Brit Grit

AN INVITE FROM ED OF BYKER BOOKS

2012-01-09T12:56:00.000-08:00

How the devil are you? Broken all ya resolutions yet? Well I’ve got just the thing…the launch date and venue for the latest edition in our short story collections - the mighty ‘Radgepacket 6’ from Byker Books...

Now then, the previous Radgepacket' collections have shaken up the established literary order and this one will certainly be no exception. With over twenty different stories of madness, murder and mayhem Radge6 will be launched on Saturday 10th March at ‘The Back Page’ in Newcastle upon Tyne between the hours of 12:00 and 15:00.

The book itself costs only £5.99 because as you know (or maybe you don’t!) Radgepacket was conceived and set up to promote those authors who write 'industrial strength fiction' but who never get a look in because they haven't been on Big Brother or had their bits out in the paper and we also wanted to produce a quality publication that gives the reader value for money and we think we've done that. In fact in this austere day and age it’s probably a crime not to buy something that works out at about 30p per story – it’s for nowt man!

For those of you who don’t know it ‘The Back Page’ is one of Britain’s best (if not the actual best) sports book shops and carries a massive range of books and other sporting paraphernalia, not to mention the friendliest staff you’ll ever meet anywhere…ever!

The full address is :

56 St. Andrews Street

Newcastle upon Tyne,

NE1 5SF

So come along, have a drink with us (on me...unheard of that like!) get a copy of the new and improved Radgepacket, get it signed by some of the contributors in attendance and hear a bit of spiel from my good self – and hopefully a mystery guest speaker - what’s not to like? Oh...and if you could spread the word that'd be nice like...

Cheers,

HOW THE BOOK TREATED ME: ABIDE WITH ME BY IAN AYRIS

2012-01-02T01:37:00.000-08:00

Happy New Year; hope 2012 is a good year for you all.

About a week before Christmas I was chuffed to bits to find out that I was the lucky winner of a copy of Abide with Me by Ian Ayris. Now then, I’m no book reviewer but as the book treated me very well I thought I’d post a few words here.

Abide with Me is not a long book, a hundred and fifty pages or so. That suited me fine and dandy and I cracked through this over the festive period. It’s not strictly a crime read although the last third certainly gets a little nastier. As the blurb says it’s a story that has elements of friendship, community, football, hope and biscuits… oh, and gangsters!

For me, Abide with Me is a cracking read because it has a real ‘voice’ - the voice of John Sissons. A story told first person point of view with an East London vernacular. A style of writing that maybe not for the fainthearted as there is more than a fair share of effing and blinding. But, it is the language that gives the narrative such a genuine voice, pulling the reader into the story from the get go.

Being a similar age to John Sissons, Ian Ayris paints a picture of London that I’m more than familiar with. Lovely hooks and signposts in the narrative that join the dots nicely: Primary school nativity plays. The long hot summer of 1976. F.A. Cup finals - always a big event regardless of the teams. The 1980’s recession. A changing workplace. A hard-lined government intent on tackling the trade union movement head-on. A country split; the Haves and the Have-nots. Intense class war. And, an ever growing list of the mass unemployed.

Abide with Me starts in nineteen seventy five. A London still not fully recovered from the damage caused by the Second World War. Austere times and a London filled with corrugated iron, latchkey kids and all daylong footie kick-a-bouts. And, not a Hooray Henry in sight! A London I remember fondly and yes I too had a red Raleigh Chopper bike.

Abide with Me is about a young lad, growing up fast, taking the emotional knocks life throws at you. Taking the blows on the chin and blindly ploughing on regardless. John Sissons struggles through a school of very hard knocks, emerging as a young man who now knows right from wrong. Harsh lessons learnt that some things are very precious: Family, friendship, community, hopes and dreams. And when you lose those it hurts like hell.

Abide with Me is a bruising, emotional roller coaster of a read and one that Ian Ayris should be truly proud of. It’s a remarkable debut novel. Scheduled for release in March 2012 and I recommend Abide with Me in a heartbeat.

RADGEPACKET TALES FROM THE INNER CITIES VOLUME SIX

2011-12-19T07:50:00.000-08:00

Radgepacket Tales from the Inner Cities Volume Six; scheduled to be released 10^th March 2012 from those lovely folk at Byker Books.

The blurb:

Our Sixth volume of short stories is just pure quality.

You’ll find real industrial strength fiction in here as the best ‘unsigned and unhinged’ British talent regale you with stories of bad people doing bad things...and good people doing bad things....and lots of people doing naughty things!

In another snapshot of today’s Britain you’ll find twenty two ‘shorts’ that will entertain and appal you in equal measure. So sit down, have a stiff drink...have another two...then turn the page.

Cracking stuff!

ABIDE WITH ME

2011-12-19T03:26:00.000-08:00

I was chuffed to hear from Chris Rhatigan that I’m the lucky winner of an early copy of Ian Ayris’ novel Abide With Me.

An early Christmas present that I’m really looking forward too. Cracking stuff! I’ll let you all know how the book treats me; pretty good I’m sure.

My thanks go to Chris and Ian.

BRIT GRIT TOO

2011-12-18T05:57:00.000-08:00

Brit Grit Too is out NOW!

The blurb: Edited by Paul D Brazill, Brit Grit Too collects 32 of Britain's best up and coming crime fiction writers to aid the charity Children 1st children1st.org.uk/

The BRIT GRIT mob is coming to kick down your door with hobnailed boots. Kitchen-sink noir; petty-thief-louts; lives of quiet desperation; sharp, blood-stained slices of life; booze-sodden brawls from the bottom of the barrel and comedy that's as black as it's bitter--this is BRIT GRIT

Table of Contents:

1. Two Fingers Of Noir by Alan Griffiths

2. Looking For Jamie by Iain Rowan

3. Stones In Me Pocket by Nigel Bird

4. The Catch And The Fall by Luke Block

5. A Long Time Coming by Paul Grzegorzek

6. Loose Ends by Gary Dobb

7. Graduation Day by Malcolm Holt

8. Cry Baby by Victoria Watson

9. The Savage World Of Men by Richard Godwin

10. Hard Boiled Poem (a mystery) by Alan Savage

11. A Dirty Job by Sue Harding

12. Squaring The Circle by Nick Quantrill

13. The Best Days Of My Life by Steven Porter

14. Hanging Stan by Jason Michel

15. The Wrong Place To Die by Nick Triplow

16. Coffin Boy by Nick Mott

17. Meat Is Murder by Colin Graham

18. Adult Education by Graham Smith

19. A Public Service by Col Bury

20. Hero by Pete Sortwell

21. Snapshots by Paul D Brazill

22. Smoked by Luca Veste

23. Geraldine by Andy Rivers

24. A Minimum Of Reason by Nick Boldock

25. Dope On A Rope by Darren Sant

26. A Speck Of Dust by David Barber

27. Hard Times by Ian Ayris

28. Never Ending by Fiona Johnson

29. Faces by Frank Duffy

30. The Plebitarian by Danny Hogan

31. King Edward by Gerard Brennan

32. Brit Grit by Charlie Wade

I’m as proud as punch to be part of this project and what a line-up! My thanks go to the top-man, Paul D. Brazill and those wonderful folk at Trestle Press.

DRUNK ON THE MOON – IT’S A CURSE - VOLUME 7

2011-12-04T10:28:00.000-08:00

Number seven in the cracking DRUNK ON THE MOON series has just been released. It’s been downloaded to my Kindle and will be my bedtime reading tonight.

My congratulations go to all those involved in this innovative series.

MATT HILTON’S DOMINION

2011-12-03T01:36:00.000-08:00

I was interested to read on Matt Hilton’s blog that apart from the super Joe Hunter series of novels he has also been hard at work on other standalone projects. I shouldn’t be surprised by this news as Matt is a talented, hardworking and prolific author. He’s also a really nice bloke and tremendously supportive of other budding writers.

Read more about Matt’s eBook projects HERE and HERE for details of his new horror/thriller: DOMINION.

The blurb for DOMINION is terrific and after reading a couple of the Joe Hunter novels I know that this will be a fast paced page turner of a read; perfect format for the Kindle.

I’m wishing Matt every success with this venture and all his other writing projects.

HOW THE BOOK TREATED ME: VIVA LA MADNESS BY J.J. CONNOLLY

2011-11-11T03:29:00.000-08:00

Okay, I posted a few weeks back that I’d picked up a copy of Viva La Madness by J.J. Connolly and I said I’d let you all know how the book treated me. This is the sequel to Layer Cake, a long-time favourite read of mine, which went on to become a favourite film; J.J. Connolly wrote the screenplay and did a mighty fine job.

A long awaited sequel; it’s something like ten years since Layer Cake was first published but well worth waiting for.

Almost 450 pages, Viva La Madness is long and sometimes I struggle with this length of novel. I’m happy to report I had no such problems. The narrative hooked me from page one, keeping me wriggling on the line like an exhausted kipper.

Set in 2001, Viva La Madness picks up the story of the anonymous drug dealing hero from Layer Cake; now retired, keeping his head down and picking up a suntan in the West Indies. But he is soon pulled back to Blighty and the cut-throat, murky drug business by his friend and associate Mister Mortimer.

Cue an amazing cast of characters and a story line with heavy London underworld gangsters, gun toting Venezuelan drug cartels, international money laundering and high tech banking fraud.

Written in the same first person point of view as Layer Cake, Viva La Madness has a truly authentic voice, witty sharp dialogue, and a complex plot. Moving at breakneck pace; Viva La Madness is believable, farcical and violent at times as our hero finds his life literally on the line and begins to regret his decision to come out of early retirement, longing again for the sunny, easy life of the Caribbean.

Viva La Madness treated me well and is highly recommended reading.

DRUNK ON THE MOON: 6

2011-11-04T10:04:00.000-07:00

The latest instalment of the innovative Drunk on the Moon series has just been released. For those of you not in the know Drunk on the Moon is an inspired succession of hardboiled noir/horror short stories featuring Roman Dalton; a retired detective and once a month, barking at the full moon werewolf.

Paul D Brazill wrote the first instalment and from there different writers have picked up the keyboard and baton. This concept allows the writers to have fun and take the characters and tales in a different direction.

The latest, Silver Tears, penned by John Donald Carlucci finds Roman in the sights of a nasty serial killer who wants a bite of the action. Another terrific story, as are the previous five.

The series brought to you by those lovely people at Trestle Press currently stacks up like this:

Drunk on the Moon by Paul D Brazill

Drunk on the Moon 2: Fear the Night by Julia Madeleine

Drunk on the Moon 3: The Darke Affair by Allan Leverone

Drunk on the Moon 4: Insatiable by BR Stateham

Drunk on the Moon 5: Getting High on Daisy by Richard Godwin

Drunk on the Moon 6: Silver Tears by John Donald Carlucci

At just £0.86p or $1.34 a pop all are tremendous value for money and just the perfect story format for the Kindle.

Go on treat yourself and give it a clickety-click!

BLASTED HEATH

2011-11-01T08:01:00.000-07:00

Blasted Heath has launched today. An innovative and exciting digital publishing venture; congrats and good luck go to all involved.

ABSOLUTE ZERO COOL BY DECLAN BURKE

2011-10-29T01:10:00.000-07:00

I downloaded to my Kindle last weekend Declan Burke’s latest novel, Absolute Zero Cool. And without a shadow of a doubt it’s cool with a capital C.

I rattled through AZC. It’s highly original, witty, laugh out loud at times, thought provoking and sprinkled with cracking dialogue that, I think, is a hallmark of Declan’s writing. AZC is a terrific read.

AZC has been nominated for the Irish Book Awards in the Ireland AM Crime Fiction Award category; a tremendous achievement and many congrats go to Dec. He’s in very good company though - the other nominees are:

Taboo by Casey Hill, A Death in Summer by Benjamin Black, Bloodland by Alan Glynn, The Bloody Meadow by William Ryan and The Reckoning by Jane Casey.

RADGEPACKET – TALES FROM THE INNER CITIES VOLUME 6

2011-10-27T11:29:00.000-07:00

I’m chuffed to bits this evening and will be for a while. I submitted a story to the upcoming Radgepacket anthology and it’s been accepted.

Yippee!

Radgepacket - Tales from the Inner Cities Volume 6 is due for release in March 2012, published by those wonderful people at Byker Books. I can’t wait.

Many congratulations to the other twenty one writers also accepted; I’m sure I’ll be in good company.

Finally, a huge thank you to Ed and all the folks at Byker Books.

Nice one!

BEAT to a PULP: HARDBOILED

2011-10-15T12:09:00.000-07:00

My congratulations go to all involved in this PROJECT. The cover is stunning and I’m sure the stories will be too.

