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.

Tuesday, 8 August 2017


With that hungry look in her eyes, only a beast of a cheeseburger could put a smile back on her face.

And for the boy? A meal with a free gift in the form of a plastic car or a spinning top.

YES! All of life's problems can be solved with such sickeningly appalling food, served by spotty students who can always be replaced if they're not up to scratch.

And on rolls the beast...
...on it rolls regardless.

Have a nice day! Have a good day!

Saturday, 8 July 2017

A Teddy Bear From Hell

With his bloodshot eyes, broken nose and chipped front tooth, it's no wonder that our friend's success rate with women is LOW.

Is this the man you would introduce to your parents as your cuddly teddy bear cum future husband?

I think not.

Image the scene: a Sunday afternoon barbecue, with mummy, daddy, the neighbours and a few of daddy's colleagues.

The temperature is rising as the sausages sizzle, and the teddy bear from hell has had enough of talking politely about the weather. He has only one thing on his mind, and that is to get merrily drunk and to hell with the consequences.

His beer-drinking skills are impressive, and as one empty can follows another, the teddy bear unleashes a tirade of verbal abuse at mummy. The rest, as they say, is history.


Be wise, be smart and be nice.

Wednesday, 17 May 2017


"Tony's had a very successful morning pickpocketing, and even though it's cold outside, he managed to brave the harsh weather long enough to line his own pockets with some much-needed cash.
Of course, we all know that theft is morally wrong, with one of the ten commandments telling us that thou shall not steal.
But as the boy rightly says, nowadays it's the survival of the fittest, and if the only way we can say stay alive is by stealing from others, then so be it.
Today's haul comes to just over three hundred pounds, a couple of passports and a season ticket for the underground.
Tony has already made contact with Glen, our friend from the other side of the river, to see if he can do anything with the passports. Glen said that he'll be over later, because at the moment there's a place in the market for identity fraud.

Somehow, I just know that this year is going to be a great one for Tony and me."

Dave Cooper banging on about his friend, the much unloved Tony Joy.
Meet these characters, and others, in The Londoners trilogy of ebooks, out now on Kindle.

Monday, 8 May 2017

More drivel from the fat man

Thank God that the presidential elections are over in France. Intense politics can drive a sane man crazy, but I've always managed to keep my head up in such testing conditions.

Politicians are a funny lot - dishonest, thieving and sometimes homosexual - but it's this lot who decide how our country is run.

I reckon that I would have been a great world leader, if it wasn't for the fact that I swear a lot when drunk, I'm very fat and I don't like certain ethnic minorities.

Anyway, I've spent the last few hours thinking and drinking, and now I think I've got the five-point plan that could get most countries back on track, if they're in financial turmoil, and the natives are getting restless.

1: Long-term unemployed people should be seen but not heard. Why the hell do these parasites have the right to vote, when they offer nothing to the economy? Strip 'em of their rights.

2: Bring back flogging. Shoplifters to insurance salesmen would think twice before crossing the line.

3: Bring back national service. A young boy (or girl) who is groomed at a young age, and who has discipline drilled into them is an asset to a nation. Don't forget: war is here to stay, so we need a fighting force.

4: Ban mobile telephones in public places. It's a plague that's gonna bring us all down unless we stamp out the biggest menace since reality television.

5: Ban fast food restaurants. This craze is smashing through the traditional family way of life like a bazooka through candyfloss. Selling unhealthy, unappetising and overpriced food, these temples of sin are sending nations into a pit of obesity.

You know I'm right!

Tuesday, 2 May 2017

Have A Nice Day!


Yep, whether it be from the finest restaurant in town or from a fast food restaurant overloaded with spotty students and screaming kids, food has never been so good.

There's all sorts of wonderful food to suit every budget, and there's all types of restaurants hoping to reel us in, feed us up and then spit us out.

When Bob Geldof and Live Aid sang "Feed The World" all of those years ago, they wanted to bring to our attention the famine which was sweeping across Africa like a tsunami. More than thirty years later, the black continent is still begging for food and bothering us with their hideous lack of personal hygiene and their mud huts.

You could throw billions of pounds at the starving masses for the next hundred years, and it wouldn't change a thing!

Lazy isn't the word to describe these idle bastards, who sit around all day making their numerous wives pregnant whilst before watching the day go by from the comfort of their hovels. Work is just a four-letter word to the blacks of deepest Africa, who feel that their problems are because of our lack of care and understanding.

And if you don't believe me, put me to the test.

I mean, go out now, grab a cheeseburger, wrap it up and airmail it to a famine-ridden, African country of your choice.

The recipient of this magnificent gift will no doubt complain that it's gone cold in the post, there's no fries and there's certainly not enough to feed his six wives and forty-three children. But because he's polite, he'll devour the burger in one go before throwing its carton container on the ground, leaving the flies to lick away the cheese and salad which our hungry friend didn't want.

Do not expect a thank-you letter in the post.

Charity, as they say, begins at home. And as they also say, you can help some of the people some of the time, but not all of the people all of the time.


Tuesday, 4 April 2017


Sitting on a bench, watching the ferries sailing back and forth across the Channel, Ward allowed the weak heat of the sun to slightly warm his pale face. Less than twenty-four hours earlier he had killed a thirteen-year-old girl. Killing the child had been a quick and violent act, and her death was of no consequence to him. For Ward, the pleasure in killing someone came from the pain and suffering he caused the parents, relatives and close friends of his victims. He knew, as a stray dog ran past him, that right then, somewhere in Canterbury, the parents of Melissa Hall would be sick with worry, not knowing if their little angel was alive or dead.

Ward pulled from his pocket a telephone. It was Melissa Hall's telephone – the telephone she had dropped when he had attacked her from behind, before throwing her into the sea. He had, wisely, turned the telephone off after he had murdered the girl, for he knew that when a mobile telephone is switched on, it is quite possible for the location of the telephone to be detected by satellites. But now he had to switch the phone on, because he wanted to play a very sick game with Melissa Hall's parents.

Tuesday, 14 March 2017

Northern scum & foreign dross.

Ward swore to himself and made a beeline for the outer deck. It was ten o'clock at night, and apart from a few flickering lights, visibility was poor. He gripped the rail which prevented him and other passengers from falling overboard, and shaking his head from side to side, he bemoaned the fact that the boat was old and dirty. He then peered over the rail and watched as the foam from the black sea splashed against the side of the boat. He observed the sea and listened to the sound of the ferry's tired and aching motors, as they propelled the boat gently through the Channel. The air may have been cold and uninviting, but it was so much better than the air he had been forced to inhale in the bar. There, the sea of bodies stank of stale sweat, they belched, they coughed and they spread germs. The air inside was soiled by all of those fat and ugly bodies, by northern scum and foreign dross. The air outside was pure.

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

Sunday, 19 February 2017

Chardonnay & Cheeseburgers

Warm, white wine. Iffy cheeseburgers. Hormones in overdrive. Day trips to France and holidays in America.

Springtime cometh.

Arrange your winter clothes and put away your heavy coat. Think BARBECUE and BEER!

Get out those t-shirts. Take in the sun and be happy that you've survived another winter.

Sunday, 22 January 2017

The World's Gone Fucking Mad (Part 1)

As temperatures plunge in France, this homeless man has nothing to consider except another night sleeping rough, in the snow.

Meanwhile, not too far away, in northern France, these migrants are preparing themselves a hot meal, in the kitchen of their new home, in one of France's many centres created to house migrants like them. And then, it's off to bed...

Is it me, or has the world gone fucking mad?

Now is the time to expel the parasites which are ruining this country, and the time to put France FIRST!