5 Exciting Alternatives To Pokemon GO

Pokemon GO isn’t for everyone. Yes- in our youths we may have immersed ourselves in the wonderfully diverse and intricate world of pocket monsters, swapping cards on the playground and sitting on the sofa playing on our Game Boys all day. But 15 years later, we know that walking around in zombie mode, smartphone in hand, playing on a highly infantile Black Mirror-esque application isn’t the only way to enjoy exploring the real world. Here are a series of alternative suggestions for you if you feel like you’re missing out.

  1. Set up a series of large metal traps with gaping razor sharp jaws in built up areas, such as shopping centres and car parks- Potential catches can be anything from pigeons, rats or even citizens who could potentially be playing Pokemon Go themselves. If like myself and unlike American people, you enjoy irony, then the potential rewards here speak for themselves.


    The Bullring is one of the most coveted areas for creature trapping in the whole of the Midlands.

  2. Buy a package of tranquillising blow-darts off the deep web and go hunting- Go to the woods and shoot a series of woodland creatures, take them home, and put them in a small cage. When they wake up, watch them all fight to the death, then choose to train the winner. It will most likely be the badger, a species of animal which can quickly be taught moves such as Cut, Dig, and Bite (as a move Bite can be particularly effective, as the badger bite, whilst being extremely strong, will also infect the opponent with tuberculosis, leading to imminent consumption and death). Badgers are also known to provide great companionship and with a decent one you would laugh your way through any real life equivalent of the Pokemon League. (FACT: There are so many Pokemon based on badgers, you have no idea).


    Just have a look at this. They’ve even got a honey badger variant. But let’s not allow ourselves to get carried away here – LordoftheReeves.com would like to take this opportunity to make readers aware that we do NOT in any way endorse making the trip to Africa, Southeast Asia or the Indian subcontinent to tranquillise a honey badger because it would FUCK you up if you did. Those things are volatile killing machines and would tear you to pieces in a matter of seconds and with no provocation. Whether they can be cultivated and trained by humans is yet to be discovered, but personally, as a moderately sane human being, I sure as hell wouldn’t want to find out.

  3. Collect bottle tops- Collectors often report that this can be a deeply rewarding, often spiritual practice. Make sure that every top is of a different design, and that there are no duplicates copies in your collection. As you would expect, collecting involves visiting a lot of drinking establishments, and therefore consuming a lot of alcohol, which might ultimately distract you from the fact that we are living in the age of the apocalypse and we’re all doomed, which is perhaps the reason why people have become dependant upon these God-awful apps in the first place. And if you’re teetotal, you can always encourage friends or family whom you don’t particularly care about to discover the joys of alcoholism, and then get them to collect the tops for you in exchange for liquid rewards.


    While all the idiots are staring at their iPhones and accidentally stumbling upon rotting corpses in the bottom of quarries in Massachusetts, you can be creating a vibrant mosaic to decorate the floor of your sauna.

  4. Put your smartphone in the microwave just to see what happens.


    Could be fun?

  5. Read a book.



A plea to kick the dandelion right in the head

To the exclusive few of you reading this who take the time to read and appreciate the work that I put on my website, I am very thankful. Of course, writing is what I love doing, and I absolutely love the freedom that having my own website allows (and I might add that the website is looking sharper and more organised than ever right now, with a smooth white theme and a series of CATEGORIES for posts in HYPER-LINK FORM), freedom to write whatever nonsense (or sense) that I want, how ever I want to do it. You will undoubtedly understand that almost everything I write is completely unpublishable elsewhere due to its unconventionality, so thanks to Lordofthereeves.com, all of this extraordinary stuff is given the opportunity to exist.
But it’s not all sweetness and light I’m afraid. It may not come as a surprise to you, but my readership is very poor, which is deeply dissatisfactory to me, considering the amount of time and work that goes into some of my posts. I only have 270 friends on Facebook to share my posts with, most of whom are probably terrified of me anyway and think I’m some kind of monster, not to be encouraged. LordoftheReeves.com is effectively a barren wasteland, which does leave me questioning why on Earth I bother with it sometimes.
So please, if you enjoy something that I’ve done, it makes you laugh or encourages you to think about something differently or in a new way, which is all that I ever hope for, share it with your friends, online or with your mouths or whatever. Kick the dandelion head and let the wind take the seeds to new realms and dimensions. That way, I can keep on going with this stuff, improve and produce better and better work, and more regularly. Then maybe, hopefully, possibly make our gloomy planet ever so slightly the better for it 🙂

White shores and beyond- the perpetual anti-climax

Nothing is ever as good as you hope it will be. It’s a bitter pill to swallow, but after experiencing a lot of life, one has to accept that everything eagerly anticipated, on occurrence, is ultimately destined to be a disappointment. This is the attitude that many of my friends now take, they expect failure, and therefore make lifestyle decisions in favour of the familiar, the comfortable, the easy. They think they’re being clever, in limiting disappointment, choosing the reliable old damage-limitation approach. You must protect yourself from the perpetual anti-climax at all costs!


