Tuesday, 28 June 2016


It's a funny old time to be English - or is it?

Churchill would be glad that we've finally cut ties with those meddling bastard bureaucrats at Brussels - the bastards who were intent on destroying our nation.

TOO LATE you bunch of brainless cock-suckers. WE'RE OUT and WE'RE OUT TO STAY.

So now, as summer is finally upon us, we've finally got our country back, as Donald Trump quite rightly said, when he heard that Brexit is what the British people want.

FUCK EUROPE! they shouted from Milton Keynes to Bexhill-on-Sea. FUCK EUROPE! and all of the shit which comes with it.

Now let's repel the unwelcome ones back to the sea. Let's make Britain something which the British people can be proud of.

ENGLAND FOR THE ENGLISH, and to hell with the east European scum who are wandering down our country lanes as though this is their home.

It will never be your home, because England is for the English!

Let's turn the page and forget the past. It will be hard and there will be times when we question our choice. But never give up, because the future is great and ours for the taking. So seize it with both hands and just be glad that our darkest years our behind us.

Sunday, 5 June 2016

The Beast & his Friend

Peter Ward had been to France to see an old friend of his. Ward had first met David Tyler in London, all of those years before, when life seemed a lot better and the world was full of opportunities and rewards for people who were willing to take a risk. Ward had taken a risk, as he had arrived in London with his pockets empty of money, nowhere to live and no job. Eventually, after drifting through life for a while, Ward got a job as a mechanic in a garage in Catford. It was there that he first met Tyler, and it was then that their friendship blossomed.

The two colleagues shared a tiny flat, above a newsagents, just a few streets away from where they repaired cars to earn a living. Tyler was a year younger than Ward, and was born in Folkestone – a part of the world which Ward knew well. When they weren't up to their elbows in grease and grime, the two colleagues – now close friends – would spend all of their free time in their local pub, which was situated at the end of the street in which they lived.

Tyler was a heavy drinker, but he justified his love of lager and whisky by saying that when one works hard, one has the right to play hard. Ward didn't understand why Tyler had to justify his love of alcohol, because as far as Ward was concerned, Tyler was an adult, and he could do whatever he wanted whenever he chose to do so. It was during this time that Ward also became dependent on alcohol, but never once did
either of the two friends miss a day's work because they had consumed too much alcohol the night before.

Extract taken from "After Dover" - an ebook for kindle by Luke Ryman

Thursday, 26 May 2016


I don't like mindless violence, and I only use my iron bar if I really have to, and only when I need to protect myself. It makes me laugh when people talk about Glen and his iron bar, as though I spend most of my life laying into people for no apparent reason. Well, that's not the case, and because I steer clear of drugs, and shit like that, I seem to get by, without being involved in anything that I'd rather avoid. Criminals operate on different tiers, and whilst I take my hat off to those who deal in drugs, and make loads of money, I think that there's a good life to be made from pickpocketing. Tony agrees with me, and often says that greed is the downfall of many a criminal, and that all the while he's got enough money to buy a drink, and have a bit of fun, then that's good enough for him.


Wednesday, 20 April 2016


Strewn across the bedroom floor were Tony's t-shirts and underpants, together with his much-loved Arsenal shorts, which he had stolen from a sports shop during a Christmastime shoplifting spree. He was really proud of the fact that he had managed to get away with the shorts, without being caught, and said that while he agreed that shoplifting is immoral, he got a real buzz from walking into a shop and helping himself to whatever he wanted.

He had even left an unfinished glass of lager on his bedside table, and after peering into it, I saw that a film of dead insects and mould had started to develop on the surface. All of a sudden I no longer had the urge to go to the pub for a pint of lager, and not wanting to vomit all over myself, I backed away from the table and continued to look for any cash that Tony may have inadvertently scattered throughout his bedroom, in the same way a squirrel hordes nuts, so in barren times, it always has something to eat, and doesn't have to worry about where its next meal is going to come from.

But the fat bastard had left nothing of any value lying around, unless his stash of pornographic magazines had some sort of resale value. But even then, there was no way I was going to touch his magazines, because soiled magazines containing pictures of nude women are on the same level as unfinished glasses of lager.

Tony Joy is in Florida, but Dave Cooper isn't! Without his only friend in life, what is Dave going to do? Find out the answer to this question - and others - in Destroying Buck, a short and amusing tale about a fat man getting up to no good in Florida.

This ebook can also be found in Humourland, which, as the title suggests, is a series of amusing tales in one ebook.

All titles, and others by the same author, are available for kindle via Amazon.