VIVA LA MADNESS

2011-10-02T06:14:00.000-07:00

I’m a big fan of Layer Cake. The film, which I have watched several times but more so the book from J.J. Connolly. I picked up Layer Cake many moons ago from a long closed and much missed local independent bookshop. This was also many moons before Layer Cake was made into the film.

I’d read here and there that JJC was working on a sequel to Layer Cake but nothing transpired. Until today when I was browsing my local Waterstone’s and came across this cracking looking trade paperback. The Viva La Madness blurb runs like this:

The long-awaited sequel to the cult classic Layer Cake. The authentic voice of British gangster fiction returns with a tour de force in this long-awaited sequel to Layer Cake, the bestselling debut by J.J. Connolly that 'jump-started British crime fiction into the present' (Uncut). More authentic in its language and scene-setting, smarter in its characterisation and plotting than anything that had previously gone by the name of gangster fiction, Layer Cake attracted a big cult following and became a Crime bestseller (it also became the most shop-lifted book in Britain). The Get Carter of the noughties, Layer Cake has also been made into a highly-praised film by Matthew Vaughn, starring Daniel Craig, Michael Gambon and Sienna Miller. Now J. J. Connolly is back with a sequel that sees him on the same stunning form, with his trademark razor-sharp dialogue and quick-fire violence, but also finding dark humour and pathos in the lives of violent men. From the many levels of the London underworld portrayed in Layer Cake, Viva la Madness moves to international crime with trans-Atlantic drug deals, money laundering and high-tech electronic fraud, portrayed with the same uncanny believability. The anonymous hero of Layer Cake is pulled back into the drug game before he can escape to a sunny retirement: in an authentic but dazzling combination of London low-life, Caribbean high-life and Venezuelan drug cartels toting machine-guns in Mayfair. The brilliance and the madness is back: 'Viva la madness!'

So out the window went my promise to only buy new books for my Kindle to save my groaning bookshelves. Well who could resist…

I’ll let you know how the book treats me.

HARD BITE AND OTHER SHORT STORIES

2011-09-16T02:46:00.000-07:00

If, like me, you like your Noir and Horror hardboiled, quirky and sprinkled with a delicious dark humour then this collection is a must. And an absolute snip of a price. Go get it HERE.

The mysterious Anonymous-9 is an award winning and very classy writer – go on give it a punt.

BRIT GRIT CONTINUES AT ASHEDIT….

2011-08-24T11:29:00.000-07:00

Check out Col Bury HERE.

BRIT GRIT CONTINUES AT ASHEDIT….

2011-08-22T03:29:00.000-07:00

Check out Nigel Bird HERE.

BRIT GRIT CONTINUES AT ASHEDIT….

2011-08-17T23:35:00.000-07:00

Check out Allan Guthrie HERE.

BRIT GRIT CONTINUES AT ASHEDIT….

2011-08-15T11:22:00.000-07:00

Check it out HERE.

TWO FINGERS OF NOIR

2011-08-07T23:01:00.000-07:00

Check it out HERE.

BRIT GRIT COMING SOON….

2011-08-03T12:19:00.000-07:00

Yes, I’m still alive and scribbling my nonsense and flim-flam here and there.

My thanks go in advance to Elaine Ash for posting my flash piece “Two Fingers of Noir” at her terrific and informative blog ASHEDIT.

RADGEPACKET VOLUME 5 LAUNCH PARTY

2011-03-18T09:59:00.000-07:00

Some pretty major technical problems have kept me off-line for the last week but I’m relieved they are now sorted and in time for me to post this reminder from Ed at Byker Books:

Evening,

Just a reminder that the fifth volume in our mighty Radgepacket series hits the streets this weekend and we're celebrating the fact that we've got away with it five times now with a little launchy soiree type thing. We've got a guest speaker (Rod Glenn - proper novelist and proper bloke), some booze, some nibbles, and plenty of banter so come along and meet some of the crew, have a drink and a laugh. What else would you do on a Saturday (19th) man? Ikea? Pah!

The whole Radgepacket series has, over it's short life, attracted praise from various writers and critics - here's a selection of views :-

'Imaginative writing in this collection which offers a sharp critique of the trashy, beer-and-a-kebab culture.' - The Crack

'Top notch stuff. Seriously impressed.' - Ray Banks, Author

'An anthology for those who like their fiction twisted, profane and depraved. Me, I loved it.' - Big Beat from Badsville

'Within these pages you will find gem after gem.' - Sheila Quigley, Author

The launch is at the 'The Back Page' in Newcastle city centre and, for those of you who don’t know it, it's one of Britain’s best (if not the actual best) sports book shops and carries a massive range of books and other sporting paraphernalia, not to mention the friendliest staff you’ll ever meet anywhere…ever!

The full address is:

56 St. Andrews Street
Newcastle upon Tyne,
NE1 5SF

So come along, have a drink with us, get a copy of the new and improved Radgepacket, get it signed by the contributors in attendance and hear a bit of spiel from my good self – you can even heckle...a little bit. Be nice to see you.

Cheers.

Ed

HARD BITE BY ANONYMOUS-9

2011-03-08T12:52:00.000-08:00

Pop over to Col Bury’s excellent blog and read what I have to say about Anonymous-9’s blistering short story Hard Bite. And stay a while; Col’s blog is full of great articles, interviews and links to his terrific stories.

I hope Sid, the thirteen-year-old capuchin monkey helper, is behaving but I fear not… Col, only monkey porn and beer will do the trick!

My thanks go to Col for having me over.

PATTI ABBOTT’S SCARRY NIGHT FLASH FICTION CHALLENGE

2011-02-27T07:48:00.000-08:00

Here's the details of Patti’s challenge; Scarry Night.

And here's my story:

RAZORBLADE KISSES

Priest stood in front of the mirror, flinching at the patchwork of raw slashes.

I really don't mind the scars. It’s betrayal that cuts to the friggin’ bone.

Until this was settled he knew his constant companions would be a junkies craving for revenge and anger in the pit of his stomach burning like a pus filled ulcer.

Razorblade kisses I’ll wear for the rest of my days.

He’d been double crossed after a successful little tickle in leafy Surrey. Beaten senseless and carved up like a greasy kebab by Nick the Nonce and his goons.

Left for dead, amongst the mud and the cow shit.

The sound of car tyres on slick tarmac interrupted his reverie.

Priest snuck into the garage and unscrewed the light bulb. Rain beat a tattoo, cleansing the Saturday night detritus. A torrent of water flushing all the piss and puke and blood from the London gutters.

Could it purify my dark soul?

The garage doors swung up. A BMW saloon edged into the garage; came to a halt and the engine died.

“It’s bloody dark in here, Ernie.”

“Shut it you tart. Where’s the bleedin’ light switch?”

Ernie Bradshaw, the Nonce’s six-foot-six enforcer, got out of the motor.

“Switch the headlights on, Razorblade I can’t see a fuckin’ thing.”

White light blazed. Priest swung the Louisville Slugger; splitting Ernie’s skull down the middle like a walnut.

“Timber!” said Priest, pointing a Glock at Razorblade. “So much as sneeze and I’ll blow your swede clean off. Get out!”

Razorblade got out.

“You’ve got this coming, Razorblade,” Priest said. “Tell me where the Nonce is and I’ll do it quick. Boy Scout's honour.”

“You know the boss don’t like that name.”

Priest threw a hammer of a punch, spreading Razorblade’s nose like strawberry jam and dumping him on the floor.

Razorblade spat claret and, “At the club but he’ll be here later.” A dirty laugh came out as a whimper. “We came ahead with a little something in the car boot.”

“Who’s gonna be with him?” Priest said, pushing the pistol into his waistband.

“Phil the Greek.”

“I’d best get ready then,” Priest said, hefting the Slugger. He beat Razorblade to a pulp and added; “Now that’s what I call a homerun.”

Priest dragged Ernie and then Razorblade through to the utility room, stuffing the two bodies into a chest freezer. Sat down and sparked up a Silk Cut. Puffing hard and wiping sweat from his brow he said, “Blimey, it’s all go around here.”

He made a pot of tea and a cheese and pickle sandwich. Ate half and supped his brew in the dark thinking dark thoughts.

The blade sunk deep. Grazing cheekbone and paring back a long ribbon of stubbly skin; a fat maggot wriggling out from beneath-

Priest jolted awake, sheathed with perspiration. He’d only closed his eyes for a few seconds. But it was enough. He drank deeply from a bottle of Chivas Regal, berating himself for his carelessness.

Razorblade kisses I’ll wear for the rest of my days.

Night was turning to day when he heard the revving of a throaty car engine; a Porsche reversing into a parking space on the other side of the mews.

The gang’s all here.

Five minutes passed. Phil the Greek entered the darkened room. “Boys. You there?”

“They’re both on ice,” Priest said, cutting Phil’s throat from behind with a bread knife as easily as slicing a peach.

The Nonce was coming up the stairs talking into a mobile phone. Priest’s smile was wolverine. “Hello, Nonce. You’ve got something of mine,” he said and swung a steel toe cap. “And I want it back.”

The Nonce came to, bound to one of his Georgian dining room chairs. Naked save a pair of soiled budgie smugglers.

“A fine morning for it, Nonce,” Priest said.

The Nonce spat broken teeth and, “For what you fuckin’ hooligan?”

“A spot of pruning,” Priest said, snipping off the Nonce’s left little pinky with a pair of wire cutters.

The Nonce roared curses; wailing like a tight fan belt.

“Swallow the pain you pussy and grow yourself a pair,” Priest said, shredding the Nonce’s discarded shirt. “You’re gonna take this like a man and then you’ll tell me where those gems are hidden.” Stuffing cotton strips between the Nonce’s swollen lips he added; “So cowboy up partner.”

Whistling ‘This Little Piggy’ tunelessly, Priest trimmed the right pinky at the knuckle. The Nonce bucking and squirming did his best to swallow the gag, passing out as his bloody thumbs fell onto the shag-pile.

Priest sucked a Silk Cut down to the filter then slapped the Nonce around until he revived.

“Now for the tiny todger,” Priest said.

The Nonce peed his pants and started to blub. When he was finished Priest said, “Back in a jiffy.”

The jewellery was in the safe along with a pile of cash. “It’s all gravy,” Priest said, scooping the lot into a holdall. He poured a large glass of whisky to celebrate and ate the rest of his sandwich.

Sated and with the swag counted Priest returned to the dining room.

“Nice doing business, Nonce,” Priest said. “I’d shake on it but you’re all fingers and thumbs.”

The Nonce croaked, “You can’t leave me like this you fuckin’ psychopath.”

“Too right,” Priest said, and in a heartbeat put a bullet into the Nonce’s canister. “No loose ends or happy ending.”

On the way out Priest heard muffled sounds coming from the garage. He popped the boot of the Beamer with the ignition fob, pointing the semi-automatic.

Trussed up like a Christmas turkey a young girl stared up at him with big, teary eyes.

Just like my own precious daughter.

Cracking what he hoped was a warm smile he gently helped her out. Looking up to the heavens Priest said, “Okay, just this friggin’ once.”

(c) Alan Griffiths 2011

RADGEPACKET 5 - TALES FROM THE INNER CITIES

2011-02-25T10:31:00.001-08:00

An invite from Ed at Byker Books:

***

How the devil are you? 2011 getting on your nerves yet? Well I’ve got just the thing…the launch date and venue for the latest edition in our short story collections - the mighty ‘Radgepacket 5’.

Now then, the previous four 'Radgepacket' collections have shaken up the established literary order and this one will be no exception. With twenty different stories of madness, murder and mayhem Radgepacket Volume Five will be launched on Saturday 19th March at ‘The Back Page’ in Newcastle upon Tyne between the hours of 15:00 and 17:00.

We’ve tweaked the format slightly from the first four volumes and have made the last story something of a novella (‘The Estate’ a cracking read from Danny Hill) yet Radge5 is still very cheap at only £5.99. It features contributions from 'up and comers' like Ian Ayris, Carol Fenlon and Paul Brazill and, of course, our usual mix of the unsigned and the unhinged!

As you know (or maybe you don’t!) Radgepacket was conceived and set up to promote those authors who write 'industrial strength fiction' but who never get a look in because they haven't been on Big Brother or had their bits out in the paper but we also want to produce a quality publication that gives the reader value for money and we think we've done that. In fact in this austere day and age it’s probably a crime not to buy something that works out at about 30p per story – it’s for nowt man!

For those of you who don’t know it ‘The Back Page’ is one of Britain’s best (if not the actual best) sports book shops and carries a massive range of books and other sporting paraphernalia, not to mention the friendliest staff you’ll ever meet anywhere…ever!