This is a stance I’ve desperately tried to avoid taking all of my life. And for reasons that I still consider to be entirely valid. Having this position of scepticism is bad for a number of reasons I can think of, because

  1. It precludes being adventurous, achieving high goals, doing interesting things, taking risks. It makes life boring.
  2. Life itself would be not worth living unless it is something that can potentially continually improve with time.
  3. It’s arguably a highly cowardly perspective, as it is a form of giving up in the face of adversity.
  4. There is simply far too much to be lost, and so little to be gained. Every day is a thousand failed opportunities. Understanding the extent of these missed opportunities would be agony to our minds if only we knew what we have missed due to our habitual laziness, cowardice, stubbornness, arrogance and ignorance.

I’ve been an idealist, a romantic, a panglossian fool. I’ve written the scripts in my brain and then the play never happens, or if it does happen it’s a twisted, dull simulacrum of what I intended, and all of a sudden I’m starkly reminded that I’m not a character in a 19th century Russian novel or a TV series (that probably doesn’t even exist anyway but I still wholeheartedly believe in my chimerical brain I will probably write, star in and recreate in my actual life). I finally  decide to speak to the girl in my seminar who seems nice, handsome, dresses cool, appears to have a personality, and she answers my questions as briefly and abruptly as possible, gradually quickens her walking pace and says “Dave, is that you?” then takes the first opportunity she can to escape out of the nearest fire exit.

Another instance of disappointing reality vs Utopian dreams (and the former resoundingly crushing the latter into a thousand pieces)- last weekend one of my friends’ vast, lovely house was vacant and available for a gathering, which I allowed myself to be optimistic about for weeks. Ooh yes! We can get the decks, put them on the vast expanse of work surface in the kitchen and my little friend who knows how to DJ, the only person who listens to the same music as me, can plug in his USB stick of meticulously curated IDM tracks (yes, intelligent dance music is actually a genre [and overshadows the deceptive and meaningless blanket term ‘techno’ which is no good to any of us]) and we can all take the right drugs and all dance together and all really get down to someone like Joris Voorn or Solomon and everyone will smile together and it will conjure ‘one of those moments’ – the moments we constantly seek.

The night before this was going to take place, in a drunken state I sent a long and grotesquely mawkish text to all of my friends who were coming, emphasising the importance of the occasion. It encouraged attendants to honour the occasion, treating it as if it was a proper rave with an emphasis on dancing and loads of other things I can no longer remember, as I deleted it from my phone as soon as I got the chance. And deservedly, the next day I was under heavy scrutiny, at risk of being righteously lambasted by anyone and at any second. The execution was despicable, but behind the horribleness, was hope.

What eventually transpired was a complete disaster, descending into mindless techno- warfare and nothingness. My mate with the USBs decided he ‘couldn’t be bothered to DJ’ and was nowhere to be seen, preferring to dissolve into a bag of coke for the evening. A couple of my friends played some nice stuff but truth be told, it was never what I hoped for. In a flurry of contempt I ran over to the cutlery draw and withdrew two of the largest knives I could find and threatened to stab him if he continued to play music.

Following this we were scattered across the house, no one knew where anyone was, there was a couple or a threesome in the dark corners of every bedroom. There was no certainty, and no unity. Many lost interest in the night altogether, some whom had travelled from far and wide to attend, and decided to leave early, preferring the comfort of their own beds. The rest of us continued to do what we were doing. It was a good night. But nowhere near good enough.  And it’s not like that’s anything new. And that’s why it’s so sad. Sooner or later, we will have lost faith altogether. Imprisoned, destined to re-enact the same dissatisfying, mechanical routine over and over again. Disappointment after disappointment. When I suggested we should perhaps invite other people to parties like this another one of my wiser friends put it well the other night when he said, ‘we can’t even socialise with each other, let alone with other people’.

I could chuck this experience in with about 5 holidays and about 3 festivals, about 3 friendships and my University experience, all of which I felt this same tedious level of dissatisfaction having finished. I’ve learned from these miscalculations. Other than a few fragmented memories of ‘happiness’ and momentary triumphs, these are mostly valuable as learning curves for me. Stark reminders not to get carried away by the rhetoric of the hedonists. Cook from Skins is not and never will be a real person. Drugs, aren’t what they purport to be. It turns out that all this idealism is is a desperation to escape, to escape one’s own life and become somebody else. And when you realise that that’s exactly what you’re going for,  you’ll realise how bollocks all of this truly is. The question still remains, should we want more or should we want to be happy with less? Is there a middle ground? We’re lost, even if we don’t realise it.

