Oliver's Eurovision 2013 Drinking Game

And so, only two weeks from today, we'll once again be descending into the organised chaos that is the Eurovision Song Contest. And, if you took part in last year's Eurovision Drinking Game then you're probably asking yourself  "Has it really been a year already, Oliver? Surely not?".

And you're right. Because if you took part in last year's Eurovision Drinking Game and followed the rules stringently, you likely have at least three days missing from your life that has been lost to an alcoholic fugue. But, trust me, we're nearly there again so it's time for me to wheel out my yearly update to the Eurovision Drinking game rules...

As with previous years, some of the rules are slightly UK-centric so, if you intend to play this in another country, just ignore rules 1 and 23 and knock back two shots before you get started for good measure. Or, watch it on BBC and pretend to be British for the night so you to can feel our pain.

Now, - as ever - I need to issue a word of warning; this game is based upon the consumption of strong alcohol. I cannot, therefore, be held responsible for your health (or lack of) if you stringently follow the rules of my game and drink yourself into oblivion. Play this game at your own risk…

Requirements

1. A shot glass for every person playing (probably best to have a couple of spares in case people get overexcited).

2. The national drink of Sweden is brännvin and the highest grade of that is vodka. So, this year, we'll be seeing in Eurovision with the help of some Absolut!

Rules

The rules are really very simple. You take a sip of your chosen spirit if:

1) Bonnie Tyler is mentioned. Drink an entire shot if there are any attempts to make dreadful puns about how the UK has been 'holding out for a hero'.

2) The host attempts to sing.

3) The host pretends to be surprised at something that's going on in what is clearly a vaguely-rehearsed piece of improvisation.

4) The host loses track of their autocue or messes up their timing.

5) The video shown before an act contains shots of people in traditional Swedish costume. Drink a shot if anyone is doing a traditional Swedish folk dance. If you're unsure of what a traditional Swedish folk dance looks like then check out an example here. If you're too lazy to check that link, then just imagine a bunch of septuagenarians swaying and walking in circles as if they've had one too many glasses of brännvin.

6) You see Sweden's national animal, the Elk. Drink two shots if it’s a person dressed in an Elk costume.

7) The song has the word ‘love’ in the title.

8) You are not entirely sure whether the singer is man who looks like a woman, or a woman who looks like a man.

9) A country is represented by a singer from somewhere else in the world. Drink an entire shot if a country is represented by what seems to be a random person (or persons) scooped up off the streets and then pushed out on stage.

10) The act involves people on stage banging large drums or industrial objects acting as large drums.

11) An item of clothing is removed on stage. Drink an entire shot if it is removed by someone else.

12) The act is bald. Drink an entire shot if they are also female.

13) The act possesses a large moustache.

14) The act is dressed in leather. Drink an entire shot if they are dressed in leather and have a large moustache.

15) If you hear a language used other than that of the nation who is singing (for example, French words in a song by Malta). One sip per language. If in doubt, just take a sip.

16) You recognise the song immediately as being a blatant rip off of a previous winner of Eurovision.

17) The song is an ode to world peace. Drink three shots immediately if there are any children on stage at any time during the song.

18) There are dancers on stage who, by their movements and lack of synchronism, appear never to have heard the song before tonight.

19) People are pretending to play instruments on stage. Drink an entire shot if they take a pretend solo.

20) Every time there's some kind of pyrotechnic on stage.

21) Every time there is an awkward silence and/or miscommunication between the hosts and the people reading out the votes. Drink an entire shot if the votes get mixed up.

22) Every time one of the people reading out the results of a country’s voting attempts to secure their 15 seconds of fame by babbling on incoherently and generally delaying things and winding a few hundred million people up.

23) Every time it’s "Royaume-Uni? Nil point!". Drink a shot each time, at the end of a voting round, the UK is in last place.

24) Every time a country gives top marks to someone for geographic, political or ethnic reasons.

