My high school playground was most likely similar to any other; a fragmented petri dish of shapes and sizes, creeds and credos, forms and fashions. The smokers, heels for sure, were known for forming a temporary alliance with some of the goths and metalheads, but they would glare with icy contempt across the playing field at the sporty types. Battlelines were not so much drawn as they were tattooed in congealed blood, bile and turkey twizzler grease in this instance. Then you had the...

Thirty years ago, when John Connor ran rampant at the box office in Terminator 2 and Sinead O’Connor topped the charts with a tear cascading down her cheek, you would need to search high and low whilst travelling far and wide to create the perfect tag team division: Generous lashings of Road Warriors, a pinch of The Brain Busters, a smidgen of The Rock’n’Roll Express, a spoonful of Hart Foundation, a splash of The Midnight Express, the tiniest of touches of The Steiner Brothers. You get the...

There’s a scene in For A Few Dollars More, a spectacular one if not the movie’s most iconic, where Eastwood’s Manco enters some dilapidated backwater saloon looking for an elusive bounty. Every direction he turns is a long and winding road to some nameless elsewhere, littered with hitches, hurdles and handicaps. His path is muddied, he’s getting nowhere, he becomes frustrated. So, what does our hero do? In short, cowboy shit. Fists fly, guns sling, hell is raised, cigarettes are smoked and...