Days Like These

I've had one of those days today. I am sure everyone has them from time to time. Come to think on it there are probably some people who have them every day. I woke up late, completely rested, relaxed and comfortable, so comfortable in fact that I didn't want to move a muscle, so I didn't!
What happened next was I fell asleep again and didn't wake up until a few minutes to four this afternoon and I still felt comfy, relaxed and rested. So I had a conversation with myself, well, it's the only way to get an interesting chat around here.
Well, I told myself, I am retired, I can have a lazy day if I want one. Nobody is chasing me up for anything, nowhere to go with any urgency, nobody to please or satisfy apart from myself, in fact the only thing I need to do I suppose is take the dog out before bedtime!
She is barking at the back gate at the minute, somebody is messing about with fireworks nearby, she doesn't like them. Last night she was a bit loud as well, bonfire night.
Bonfire Night, November the 5th, Guido Fookes or Guy Fawkes, depends which school you went to.
It's a bit strange to have a national celebration of burning someone to death, it's a bit goulish really.
So, I suppose I better stir my comfortable self, put my clothing on, have a wash and take the dog out before it gets too late. I better have something to eat as well but I can't be bothered. Let's face it, I won't die of the starvation and besides, I've had one of those days today.

It's Funny the way things turn out.

It's funny the way things turn out. I don't mean funny Ha Ha Ha, just a bit strange. The oddest part is that most things turn out for the better too. The other day I was sitting sorting out my address book, Sunday it was, Sunday evening. Anyway, I came across an address of an old girlfriend of mine, I won't use her name, she may not want me to. Anyway, all I had was the address so on the off-chance I decided to write her a little note including my phone number and see what happened.
I wrote a quick note and posted it on Monday morning, yesterday.
Well, slap my vitals with a rag-man's trumpet if she didn't give me a ring this morning.
I remember her well. She's isn't very tall and slim built, pretty and wears glasses. Now, I expect she has changed a little bit in the twenty seven years since I last saw her but she will still be wearing her glasses, I would gamble on her still being slim and still not very tall, and I bet she is still attractive, she will just be older, that's all. Let's face it, we are all a bit older now.
I expect to see her again soon and I am quite looking forward to it.
Isn't it funny the way things turn out?

Frustration.

All I was trying to do was to compose a decent introductory letter/email to several literary agents hoping that I could find one who will take me on.I admit it, it's doing my head in! So I wrote a decent enough piece and then got my sister's laptop so that I could search out agencies and then type in their address above the letter/email and send it off to them. I mean to say, sending the same letter made sense, I wouldn't have to keep on writing it in full, would I?
However, no matter what I tried it just kept coming up that the addresses were not properly formatted. Yes, of course, I know I am doing something wrong, that's axiomatic where I am concerned, I don't get much right when it comes to these infernal computer machines, but I try.
Well, I finally gave up out of pure frustration and did what I always do when technology defeats me, I asked Andrew. Well, it's doing my head in.

That's Blackmail!

Well, here's me, sitting here, bothering nobody, tapping away when the door opened and in came Ellen Jane.
"I've got a plan," says she.
"So have I," Said I. "Bugger off."
"No, listen," said she. "I am going shopping but I am only getting the stuff for today's dinner, I'll do a big shop tomorrow."
I said, "What you telling me for?"
She replied, "Because I want you to take me and Alyssa (grand daughter) down to the field later to see the horses."
I said, "Walk, it will do you good."
Her unreasonable response was, "You'll make your own bloody dinner, any more shite out of you!"
I've got to be honest, she does make a great Sunday lunch.
Oh well, there's nothing else for it, I'll have to give her and the Pest a lift, cheap at the price I suppose. It's either give her a lift or starve. I'm sure that I read somewhere once that that is called blackmail.