25) If there is any alcohol left once the show is finished and you’re physically capable of coordinating the movement of alcohol from the bottle to your mouth...take a sip!

And, just like last year, I am going to be incredibly nice and also make a printable version of the rules available if you go here. And if you like it, then you can always feel free to take advantage of my brand, spanking new 'buy me a coffee' button - God knows I'm going to be needing a few of them after Eurovision!

Enjoy! And don't blame me (too much) for the apocalyptically bad hangover you will no doubt suffer if you follow the game's rules properly...

Evil Dead Review

One question we should perhaps try to clear up at the outset is as to whether Evil Dead should be considered a sequel, a remake or a reboot. Well frankly it's slightly confusing as, although it is being talked about as a simple reboot of the series, it manages to follow the first The Evil Dead (1981) fairly closely and yet is being talked about as a series that will (at least according to director Fede Alvarez and producer Bruce Campbell) eventually cross over with the original Evil Dead series (sometime after Evil Dead 4 - which will be called Army of Darkness 2). So it's a surprisingly difficult question to answer accurately - let just say that it's clearly not an out-and-out sequel but that it does appear that it is set in the same universe as the main series.

Evil Dead follows a group of five friends who choose to stay at a remote cabin in the middle of the woods in order to help one of their number, Mia (played by Jane Levy), overcome her drug addiction. She is aided in her quest to go cold turkey by her friend and qualified nurse Olivia (Jessica Lucas), Eric (Lou Taylor Pucci), as well as her brother David (Shiloh Fernandez) and his girlfriend Natalie (Elizabeth Blackmore). Of course, before long, we know that drug addiction is going to be the very least of their concerns...

When exploring the basement turns up a bunch of dead cats, the smell of burnt flesh, a shotgun and plastic wrapped package that is further sealed by a knot of wires, our group of friends - rather than bugging out and heading off to find a cosy motel somewhere - decide that it's not a problem and the place is just going to need a bit of sprucing. Clearly, none of them have ever watched a horror movie.

Which is also the only explanation that can be found when Eric decides to take some wire cutters to the package and finds, inside, a hefty book that is (rather originally) bound in human skin - the Natorum Demonto. It's a nasty evil book filled with crude sketches, strange incantations and is liberally daubed (possibly in blood and, helpfully, in English!) with warnings not to read any further and definitely not to attempt to recite any of the phrases contained therein. But, of course, Eric is so excited to find a human skin bound book that he goes and ignores all the warnings and actively goes seeking out dubious Latin phrases (which, unfortunately don't really sound scary any more, ever since JK Rowling cornered the market on the use of Latin in fiction). From this point on, all manner of bloody mayhem ensues...

And bloody the mayhem is. One thing Evil Dead does not skimp on is the gore. Flesh is seared, pierced, sliced and burnt and an array of objects - from glass shards to machetes, from pieces of a porcelain toilet to electric meat knives, from shotguns to nail guns - are utilised to inflict gruesome injuries on all and sundry. But the trouble is that, as the violence tries harder and harder to top itself for brutality, it becomes so over-the-top that it actually becomes comical - indeed, there is one moment (and you'll know it when you see it) that reminded me so much of the Black Knight scene in Monty Python and the Holy Grail that I ended up laughing out loud at a moment I'm sure the film makers didn't intend to be amusing when they shot it.

And that's another problem. It's all so po-faced (especially compared to some of the previous movies in the Evil Dead franchise) with everyone taking themselves so very seriously and, at times, that's at odds with the sheer overwhelming lunacy of the violence.

And so, while the question of exactly what Evil Dead is turned out to be a difficult one to answer, an altogether easier question to answer is whether or not this reboot/remake/sequel manages to live up to its tagline as "the most terrifying film you'll ever experience". And the simple answer is "no". For reasons that I'll explain.

