuals that show a personal passion for working on a story that i have put so much into, gives me so much joy and pride, that i cannot hide it! Working with proffesional people, dedicated, and so very talented, i dont think of it as a gain for myself, i simply consider it a loss for the gaming industry, who should be employing these people to work commercially.

Anyway, enough of me blowing my teams trumpet... the bastards will get big headed!!! :-p

If you want to be part of it then visit www.1985-mod.com and switch the TV set to forums.

1985: Development Blog

Hendrix Blog

Ahh the glory days seem to have returned behind the heavy oak doors of 1985 development! We appeared to have an un-questionable drought of solid graft happening on all fronts for the yuletide period, perfectly understandable in my honest opinion, but somewhat demoralising never the less.
Well my good modding chums, this appears to have changed over the lat week or so. I spent the first part of last week learning new lighting tricks. It has been said before that my maps are good but lack, decent, HD rendered lighting. Well, sometimes i guess you just need to get off your horse and drink your milk! Doing so, i learnt quite a bit (and more shockingly, realised that i actually remembered half of it, from being able to do it before!). So you'll be pleased to know that 1985_Thames is almost finished. This is an MP version of the SP map, but i'll give you a quick low down on the story behind the specific map, a little bit later.
On the non-mapping front, Dannycon the lead 3d artist has been plugging away at various weapons, from new grenades, to rifles, some youve had the privelidge to see, and others... well you'll just have to wait a while. We've Our good chum cruckz produce a superb humber pig for use as a Urban pacification vehicled during the second phase of the SP game, as well as various props, and we've had extranoise working flat out to produce us some pretty fantastic barricade props. Ihazard is also working flat out to get the Sterling SMG ingame, and Fallen my good pal, is animating his dutch Ass off!!! All in all, development is coming along very strong indeed, however there are still a few hles in the development team we would like to fill.

We have all our characters done for the beta, but we are looking to quadrouple the ammount of humans usable in SP & MP for the second release: therefore we are looking for:

Character modeller: to model and texture character models based.
Character animator: To rig animate character and NPC mmodls.

Compiler: To compile props/weapons AND characters, now we already have a guy to do each of these, but we are looking to bring someone on board to solely do this.

Texture Artist: All our modelers texture their own models, but sometimes its nice for them to just concentrate on banging out models, also some of our stuff requires reskins, so its best for them to do them.

Researcher: Whilst most of the research is done by me, we have an opening for someone to do minor research, now dont let the name fool you, they will be doing a lot of research that (to be frank) i dont have time to do, such as period advertisments, vehicles, clothes etc.

If you are interested, then there are various ways of contacting us, and until then, i hope you look forward to the impeding beta!

Christmas Party Blues

Hendrix Blog

i'm an adult instructor with the air training corps (air cadets to you rebel motherfuckers) and have been since my Army service, basically on and off since i was a cadet back in the day.

The only thing is the bastard squadron decides to hold its annual Christmas camp the weekend just gone... the same weekend as my work Christmas. So i confer with the Boss of the ATC squadron, and work out that he has the same drama, and we can meet up on the saturday morning, and he can drive me down to the training area... good drills, it will leave me enough time to get merrily plastered on friday, and still be completely sober for saturday morning... so i thought!

So this is the way it went down.
I arrived for work just before 9am, after travelling across the width of the glorious city of London, on the central line, standing back to back, stomach to stomach, and closer than i'd really like to with people of dubious bodily hygiene. After escapeing the mosh pit of the london underground i fought my way to the surface and made it through the bitterly cold winter air to the shop floor. Deisng jobs, and website amends all day (apart from a breif run to the snack wagon to find a dripping bacon, sausage, egg and fried onion baguette with plenty of ketchup... you need some fuel if your gonna be on the drink that night). Anyway, we work on later, waiting for a few ex-colleagues to turn up, and finally leave the shop at 6pm. Straight to the Castle in North Acton for a bevvie or twelve. nigh on 15 pints of Guinness (and to their credit they pour a nice pint at the castle) ano no food later, i decide its best to stagger home to collect my kit for the weekend. I'm sitting on the scarcely populated underground chatting merrily to my boss, and generally having a good craic, when he offers me a chicken salsa wrap... and me like some kind of idiot, consumes it with gusto... Its as the train clutter from the gloomy platform of Marble Arch that the salty water from my stomach starts to fill my mouth. I knew then what was going to happen... but decided that the best course was to do absolutely nothing... I emptied my stomach as we pulled into Oxford Circus. MY boss could not control laughter as pints of Guinness and pieces of chicken (which i destinctly remembered chewing!) spilled over the lino floor. I couldnt contain my embarrasment, and got off the train and waited for the next one. At Bethnal Green i got off... and spewed what small amount of content was left in my aching stomach onto the platofrm... much to the anger of the Nigerian Cleaner lady... who at one point i was sure was going to insert her mop into me... I staggered home, and fell asleep somewhere near my bed. I woke with the mother of all headaches... It was not a hangover, and i was completely sober, however the dehydration from the alcohol and the vomiting had taken its toll... and after a fry-up and two apspirins I was right as rain... until i arrived at the training area and had 30 screamng kids to deal with... but thats another story for now!!!

The moral??? Dont drink without eating something... in fact just dont drink...

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