The full address is:

56 St. Andrews Street
Newcastle upon Tyne,
NE1 5SF

So come along, have a drink with us (might even get some nibbles – I said might…) get a copy of the new and improved Radgepacket, get it signed by the contributors in attendance and hear a bit of spiel from my good self – and hopefully a mystery guest speaker - what’s not to like?

Cheers.

Ed

***

I’m thrilled to be one of the unsigned and the unhinged!

A COUPLE OF THINGS

2011-02-24T12:04:00.000-08:00

Very sad to read this today; an actor and television series I remember fondly...

But, very happy to read this today; can’t wait…

TRUTH LIES BLEEDING BY TONY BLACK

2011-02-12T11:03:00.001-08:00

I treated myself to this cracking looking book today – Truth Lies Bleeding by Tony Black.

The cover is terrific and I’m looking forward to finding out where Tony Black takes a police procedural. Tony is an author I admire tremendously. His Gus Dury novels are brilliant; Tartan Noir at its very best.

Have you treated yourself to a good book lately?

Enjoy the weekend folks!

DISCOUNT NOIR – REVIEWED AT THE DROWNING MACHINE

2011-02-06T12:15:00.000-08:00

Naomi Johnson has kindly put together a very nice and very thorough review of Discount Noir.

Check it out over at The Drowning Machine - HERE.

PULP CARNIVALE

2011-02-06T02:28:00.000-08:00

I’m probably a little late to the party (usually am) but browsing around the blogosphere this morning I came across a brash new kid that has rocked-up in town.

Check out the terrific looking Pulp Carnivale HERE.

My congratulations go to the Editor in Chief, Tracy Austin. I hope Tracy gets all the support needed to make a success of this fine project – knowing the online writing community I’m sure Tracy will.

There are a couple of nasty but nice pieces of flash by Ian Ayris and Charlie Wade over there, which you really need to read.

Enjoy the rest of the weekend folks!

I DIDN’T SAY THAT, DID I?: BRIT GRIT BY PAUL D. BRAZILL

2011-01-22T04:56:00.001-08:00

There’s a terrific article over at Pulp Metal Magazine penned by the terrific Paul D. Brazill.

Check it out HERE.

And stay a while over there folks; chill out, make a nice cuppa something and take your time checking out some cracking stuff.

Have a great weekend all.

RADGEPACKET - TALES FROM THE INNER CITIES VOLUME 5

2011-01-20T10:56:00.000-08:00

Last night a long awaited email from Ed of BYKER BOOKS popped into my in-box.

A double digit tap and I held my breath.

My story, Say Hello Wave Goodbye, had been accepted for Radgepacket - Tales from the Inner Cities Volume 5.

I was over the blooming moon. I read it twice to make sure.

Yes!

Yippee!

I’m thrilled, honoured and privileged to be accepted into this anthology. The planned release date is March/April…ish. As soon as I get more news I’ll let you know.

I’ll be interested to see the full list of contributors. I’m sure I’ll be in good company doing what I do best; holding onto the coattails of a talented bunch of authors - all with terrific stories. Congratulations to you all.

If you are not familiar with the books then please check out the last Radgepacket HERE. Go on treat yourself!

As Ed says (and Ed knows best):

“Byker Books will use profits from sales to fund basic operations and new titles (including the Radgepacket series). We’re not evil millionaires. We’re people trying to get good books and new authors out in to the market and we need your help to do that.”

Says it all, Ed.

Byker Books has exciting plans to launch the Radgepacket series as well as their other novels (old and new) in ebook form.

So, great news all round.

I can’t wait to see a story of mine in print for the first time. What a blast that will be. What an inspiration to keep scribbling down the nonsense that is inside my head.

Man-O-Man!

Right-O, I’m off for a celebratory drink or three.

Take good care folks.

COLD KISS

2011-01-08T14:21:00.000-08:00

I wanted to post a few words about the book I have just finished reading: Cold Kiss by John Rector.

I’d picked the book up several times and browsed it. Each time, although very tempted to buy a copy, I’d put it back saying to myself, “No! You already have too many books on that darned TBR pile.”

Then I read Keith Rawson’s top five books of 2010 and Cold Kiss was his number one pick. Well, Keith’s review did the trick and I picked up a copy last weekend.

Was I glad I did? Hell yes!

I blasted through the book in five days, which is exceptionally fast for me. I could have cracked it in much less time if it was not a working week and my reading time was limited.

I was also trying to take my time and savour it.

Cold Kiss is Nate and Sara’s story: A young couple who are broke and on the run from the past. A shady hitchhiker offers cold hard cash for a lift. They can’t afford to say no.

As the front cover blurb says: Fear never travels alone...

So, what is it about this book that, in my opinion, makes it so exceptionally good and John Rector so talented?

The narrative is fast paced, tightly plotted and full of suspense with an air of claustrophobic menace. Simon Kernick’s quote on the back cover captures the essence of the story: “You know something bad’s going to happen and just have to keep reading.”

But for me it is also John Rector’s writing style. Clean, hardboiled prose, pared to the bone so that not one gritty word is wasted and dialogue that is sparse and authentic.

Noir with a capital N!

From reading John’s blog it comes as no surprise that Cold Kiss has been optioned for film.

Cold Kiss is a terrific debut and John’s second novel, The Grove, is available in Kindle format – also to shortly be published in paperback.

So, my thanks go to Keith for a fine recommendation and to John for writing a superb book.

I’d recommend Cold Kiss in the blink of an eye and I’m sure Mr Rector will soon be a huge name and bestselling author.

Now, back to that darned TBR pile...

DSD CHRISTMAS NOIR FLASH CHALLENGE

2011-01-03T00:02:00.000-08:00

DO SOME DAMAGE has been hosting an inspired Christmas Noir Flash challenge and my effort, Secret Santa, has been posted. You can check it out HERE.

If you have not read the other fine pieces of writing then please spend a while over there and check them all out – the standard has been absolutely terrific. It’s a thrill and an honour to be part of it and a great start to the New Year.

My thanks go to the DSD crew who run a super blog all year round.

Finally, a belated Happy New Year to you all!

ASHES TO ASHES

2010-11-25T02:04:00.000-08:00

Some technical problems with my darned laptop have kept me off-line for the past few days; touching wooden stuff they are now solved!

It was great to see my story ASHES TO ASHES posted at A Twist of Noir as part of Christopher Grant’s inspired 600+ challenge - a big thank you to Christopher for inviting me to take part.

Ashes To Ashes features my character Priest getting mixed up in his head with his fictional hero Gene S. Hunt. I’ve taken the liberty of quoting a few of Gene’s lines in the piece – no harm or plagiarism intended on my part. I’m a huge fan of Life on Mars and Ashes to Ashes and, in my own small way, I'm paying homage to two highly original, brilliantly written and award winning television series.

THE BIG NOWHERE

2010-10-30T10:34:00.000-07:00

From previous posts you will be aware that I’m fast becoming a fan of James Ellroy. I’ve just started to read The Big Nowhere, which is the second book in the acclaimed L.A. Quartet series. The following section struck me as... brilliant.

***

The County side was bustling: traffic fatalities lined up on gurneys, morgue jockeys tagging big toes, uniformed deputies writing dead body reports and Coroner’s men chaining cigarettes to kill the stench of blood, formaldehyde and stale chink takeout.

***

For me, the skilful use of exciting words to set a scene so authentically is stunning. Masterful stuff, Mr Ellroy!

DISCOUNT NOIR - NOW AVAILABLE

2010-10-22T11:10:00.000-07:00

Discount Noir is alive and kicking and available at the Untreed Reads store.

Go on treat yourself. It’s a bargain basement bargain at $4.49 for a digital download of top quality flash fiction. Double digit HERE folks!

JAMES ELLROY - THE DEMON DOG OF HARDBOILED NOIR

2010-10-07T10:52:00.000-07:00

I took myself off to the Bloomsbury Theatre in London last night to listen to James Ellroy reading extracts from his latest memoir - The Hilliker Curse: My Pursuit of Women. After the reading, which lasted twenty minutes or so there was a discussion on all things Ellroy followed by a Q&A session on his canon of literary masterpieces.

He is a larger than life character and was totally at home on the theatre stage. I really cannot do the man justice in this piece but sufficient to say I was astounded to see the theatre packed with so many fans. “Peepers, prowlers, pederasts, panty-sniffers, punks and pimps,” as Ellroy would say. When Ellroy took to the stage his command of the English language and sheer personality had the audience, including me, enthralled.

The whole thing must have lasted an hour and fifteen minutes but time flew by. The man is a superb orator and entertained with his trademark and wicked: Humour, slang, patois and creative profanity. He is controversial, complex and, in my opinion, a wordsmith bordering on genius. Ellroy was not as hesitant as me on this point; nailing his colours firmly to the mast by declaring himself a literary genius and comparing himself to Ludwig van Beethoven. Few in the audience had any issues with this.

I gleaned a few remarkable things about the great man: Ellroy does not own a computer. Ellroy does not use the Internet. Ellroy researches his literary projects using the printed word and interviews. Ellroy writes in long hand. Ellroy completes a detailed outline - 400 plus pages written in long hand – before he starts a novel. Ellroy does not deviate from the outline during the writing of the novel. Ellroy rarely watches films and television. Ellroy never reads contemporary books by other authors. Ellroy can spend hours in a darkened room just thinking about his writing.

I cannot call myself a fanatical Ellroy reader because I have not read a huge amount of his work; I am going to put that right though.

Many years ago I read Dick Contino's Blues: And Other Stories. Recently I read The Black Dahlia. I bought this book a long time ago but put off reading it because I had read that Ellroy’s writing style was difficult to read; although his unique staccato prose developed from White Jazz onwards. When I did get around to reading The Black Dahlia I swallowed it; hook, line and sinker. Captured not just by the blistering story and the skilful use of words but how the fiction was set so authentically in 1940/50’s Los Angeles and weaved around real life events. The rest of the L.A. Quartet is on my TBR shelf and I will promote The Big Nowhere to the next book on the rank without further ado.

A hat-tip to James Ellroy – The Demon Dog of Hardboiled Noir!

DISCOUNT NOIR – COMING SOON

2010-10-05T12:37:00.000-07:00

The publishing date for Discount Noir is Tuesday 19^th October. Published by Untreed Reads and edited by Patricia Abbott and Steve Weddle with a line-up of amazing writers who have penned flash stories featuring big box discount stores in the tradition of Walmart. The full list of contributors is as follows:-

Patricia Abbott, Sophie Littlefield, Kieran Shea, Chad Eagleton, Ed Gorman, Cormac Brown, Fleur Bradley, Alan Griffiths, Laura Benedict, Garnett Elliot, Eric Beetner, Jack Bates, Bill Crider, Loren Eaton, John DuMond, John McFetridge, Toni McGee Causey, Jeff Vande Zande, James Reasoner, Kyle Minor, Randy Rohn, Todd Mason, Byron Quertermous, Sandra Scoppettone, Stephen D. Rogers, Steve Weddle, Evan Lewis, Daniel B. O’Shea, Sandra Seamans, Albert Tucher, Donna Moore, John Weagly, Keith Rawson, Gerald So, Dave Zeltserman, Dorte Hummelshoj Jakobsen, Jay Stringer, Anne Frasier, Kathleen A. Ryan, Eric Peterson, Chris Grabenstein and J.T. Ellison.

The cover looks fantastic and I’m as pleased as Punch to have a piece in this e-book. For more details please double digit HERE folks.

EVERY PICTURE TELLS A STORY

2010-09-18T09:29:00.000-07:00

These two fine publications arrived in the post this morning. Don’t they look dandy? I reckon the stories are going to be top notch too. I’m looking forward to getting my mince-pies on them immensely.

My hat is tipped towards David and Patti for the original photo idea.

And a classic tune to round things off. You can’t beat a bit of Rod!

Enjoy the rest of the weekend folks.

DISCOUNT NOIR

2010-09-03T10:31:00.000-07:00

Last year I took part in Patti Abbott’s Walmart, I Love You, flash fiction challenge. The challenge attracted some great writers who put together some great stories. But it didn’t end there....

With Patti and Steve Weddle as editors and super agent Stacia J.N. Decker onboard, the project with some additional stories from other top writers has been put together as an anthology. Tentatively titled Discount Noir, the collection of stories will soon go to e-press published by Untreed Reads. For the official announcement double digit HERE.

This is my first inclusion in an anthology and, whilst I realise that I am holding onto the coattails of some super writers, I am blown away with the whole thing.

Finally, my thanks have to go out to Patti, Steve and Stacia for all their hard work, which has made this happen. Congratulations to all involved!

Have a good weekend folks.