Back in 1981, when The Evil Dead exploded onto our cinema screens it was a breath of fresh (albeit blood-flecked) air; its level of gore and violence was something that had never been seen before, it earned a citation as a 'video nasty' and was even banned on video in a number of countries. The story of a group of five students who, inadvertently, summon up a demon that then begins brutally dispatching them really cemented itself as one of the most influential horror movies of the 1980s, and helped to establish a number of the tropes of horror movies.

But, skip forward thirty two years to the present day and many of the things that were so original about The Evil Dead are now clichéd and predictable. But it's not just that. This reboot/remake/sequel just didn't have any magic to it - the characters are dull and stupid and it's impossible to really care about them; the gore, while substantial, never really felt particularly imaginative. And perhaps most telling of all, while there are literally buckets of blood, there are very few substantial scares.

Can I recommend a cinema viewing? No, please don't encourage them.

Can I recommend it for a watch on DVD/Bluray/Netflix? Well, if you fancy watching a horror movie where the gore is more outstanding than the cast and you are prepared for an awful air of predictability then feel free to give it a go.

My rating: 5 out of 10.

Iron Man 3 Review

Three, if we are to rely upon the veracity of De La Soul, is the magic number.

But the truth is, three is often a dangerous number when it comes to movies. Too often it seems that the third movie is the one in which a franchise reveals its flaws; sometimes (like in Beverly Hills Cop III) it shows itself  as a franchise that has run out of steam and out of ideas, sometimes (like in Jaws 3) it shows itself to be almost a parody of the movie that spawned it, while other times (like in Ace Ventura: Pet Detective Jr) it's just so apocalyptically bad that it's hard to believe that it shares even the vaguest creative DNA with its predecessors.

So, with Jon Favreau (director of the first two Iron Man installments) having stepped aside and Shane Black (writer of Lethal Weapon and writer/director of Kiss Kiss Bang Bang) taking over the directorial reins for this third installment, the question was whether Iron Man still had its mojo workin' or whether it was set to join a long list of third movie failures...

Iron Man 3 picks up on events post-The Avengers and we meet a Tony Stark who is struggling to sleep, is struggling to maintain his relationship with Pepper, and is trying to cope with occasional bouts of anxiety attacks (which I would imagine are very much a risk after having hand-delivered a nuke to another dimension and then falling several miles to near certain doom). Yes, the old Tony Stark is still there - the playfulness, the witty repartee - but things clearly aren't the same for him since the Chitauri hit town last summer.

And while Tony struggles to come to terms with his inner demons, a new terrorist is in town - The Mandarin (played by Ben Kingsley), who is seemingly always several steps ahead of the US government, and whose actions soon bring him into direct conflict with Tony Stark. But, as well as a terrorist to worry about, there's also Aldrich Killian (played by Guy Pearce), a blast from Tony Stark's past whose motives are initially rather unclear but who is clearly playing with some dangerous technology...

For me, Iron Man 3, deftly avoids the obvious third movie pitfalls and, despite us joining a slightly more world weary Tony Stark, this was - for me - the lightest movie in the franchise so far, with more than a few nods in the direction of family entertainment (while still managing a fewer slyer winks for its older fans). Robert Downey Jr. simply is Tony Stark, to the point that it's hard to see where Robert ends and Tony begins and that's good because there were a few places where it was up to Downey to carry the whole movie (luckily, that's the kind of challenge he's up for).

Guy Pearce delivers as Killian, while Ben Kingsley manages to present a truly multi-faceted performance in the role as The Mandarin. There is plentiful action, more explosions than you can shake a stick at and enough CGI to keep even the most devout CGI fan nourished for some time...

...but, it was not quite the comic book perfection that we got with The Avengers. The motives of the main villain were more than a little unclear and, at times, his plan seemed to be rather torturous when something far simpler could have delivered exactly the same benefits. Also, despite there being more people in suits in this movie than all the other Iron Man movies put together, there was less Iron Man in Iron Man 3 than I was expecting (and far more Tony Stark).