I don’t know if any of this applies to you, your life might be joy after joy as your Facebook profile suggests, with those photos of you smiling like a crocodile in your graduation robes, or standing by some idyllic beach clutching your partner’s waist like you’re indestructible, or sitting in some swanky bar with a colourful cocktail in your hand with an umbrella sticking out of it, experiencing wonder after wonder, you might be loving every single chapter of your life more and more as it unfolds. And if so, congratulations! But I fear that the reality for most people, is more akin to my anonymous character who wanders across the Island of disused electrical appliances, alone and lost, constantly telling himself that ‘it will happen’, when he knows full well, deep down that it won’t. But he hopes nonetheless, clinging to the slightest possibility that it might. If not, he’d be off to B + Q for an extension lead (toaster, bath, post-it note, biro, goodbye).

We, the hopeful are no different from the devout in that we delude ourselves with the improbable. Without doing so, life would be intolerable. But what if even this is a delusion? I should stop over thinking it and realise life is fantastic if we just sit back chill the fuck out, and enjoy the finer things. Like listening to Kiasmos or reading Larkin, taking the piss out of a horrible friend, watching Peep Show, walking through the woods, eating a delicious bowl of cereal with raisins in it, standing in the away end at football matches, taking the dog for a nice walk, playing heads and volleys (according to the proper rules) or just that massively liberating sweaty feeling after a workout when you’ve got a slimy back and soaking wet hair and the endorphins are swimming around in your brain and you’re free because you don’t have to exercise anymore for the entire day! These things will always be there and then, and then…

And then the  grey rain-curtain of this world rolls back, and all turns to silver glass, and then you see it.

What? Gandalf? See what?

White shores, and beyond, a far green country under a swift sunrise.

Well, that isn’t so bad.

No. No, it isn’t.




All You Need Is Decks

Across the globe, students of reasonably good Red-Bricks and all that lies beneath who are struggling with their degrees or unsure of how to use them in the real world are having their worries disappear in an instant after making the decision to turn to the decks. If there’s one thing we’ve learned from the 21st century, it’s that everybody, absolutely everybody could and should become a DJ.

I’ll give you a brief summary of how DJing became the thing for me. I came to Birmingham University looking for a great time, like everybody does. But in that year of freshers, my whole house felt empty and lifeless, going to those stupid nights out that dreadful, soulless, and insignificant people go to etc, etc. I asked them all for a house meeting, and said ‘come on guys’ this isn’t good enough anymore. We’re not happy, with our cheap Panasonic stereo and clunky speakers, listening to Craig David and the Artful Dodger all day every day. We aren’t living, e’re just existing.’ They all agreed, but said they had no ideas or resolutions.

The kind of loser I was hanging around with at this point. Embarrassing.

The kind of loser I was hanging around with at this point.

The truth is that the prospects of the coming years of my undergraduate degree were dark. At one point I even phoned my mum and told her I was close to dropping out in favour of getting a career working for Dunelm, where all my home friends happened to be working at the time. Thank God that never happened.

Then one fine day in Selly, when the sun was shining bright on Heeley Road and I was lying in bed feeling sorry for myself, I got thrown a life line. And it was to be the lifeline that would rescue me from beginning a soul-destroying career in the furniture and decor industry. One of my friends sent me an SMS message asking if I wanted to go to a local club with him called the Rainbow Warehouse.


The lad who sent the SMS, my mate Shen. Decent. Likes to think he’s Robert Dietz, but we both know I’m better. Decks are whack compared to mine as well.

‘The Rainbow Warehouse?’ I thought, ‘what can this be?’. At first I suspected this was a gay club, but then I learned that it was a place where people of all sexual inclinations were welcome to go to to take drugs and have a great time, whilst listening to some real bouncy music- which I was later to learn was known as deep house. I saw Hannah Wants (I don’t remember who else) and it was one of the most stella nights of my life. I watched Hannah intently for the entirety of her 2 hour set and her, the music, the sound system and some drugs that I took blew my mind. From thereon in I was set on becoming a DJ just like her (I know what you’re thinking and don’t worry, I’ve realised that Hannah is a talentless pest now of course, but at the time I thought she was good and I’m grateful that she was in the right place at the right time, good luck with your career Hannah, us DJs gotta look out for one another).