TONY BLACK’S GUS DURY NOVELS

2010-09-02T08:51:00.000-07:00

I’ve just finished reading, back to back, Loss and Long Time Dead; books three and four in Tony Black’s stunning series of Gus Dury novels. I read the first two, Paying For It and Gutted a while back, when they came out in paperback.

Now, hands up here, I’m no book reviewer but these books struck a chord with me and I wanted to put a quick post up about them.

Gus Dury is a washed up hack and an alkie with issues that stem from a troubled childhood. Gus has a quick temper and, at times, lets his fists do the talking. He’s fond of a pagger! After seeing his once promising journalism career and his marriage flushed down the toilet, Gus looks out at the world through the bottom of a whisky glass.

A friend asks a favour of Gus and he finds himself as a reluctant Private Investigator, pounding the mean streets of Edinburgh in his trusted Doctor Martin boots.

I read the books in order and I’m glad I did. Although each book is a standalone they chart a journey for Gus and, at times, reference key events from previous books.

But, by reading chronologically, I got a real taste of how Tony’s writing improves with each novel – not just the storylines but also how Gus evolves as a flawed and complex character; getting under his whisky sodden skin and a real understanding of the baggage he carries and the demons that haunt him.

It’s a bruising, rollercoaster journey for Gus. Along the way, written in first person, with a caustic and searing wit, we see and hear Gus Dury’s view of the world and his beloved city of Edinburgh, how it has changed; for good and for bad.

All four books are, in my humble opinion, cracking reads and highly recommended.

Check out the links/blurbs below and for a taster short story, care of The Rap Sheet, double digit HERE.

PAYING FOR IT
Former journalist Gus Dury has hit rock bottom – drifting from bar to bar, a drink away from Edinburgh’s down-and-outs, his high flying career and wife he adored now a distant memory. But his life takes an unexpected turn when a friend asks him to investigate the brutal torture and killing of his son.

GUTTED
When the gangland owner of a pit bull that killed a three-year-old girl is found gutted on an Edinburgh hill Gus Dury is asked to investigate, and soon finds himself up to his neck in the warring underworld of the city's sink estates. Amidst illegal dog fights, a missing fifty grand and a police force and judiciary desperate to cover their links to a brutal killing, Gus must work fast to root out the truth, whilst the case sinks its teeth ever deeper into him.

LOSS
Gus Dury is a changed man. He is off the Edinburgh streets and back with estranged wife, Debs. He has promised her that he won't get involved in any more dodgy cases which the police can't or won't solve. And above all, he's off the drink. In his pocket at all times is a half bottle of Scotch, but although the label is worn to shreds, he has never so much as loosened the cap. Then his brother Michael is found dead with a bullet in his heart and Gus' life begins to unravel all over again. How can he keep the promises he has made and still avenge his brother's murder?

LONG TIME DEAD
Gus Dury is back on the drink. While in hospital after a hit-and-run accident, his best friend, Hod, asks him to investigate the ritual, on-campus hanging of an Edinburgh University student. The murder victim's mother is a high-profile actress, who has promised a big-money reward. Gus, desperate for money, goes undercover at the university, taking a janitor's job, and soon uncovers a similar ritualistic hanging which took place in the 70s. Few of the students are prepared to talk about it - until another one of their group turns up dead by the same method. But Gus now moves into very dangerous waters as he begins to discover what and who is really behind it all - and he becomes the next target for the executioner.

RADGEPACKET VOLUME FOUR: TALES FROM THE INNER CITIES

2010-08-27T10:17:00.000-07:00

Radgepacket Volume Four, published by those nice people at Bykerbooks, arrived in the post a few days ago c/o Amazon.

Now, my TBR pile is a little daunting at present but I’d been eagerly awaiting this collection of short fiction and couldn’t resist sampling one straight away...

It had to be Paul Brazill’s The Night Watchman; featuring his Private Investigator from ‘Up North’, Peter Ord.

This was the first time I’d read an Ord story and Ord didn’t disappoint. It has all Paul’s hallmarks stamped over it; a wonderfully descriptive narrative, gritty dialogue sprinkled with deliciously dark humour plus those characters - I ask you, who else would describe a character with a face like a blackcurrant crumble!

I believe this is Paul’s debut in a print anthology although I know he has other stuff up and coming. It’s a fine debut from a talented and prolific writer who I know has a lot more to come in the way of published stories.

There are some super writers involved in this project: Ray Banks, Danny King and Andy Rivers to name just three more.

This should be an entertaining read and great value at £5.99 for 22 stories.

Have a good weekend folks.

GREAT CAR CHASES THAT ARE RIGHT UP MY STREET

2010-08-20T10:13:00.000-07:00

I’ve been chewing the fat over the Blogosphere with Cormac Brown. Cormac, as you are no doubt aware, really knows his stuff and he has a post up at his blog on “Noir and San Francisco”. Pop over there if you have not read the post already and also here at The Rap Sheet. The subject is all about films that have been set in the fantastic city of San Francisco.

Cormac kindly posted a link for me (in the comments section) to that thrilling car chase from Bullitt, again shot in San Francisco, featuring the wonderful Steve McQueen.

Well, watching that chase scene stirred my old brain cells and up popped a memory of when I was a lad and the great John Wayne came to this part of South London to shoot a film called Brannigan.

I can recall queuing up with a load of other kids and getting an autographed card from the big man himself – oh the memories.

There is a super car chase in this film and, watching it again, at one point the two cars involved, a Jag and a Ford Capri, come flying down the very road where I now live – it’s a small world. Click HERE; it’s a belter.

The car chase scenes were stitched together around different areas of Battersea/Wandsworth but the chase suddenly concludes on Tower Bridge, which is a good six miles away from here as the crow flies – but I guess that’s show business folks!

TBR PILE

2010-08-14T10:23:00.000-07:00

My TBR pile of books is not getting any smaller but during a shopping trip today I couldn’t resist treating myself to these three.

I’m really looking forward to cracking the spine on these books as soon as I can; I’m currently reading “Loss” by Tony Black, which is a super read.

I WRITE LIKE

2010-07-16T08:49:00.000-07:00

I write like
David Foster Wallace

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

BRIT GRIT INTERVIEW

2010-06-21T12:30:00.000-07:00

He is a gentleman of the blogosphere and Paul D. Brazill has graciously re-posted my Brit Grit interview over at his blog – You Would Say That, Wouldn’t You?

If you missed it first time around at Pulp Metal Magazine then please double digit HERE.

Mr Brazill needs no introduction, as you all know by now he is a talented and prolific writer and his blog is choc-a-block with super stuff. Thanks PDB!

PULP METAL MAGAZINE INTERVIEW

2010-05-12T12:46:00.000-07:00

Paul D. Brazill recently subjected me to the old knuckle-duster treatment; trying desperately to get me talking about all things Brit Grit. He succeeded and you can have a gander at my off the cuff ramblings over at the excellent Pulp Metal Magazine. Double digit HERE please folks.

My thanks go to Paul (he’s a blooming dynamo) for thinking of me and for putting together the interview questions, which I very much enjoyed answering – the cuts and bruises are healing up nicely, thank you PDB!

MARK TIMLIN’S NEW BLOG

2010-04-06T12:45:00.000-07:00

One of my favourite Brit Grit authors, Mark Timlin, has recently started a new BLOG.

Apart from being a cracking hardboiled writer, Mark, the creator of Nick Sharman PI, is also a fine book reviewer. So, this should be interesting stuff and well worth bookmarking.

A new Sharman novel, Stay Another Day, has recently been released.

For more information on Mark double digit HERE and HERE.

MATT HILTON - SLASH AND BURN SHORT STORY COMPETITION

2010-04-01T10:15:00.000-07:00

Congratulations go to Paul Grzegorzek; his story, A LONG TIME COMING, is the winning entry. Very well done mate it is a worthy winner.

Second and third places went to GALLANCE by Col Bury and FIRESTORM by Alan Peden. My congratulations go to them and to all the other writers that submitted stories – the standard was very high and I enjoyed reading them all.

A big thank you must also go to Matt for taking the time to run the competition, particularly during what must be a really hectic time for him as his new Joe Hunter novel is launched.

My effort, DIAMONDS AND PEARLS, polled like an expenses fiddling MP caught with his snout in a trough full of used readies. Nonetheless, I had great fun writing it and challenging myself to come up with (hopefully) a fast paced, tongue-in-cheek, hardboiled and pulpy tale. If you fancy having a read then please double digit HERE.

That’s all folks and Happy Easter.

2010 SPINETINGLER AWARDS – THE VOTING BEGINS

2010-03-31T10:48:00.000-07:00

Voting for the 2010 Spinetingler awards is now open – double digit HERE folks to view all the categories and cast your votes.

The polls are open until April 30th and the winners will be announced on May 1st.

Congratulations and good luck to all the nominees.

THE TEN BOOKS THAT MOST INFLUENCED ME

2010-03-29T11:01:00.001-07:00

I came across this Meme at Patti Abbott’s excellent blog – a double digit here will take you to Patti’s choices.

The idea was not to think about this too much and this is what I came up with.

1) Comics. My earliest reading memories are of Marvel comics and characters such as Spiderman, Fantastic Four, Daredevil and Captain America etc. I also read DC Comics (mainly Batman and Superman). I think it was the fantastic artwork that initially attracted me but it was also the thrilling storylines that kept me going back for more and more.

2) The Three Investigators; Alfred Hitchcock Mystery Series featuring Jupiter Jones, Bob Andrews and Pete Crenshaw. I can’t nail down a particular favourite but I remember loving these tales as a kid, most of them were loaned from the public library and had fantastic titles such as The Secret of Terror Castle. Super, super stuff!

3) Hell Is Always Today by Harry Patterson (aka Jack Higgins). I think I must have read this when I was about fifteen. I remember that it was my sister’s paperback book and it was my first introduction to the prolific thriller writer Jack Higgins.

4) 1984 by George Orwell. Not Crime or Thriller fiction but I was knocked out by Orwell’s prose and this book is a classic on so many levels. It has a superb and memorable opening line ‘It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen.’

5) The Guards by Ken Bruen. Many years ago I purchased some of Ken’s early work at a local independent bookshop (sadly long since closed). First, The White Arrest books featuring Sergeant Brant and Chief Inspector Roberts. I was bowled over by the stark style of Bruen’s prose and the viciously dark humour that runs through it. When The Guards, the first Jack Taylor story, was published I was bowled over again as Bruen took the PI genre (that I have long been a fan of) and stood it on its head. I think Ken verges on genius.

6) A Good Year for the Roses by Mark Timlin. I used to work close to Maxim Jakubowski’s Murder One bookshop (sadly missed). Visits to this bookshop introduced me to Mark Timlin’s hardboiled South London PI creation, Nick Sharman.

7) Layer Cake by J. J. Connolly. This was another purchase from the local indie bookshop. Years later I saw a trailer for an upcoming movie; Layer Cake. The penny dropped and I realised this was the big screen version of a favourite book. The film was a fine one and, I think, ranks up there with Get Carter, The Long Good Friday and Lock Stock and Two Smoking Barrels.

8) Easy Meat by John Harvey. My Murder One visits also introduced me to Detective Inspector Charlie Resnick and Harvey’s Nottingham based Police procedurals. Harvey is a stylish writer, very easy on the eye and a joy to read. This was the first one that I read.

9) Alive & Kicking by John Milne. Yep, Murder One again - Milne created a marvellous character in Jimmy Jenner; a one legged and partially deaf London based Private Investigator. There are four books and, I think, this one, the last in the series, is the standout.

10) The Big Sleep by Raymond Chandler. I could not end my list without including Chandler’s great creation; Los Angeles based PI Philip Marlowe. Chandler’s prose is superb and the opening lines took my breath away, this bit still does: ‘I was neat, clean, shaved and sober, and I didn’t care who knew it. I was everything the well-dressed private detective ought to be. I was calling on four million dollars.’

... As Patti said, which I whole heartedly agree with, it might be a different list next week. That’s the joy of reading.

And I didn’t get a chance to squeeze in Out of Sight by Elmore Leonard or The Black Dahlia by James Ellroy…

Oh, maybe next time!

NEW STORY AT RADGEPACKET ONLINE

2010-03-28T12:06:00.001-07:00

I’m delighted that Byker Books – Radgepacket Online has accepted and published my story Whiskey in the Jar.

There are some great stories on the Online section, including one from the very talented Col Bury.

Double digit here to visit the Byker Books home page, it’s a terrific website.

2010 SPINETINGLER AWARD: BEST SHORT STORY ON THE WEB NOMINEES

2010-03-24T11:16:00.000-07:00

Well, I’ve had worse days I can tell you…..