I also imagine that comic book fans will have their own opinions on this interpretation of The Mandarin, which stands out as quite different to the character we've come to know through the Iron Man comics. Some will see this version as a master stroke, others are likely to come away feeling they've changed the character too much...

But, none of that can take away from the fact that Iron Man 3 delivers quality, popcorn-fuelled, entertainment and is the first true blockbuster of this movie year that really has to be seen in the cinema to be properly appreciated. It's fun, it's action-packed and - while it has a few moments where the pace dips - it's still a solid 8.5 out of 10 for me.

Snitch Movie Review

First things first; you may be wondering why this is a purely written review rather than one of those fancy, newfangled video reviews I was experimenting with recently. Well, it's not because I hate the sound of my own voice (although it does sound so very wrong to me!), and it's not because I'm just too damn lazy (although it is an awful lot of work to put a video review together). No, it's actually because I just couldn't find anywhere quiet enough to record properly today. If it wasn't people shouting in the street and quad-bikes revving insanely past, it was one of my dogs snoring so loudly the microphone kept picking it up. So, no audio. Just words.

By the way, I finally took the plunge and bought myself a Pathe card - meaning unfettered access to all the movies I can possibly face seeing, and a likely increase in the number of reviews that are going to be coming your way in the near future...

Ok, so on with the review.

Frankly, if you saw the trailer for Snitch (which featured more than a smattering of blazing guns, exploding cars and lorries sliding down roads) then you may have been slightly misled into thinking that is just another one of those mid-budget actions films starring The Rock. But, you see, this isn't really an action movie at all - it's more of a slow-boiling thriller which has a bit of action littered throughout. And it's not starring The Rock, it's starring Dwayne Johnson.

Dwayne Johnson is in slightly different territory here - he's playing an everyman character, as opposed to a rampaging action hero. He plays the part of John Matthews, the owner of a construction business whose perfect life with his wife and daughter is interrupted by a problem from his former marriage in the shape of his estranged teenage son, Jason (Rafi Gavron).

Jason has got himself into a bit of a drug-related pickle. Having rather stupidly agreed to accept delivery of several grands worth of drugs from a friend, he finds himself in the middle of a drug sting and despite attempting to do a runner, is swiftly snatched up by the po-po. It turns out his 'friend' set him up in order to reduce his own sentence and, thanks to the mandatory minimum sentencing laws for drug possession that are in place within Missouri, Jason is suddenly facing a minimum of ten years in prison if he doesn't snitch on someone else. The problem for Jason is that, since he isn't actually a drug dealer, he doesn't have anyone to snitch on and he refuses to set someone up like he was set up...

Step forward his dad who goes to see the state's attorney (Susan Sarandon) and, after much pleading, manages to persuade her to reduce his son's sentence if he can gather evidence on drug dealing and bring her a bigger bust.

And so, with the reluctant help of an ex-con at his construction firm (played by Jon Bernthal of The Walking Dead) John gets introduced to the world of drug gangs, firstly in the form of the rather dangerous Malik (played by a scene stealing Michael Kenneth Williams) before working his way up (perhaps a tad coincidentally) to some real heavy hitters...

There are more than a few things to like in Snitch. For a start I was surprised to find that Dwayne Johnson can act. No, seriously...for once, I'm not even being sarcastic. Dwayne Johnson gets an opportunity to show off his acting chops and he does a far better job than I was expecting. And the issue of mandatory minimum drug sentencing forcing people to snitch on friends just to help wriggle off the hook they're on is quite an interesting one to explore...

...but...

