Sunday, 10 December 2017

Killing & Drifting

Ward drifted along Dover seafront knowing that his days of freedom were numbered. His freedom would not have been jeopardised had he resisted the urge to rape and kill the woman in his hotel room. But she had it coming to her, because of her arrogance and lack of respect for others. He never did have much time for selfish people, and now he was pleased that there was one less self-centred person roaming the streets. He had deprived a man of his wife and two children of their mother. Ward laughed when he thought about the consequences of his action, and was happy in the knowledge that he had destroyed so many lives.



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Extract taken from After Dover - an ebook about a cold-blooded killer. Out now on Amazon for Kindle.








Wednesday, 22 November 2017

Clare & Tina




As the number sixty-three bus made its way from Canterbury to Margate, Clare wished that she had stayed at home – even if her mother was a pain in the backside, and asked too many questions about her daughter's past and plans for the future – instead of agreeing to spend the evening with Tina. She liked Tina, but she didn't like the things which surrounded her. She enjoyed her friendship, but Clare hated the fact that Tina's father was a hopeless alcoholic, her two small brothers were little terrors and worst of all, she loathed the fact that Tina lived on a council estate in Margate. Sure enough, Clare acknowledged, as the bus entered Margate, she also lived on a grotty estate, in Canterbury, but at least Canterbury had a bit of class and a cathedral, whereas Margate had nothing to offer.

Extract taken from "Those Margate Days, Those Lonely Nights" - part 3 of the "But Bloody France!" trilogy of ebooks - available now for Kindle

Sunday, 5 November 2017

Gobshite 2



"...and nobody speaks English anymore. I think my street is what they call cosmopolitan - there's a bit of everything except your typical English family. My niece came home from school  in tears the other day, upset that she's the only white girl in her class. In ten years from now the English language will be forgotten. I mean, I took my niece to McDonalds the other day, and I wished that I had stayed at home.


It took me ten minutes to get my order across to the spotty-faced girl behind the counter. Apparently she's Polish and has no grasp of the language of Shakespeare. I'm not racist, but if a man can't order a Big Mac and all the trimmings, in east London, without the need to hire an interpreter, what is the world coming to? It's a bit like the guy at the garage where I do my weekly lottery. He calls everyone mate, as though we're his friends. I told him - I think that he's an Iraqui refugee - that the English are a reserved race, and that friendships aren't forged in ten minutes. Of course, he didn't understand a word that I said, but who would have expected him to?


 We're not even allowed to put a Christmas tree up in the community centre this year, because apparently the sight of a jolly fat man giving out presents offends certain religions. I wrote to my MP to complain, and he replied that I should accept change. Meanwhile, at the mosque at the end of the road anything goes. It's like we're strangers in our own country. They're banning porn more and more, but the government turns a blind eye to suicide bombers and the immigration crisis.

It will all end in tears. The world's gone bloody mad."


Wednesday, 4 October 2017

Gobshite


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"...and I sometimes wonder what winning the war ever gave us...yes please love, when you're ready, another pint please, and one for yourself....I mean we're no longer in control of ourselves...I blame it on those European dogs who tell us how to do what we've been doing for years...hello Bob, how's things...a pint for Bob when you're ready love...I mean when I was a kid it was pounds and ounces...you knew where you were with five pounds of potatoes...but what's five kilos of potatoes...is it more or less to carry home in your paper bag...because they don't give out plastic bags any more...the world's gone fucking mad as a teapot...lovely my darling, another two pints when you're ready...I would love to go to work....but what with my back and the influx of Polish labourers...they've stolen what's rightly mine...awful people...should get the next boat back home...leave us our jobs...I could knock up a wall in no time...and I speak English....ooh lovely, look at THAT...you don't get pints like that in France...it's litres over there...is that more than a pint...seems right to me if it is...can't stand the French....they won't speak English over there...that's the thanks you get for saving them from Germany...two more pints when you're ready love...every time I switch on the tv it's all blacks and lesbians...it makes you feel like a stranger in your own country...where have all the normal people gone...hello Bill, a pint for Bill please love...and they get free housing, telephones and bus tickets...I get nothing for my back...all I get is enough for two nights drinking in the pub...that's the spirit of a real public house...you know what you can do with your coffee houses and pavement cafés...I can't even afford to go on holiday...that lot have seen to that...and the pensioners are treated worse than that...a whisky please Bob...that's very kind of you...it's my friends that keep me going...it all went wrong when we abolished the death penalty...that was a green light to rapists and perverts...make them sweep the streets...they'll think twice about doing it again...tv has ruined everything...there's no more honest people left...we're an island in a sea of misery...nobody speaks English in my street..."

