Tuesday, 25 October 2016

Even the flora isn't safe.

After spending hours driving around London today, I finally found a parking space despite one taxi driver offering to rip out my lungs, almost being beheaded by a cyclist carrying something very sharp, and walking away from someone bartering with me as to which organ he was going to remove.
    But it seems that not only the people in this sometimes hostile city catch all the bile. Not even the shrubbery is spared their vitriol.

Poor little fellow. I'm surprised it managed to grow at all breathing in the vile brew that passes for air in this place.

Saturday, 22 October 2016

It took a while but I've finally caught on.

Every day for the past few weeks I've come home from work to find the TV on and my wife and (alleged) daughter glued to programmes about cute puppies. 
    Not content with four mangy horses, two cats and several million fleas, she now wants a dog!
    But not just any dog. "Oh, why not, dad?" she pleaded with me last evening for the eighty eighth time.
   Don't get me wrong, I love dogs. Specifically I love Belgian Shepherds. They're less in-bred than Alsatians and German Shepherds and subsequently stronger. Unfortunately our present house is so small, that anything larger than a gnat would concuss itself if it turned around too quickly.
    But, and it's a big BUT - I am not getting one of these. 
    I don't even know what it is. And it's giving me exactly the same grimace of longing as my daughter.

    I might be persuaded to curry it and enjoy it with a bottle of claret, but what little street cred I still retain isn't going to be destroyed by getting whatever that is.

    No. And that's my final word.

    Apparently stage two of the inducement will begin tonight. If you don't hear from me for a while it'll be because I'm residing at Her Majesty's pleasure in Dartmoor or somewhere equally inhospitable for doing something really bad. Mind you, considering the alternative, breaking a few rocks for my daily bread almost seems like an attractive deal.

Thursday, 20 October 2016

Apparently it wasn't mites, but something even worse.

My daughter's moggies haven't got mites. Great!
    They've got something even worse. My ankles look like a battlefield but that's fine, sayeth the vet, because they only have fleas. But before I could sigh in relief, she continued. Not only do they have fleas but apparently a new super duper- utterly-resistant- to-anything-made-by man kind. After hoovering the entire house twenty times, each time interspersed with spraying some kind of liquid that cost almost as much as the the Harley I've always wanted, we had to hoover and spray it again.
    If this hasn't killed the little sods I've come up with a secondary use for the now empty and ludicrously expensive aerosol. I'll beat the monsters to death. 
    They must have caught the glint in my eye or heard the growl because they haven't come home since yesterday. 

Why can't I have a dog?

Saturday, 15 October 2016

Just another day

The horse has an ulcer.
Harley the cat came home infected with Mites and now we're all bitten.
Sassy (the other cat) tried to bite my face off.
I nearly went under a truck on my motorbike today.
The weather's rubbish.
I'm bored.

    Apart from that everything's fine. Oh, except that my darling daughter wants (another) five hundred quid. I didn't bother to ask what it was for this time. I just gave that much last month, and the last, and the last. And if she tells me that I hate her and wish she were dead once more time, there's going to be serious trouble. Oh, yes, she wants me to knock up (her words) a new banner for her on-line business. In 3D of course but it should only take a few minutes. It's my own fault for telling her that she couldn't borrow someone else's as they might get a little touchy.

    And just to squeeze that little bit more money out of me the vet maintains that both cats might have different types of mite, meaning that I have to take both of them for biopsies of their scabs, which will of course mean that I have to pay twice.
    I seem to remember the days when everything went smoothly, or that might just have been a dream I once had.

Friday, 14 October 2016

How dare they!

There was a documentary on TV tonight about cryptids. The nerve of them. As far as I know I'm the only novelist to include them in my books. Now I suppose everyone will be doing it.
    I'll just have to do it better.
    I'm on book four of Kongomato. I'd better vamp up the violence.
    No problemmo.