It felt like the movie was a little unsure of what kind of movie it wanted to be. On one hand, it's a thriller that examines serious issues...but, it's The Rock so we have to throw in a couple of action scenes. On one hand, Dwayne Johnson plays an everyman who gets in over his head in order to save his son...but, it's The Rock so we're waiting for the moment when he unleashes himself like a one man wrecking crew. And, maybe because director Ric Roman Waugh has a background in movie stunt work, some of the stunts feel a little forced in the context of the rest of the movie (on a side note - what's with the love of attaching cameras to the grills of cars and the sides of lorries? Some rather strange choices of shots at times...).

Plus, there are rather too many contrivances to ensure that the plot gets from A to B as expected. It starts off in the realms of the fairly believable but things get less and less credible as the story progresses. The movie boasts that it is 'inspired by real events' but I'm thinking that the real event was probably the mandatory minimum sentencing law and everything else here is purely fictional - but what do I know?

At the end of the day, this isn't awful. Dwayne Johnson is a far better actor than I'd expected (he's not Al Pacino, but he's no Arnold Schwarzenegger either) but the film would probably have worked better with a genuine everyman actor rather than a guy who's built like a brick shithouse and looks capable of snapping most of the movie's bad guys like toothpicks if he should so desire.

Is it worth seeing at the cinema? Probably not.

Worth a watch on DVD if you've got nothing doing and you fancy seeing something that's easy to follow and isn't purely car chases and shoot-outs? Sure, why not. It's not a movie that you'll remember (in fact I'm forgetting it already) but I'm going to give it a 6 out of 10.

The Deal

Anthony Durban had just sat down to watch his favourite quiz show, a plate of freshly microwaved lasagne on his lap, when there was a firm rap at his front door.  He paused, his fork dangling in mid-air.  He wasn’t expecting anyone.

The rap immediately sounded again. Three loud knocks against the wooden door that somehow managed to impart a sense of frustration.

Anthony frowned, put the fork back down on the plate and thumbed the mute button on the remote control. This really was quite unusual. The last time anyone had knocked on the door had been almost six months earlier when the pizza delivery man had somehow managed to invert the digits of the delivery address and called at his door rather than at number 34. He hoped it wasn’t going to be another pizza.

A third set of knocks, a little faster this time.

He placed the plate down on the table beside the sofa and stood up, smoothing his corduroy trousers before using a solitary finger to reposition his glasses at a level angle. He made it all the way across the living room and into the hall before the fourth set of knocks boomed off the door.

He opened the door just a crack; a man in a black suit stood outside, he had a clipboard under his arm and had his back half turned away from the door. Anthony could see that he was talking into a mobile phone.

“Can I help you?” asked Anthony.

“Ah, no need, he’s here,” said the man and snapped his mobile phone shut. He turned to Anthony with a smile on his face; he was a tall man with dark eyes and a small, but immaculately manicured, moustache.

“Mr. Durban?” he asked, proffering his right hand. “Mr. Anthony Durban?”

Anthony nodded.

“What exactly is this all about?”

“I’ve come about your soul.”

Anthony, who had begun to extend his own hand to meet the man’s, now retracted it and brought it back to his side. “I’m sorry, but I’m really not interested in hearing any of that poppycock Jehovah’s Witness nonsense.”

The man blinked and smiled awkwardly.

“I’m sorry,” he said, briefly looking down at his clipboard, “You are Anthony Durban, born May 1964 in Bolton, England – yes?”

“I really don’t see what that has got to do with you.”

“Can I just get a simple yes or a no?” sighed the man.

“Well, yes. But, like I said, I don’t really see what that has got to do with you. I’m not interested in Jehovah’s Witnesses. I think it’s lovely that you believe what you believe but I am just not convinced and no amount of pamphlets that you will subsequently shove through my door are going to persuade me otherwise. So, perhaps you could go bother someone else and let me eat my dinner in peace…”

The man nodded, ticked a box on the sheet of paper on his clipboard and then tucked it back beneath his arm.

“I’m not a Jehovah’s Witness.” he said.

“Oh God, you’re not a scientologist are you?”

“No,” said the man, his voice barely disguising his irritation, “I am not a scientologist, either.”