I sought out a new social life, expelled my boring house mates from my life and became part of a new clique of young and up-and-coming DJs- the best mixers in Selly Oak. I was amazed at how well I got on with them all, we all liked to wear Palace clothing and used adjectives like ‘bait’ and ‘stella’, they even came up with a banging new DJ name for me- DJ The Ferret. We used to have parties and I’d always be the first to lay my sets down, fag on the go, everybody watching always thought I was the man. My favourite track is Bax by Mosca and I put it in every mix I do because the crowd always loves it. It’s my thing. It sounds shit and I don’t even like it really! Isn’t that funny!

Anyway, so happy would I be during my mixing that I would pretend I was DJing around the house, when I wasn’t actually DJing, like when using the hob for instance. I still do this now and my mum laughs at me but it’s cool. There’s no music but it’s fine because I don’t actually like music or know much of it, I just like the way it makes me feel when I play it; sub-zero cool. And I’ve never felt like that before. I used to feel bad all the time, I used to have low self esteem. I used to hang out with my friends, listen to music and do drugs in my leisure time. These days I still do these things, but now I’m the selector. I used to listen to Coldplay, now I listen to Kerri Chandler sometimes. So yeah. How do you like them apples?

The truth is that everybody is a DJ now; me, Steve Davis, Harry Kane, David Dimbleby, my Grandma, your Grandma, The Lannisters, the Starks, Jesus, Ross from Friends, the milkman, the cat. But it’s still not enough. If you’re one of the stubborn ones,  if you aren’t currently a DJ or in the process of evolving into one, then you must ask yourself, why the hell not? DJing is categorically cool. DJing is good for the soul. DJing gets you the social life. DJing gets you a wife and kids. DJing sets you apart from the rest.

All you need is decks.

DJ The Sheriff

Postman resigns from job

It seems resignations are all the rage these days. In recent weeks we’ve had Nigel Farage resign as UK Prime-Minister, Roy Hodgson giving up his position as UKIP leader, David Cameron throwing in the towel as England boss, Chris Evans leaving his presenting role on Top of the Pops, and Chris Moyles leaving Radio 1 as well. As the role models and key figures of 21st century society in areas such as politics, sport, engines and radio, their resignations will undoubtedly influence many of our working public who may or may not be enjoying their own careers. We spoke to a local ex-postman about his own decision to quit posting things once and for all.

LOTR: Let’s get straight to the point shall we? You were a postman. Tell us a bit about your role.

Postman: Well I worked for the Royal Mail delivering various letters and parcels to various houses, I’ve been doing it for a period of twenty years now.

LOTR: So quite a long time then. And do you feel like you enjoyed most of your tenure as a postman?

Postman: Yes, best 20 years of my life. There really is no other job for me than being a postman. I’ve always said that.

LOTR: So what went wrong then?

Postman: Went wrong? Nothing went wrong. Why?

LOTR: Oh okay forgive me- I just thought your decision to resign meant that there was something that you might have been unhappy about. Working hours, wages, organisation, something like that?

Postman: No, no, postman was always the dream job. The smell of a good stamp in the morning, getting to know the streets, the houses, riding my big red bike with the basket at the front, saying hi to the kids and the parents and the elderly, God bless them all. Being a postman is kind of like being a celebrity, only people don’t recognise you in big cities, which is nice because I like doing shopping and going to the bank and things like that sometimes.

LOTR: So why have you decided to resign then?

Postman: I don’t really know. I thought it was a bit like striking. You know? Doesn’t everybody do it? Isn’t it a perfectly normal thing to do?

I took the time to explain to the postman what a resignation actually entails, he took it in his stride and smiled confusedly.

LOTR: So now you understand what you’ve done, do you regret your decision to quit your job?

Postman: No not really. There are plenty of things I’ve started doing since I officially resigned the other day.

LOTR: Oh right, like what?

Postman: So you mean outside of my job? I tried watching The Wimbledon Tennis at home but it was really boring and I didn’t have much time to watch it anyway. Most of my time I spend cycling round the village. Delivering cards. Packages, stuff like that…

The postman then realised all of a sudden that he had somewhere to be, and shot outside the front door of the house. I followed soon after. 

From conversations like this with the ordinary working public and from watching interviews with those celebrities who have also resigned from their jobs in recent weeks, a message has been sent out to all of Britain’s employed that doing any kind of job that you’ve got isn’t in the slightest bit essential. You can do a job, if you want. But if you don’t want to, you can just resign. Do something else. There are lots of things you can potentially do that aren’t a job, too many things to be listed here. The message is loud and clear;

‘if you want to discover the things that you can potentially do that aren’t a job or necessarily involved in any job then feel free to leave your job with a view to potentially getting another job, doing that job for a bit, doing that job forever, or resigning from that job whenever you feel like it. But don’t feel like you even really have to get a job after resigning from your current job at all if you don’t want to or feel like you might end up resigning from that job soon anyway.’

Rarely has such a liberating message been imparted to the British public, and in many areas, it is already starting to take effect.