Lunchtime at the day job, I decided to have a quick look at my web-mail in-box and there was an email from my old mucker Paul Brazill. I was pleased as punch to read that one of Paul’s fine stories, The Tut, had been nominated for the 2010 Spinetingler Short Story on the Web award and….

… so had one of MY tales - My Father’s Son.

My Father’s Son was published last year at the superb A Twist of Noir, run by the brilliant Christopher Grant – a big thank you to Chris.

You could have knocked me down with a feather!

My thanks go to all the people at Spinetingler Magazine for the nomination. It is an honour to be listed amongst all the other nominees.

Congrats to Paul, his nomination is richly deserved and to all the other nominees; we are in great company – for a full list of the nominees double digit HERE.

GUEST BLOG – ROYSTON BLAKE RANTS

2010-03-22T11:46:00.000-07:00

First off, a big fucking cheers to Alan for letting me have a go on here. Far as I'm concerned, there ain't enough blogs about grit. Especially Brit grit, which is a fucking menace. I got some in my eye once and it took about a day to get the fucker out, and I had a big red scratch on my eyeball the rest of the week. Mind you, it did make me look even harder than I already am. But I'm all for alerting folks to the dangers of grit, so this place is alright by me. I ain't here to talk about grit, though. I'm here to talk about justice, mate.

Rough justice.

You might be wondering who the fuck I am. Well, the short one is that I am Royston Blake, former head doorman of Hoppers Wine Bar & Bistro (and only former because the fucking place got leveled and a shopping centre built atop it). You already know that, like as not, cos I am a bit famous in the Mangel area. And I bet you're already aware of my three volumes of memoirs, them being DEADFOLK, FAGS AND LAGER and KING OF THE ROAD. I wrote them with the help of someone called Charlie Williams, I might as well mention, but all he really done was the typing, which is woman's work anyhow and I don't do that. He did also come up with the titles, though, I suppose. But they're pretty shite if you ask me, all except the last one. I mean, Fags and fucking Lager? You can't call a book that, can you? I personally wanted to call it THE JOEY HAS LANDED, but he went behind my back and changed it at the last fucking minute, before sending it off to the publishers. He got a slap for that, I fucking tell yer. But not half so hard as when I wrote memoir number four (entitled WRONGUN) and he came back to me, tail between pins, saying they weren't gonna print it.

The fucking wankers had rejected it.

Saying that, the publishers ain't really fucking wankers (I wish I could recall their names... "Snake's Arse", or summat). They put out my first three volumes so fair fucking play. But they'd got it well wrong here. Based on the fact that one or two cunts out there amongst the general public had failed to shell out for the last couple, they'd decided WRONGUN weren't worth a punt. Which is pure fucking bollocks. And I'll tell you for why it is that:

WRONGUN is the best fucking thing I ever dictated. On top of that, it's all true (like all the others are).

So what we're doing now, right, is that we've started this Facebook campaign to make Snake's Arse see where they fucked up. Don't ask me what the fuck Facebook is, but we've set up a sort of gang wossname there and you are hereby invited by yours truly, Royston fucking Blake, to join. It is called FREE THE MANGEL ONE (that is me) and the link is below. (What the fuck is a link, though?) If we can get enough of you decent folks joining, Snake's Arse will see the light. They will see that I got a right to get my stories out there, and that folks have got a right to read the fuckers. But I need loads of people joining, so you might wanna put up a thing to it on your page or blog or whatever the fuck as well.

Been quite nice talking to you, I gotta say. Cheers again to Mr Alan, and I want all you out there to watch out for that grit, and make sure none of the fucking stuff gets in your peepers.

http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=392897936010

http://www.charliewilliams.net/

MATT HILTON – SLASH AND BURN SHORT STORY COMPETITION

2010-03-14T03:38:00.000-07:00

Voting has now started in the Matt Hilton - Slash and Burn Short Story competition.

There are ten cracking stories to read and then vote on. Go on, double digit here and ENJOY.

CLARITY OF NIGHT "SILHOUETTE" SHORT FICTION CONTEST

2010-02-24T12:12:00.001-08:00

Holding onto David Barber’s coattails, I decided to ask Jason Evans for feedback on my “Silhouette” entry.

I’m glad I did because Jason very kindly provided some detailed and positive feedback, which is very much food for thought. My thanks go to Jason and to David for the original idea.

I’ll take this onboard and, like David, I thought I would re-post my piece and Jason’s feedback.

THE ETON RIFLES

Smithers-Jones swung the shotgun and squeezed the trigger in one swift movement. The wood pigeon dropped like a stone and the gundog disappeared into the gorse after it.

“Valentine,” Smithers-Jones, a plumy Eton toff, broke both barrels. “An associate highly recommended you.”

Smithers-Jones was resplendent, from top to toe: Checked flat cap. Tweed shooting jacket. Plus fours. Argyle socks. Leather boots.

My old man liked a hat and a shotgun. He’d have taken a hacksaw to Smithers-What’s-His-Face’s Purdey and stuck-up the local bank with it.

“I’m a Private Investigator Mr Smithers-Jones.” I scraped my shoe on the wet grass, “What can I do for you?”

“Find my daughter,” Smithers-Jones scanned the lead grey skies for another feathered victim. “She’s a bloody embarrassment.” A beat passed. “Drink and drugs. That sort of thing.”

“Daughters come home, to their loved ones, of their own accord eventually,” I turned up my coat collar against the wind. “When the money runs out.”

Smithers-Jones flashed me a look like I was a turd. Just like the piece I’d removed from the sole of my brogue.

“Her junky friends persuaded her to take a rather expensive family heirloom. Hence the urgency.” He slotted two cartridges and snapped the shotgun shut. “If I had my way...” He sighed, “Her mother wants the situation handled… delicately.”

Smithers-Jones, I thought, despite his money, guns, fancy clothes and country pile, was just like all the other punters that hired me.

Same shit different arsehole…. As my old man would say.

© 2010 Alan Griffiths

JASON’S FEEDBACK

What I liked best about your piece was the attitude and voice. It had a strong impact.

I think that you could strengthen the impact quite a bit with some technical adjustments. First, you need to establish the POV right up front. The word "my" in the 4th paragraph was the first indication that this is first person POV. Up until that point, I felt that it was 3rd person, so the "my" was very jarring. As a result, in the 4th and 5th paragraphs, I became confused about who is who. I first thought that "my old man" was Smithers-Jones.

I also would encourage you to take a longer view in the impact of the writing. Not worrying so much about each paragraph's impact, but building across the paragraphs. I'm getting the sense that each of your paragraphs stand as little islands with too much attention to description in each. Without a sense of building as the reader progresses down the page, the scene feels stuck in one mode. Toward that end, I would eliminate your movement-for-the-sake-of-movement breaks in your dialogue. Examples are: "a plumy Eton toff, broke both barrels" and "I scraped my shoe on the wet grass" and "I turned my coat collar against the wind." Sometimes people try to avoid simple dialogue attributions, such as "he said," with little nuggets of action. That quickly becomes very distracting and backfires.

I'd also watch for pushing dialogue too far in order to mechanically move the story ahead, such as: "I'm a Private Investigator Mr. Smithers-Jones." I don't think he would say that like an introduction and use the guy's full name. Smithers-Jones knows he's a PI, and we usually talk to each other just by looking in the person's direction. If he were making a point about being a PI, he might say, "so why do you need a private investigator?"

I think that by focusing on the impact of the entire page, your writing will really shine.

MATT HILTON – SLASH AND BURN

2010-01-30T05:58:00.000-08:00

Pop over to Matt’s blog for details of his short story competition to win a signed, first edition hard copy, of his novel Slash and Burn.

This is a great idea and I must put the paperback of Matt’s first Joe Hunter novel, Dead Men’s Dust, to the top of my TBR pile and start preparing.

Matt runs a great blog, which is always full of interesting snippets and great insights into his ongoing journey as a writer. He is also a top bloke and has always been encouraging and positive when I have asked for his advice.

So, what are you waiting for? Double digit HERE.

FRIDAY FLASH FICTION #18

2010-01-25T10:44:00.000-08:00

The starter sentence for F-F-F #18 is in bold. The rest is me...

WHISKEY IN THE JAR

"As the sixth shot of whisky burnt its way down, I suddenly remembered what I left the house for."

The whisky kicked like a cold hearted mugger’s steel toe capped boot. I put the half-bottle of Bells in my inside coat pocket. It was comforting; like a woman’s soft touch on a lonely night.

“Are you getting on or what pal?”

My reverie was broken. I stepped aboard the bus and handed over a mishmash of shrapnel. The driver, a jobs-worth with a face like a red party balloon, cursed as he sorted the coins. Ignoring him I tore off my ticket and stumbled along the aisle.

Fifteen minutes later I opened my eyes, pulled out the bottle and took a surreptitious swig. An oldie tut-tutted and whispered to her coffin-dodging companion.

I belched, rang the bell and staggered off the bus. As it pulled away I toasted the two old biddies with the Bells then stuck my last Silk Cut between my lips, fired up and walked away; the damp from the pavement seeping through my worn brogues.

In bygone days, when you opened a pub door, you were confronted with billowing cigarette smoke, men throwing arrows and nineteen seventies tunes playing on the jukebox. Nowadays it’s all polished floors, pine furniture and couples playing Scrabble. Not a frigging domino in sight.

I ordered a light and bitter from the antipodean behind the jump. Between her shoulder blades a large floral tattoo was partially visible the rest of it hidden beneath her vest top. Classy.

“Light and what?”

Whatever happened to English bar staff… I wanted to ask: What’s with the hairy knees and sandals? In bloody January!

I was too tired to explain and asked for a pint of Guinness instead. I sat at a table and gulped the black stuff down to the label. When the painted lady turned her back I topped it up with Bells.

By the time Kipper arrived I was finishing my second and wishing I could afford another.

“Valentine!” Kipper had woeful dress sense. He was wearing his trademark, wide and loud, necktie. “You look rough as a dog’s arse.” He produced a roll of banknotes, “This is for you.” Cackling, he pulled off the elastic band and flicked it at me, “Put that round your rhythm and blue. It’ll stop the sole from flapping.”

The recently married Kipper was a flash, sarky bugger and, I thought, needed taking down a peg or two.

“A large malt Kipper.” I pulled a manila envelope from under my coat, “Then we’ll talk business.”

Kipper was a bookie and owned a string of shops. He had hired me to snoop on his staff. Somebody was dipping sticky fingers into the till and Kipper did not like to be taken for a fool.

Kipper returned with two malts and a couple of packets of cheese and onion. His bushy eyebrows were meeting in the middle of his forehead and he shook his head despairingly, “Silly cow flooded them with ice.”

“Jeez.” I fished cubes out and sucked my digits, “If it’s not a pint of Fosters that lot are clueless.”

“Cheers,” Kipper raised his glass.

“Up your hairy hole,” I had not yet been paid and was a little tetchy.

“Well, what’ve you got for me?” Kipper drank some whisky and stuffed potato crisps into his north and south.

I slid the envelope across, “Why’d you pick a poncy joint like this to meet?”

“The missus likes it.” He opened the envelope, “The house Pinot Grigio is rather good…” Kipper choked and coughed, pebble-dashing the waxed tabletop. “What the fuc...”

I downed my malt. Kipper’s boat-race was turning several shades of red. He looked to be on the verge of a ferocious rage. Or worse, tears.

“You’ve gone a funny colour my old son.” I slipped my hand into his sky-rocket and extracted my wages, “Same again squire?”

I waved a twenty and the painted lady sauntered over, chewing gum with the finesse of a camel. She said, “G’day,” for the third time in the space of thirty minutes.

“Two large Macallans.” I pointed to a bottle, “The twelve year old malt and no ice.”

The painted lady got busy with the drinks, then said, “Is your friend all right?”

I looked over my shoulder. Several of the glossy photographs had dropped to the floor. Kipper was staring at one and shaking like a dementia patient on speed.

“He’s had better days.”

“I recognise him.” She placed the glasses in front of me, “Usually in here with a young blonde.” Taking the twenty, she added, “She’s partial to a dry white wine spritzer.”

“That’ll be the wife.” I sighed, hammered down one of the malts and signalled for another, “That’s not all she’s partial to.”

© 2010 Alan Griffiths

CLARITY OF NIGHT "SILHOUETTE" SHORT FICTION CONTEST

2010-01-10T04:50:00.000-08:00

I took a break from writing over the long Christmas/New Year holiday and it has been really hard to get going again.

In an attempt to break my lethargy, I put together a piece for Jason Evans Clarity of Night "Silhouette" 250 word Short Fiction Contest – using this photograph as inspiration.

I had great fun writing this flash piece and you can find my effort, The Eton Rifles, HERE.