This Place Is Coming Up A Ghost Town

It was 8.30 this morning when I went down The Green, (Southwick Green, the piss-head's paradise) to post a letter. Oh yes, make no mistake about it, I am still old-fashioned enough to write letters. So off I toddled and when I got there I was struck by the fact that there was no traffic, no shops open and the only movement to be seen was one feller walking away from me and a dog sniffing something. Oh!, and several pigeons scratching about. There is more action on a police station blanket.
Having said all that, it is Sunday and as stated earlier, the shops were not open. Well, the corner shop was, I won't call it 'The Paki's' because that might cause offence.
So, as I wandered unmolested across the normally busy road, the wind letting me know it was there, blowing strongly, it occurred to me that it may liven up after ten when Iceland and B&M's opens along with the rest of the shops.
I perambulated along The Green to the post box at the far end, deposited my missive and wandered back. A woman came round the corner from Shakespeare street and smiled at me. It was a good job she didn't get a good look, she'd have pissed herself laughing.
The only cars parked in our street, usually lined both sides, were a couple of the neighbour's cars and mine. It's like the old song by The Specials, Ghost Town. Well, this place is coming up a ghost town.

Ellen Jane says that she will go to the chinkies at half nine and get some supper for us. That'll be nice, I've had nothing all day apart from a sandwich when I got up just after two this afternoon. Mind, some unkind people will say, "You don't deserve anything, lying in your pit until that time of day!" However, what I didn't tell you was that the supper is going to cost me yet another tenner. I don't even have to give her my account number anymore, she knows it! She will go down my bank on the Green, get the money and bring supper in, THEN she will say that she got the supper for us. The dog will get half of mine, she always does! I eat a chip, she gets one. No the wonder I look anorexic, the dog gets half of my feed and then has the front to be depressed!
I'm depressed!
I've got a good right to be!
Here's me, sitting here, tapping away like a demented woodpecker and it's costing me money!
Still, look on the bright side, Ellen Jane says she will get some supper for me.

It's Saturday the 2nd of November and for some reason I simply haven't been able to get started today. Didn't wake up until after two this afternoon and even then I didn't want to get out of bed, so I didn't. Watched a bit of telly while I was waiting for the football, I like to see how Sunderland, Newcastle United, Hartlepool and the Boro get on. I want Sunderland to win, I want Newcastle to win, I want the Pool to win and I want the Boro to get shagged very severely, it's traditional, not to mention tribal.
Tara is alright today, she's back to her normal self so she must have been tired. In fact, she is asleep now, oh it's a dog's life alright. All she has to do is bark now and then and that's it. My sister Ellen Jane has just mugged me for a tenner to buy herself a night sitting watching the telly, having a drink. Good luck to her, wait till I tell her I want it back.
Years ago in about 1984 her little son Joseph wanted an ice cream. We were all sitting in my mother's home at the time. I gave Ellen Jane a quid to buy him an ice cream and I am still waiting for my change. I asked her about it the other day, she is still sniggering. One of these days I'll stop her taking the piss, if I can be bothered.
Sunderland lost and had two men sent off, Newcastle beat Chelsea 2-0, Hartlepool won and the Boro got stuffed again, not bad really, just another normal Saturday, this one is Saturday the 2nd of November.

Still Depressed Part II

I even went so far as to let her destroy the newspaper, that always cheers her up. Mind, nobody reads the Sunderland Echo unless they are in dire need of Psychiatric Counselling and the sanctuary of a secure institution. Didn't help at all. Having said all that, she may just be tired. Maybe I will find a way to treat her, I'll kidnap the local tea-leaf and let her chew his arse for ten minutes, that should cheer her up a good deal.
I would get her a boyfriend, but she's had the snip. I wonder if that's the problem? It would certainly depress me.
I asked her. "What's wrong with you? Mutt!"
She didn't answer, just shoved her head harder into me while I tried to rip her ears off. She's a strange one indeed.
"I'll take her to the beach tomorrow, the Mackem Riviera, she likes going in the water. The only trouble with that is she wants to get back in the car, soaking wet. I've tried giving her the bus fare and telling her to get the bus but she just gives me a dirty look and gets in the car.
Oh well, the fact remains, my dog is STILL depressed, or maybe she's just tired.

Still Depressed

This is Tara, the baldy one is me.

Here she is, still depressed. I gave her a nice cuddle, told her that she was being silly and even took her out so she could bark and terrorise the local population. I let her sit in the front seat and even went so far as to put the stereo on for her, but she is still depressed. Either that or she might just be tired, you never know.