“Then who are you? And what’s all this about my soul?”

The man looked at him in the same way one might look at a toddler who has just been discovered to have not eaten his breakfast porridge but, instead smeared it into his face and hair; which is to say, a curious mixture of confusion and disdain.

“The time is up,” said the man, slowly and as if talking to someone who was mentally impaired, “It’s time to go.”

“What time? Go where?”

“Do you have any conditions that might afflict your memory, Mr. Durban?” asked the man, his brow furrowing, “Anything that could affect your cognitive abilities?”

“How dare you,” blustered Anthony, “I am, I’ll have you know, a secondary school IT teacher.”

“Well then, perhaps you could explain where all this confusion is coming from?” asked the man. “Twenty one years was the deal, after all.”

“What deal?”

“This whole ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about’ routine is getting old really fast,” said the man with something that approached a snarl.

“But I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Ok, let me remind you. April 6^th, 1992 – ring any bells?”

Anthony thought for a moment. 1992 seemed an awfully long time ago. Finally, after several seconds of silence he shook his head, “No. Should it?”

The man rolled his eyes and fought hard to compose himself.

“Your soul, Mr. Durban.” the man said slowly and deliberately. “You traded your eternal soul for twenty one years of fame and fortune on April 6^th, 1992 and now it’s time for you to live up to your end of the bargain.”

“Is this some kind of joke?”

The man’s face hardened and his eyes seemed to darken. For an instant, it seemed to Anthony as if something hideous and obscene was roiling beneath the skin of his face and that it was taking all of the man’s willpower to keep it locked beneath the surface.  It was in that instant that Anthony Durban realised that the man really wasn’t joking.

“You’re not joking.”

“No, Mr. Durban, I’m not joking. And I’ve got a pack of hellhounds at the end of the lawn should you decide to be stupid enough to try and make a run for it.”

As if on cue, there came a monstrous growling noise from off in the darkness beyond the reach of the house lights.

“But I never signed any deal; you must have got it wrong.”

“We never get it wrong.”

“But there surely must have been a screw-up somewhere along the line.  I mean, I certainly never got twenty one years of fame and fortune. You don’t think I’d be living in a two bedroom terrace, with an eighty grand mortgage, eating microwaved lasagne - on my own – if I’d have had twenty one years of fortune and fame, do you?”

The man looked up at the house, scratching his head absently as he did so.

“Well,” said the man finally, and then paused for a few seconds while biting absently at his lower lip. “I did think it was a bit strange. I’m more used to dealing with mansions and expensive hotel suites in this line of work.”

“So clearly there’s been some mistake.” said Anthony.

“Nah,” said the man, “Can’t be. We don’t do mistakes. We are always very precise. You never heard the phrase ‘the devil is in the details’?”

“Well, I never signed any contract, and I never had any fame or fortune. I’d call that a mistake. I’d like to speak to your supervisor.”

“My what?” said the man.

“Supervisor,“ said Anthony, “you must have one.”

“Well…yes.”

“Then I would like to see him. We can get to the bottom of this mess and clear it all up.”

The man sighed audibly.

“Fine,” he snapped, and promptly disappeared in a puff of grey smoke that smelled musty and acrid.

                Anthony had barely had time to register his surprise when there was a thumping sound from somewhere out in the street and an older man with grey hair, also dressed in a black suit, came strolling up the front path.

                “You wanted to see me?” His voice was deep and melodious and a faint smile betrayed itself at the edge of his mouth.

                “Yes. There’s been a mistake. I never signed any deal.”

                “I have your authorisation right here,” said the man, tapping a small scroll lightly in his palm. “April 6^th, 1992 at 3pm.”

                “But I never made a deal.” Anthony protested.

                “You would probably have been at a crossroads,” said the man, “perhaps burying a box of chicken bones?”