The contest is open until Wednesday January 13th so if anybody reads this and is not aware of this project I urge you to pop over and have a gander.

My thanks go to Jason for organising this contest – browsing the other entrant’s efforts I can see that the standard is incredibly high with some cracking pieces to read and enjoy.

CRIME SCENE NI – PLAY FOR PAY

2009-12-14T07:37:00.000-08:00

Gerard Brennan hosts a great blog, Crime Scene NI, which I always visit and read his posts with interest.

Gerard’s latest post, Play for Pay? is good reading and I was amazed that I got a mention. So, I thought I would flag it up here (not that his fine blog needs any flagging by me).

I’ve left a longwinded comment on CSNI and thought I would hold onto Gerard's coattails and see if anybody has any comments on this subject.

FRIDAY FLASH FICTION #12

2009-12-07T13:24:00.000-08:00

The starter sentence for FFF#12 is in bold. The rest is me...

TRANSVISION VAMP

She was always threatening to punch someone in the face, but this time she meant it.

Nicki’s personal rule was to carry out an assignment in a dispassionate and professional manner but this one was turning out to be something very different.

“Fancy a little bit of rough n tumble?” Nicki said, blowing a perfect smoke ring.

“I thought you’d never ask,” he replied, a salacious leer on his face as he moved closer with a drink in each hand.

Nicki felt nose cartilage snap as her first punch, a southpaw jab, connected and wiped the smirk away. She kicked off her heels, dropped the cigarette and danced softly from side to side on the balls of her bare feet.

“Rough enough for you honey?”

Getting into a rhythm she ducked inside and threw two successive punches to his flabby gut. A groan followed by exhaled halitosis as his hands dropped, leaving his chin exposed. A ferocious right left combination dropped him, dazed, onto the carpeted floor.

“This one’s not exactly Queensberry rules,” she said and booted him in the crotch.

***

The trial had been high profile and the TV news had broadcast pictures of him leaving the court, after the not guilty verdict, surrounded by his lawyer and other sycophant friends.

The rumours were rife of his connections to the “Organisation” and the protection that gave; an expensive legal team and witness intimidation that the authorities were seemingly powerless to prevent.

Eighteen months had passed since he had walked free.

When contact was initially made Nicki had made discrete enquiries. It seemed that his usefulness to the “Organisation” was waning. The persona of a shameless and debauched, ageing playboy lifestyle was becoming too much of an embarrassment.

The identity of her employer was academic. The contract was accepted and the clock began to tick.

Allowing him to pick her up at the club was simple. The temptation to drop something lethal into his drink and then slip away in the subsequent commotion would have been the easier option.

But Nicki wanted to get up close and personal.

The journey back to his plush apartment in the chauffeured limousine had been typically ostentatious and the chitchat banal.

***

“You stupid bitch there’s at least three security cameras in the foyer and the Limo driver...” He spat blood and loose teeth onto the shag pile. “With my connections you’ll be cold on a slab within twenty four hours.”

Nicki laughed and pulled her brunette wig free. She gave him a wink, “It’s all about misdirection baby.”

His eyes bulged as she wrapped one of her silk stockings around his neck. “Cat got your tongue?”

His reply was muffled gasp for air as Nicki steadily increased the pressure.

***

Afterwards she fired off a photograph from her mobile phone, which in turn would trigger the final payment of her fee into the offshore bank account.

Nicki went into the bathroom and stripped naked. She ran hot water into the washbasin and scrubbed her face clean of makeup then pulled a change of clothes from her handbag; faded denim jeans, white tee and blue canvass slip-on pumps.

The bathroom mirror reflected the transformation as he fingered gel through his short blonde hair.

Nowadays, Nick thought as he stepped over the prone body, even hit men needed a different angle.

© 2009 Alan Griffiths

FRIDAY FLASH FICTION #11

2009-11-23T10:52:00.000-08:00

Cormac’s FFF four starter words were: PATER, PEST, PERPENDICULAR AND SCHLEMIEL.

THE MAN WITH THE GOLDEN FLUTE

Arnold Barnes read through the Private Investigator’s report. Despite the somewhat seedy first impression, Valentine had provided a discrete and efficient service. The two typed pages were succinct and the enclosed photographs damning evidence of his young wife’s infidelity.

Arnold sighed and drank some more tea. Maybe he should have listened to his dear old father. The old man had warned him that a marriage to a woman thirty years his junior was doomed from the very beginning and would only lead to heartache.

“Arnie, you’re a fool,” the old man had barked and then insulted him coarsely using his native New York slang. “You SCHLEMIEL!”

His father had never lived to see the outcome of his prognosis, passing away shortly before Arnold’s nuptials to the waiflike Cheryl.

Arnold’s firm specialised in long term bonds and financial investments. Succeeding his father as Chairman had made him a wealthy man and the subsequent inheritance had increased his personal fortune threefold.

Despite her new luxurious lifestyle and the many exotic holidays it soon became apparent that Cheryl needed to fill her days. Arnold happily funded her many hobbies; Yoga positions moved onto Pilates, Aerobic fitness classes sashayed towards Salsa dancing and the Piano lessons segued into her latest passion, the Flute.

Cheryl would waffle on and on each evening. Telling Arnold how James, her private instructor, was coaching her on the rudiments of the woodwind instrument; how to hold the flute PERPENDICULAR to her body, helping her to develop the correct mouth shape and to control her breathing.

Arnold was sure that, given time, Cheryl’s prized golden flute would become another shrewd investment.

The intercom buzzed and broke his reverie, “Doc is here for your three thirty appointment Mr Barnes.”

“Thank you Rebecca”. Arnold closed the file and moved it to one side of the polished walnut desk. “Show him in please.”

The enigmatic Doc sat down opposite Arnold and declined the offer of refreshments. His eyes behind the steel rimmed spectacles were a piercing, vibrant blue and a little unsettling.

Arnold waited until Rebecca had closed the office door. He then opened a drawer of the desk and slid an A4 size manila envelope across the desk.

“Doc, you are an expert, how shall I put this... in PEST control,” Arnold paused to take a sip of tea. “All the details for your assignment are in the envelope.” He put his china cup down on the saucer, then added, “Naturally I would like this matter facilitated at the earliest opportunity.”

Doc broke the seal on the envelope and thumbed through the contents. “I can expect payment on the balance of my fee on completion of the assignment?”

“Agreed,” Arnold straightened his MCC necktie. “My word is my bond sir.”

“Then our business today is concluded.” Doc gave him a killer smile and extended his right hand.

Arnold felt a shiver run down his spine as he shook hands. He consoled himself with the thought that although Doc was a cold fish he was simply the best hit man that money could buy.

Later that afternoon Arnold wheeled the shredding machine over to his desk. He picked up the PI’s report and flicked through it. The photographs were quite graphic; the mouth shaping tuition appeared to be paying dividends. One by one the crude, glossy prints were eaten by the shredder. He glanced at the letter once again before feeding it into the machine.

Cheryl’s indiscretions were nothing new to Arnold and he had no doubts that they would continue. With each new pastime there would be another handsome tutor to help her while away the hours.

He went over to the drinks cabinet by the window and poured himself a whisky, adding two ice cubes. Savouring his drink he looked upon the vista that was the City of London. Arnold felt that he could almost smell the old money radiating from it.

The letter was a clumsy attempt at extortion. Blackmail was going to be a costly mistake for the flutist and one that James would pay for with his life.

When the time was right Arnold would make an appointment for the inscrutable Doc to meet the beautiful Cheryl, as he had done so with dear old PATER.

For now Arnold Barnes was contented to turn a blind eye. The hefty insurance policy on his wife’s life was too new and too obvious.

It was all about calculating the long term investments.

© 2009 Alan Griffiths

FRIDAY FLASH FICTION

2009-11-16T11:01:00.000-08:00

Beach Bum provided the starter sentence (in bold) for Friday Flash Fiction. The rest is me.

(DAWNING OF A) NEW ERA

"The old camera had been in a box for decades, the pictures never developed, and now with the prints in his hand his blood ran cold from looking at the images that came from it."

“Sit down Pork Pie,” said Valentine. “You’ve gone a funny colour.”

Pork Pie, ferocious South London, criminal kingpin, was seldom short of words. The sepia images had rendered him speechless and he had almost bitten through the cigar butt in his mouth.

Valentine went over to the drinks cabinet and poured malt whiskey.

“Drink that squire.” Valentine sat down on a leather chesterfield couch. The walls of Pork Pie’s study were covered in prints and pictures celebrating Ska music. Shelves held books, records, CD’s and memorabilia.

The two drank in silence until Pork Pie spat, in a low gravel voice, “From the beginning.”

***

“Mr Valentine?”

Valentine stopped watching the blonde gyrate around a shiny pole on the stage and turned on his barstool; she was late twenties, mixed race with smooth coffee coloured skin and brown eyes. She smiled and took his breath away.

The cat finally let go of his tongue. “Just Valentine. Ms....?”

“Agnes Ryan.” She sat down next to him. “I prefer Agie.”

The punters roared approval as the blonde smoothly unclipped her sparkly bikini top and tossed it across the stage.

Valentine drained his glass. “Let’s find somewhere a little quieter Agie.”

On the way out he admired her curvy figure. Her backside, he decided, could crack walnuts. A glimpse of a sexy Celtic cross tattoo on her lower back had his stomach turning nine point nine somersaults.

The coffee shop, Pascucci, was towards the better end of Clapham Junction. Valentine ordered and they moved towards the back. Settled in comfy armchairs she began to tell her story.

Agie wanted him to find her parents. Not the two people who had brought her up in East Anglia. She learnt at an early age that she had been adopted.

“It’s been an annoying itch that just won’t go away,” she said.

***

Pork Pie picked up the bottle of 12 year old malt. “She’s definitely my daughter?”

“I wouldn’t be here unless I was sure.” Valentine sipped his malt. “You recognize the lady in the photo?”

“Her name was Lola”. Pork Pie poured more whisky. “She was a showgirl.”

Valentine resisted the urge to break into song. “You had a relationship with her?”

Pork Pie nodded, “She couldn’t take the gangster lifestyle.”

“She was pregnant with your child.”

“I had no idea.” There was raw emotion in Pork Pie’s voice and he quickly swallowed whisky.

“What happened to Lola?”

“Drugs.” Valentine hesitated then continued. “She died eleven years ago in a hospice.”

The crystal tumbler in Pork Pie’s hand shattered. Glass splintered and expensive whisky soaked into the thick Persian rug. “Where’s the girl?” Blood trickled through his fingers like spilt claret wine.

“She’s waiting outside in my Saab.”

Pork Pie wrapped a handkerchief around his fingers. He snapped a Zippo and put the end of a fresh cigar into the flame. “Go and get her,” he said between plumes of blue smoke. “Then piss off.”

The study door clicked open. Agie’s face was wet from tears. Her braided, pony tailed hair was a sophisticated mess. Her right hand held a small silver pistol. She pointed it at Pork Pie and clicked off the safety.

“You killed her.” Her tone was almost a whisper.

“Agie no!” Valentine stepped forward.

Pork Pie looked her in the eye. “She was the only woman I ever loved.”

“My mother ended her days as a penniless junky.” She sniffed back tears. “You drove her too it.”

“I found something else out,” said Valentine, urgency in his voice. “Pull that trigger and you’ll regret it.”

Pork Pie pulled the snub nosed .45 from under his suit jacket with one slick movement.

“Put it down Pork Pie.” Valentine stayed in the centre as the three began to slowly circle the room in a Mexican standoff.

“Out of the way private eye or I’ll plug you as well.” Pork Pie had regained his swagger. “Let the lady have a shot at the title.”

Valentine raised his palms. “Put the guns down!”

Agie put her left hand over her right and steadied her hold on the pistol. “Valentine, you’re job's done.”

“No! Not yet.” Valentine turned to Pork Pie. “Let me tell you the rest.”

“Spit it out gumshoe.” Pork Pie looked at him along the barrel of the .45. “While you still can.”

“Agie’s not your only child.” Valentine spun round. “You have a brother”.

One, two, three beats passed before Valentine turned slowly towards Pork Pie. “Dad. This is the dawning of a new era.”

This time Pork Pie bit clean through the fat Cuban.

© 2009 Alan Griffiths

FRIDAY FLASH FICTION

2009-11-09T10:54:00.000-08:00

Cormac decided to change the Friday Flash Fiction rules this week.

In lieu of a starter sentence, he posted four words, the idea being that you must incorporate the words into a story. It does not matter in what order they are used but all four have to be in there somewhere.

The four words: LIES, COMPROMISE, DISGUISE AND REDEMPTION.

