Books I loved reading.

Tuesday, 3 March 2015

I do so love reviews.

D M Yates has just written an extremely generous review of my new novel The book of Pain in her blog: Believe in Yourself.
It can be found here.

  I do so like getting reviews, even so-so reviews, since they're so hard to come by, but to get a good one is like gold dust.

   Donna, your ride in my Porsche turbo is assured. Once I've sold another couple of million books, of course, but minor details like that aside, you're first.

And have a look at this. To say I'm thrilled would be an understatement.

Friday, 27 February 2015

I lost my job and almost got slaughtered by a double mattress.

For the second time in my life I'm being made redundant and I'm beginning to take it personally.
Neither occasion has been my fault but at my age there are a lot of younger people willing to do my job for less money. I wonder if thirty years experience stands for much -  I hope so.

    And as if that wasn't torment enough, I was following a heavily laden truck this evening on my scooter. Heavily laden with mattresses, that is. I could see they weren't very well secured and according moved from directly behind it into another lane. Sure enough, a few minutes later a particularly spirited (or malicious) gust of wind took hold of an enormous and hideously stained mattress, blocking out the last of the remaining sun, before launching itself into the slipstream. But instead of falling behind the rapidly departing truck it spotted easy game and took a deliberate forty five degree angle before landing about five feet before me in the three lane hyper expressway that laughingly has a fifty mile per hour limit. Laughingly, because have you ever known anyone keep to the limit as an entire weekend beckons?

    Luckily I managed to avoid the acre or so of rotting material only to be narrowly missed by the forty ton juggernaut barrelling down the lane to my left.

    If I sell a couple of thousand books this weekend I can happily go into the office for my last few days next week with a sneer of contempt for my lost job, although I'm not holding my breath. It will take a little more than that to quell the beating of my ailing heart.

Monday, 23 February 2015

Guest blog.

I was proud to be featured in Marchhouse Books today.     
   When Barbara asked me to talk about myself instead of answering questions it made me think.
   "Go for it," my beloved said, "there's nothing you like better than talking about number one."
A slight touch of sarcasm I think but I can never be entirely sure. 
It can be found here. The Book of Pain-guest-post

   Be sure to check on Barbara's beautiful books. All those we read as children. I miss them.

Friday, 20 February 2015

Now it's my daughter's turn.

Relationships with my wife have improved somewhat, evidenced by the gradual thawing of frost on every horizontal surface in the house. Unfortunately the same can't be said for my daughter.

    She usually prefaces every sentence to me with one of three words. Each one guarantees a definite subtext.

   "Father"     Pure patronisation.
   "Pater."       Unbridled sarcasm.
   "Daddy."     I've broken something.

     Now she's acquired an new weapon in her arsenal.
    "Dad!!!"  Yes, like most teenage girls she can pronounce exclamation marks. She can even speak in italics but I won't subject you to those - it's just too horrible.

    I was subjected to Dad!!! for the first time this evening. But just to set it straight, I put more money into her bank account every month than I was earning when I left the Royal Marines -  and people were trying to kill me then. I've just paid £150 to tax her car, and am about to pay another £500 to repair something in said car even though I've been asking her for months to stop driving it and put it in the garage. But now, two days before her birthday, because I've already spent a kings ransom on her and refuse to spend my dwindling resources on something she'll never even use she's furious with me. Words such as: Miser, tight-arse, skinflint and other  myriad adjectives Roget's would have been proud of have been flowing for hours. Thus she's resorted to the final ploy; the one that always used to work.

   "You hate me and wish I was dead!!!!"

   I'm seriously thinking of getting on my motorbike and driving to Greenland.