                “No,” said Anthony, firmly. “I didn’t go to any crossroads and I didn’t bury any bones. It’s not the sort of thing I’d forget in a hurry, is it?”

                “Well, you do rather seem to have forgotten, don’t you Mr. Durban?”

                “I can’t remember it happening because it didn’t happen. And, as I pointed out to your colleague a moment ago, I’ve certainly not had any fame or fortune – let alone twenty one years of it.”

                “Ah, well that I can at least explain,” said the man, “My colleague is still reasonably new to this, we’ve only had him on the staff for about a century or so, so he’s not quite well versed in the ins and outs of these things – you see, the contract is for twenty one years of fame and fortune, but the small print says that you are given the opportunity of fame and fortune. Not everyone takes it.”

                “But I never even had an opportunity.”

                The man unrolled the scroll and looked through it.

                “Yes, you did. It was June 4^th, 1992. You were going to buy a ticket to a Barry Manilow concert.”

                Anthony tried to remember.

                “I vaguely remember thinking about doing that.”

                “But you didn’t go out and buy a ticket, because you decided you would instead prefer to watch a repeat episode of the Price is Right on TV.”

                “The Price is Right was an excellent show…wait, how was that me missing my chance at fame and fortune?”

                “If you had gone to buy the ticket, you would have attended the concert. If you’d have attended the concert, you would have caught a woman who was fainting. That woman was a billionaire who would have fallen instantly in love with you and you would have married her within months. She would then have bankrolled your software development company and you would have developed a search engine that would have out-googled google - leaving you as not only the wealthiest man in the world but also the man that the world would look to for guidance in the digital age.”

                “And you’re saying that all of this didn’t happen to me just because I decided to watch The Price is Right?”

                “Pretty much,” shrugged the man.

                “Well, that doesn’t really seem very-“

                “Fair? No,” said the man, shaking his head sadly. “No one ever said it had to be fair. You take the chance we give you, you get the prize and you get all the fame and fortune that follows. You don’t take the chance, you end up a secondary school IT teacher with a spare tyre around his waist and a penchant for microwaved dinners.”

                “But I didn’t sign anything.”

                “But you must have – I have the scroll with your acceptance of the terms here. I don’t get that unless a deal has been agreed.”

                “But. I. Didn’t. Agree.” said Anthony through gritted teeth.

                The man shrugged, “Problem like that’s really above my pay grade. Now, why don’t you make things easy on yourself and just come with me.”

                “Wait,” said Anthony. “Above your pay grade? You mean, you have a supervisor?”

                The man looked sheepish for a moment. “Well, in a fashion.”

                “Can I just get a simple yes or a no?”

                “Yes,” said the man resignedly. “At least, if you can call Beelzebub, Lord of the Flies and one of the seven crowned Princes of Hell a supervisor.”

                “Well, I’d like to talk to him and find out where all this has gone wrong. There’s obviously been some kind of snafu.”

                “I’m sorry,” said the man, “Are you honestly asking that I summon his Satanic majesty to your front lawn to discuss where we might have made a clerical error?”

                “Yes, I’m asking you to do exactly that. If you can’t solve this then I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to take it further up the chain of command.”

                The man cringed. “He’s not going to like this.”

                “Well now, I think he needs to know about the litany of errors that are being made down here. Here I am – having had no fame, no fortune – and not having agreed to anything and I’m being told my eternal soul is forfeit. Someone needs to sort this out.”

                “I can ask,” said the man, “I can’t guarantee anything. His schedule is always pretty full.”

                “Well, ask then.” said Anthony, his hands planted defiantly on his hips.

                There was a puff of smoke, darker and more noxious than the first, and the man was gone. A moment later, there was a noise like the beating of giant wings and – in the blink of an eye – a tall, blonde haired man was standing in front of him on the porch. Anthony instinctively jumped back, almost tripping over in the process.

                “My apologies,” said the man, and his voice was so rich with such a beautiful timbre that Anthony forgot all about his shock in an instant. “Can I come inside to talk about this?”