With words like that then it could only lead to another case for Valentine, my hapless South London PI to investigate…

TOO MUCH TOO YOUNG

Things might have turned out a lot different if I’d found Mickey Fallon when I was paid to.

The guy with the floppy hair sat down and pushed a folded copy of The Daily Mail across the table.

Maybe he had me down as a Tory in DISGUISE or had been reading too much Philip Marlowe.

I was in The Winchester and about to watch the football. I supped my pint of Stella. It wasn’t called ‘the old wife beater’ for nothing. I didn’t have a wife and after a couple more wouldn’t be able to beat the skin off a rice pudding.

“Mr Valentine?” Floppy hair cleared his throat nervously, “My name’s Frank Fields. You were recommended by a friend of a friend.”

I spend a small fortune, one I don’t have, on advertising but it’s always a friend of a friend.

I drained my glass. “Same again squire. Knock yourself out and have one as well.”

Frank returned with my pint and for him a small scotch with too much water.

Chelsea was already one nil down and The Daily Mail was still unopened. It’s a newspaper best left that way.

Frank’s sob story was his wife, Barbara, and how he suspected an affair with her boss. Frank said he wanted to save his marriage but he had to be sure.

It’s the small things that giveaway the LIES.

With Frank, it was his floppy hair, which was too long, too highlighted and the cut too fashionable. But his cash, between the folds of The Daily Mail, was cold, hard and much needed.

Frank was away for the week, on a training course in Warwickshire, while I snooped on Barbara.

After four days there was no sign of her amorous boss and I was thinking about those lies.

On the Thursday evening I boarded a number thirty eight bus behind Barbara. That was when I spotted Mickey, a fifteen year old runaway. When Mickey got off I followed.

Six months ago Mickey’s mother had paid me her government single parent allowance to find him. I miserably failed but lady luck had given me a chance of REDEMPTION. I trailed him across London to a seedy squat.

Curiosity then got the better of me. It usually does.

Early the next morning I was plotted up in my Saab. Four hours passed and my Farmers were starting to play up. Then Mickey and two other teenagers left the squat.

It was lunchtime and all hell let loose when Mickey’s gang snatched the handbag of an orange haired young lady and scarpered.

I should have given chase but I was more interested in the middle aged lothario consoling the redhead. Why was Floppy Frank sitting outside a trendy Tapas bar, looking too much too young in a tanned bomber jacket, stonewashed Levis’ and loafers?

Orange hair finally stopped blubbing and the manager waived the bill. I tailed Frank and his flame haired floozy back to a swanky apartment block.

I snapped away with my Sony Cybershot and waited until Frank left; carrying a suitcase and a guilty conscience.

Frank’s game, I was sure, was to use me to get some dirt on Barbara so that he could hit her with a quickie divorce and rob her of the family home.

Then move his young bit of crumpet in.

I put my foot through the backdoor of the squat and retrieved the handbag. Orange hair was Sally Reynolds a Learning & Development Executive at Frank’s Insurance Company. Sally’s mobile had enough steamy text messages to fill a Mills and Boon romance.

They’d been planning their weeklong session of hanky-panky for a while.

I confronted Frank at his office and he bleated like a lamb before the slaughter. There was more cold, hard cash on offer, to help me forget, but I was in no mood to COMPROMISE.

On the way out I slipped a piccie onto Sally’s desk. Her face turned the same shade as her hair, quicker than it took me to say, “How’s Yer Father!”

Barbara had asked me, over and over, “Why would Frank betray forty years of marriage?”

I couldn’t answer but had given her enough evidence that, with the help of a shit hot lawyer, would keep her in the four bed semi for the rest of her days and a hefty chunk of Frank’s money for good company.

Mickey was back at home but it was only a matter of time before he broke Mrs Fallon’s heart again. It’s what boys do and something we never grow out of.

Barbara was being consoled by her boss. Hannah seems to be a very nice boss and she’s discreet but, as I said, it’s the small things...

© 2009 Alan Griffiths

INFLUENCE AND INSPIRATION

2009-11-06T01:47:00.000-08:00

This blogging lark has got me thinking about my own influences and inspirations within the crime genre.

First and foremost I’m a fan of the genre and this has lead to my own sporadic amateur writing. I’ve always been an avid reader but film and television has inevitably played a part.

I started giving some thought to my earliest, British TV crime drama, memories and came up with such names as Public Eye, Callan, Special Branch, Hazell, Fox and of course, The Sweeney.

Another vivid memory from my teenage years (and the original reason for this post) was a one-off miniseries called OUT.

I have OUT on DVD and watching it again has underlined, in my opinion, what an outstanding piece of television it is.

Out was first broadcast in 1978 and was produced by Thames Television (Euston Films). A basic plot summary of OUT: Frank Ross (played by the excellent Tom Bell) returns to London after an eight-year prison sentence for robbery. The robbery was thwarted by the police because persons unknown had 'grassed'. Ross is determined to find out who the informant is and take his revenge. Over six episodes Frank Ross pieces things together...

I knew OUT was written by Trevor Preston who also worked on The Sweeney and later Minder but after I started to do a little bit of research for this post I soon realised that Trevor Preston also contributed to the other names listed at the beginning of this piece – Public Eye, Callan, Special Branch, Hazell and Fox.

As far as I am aware, Trevor Preston has only one published novel to his name, The Judas Crew, a paperback published by The No Exit Press. I said I was a fan and yes I have this in my collection. I read and enjoyed it a good few years ago when I first purchased it (oh how I miss Maxim Jakubowski’s Murder One bookshop on Charing Cross Road) but The Judas Crew will definitely now go back on my TBR pile so that I can refresh my memory once again.

If you remember these TV shows then please double digit on the links above folks and get some insightful information on all of this, which is much better than my off the cuff ramblings.

Trevor Preston is, in my opinion, a very talented, award winning writer. The following is from The No Exit Press website...

Trevor Preston has been involved with film and TV since the early sixties when he worked with Orson Welles, John Cage, Buckminster Fuller, Juliette Greco, Jean-Luc Godard, Jacques Tati and Alain Robbe-Grillet. He has written scripts for Callan, The Sweeney and Minder as well as for Ruth Rendell's work, and was the creator of Out and Fox. He has won many awards including a BAFTA.

FRIDAY FLASH FICTION

2009-10-26T11:50:00.000-07:00

The starter sentence for Friday Flash Fiction is in bold. The rest is me, as my hapless South London gumshoe, Valentine, investigates.

It’s a bit longer than my first FFF effort. I’ve edited and edited but it kept getting away from me...

With thanks to Cormac Brown for Pork Pie’s new Titfer-tat.

RAT RACE

"The strange man dressed as Carmen Miranda walked into the bar and demanded to know who had taken his pet iguana."

Saturday night and The Winchester was heaving. I guessed Carmen was another karaoke drunk. Drunk and heading for a beating as I watched Frank curse and put down his half eaten sandwich. Frank was, apart from being my friend and landlord, the owner cum bouncer. Six foot six and with hands like coal shovels. The only thing short about him was his temper.

I felt a paw grip my shoulder. A gorilla towered over me with a threatening bulge under his jacket.

Around us the punters roared as Frank began to frogmarch the pissed drag queen, minus iguana, towards the exit.

The gorilla leaned in close and I smelt his bad breath and cheap, spicy aftershave. “Backroom. Now!”

A cloud of blue tinged cigar smoke floated in the air of the back room like a menacing omen. Sitting under it Pork Pie looked immaculate. Black, three button, single breasted two piece suit. White shirt and a plain dark necktie. A powder blue handkerchief peaked from his suit breast pocket. He was puffing on his usual fat Cuban and idly twirling his leather flat topped hat.

“Sit,” Pork Pie commanded.

I sat.

Pork Pie was a vicious South London criminal kingpin; my cracked ribs were a testament to his ruthless reputation.

“You owe me Valentine,” Pork Pie continued, his voice full of gravel. “And this is the start of payback.”

“Sure Mr P.”

Pork Pie’s reptilian eyes locked onto mine. “I need you to find a man for me.”

“I know the number of a good dating agency.”

If Pork Pie gave a signal then I missed it. Or maybe the gorilla used his initiative. The punch to my gut was swift and ferocious. I fell off the chair and puked a beer and whisky mixture.

Pork Pie sighed impatiently, hunched down and gave me a close up of his highly polished brogues and a face full of smoke. “That smartarse mouth of yours...” He put the cigar down and grabbed my balls. “And your dick will be the death of you...” The brass knuckles on his other hand felt cold against my cheek. “Shut the fuck up gumshoe or that wisecrack will be your last.”

So Pork Pie talked and I listened.

Albie Perkins was Pork Pie’s bean counter. He was the magician behind the tricks and illusions that laundered Pork Pie’s fortune clean and out of the VAT-man’s clutches. Albie had disappeared three weeks ago. Taking a tidy little nest egg with him.

Pork Pie wanted Albie and the loot found.

***

It took me a week to find Albie; he was entering a dodgy health club called The Erogenous Zone, a spit away from The Oval tube station. Three hours later he left with a rake thin, dark haired, twentyish looking guy.

I guessed they’d found each other's zones.

I snapped some pictures and followed them back to a Bayswater hotel. Forty eight hours later and Pork Pie had Aaron Grant’s address in Vauxhall, bank account details, star sign and mother’s maiden name.

I’m good at my job and thorough.

I did the decent thing before I made that final call to Pork Pie and knocked on Albie’s hotel door.

“Why Albie?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

Albie looked haunted, his face covered in salt n pepper stubble. “I thought I’d found love Val,” he said, full of melancholy.

***

Frank had closed early. I was alone, sat at the bar, with a guilty conscience and a bottle of Chivas Regal for company. I'd already drunk down to the label.

The South London Press lay open on the varnished bar top. I’d read the article umpteen times. Aaron Grant’s body had been found in his Vauxhall bedsit. The smell had finally become too much for the neighbours and they’d called Plod. Another, unsolved, murder statistic.

Albie was counting beans again and making them disappear. Safe until his usefulness to Pork Pie waned. A harsh lesson learned that love, of any persuasion, played no part in Pork Pie’s villainous empire.

I poured another hefty shot of whisky and savoured the aroma and taste while I contemplated a change of scene and profession.

I dropped a couple of pound coins into the jukebox and after a few beats I drunkenly joined in. “Working for the rat race. You know you’re wasting your time. Working for the rat race. Your no friend of mine”.

I turned quickly at the sound of scratching. A large green, spiky backed, lizard flashed a tongue at me. It’s long, black striped and whip-like, tail snaked behind it as it quickly scuttled away.

“Well I’ll be fucked,” I said.

Albie Perkins certainly was.

MONKEY MAN AT THRILLERS KILLERS ‘N’ CHILLERS

2009-10-20T12:38:00.000-07:00

I’m delighted that the terrific webzine Thrillers Killers ‘N’ Chillers has accepted and posted my latest flash story Monkey Man.

My thanks go to Matt Hilton and Col Bury. I really like the accompanying photo, which sort of sums up the piece – nice one Col!

The original version of this piece was posted as part of Friday Flash Fiction.

OLD AGE AND TREACHERY – A REVIEW

2009-10-20T12:32:00.000-07:00

My flash piece Old Age and Treachery posted at The Flash Fiction Offensive picked up another review earlier this week – this one by Col Bury at his blog.

My thanks go to Col, who apart from being a fine writer is the co-editor of the excellent Thrillers, Killers ‘N’ Chillers.

GETTING A READ ON MY READING

2009-10-13T12:35:00.000-07:00

I came across the following meme on the excellent The Rap Sheet and I thought it would be fun to participate.

Anyone else who’d like to take up the challenge of answering the questions below is encouraged to add a link in the comments section of the original post over at The Rap Sheet, a double digit gets you there folks but please leave a comment on Brit Grit if you wish.

Do you snack while you read?
Yes. My day job is in a busy office and I try to take a lunchtime break away from the PC and read in the canteen while tucking into my sarnies.

Do you tend to mark your books as you read, or does the idea of writing in books horrify you?
I hate marking or damaging books that’s why Post It notes were invented.

How do you keep your place while reading a book? Bookmark? Dog-ears?
Bookmark - usually with old train tickets. I never dog ear.

Laying the book flat open?
I always close the book and try to avoid over stretching the spine.

Fiction, non-fiction, or both?
95% fiction. Any non-fiction tends to be sports bios. I’ll read author interviews on the web or in a newspaper and nosing around favourite blog sites takes up a lot of my time.

Hard copy or audiobooks?
Paperback, particularly mass market format. I’ve never tried audiobooks but I’m sure I will someday. There is a tremendous amount of great short fiction available from Webzines such as A Twist of Noir, Beat to a Pulp, Blink-Ink, The Flash Fiction Offensive, Plots with Guns, Powder Burn Flash, Pulp Pusher, Six Sentences and Thrillers, Killers ‘N’ Chillers. I thoroughly recommend anyone to pay these sites a regular visit.