Saturday, 8 October 2016

Buying stuff online

Because I don't get home so much any more and my raging need to write is just as strong as ever, I bought from Amazon a bluetooth keyboard for my tablet which is where all my writing is done at the moment.
    I waited with avid anticipation because my virtual keyboard is rubbish. 
      It arrived three days later and looked great, smelt great and the keys were nice and big to suit my clumsy fingers. Then I did the stupidest thing by reviewing it before really trying it out. Now I'm not the fastest typist in the world, but I had to stop every five seconds to let the words catch up with me - oh, and the spacebar didn't work very often. At the end of every sentence I would have to spend twice as long as it took to type the line just to separate all the words.
      So I dumped that one and ordered another; a model upon which I'd written two novels before my pounding smashed it to pieces on an earlier ten inch tablet.
      This one has a cable which attaches to the tablet and is much faster than bluetooth. Never mind I thought, I can live with the aesthetics of it. And yesterday, three weeks after ordering it, the thing finally arrived. The only thing was that it has a standard sized USB plug on the cable. Why on earth would they put a standard plug on a keyboard destined for a 7/8 inch tablet?
    Thank heavens for Maplins is all I can say.
    Today I managed to find a USB/microUSB converter. That it cost nearly double what I paid for the keyboard is too bad. Now I just hope I can get on with it even though the actual keys are a lot smaller than my podgy fingers, so writing my next tome might take a while.
      This is in no way a defamation of Amazon's wares, but more my carelessness in not reading the reviews before parting with my money.

Sunday, 2 October 2016

A little snippet from the beginning of Kongomato 4

As always with my Kongomato novels the beginning is about naughty people who get theirs in a sudden and painful way. I enjoy it but it's also essential to the story.
    Here's an excerpt of chapter one. I deleted the really bad words as this isn't the place for them. I may change some or all of it as the mood takes me.

What the **** are you talking about?’ But he knew. Somehow he knew. His past had finally caught up with him.
    ‘I won't bother with my ID for now. I think this will do.’ A moment later, revealed in the gloom was a gun. It was a far larger gun than his own and its very wide muzzle now pointed unwavering a his midriff.
    ‘Customs?’ he asked without emotion. The man did not smile but his disdain was obvious.
    Steele was outraged. He was a thief, yes, he was also a liar, but he was not a goddamn terrorist.
    ‘Are you out of your gourd?’ He would have said more, a lot more but was given no chance as something peculiar happened.
    Steele had seen quite a few deaths in his years, but none as quick, silent and terrifying as this. In one moment Mallory’s eyes stared fully at him, quite sorrowfully in fact, and in the next he felt rather than heard something. It was like the displaced air of a newspaper as someone struck out wildly at a fly, except in this case a winged pest did not fall to the ground. Rather, with a sickening, tearing sound Mallory's head left his shoulder. There was no time to yell, or in his instant and overwhelming terror, to scream, for the other man’s head fell to the deck with a sickening thud.
    A moment later, his gorge threatening to burst from his throat, Steele turned at the new sound, that of a low rasping, almost of sibilant speech somewhere close. In his panic to flee his hand hit something hard enough to snap three of his fingers, but he felt no pain for with a low whine followed by a grating sound deep in the bowels of the ship a sharp draft of frigid air from above billowed down as the cargo hatches began to creak open. But he was given no time to marvel at this, either, for a moment later a bright green light shone directly into his eyes. It was a curious shade of green and quite attractive in their grim surroundings but there was little time to consider this further, for less than a second after that a pain more hideous than he ever could have imagined filled his entire being. Worse, something began to trickle down his face.
    His scream, if could it have been called that, was muted beneath the rasping, snarling roars surrounding him. His fall onto quivering knees was halted by something sharp taking his weight effortlessly and severing his legs below the knees. By now Steele had eased to exist as a functioning human but more as a gibbering agony-filled wreck of insanity.
     With his rapidly disappearing consciousness he missed the howling screech of several more giant bodies writhing past him shrieking in joy, or some other alien emotion, before he felt one more thing, the last sensation he would ever experience as a living being. The teeth which fastened around his skull had to be easily six inches long, but he didn't know or care because his skull was immediately pulverised and a moment later tossed into a gullet which would just have easily accepted his entire body had there been enough room in the cramped cargo area.
    With a squawk or either rage or satisfaction the thing which had destroyed him struggled backwards and with one more howl into the night sky joined it's fifteen or so companions busily flapping away and using the rising wind to hurl them aloft and towards their new home.