Friday, 16 July 2010


I Write Like by Mémoires, Mac journal software. Analyze your writing!

This has been doing the rounds on a few blogs over the last couple of days. So, doing what I do best, holding onto somebody’s coattails, I decided to give it a go.

I pasted in the following piece, which I have been kicking around on my keyboard for a while. It came back with David Foster Wallace.

I had no previous knowledge of David Foster Wallace but I looked him up and will pay him all due respect.

As for my bit of hackneyed stuff and nonsense... Well, nuff said.

Have a good weekend folks.


Priest fired up a Silk Cut and the Audi Quattro and burnt rubber.

Lately, Priest had likened himself to his fictional hero: Detective Chief Inspector Gene S. Hunt.

Albeit being on the opposite side of the law.

The TT Coupe was clean; hired under a false name and paid for with a Gold MasterCard that was moodier than a teenager peppered with acne. A little ostentatious maybe but like Gene, Priest did things with style.

Illegal things.

Gene Hunt, Priest wondered how long it would take for the name to find its way into the cockney rhyming slang vernacular. A smile cracked his hard, grizzled face and he let loose a nicotine abused chuckle.

It wasn’t a nice face. Picture a slab of cold meat.

It wasn’t a nice smile. Picture a ravenous Python bearing down on a mouse at feeding time.

Six foot six tall, Priest was a ferocious looking man with a rep to match. He was a vicious career criminal and as popular as a fart in a space suit with the Metropolitan Police as well as a large part of the South London criminal fraternity.

Did he care? Not a jot.

“F**k em,” was his moto.

(c) Alan Griffiths 2010


  1. Best of weekends to you as well.

    PS We are simpatico in our posts today.

  2. If you didn't get Ted Lewis, no one will.


Note: only a member of this blog may post a comment.