Are you a person who tends to read to the end of chapters, or are you able to put a book down at any point?
I’ll always read to the end of a chapter but as much of my reading is on the train I have to stop when the journey ends – if it is at a crucial part of the story you will often find me hanging about on the platform reading to the end of that part.

If you come across an unfamiliar word, do you stop to look it up right away?
I’ll make a note and look it up later. Usually the context of the storyline will help explain.

Are you the type of person who only reads one book at a time, or can you read more than one at a time?
One at a time but my TBR pile is getting so high I think I might have to have two on the go at the same time.

What are you currently reading? Crime fiction:
Just finished (today) James Crumley’s Bordersnakes.

What is the last book you bought?
The Dirty South by Alex Wheatle, which I bought after one of his book readings and signings. I’m attending one of his creative writing workshops this weekend.

Do you have a favorite time of day and/or place to read?
My lunchtime canteen haven. A comfy chair or sofa in a nice coffee shop is always good.

Do you prefer series books or standalone books?
I read and enjoy both. If I can I’ll read a series in the correct order but that’s difficult to do.

Is there a specific book or author that you find yourself recommending over and over?
Ken Bruen – the man is a genius.

How do you organize your books? (By genre, title, author’s last name, etc.?)
Shelved and also in a bookcase. Alphabetical by author’s last name but the shelves are a bit messy, in particular that TBR pile.

OLD AGE AND TREACHERY - A REVIEW

2009-10-07T13:46:00.000-07:00

My short piece Old Age and Treachery published at The Flash Fiction Offensive has picked up a review by Keith Rawson in his Short Thoughts on Short Fiction column.

My thanks to Keith, a writer I admire, for the review.

Double digit here for the link.

THE BIG EMPTY BY DECLAN BURKE - A REVIEW

2009-10-06T12:39:00.000-07:00

A few weeks ago I was fortunate to get an advanced read of Declan Burke’s, currently unpublished novel, The Big Empty. This is the sequel to Declan’s first novel – Eight Ball Boogie, which featured Harry J Rigby, Independent Research Consultant.

Harry’s a bit edgy, full of attitude, cynical, with some smartarse lines that earn him the occasional fat lip for his troubles.

Harry has moved on from the first Rigby novel. Not surprising, after the conclusion of EBB, which I’ll not giveaway but a tougher Rigby returns.

TBE starts with Rigby recently out of gaol and sporting a prison tattoo as a memento. After witnessing a dodgy suicide, Harry gets dragged into a tangled web of deceit, lies and stitch-ups. Dirty paramilitary money and its greedy custodians, together with an old school copper who likes to trade punches and insults, all conspire against Harry, while he try’s to get a grip on personal problems that threaten to push him over the edge. Mix in a bit of shady taxi drug running, missing persons, a few ferocious beatings and you have yourself a rollercoaster read. Some nasty bastards and a spot of torture add to the cocktail.

The narrative and dialogue is tight with a plot that is full of tension and quickly picks up pace after an explosive opening.

There are some violent scenes but nothing gratuitous; it’s real, physical and painful stuff where people get hurt and hurt others as payback. At the end Harry is left, bloodied, bruised and battered.

TBE gets the three g’s from me; great characters, great plot and a great read. In my humble opinion it deserves to be published and enjoyed because it’s a darn good read.

My thanks go to Declan, for sharing TBE manuscript, which was a blast to read. I hope I’m able to repay the favour soon by buying a copy in a bookshop.

For more information on Declan Burke’s work and expert insight into the thriving Irish crime fiction scene then do no more than double digit here and visit his cracking Crime Always Pays blog.

MONKEY MAN

2009-10-04T09:55:00.000-07:00

Friday Flash Fiction

This is a blog where a starter sentence is given every Friday@12PM PST. You then have until the following Tuesday@9AM PST to come up with short story or poem.

This week MRMacrum has come up with the starter sentence, which is in bold the rest is what I made of it....

"Hanging on with one hand, he considered his alternatives."

Zilch came back as goose pimples rose on his naked backside in the cool night air.

Below the goon sat on the bonnet of the BMW M5 saloon and sucked on a cigarette. Unaware of Valentine PI perched precariously on the soil pipe. Valentine’s fingers gripped the window ledge for dear life. His other hand, clutched to his chest, held trousers, boxers, shoes and a shrivelled latex condom.

Inside he could hear raised voices. Lily, adopting an affronted tone and wiping away crocodile tears as Pork Pie stalked, like a feral tomcat, from room to room.

Valentine’s brief was to watch and report any sign of Lily’s infidelity. She was young, beautiful and recently married to violent gangster Pork Pie; nicknamed, not after the staple British meat pie but his love of Ska music, tailored suits and flat top Trilby hats.

Good money and a straight forward case until Valentine’s dick started to do the thinking and Lily’s insatiable sex drive kick started like a Harley. The PI’s rule book went out the bedroom window and Valentine followed it when Pork Pie returned early from his Soho club.

The goon flipped the glowing butt and sauntered over to the shrubbery, standing directly below Valentine. He unzipped his fly and let out a low sigh of relief as urine gushed over the flowerbed.

They were at the top of the stairs now. Pork Pie unused to being answered back, raising his voice and then his hand. A cold, harsh slap made Valentine wince. Seconds later the front door slammed with enough force to take it off the hinges.

“Put that away and think of the bleedin neighbours,” barked Pork Pie, straightening his flat topped hat and crunching gravel on the driveway with his Italian leather brogues.

“It’s good for the roses guv.”

Pork Pie fired up a fat Cuban. “Where the fuck’s that poor excuse for a Private Dick? He’s supposed to be snooping twenty four seven.” He pulled a mobile phone from his expensive suit jacket and blew a cloud of blue tinged cigar smoke. “If I could get my hands on Valentine’s balls....” Stubby, calloused fingers stabbed at the phone.

Valentine felt his trousers start to vibrate in his hand and the condom shrivelled some more. He closed his eyes, saying a silent prayer as his ringtone greeted the night with.... ‘This one’s for the bouncers. Big, big... Monkey Man! Aye, aye, aye, aye, aye, aye!’

OPENING CHAPTER

2009-10-02T11:11:00.000-07:00

Shortly after my flash story TOAST was accepted by Thrillers, Killers 'N' Chillers I exchanged emails with co-editor Col Bury. Col asked if I was working on a novel and I said not at the moment. I’m not sure if I have a novel inside me, let alone the talent and determination to write it.

The email conversation got me thinking about a scene that popped into my head many months ago. I put that scene down on paper and it has gathered dust on my hard drive ever since.

I’m a fan of the PI genre – fiction, films/TV and I hope one day to write a PI story (short or long). My dusty piece, dated November 2008 with no name, may be the opening chapter to something. Or maybe not…

I thought I would post it here and see if it provokes a reaction. Hopefully not rotten fruit and eggs! Is it good, bad or ugly? Should I progress with it? Or right click and delete?

****

An insistent, unforgiving, shrill buzzing found its way through my unconsciousness. It viciously stabbed at numbed brain cells and stirred them to life. I groaned and rolled off the couch. I lay on the floor and tried to piece a few things together. I was in my office. The brass band bellowing in my head and a mouth as parched as the Sahara were souvenirs of a ferocious drinking session. Nothing else fell into place.

I staggered to the kitchen, turned on the tap, running it cold. The shakes spilled water down my shirt as I downed two pints of water like they were to be my last. The buzzing was outdoing the band for my attention.

I grabbed the intercom handset, belched, and growled angrily, “What the fuck!”

“Delivery and signature required.” An anonymous voice said. “I’m parked on a red route and the wardens are like piranhas around here.”

I dropped the receiver as the floor suddenly shifted around me. My stomach lurched in the opposite direction. Falling to my knees I crawled to the sink. With my head under the cold tap I let the water cascade, dousing the brass ensemble and steadying the dizziness. When I could take no more I turned the tap off and dried myself with a reasonably clean towel. The intercom continued to buzz long and loud. I cursed, crossed the room, opened the office door that announced ‘VALENTINE INVESTIGATIONS’ on grubby frosted glass and went shakily downstairs.

Bright sunlight invaded my world of pain as I opened the street door. The guy waiting impatiently on the other side was dressed in a gaudy uniform that did nothing for my queasiness. A package sat on the pavement at his feet. Traffic crawled along Lavender Hill behind him.

He was stick thin. I’d seen more fat on a roll of electrical cable. Showing me a set of bad teeth he made a poor effort at a smile. “Sign against six,” he said thrusting a clipboard and pen towards me with nicotine stained fingers.

Upstairs I put the package on my desk and went to the kitchen for more water and got the coffee percolator going. I took a mug of coffee through to my office and sat behind the desk. The package was about twenty inches square, covered in brown paper and masking tape. A courier sticker was stuck to one end. I pulled the pink flimsy free and scanned it. It gave nothing away.

I opened the desk drawer and took out a Swiss Army knife and began to tackle the wrapping. It took a few minutes until I was looking at a red cool box encased in bubble wrap. I sat there thinking while I finished my coffee but nothing came. The brass band were encoring with another raucous number so I went back to the kitchen for paracetamol and more coffee.

Curiosity got the better of me as I returned to my desk and tore into the bubble wrap. The cool box felt heavy in my hands as I lifted it clear and set it down again. I flipped the locks on the lid.

Amongst chunks of blood stained ice two eyes stared up at me. I gagged, dropped the lid and bolted for the kitchen to vomit violently. After a long while, when my retching had given way, I slid to the floor and sat there with my guts aching and sick dribbling off my chin.

I could see through the open doorway to my desk and the cool box that held the severed head of my cousin Vinnie. From what I could recall of last night, like me, cousin Vinnie was legless but his head was intact.

© 2009 Alan Griffiths

****

And if that load of old tosh has left you without the will to live then refresh yourself with an insightful piece on PI fiction and far more interesting read than my twaddle - a double digit here will do the trick.

Have a good weekend folks.

I NAME THIS BLOG….

2009-09-28T12:17:00.000-07:00

…. Hic, hic….

Brit Grit.

Thanks for dropping by and a very warm welcome. Please stay a while and have a nosey around, although at the moment it feels like an empty house with only a few sticks of furniture.

I’ve decided to dip a toe into the blogosphere with this, my inaugural, post. My aim is to update this blog on a regular basis, at least once a week but we shall see.

I’m sure I’ll be tweaking around with the format etc from time to time but I think she is pretty much ready to go live. Here goes….

My profile, the website links listed, as well as the links to my own scribbles scattered around the web, will give you a feel of what I like to read and in my own small way write.

My writing is sporadic and I know that I need to discipline myself and sit in front of the keyboard as often as I can. That’s really why I’ve started this blog. I’m hoping that blogging will kick start my own writing as well as having a bit of fun and making friends along the way.

Subjects covered, well that’s still a little up for grabs. I’ve a few ideas and I’m sure, at times, I will make it up as I go along – hopefully that’s all part of the fun. I’ll post again towards the end of this week – so please stay tuned folks.

The highlight of my weekend was watching Richard O’Brien’s The Rocky Horror Show at The Wimbledon Theatre. My opportunities to watch live theatre and music are limited but whenever I do, lo and behold, I really enjoy myself, resolving to do so much more.

Billed as the biggest and baddest rock ‘n’ roll musical ever! No argument from me with that statement.

It’s loud, fun and great ‘out of your seat’ stuff. The cast are excellent and too many to list here but a special mention goes to David Bedella as Frank N Furter (pictured) and Steve Pemberton as The Narrator.

The participation of the audience helps enormously particularly those seasoned veterans who turn up in costume. I’ve never seen so many men in drag!

Who could resist lyrics like....

It's just a jump to the left
And then a step to the right
With your hands on your hips
You bring your knees in tight
But it's the pelvic thrust that really drives you insane
Let's do the Time Warp again!

For more information double digit here….

http://www.rockyhorror.co.uk/index.php

What made it even more enjoyable was sitting between my beautiful girlfriend and my seventy four year old mother. Watching my dear old mum, singing along, dancing and clapping with the rest of us – even through some of the naughtier moments (I cringed several times). Wonderful, raucous stuff!

Note to self – get out and enjoy more live theatre and music!

Finally, thanks go out to Col Bury and Matt Hilton for their help and advice in getting this blog up and running. And last but by no means least Paul D. Brazil for his encouragement and the inspiration behind the name of this blog.

Say hello and leave a comment if, by chance, you have stumbled across this blog and taken the time to read through my off the cuff ramblings, which I thank you for.

That’s all for now folks.