                “Yes, of course,” said Anthony, suddenly flustered and feeling altogether more compliant. “Please, come in…”

                He opened the door and stepped back, allowing Beelzebub to come inside. Up close, he could see that his suit was not black but was instead a dark crimson and that his shoes gleamed the same blood dark hue.

                “Erm…you don’t mind taking your shoes off do you?” asked Anthony.

                Beelzebub smiled. “But of course, Anthony.”

A blink of an eye and he was now barefoot.

“Can I get you anything? Cup of tea? Slice of battenburg cake?”

Beelzebub shook his head.

“Sorry about the mess,” said Anthony, looking at the newspapers that he had left opened on the table. “It’s just that I wasn’t expecting company.”

Beelzebub ignored him and sat down on the sofa, patting the cushion next to him to indicate for Anthony to sit down beside him (which Anthony felt strangely compelled to do immediately).

“So Anthony, I’m told there has been something of a misunderstanding.”

“Yes,” nodded Anthony. “Yes, there has. You see, your colleagues – I mean, your minions-“

“-colleagues is fine…”

“Right, your colleagues told me that I signed over my soul in April 1992 and I didn’t sign anything. The one who was here last said I’d have been at a crossroads, burying chicken bones. Well, I’ve never done anything of the sort.”

“No, I know you haven’t” said Beelzebub, agreeably. “There has been a terrible mistake and I’m afraid it’s all my fault.”

“Oh, well thank goodness,” sighed Anthony.

“Oh, no,“ said Beelzebub, “I don’t mean that we don’t own your soul. It’s just that I totally neglected to inform my people about the new deals we put in place.”

“Sorry?”

“Yes, and frankly it’s a good job you didn’t take this lying down and instead insisted this was brought to my attention. Otherwise we could have had all sorts of problems this week and ended up with something of a mess on her hands.”

“I don’t understand,” said Anthony in a voice so small that it was difficult to hear.

“Well, you see I decided to shake things up a bit. After all, the stock of crossroad deals had been tumbling for almost a century; it was a dying market. Some of the other Princes of Hell thought we were going to have to give up on souls, get into a whole new line of business altogether. I remember someone mentioned health insurance, but there are some things even we in Hell balk at. Anyway, that was when I had my bright idea – the future was digital.”

“Digital?”

“Digital.” smiled Beelzebub. “Forget crossroads, forget offerings – that’s all so old fashioned.  We’d arrived in the digital age and we just needed to get with the program. Let me help you remember what you were doing on April 6^th, 1992 Anthony…”

Beelzebub reached out and touched his finger lightly to Anthony’s forehead. Anthony felt his vision swim and, for the briefest of moments, he was no longer in 2013 but was instead in 1992. He was in his spare bedroom on his computer, he was turning the monitor on, there were some floppy disks on the side…

“I was installing Windows 3.1” breathed Anthony.

“Exactly,” said Beelzebub. “Windows 3.1 came out on April 6^th, 1992.”

“I still don’t understand.”

“Ah, well that was my moment of genius. After all, who needs crossroads when you have the End User License Agreement? No one ever reads the term and conditions when they install a new piece of software – they just click on ‘agree’ and off they go. So I made sure that, buried within the finest of fine print of every EULA for every piece of software that’s ever been made from Windows 3.1 onwards is a little sub-clause of a sub-clause that grants me the right to your eternal soul. In return for twenty one years of fame and fortune. If you should take the opportunity when it’s offered, of course…”

“But…”

“And it is fantastic that you pulled us up on that one Anthony; now I have time to get a memo out to everyone. After all, from tomorrow on, we are going to be wading knee deep in collected souls.”

“But…”

“Now, now; there’s no time for any more buts,” said Beelzebub, holding one finger to his lips to hush him. “I think it’s time I showed you where you’re going to be staying…”