Sunday, 1 October 2017

The Last Immigrant


So it's time to wheel the barbecue back into the shed, neatly arrange the garden furniture and thank the Almighty one for giving us a few sunny days in what was otherwise a misrable summer.

Goneth are the last rays of sun as the rain clouds cometh from all sides. The beer was good and the banter was of Brexit, Trumpy Trumpy Trump and those damn pesky immigrants who seem intent on staying for free in our magnificent land of milk and honey.


A lot of those immigrants would give their right arm to taste some of the food that makes our country great; you know, food like curry, fish and chips or a decent English breakfast. Thoughts of fine British nosh must fill their minds, as they attempt to cross the Channel hiding in a refrigerated trailer or clinging on for life under a forty tonne truck.

The numbers getting in are dropping quicker than flies in winter, and those already here have probably had a gutfull of being spat at and shouted at by drunken thugs, fuelled by strong lager and patriotism.


"FUCK ORF BACK HOME YOU GRUBBY BLEEDER!" cries Mister Smith, from number 42 Willow Drive, Bournemouth - a town as British as eggs, bacon and fried bread. "WE DON'T WANT YOUR LOT 'ERE!" adds little Timmy Spicer, an eight-year-old boy who's well and truly into Brexit and all it means.

SPEAK UP ALL OF YOU!


He WILL build his wall and we will make Britain GREAT again. We will rule the waves and stand up for ourselves in a world of dodgy, spineless leaders.


There's a change in the air...and it smells GOOD!

Tuesday, 19 September 2017

If only...



To earn a pathetic wage, Clare now worked in Asda, in Margate, which is certainly nothing to shout about. Before, when she was with Deano, she had worked in an office in Canterbury, which was certainly better than stacking shelves in a supermarket in Thanet. She also used to drive a red VW Golf, but now, because of the situation in which she now found herself, she was forced to go everywhere by bus. It's no wonder, then, that on the day of her thirty-second birthday, Clare Green was depressed.



If only she could have turned back the pages and avoided doing the things which had put her in such a terrible predicament. If only she hadn't cheated on Deano, with another GIRL, if only she hadn't blown all of her cash on white wine and comfort food and if only things in France had worked out much better, Clare Green would still be living in Normandy. If only...

Extract taken from "Clare's Holiday" & "Those Margate Days, Those Lonely Nights" - a book about love, life and missed opportunities.
Out now in paperback and ebook format for kindle.


Friday, 25 August 2017

Do you speak English?


 When the pretty girl returned with more drinks, Phil said that he was starving. He then looked at the girl, and smiling at her, he launched into conversation with her.
“Can we eat here, sweetheart?” he enquired, as Clare looked on. This, she thought, was going to be fun. The girl shrugged her shoulders, as she struggled to understand what Phil was saying.
“Eat,” he repeated, motioning with his hands that he was cutting imaginary food with a knife and fork.”
“Ah, mais oui,” replied the girl, smiling at the tattooed beast, before putting on her best English accent. “’ere we ‘ave some fine foodz. What does it you want?”
“Yeah!” replied Phil excitingly. “We’re getting there. Have you got any cheeseburgers?”
Clare burst out laughing. “Oh, Phil and his cheeseburgers. How lovely.”
“Comment?” replied the girl. “What is this cheezburgers?”
“You know,” said Sarah. “C H E E S E B U R G E R S.”

“Oh, mais non,” said the girl, registering at last what a cheeseburger was. “’ere we ‘ave steak and frize or just a sandweech.”


Extract taken from "But Bloody France!" & "Clare's Holiday" - a tale about friends on holiday in deepest Normandy, where there's not a cheeseburger in sight.
Out now for kindle & in paperback.