Tuesday, 5 April 2016


MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN is all he wants to do, and so come November, and if you are American,  then this is the man - and perhaps the ONLY man - who can achieve that goal - with the help of YOUR vote.

He hasn't mixed his words and he's made few friends on the campaign trail, but at least Donald Trump has made it clear that if you're an immigrant, a terrorist, a parasite or any other form of indesirable being, YOU better pack your bags and get out of town, for a sea of change is in the making.

Of course, he's been called radical, racist and he's been compared to Hitler, but if a man so desperate to change the face of his nation has to be these things, then so be it.

What a shame that Francois Hollande and Angela Merkel can't stand up and be counted, instead of turning Europe into a dumping ground of immigrant dross.

They're smashing down the walls that serve to protect the European state, instead of manning the towers and forcing the invaders out of town. They mock the likes of Donald Trump, when instead they should be following his lead, and putting THEIR respective countries first. At least David Cameron has refused to allow the UK to become a paradise for millions of refugees, understanding that Britain is better off without them.

Over here, it must only get worse before it gets better, where as over there, in the U.S., with Trump in charge, the American population will soon benefit from the policies of a leader who puts HIS people FIRST and HIS country FIRST.

Love him or hate him, just be content with the fact that out there, in the wide world, there is at least one man who's got the balls to stand up and say what he thinks - and to hell with political correctness!

Sunday, 28 February 2016

Those wonderful days (part 1)

It's all coming back to me now, with its nauseating odour and chemical-crammed contents, all to be found in a foil sachet which looked like something astronauts took with them whenever they went on another mission in space.

I am talking about that wonderful culinary creation of the seventies - Vesta boil-in-the-bag curry - which was a regular Saturday night feature back when I was growing up.

Sold in dehydrated form, this beef curry was about as good as it got if you were looking for exotic food to eat in, when you couldn't be bothered to get off your arse and get a takeaway from your local Indian restaurant.

I can still see the powder being poured into the saucepan, before water was added, to create before my eyes that wonderful stodge, which was as curry-like as your imagination could make it seem.

Vesta ruled the kitchen back then, when this was all that was needed to give us some much needed feel-good factor, in a time when life was grim and all was not wonderful in the garden.

This magnificent meal could have ruled for a thousand years, if it had not been knocked of its perch by that other example of haute cuisine, the Pot Noodle. Another dehydrated dog's dinner, this time brought to life by pouring boiling water directly over the chemicals which were contained in a plastic pot. After a good stir, before one's eyes came to life another Saturday night classic, to be consumed in one's favourite armchair, whilst watching Bruce Forsyth's Generation Game on BBC1.

But how many times, as we got halfway through eating our Pot Noodle, were we alarmed to find that no matter how hard we had mixed in the boiling water, there always remained lumps of powder concealed in the plastic pot? End of Pot Noodle, we said, as we put the uneaten remains in the bin, knowing that a starving dog would think twice about eating this rubbish.

Oh what fun we had mixing powder with water on a Saturday night, in the name of cooking. Fun these foods were to prepare, but unfunny is the fact that we actually ate this stuff.

Still, the chemicals never did me any harm, but for a decent curry these days, nothing can beat a chicken vindaloo from your local indian restaurant.

Tuesday, 23 February 2016

Celebrity arseholes

So Jude Law has decreed that children of migrants currently cluttering up the Calais countryside should be transported to the UK, where they should be housed and watered at the expense of the British tax-payer. This is the latest example of a celebrity talking through his arse. This brainless fuck-wit should poke his nose out of politics, and concentrate on doing what he does best - making shit films.

But Law is just the most recent of celebrity vermin, who fail to see things as they should be seen.

We all remember Cilla Black and the very unfunny Ronnie Corbett showing no sympathy for the victims, when it was revealed that Rolf Harris had been diddling kiddies for years. Their only thoughts were for "poor Rolf" - as though the bearded scumbag was suffering as much as the children he molested. Black is now dead and Ronnie Corbett - who made his name milking the success of Ronnie Barker - mercifully no longer appears on our screens.

The world of entertainment is full of ponces, faggots and would-be politicians, who live on a different planet to ours. The likes of Jude Law are dangerous and the Ronnie Corbetts of this world are clearly deluded.

Rolf Harris is due back up before the judge very soon, to answer further accusations of kiddie-diddling offences. If this c**t was half decent, he would have hung himself in his cell months ago, instead of being a burden to British tax-payers.

Law's pleas should fall on deaf ears. In Britain the priority should be the pensioners who struggle to live from day to day. Migrant offspring, with no grasp of English, are certainly NOT what the UK needs right now. Neither does the UK need celebrities like Law spouting drivel to boost his image.