Tara, my German Shepherd, is depressed. I think she thinks nobody loves her anymore because the other day I went out without her, in fact I have been leaving her in quite a lot lately. I usually take her everywhere with me, she likes to jump in the back of the car, in fact she will get in the boot if you don't keep an eye on her. Anyway, she is depressed. She has taken to shoving herself into me and she is a big strong dog, she pushes me about.
So, later on today, when I go over to Boldon to see my horse, I will take Tara with me. She doesn't get out of the car, the horse, also called Tara, doesn't like her. Incidentally, don't blame me for horse and dog having the same name, blame my sister Ellen Jane, her of zero imagination and lousy navigational skills, she named them.
I shall take Tara with me and she will sleep in the back of the car while I am messing about with the horse and then I shall take her for a nice long walk, as long as it doesn't piss down. If it rains, and so far it doesn't seem likely, she can stay in the car and terrorise passers by. Can you get anti-depressants for dogs? My dog Tara is depressed.

Susan May Died

This morning as I was standing on Southwick Green waiting to cross the road, I had a text from Andrew to tell me that Susan May had died. Susan, for those who do not know was sent to prison for a crime she clearly didn't commit, and after her release she continued to protest her innocence and tried to get her original conviction overturned, but failed. The system does not like to admit when they have got something wrong, and they got it wrong in Susan's case. She was from Oldham and over the years, because of our cases and our similar circumstances we became great friends. The only reason Susan was ever convicted was because it was easy to convict her, the truth had nothing to do with it. In fact, the truth has little to do with any criminal case, all that matters is who tells the best and most convincing story in front of the jury. The police know this, the career criminals like myself know this, the legal profession knows this, the judiciary know this, even the fucking court house cat knows this. Will it ever change? No, is the simple answer, not while we have the current adversarial system. We need to lean more toward the inquisitorial system, much like that of the French where courts actively seek the truth and not just accept any old bollocks being put forward provided it is slightly believable. It was easy to convict Sue, she was an easy target. Come to that, it was easy to convict me because of the fact that I was a career criminal. I shall continue to protest my innocence as Sue did, bless her. But the sad fact is, Susan May died.

Is there anybody out there?
This is a question I often ask myself for no other reason other than the fact that I am curious.
As I sit here in my room at my computer desk with Creedence Clearwater Revival playing away and the telly firmly off, I have these thoughts. I can't see anyone, can't hear anyone and don't particularly want to. Much like when I was in jail really apart from I am in much nicer surroundings, can go anywhere I want with no return time, car sitting outside, glass near at hand, but...and as everyone knows, there is always a but with me; But, but how do I know? Someone once said, "It is the same for everyone when you are alone at night in an empty room," and it's true. Even if I was in jail right now it would make no real difference I don't think.
All around me in the houses and cottages there are a thousand stories, every one worth hearing probably, exactly the same as in jail. There will be happy folk, miserable folk, worried, careless, drunk, dreamers, depressed, you name it. Who knows what is going through the heads around me, all in private too.
So I ask myself yet again, is there anybody out there?

Just like John Steinbeck

So, there I was, doing my impressions of John Steinbeck, minding my own business, typing away industriously like a proper little scribe. Everything was cosy, just the bedside light on apart from my screen. I had music playing softly in the background and my dog was asleep on my feet under the desk.
Let me tell you about my dog, Tara. She is a German Shepherd and is only about two sizes down from a grizzly bear with teeth to match. She's no bother apart from being very strong with a penchant to shove her head into me and push me around when she wants me to scratch her ears. She thinks the car is her own personal transport and likes to sit in the driver seat with her head out of the window, terrorising any passing trade.
So, there I was, sitting typing as stated earlier, a glass of whiskey sitting at my elbow for inspiration when required. I am busy re-writing Pretty Boy Three. (PB One won Gold at the Koestlers, PB Two won Platinum) and it is coming along very well. As usual I have taken a true situation and twisted it to suit myself and make a decent story out of it. Anyway, I reached a sort of natural pause and sat back to look at what I had done, the sitting back included easing my feet. WHAM! I must have scared Tara temporarily because she bit my foot. It's true, let sleeping dogs lie, they bite your feet otherwise. She didn't break the skin so she wasn't trying too hard, nearly ripped my thumb off a couple of weeks back but that's another story.
"Hey!" said I, less than delighted, but her ears were down so she knew she had done wrong. I gave her a good scratching and she settled down again. I'll have to be a bit more careful when I am doing my John Steinbeck impressions, that's all.

Yet another movie

In the last three days I have been asked variations on the same question by five different people. It's getting like an old movie being eternally repeated on the telly.

 

The question I have been asked is this, "Freddie," (or "Frankie," - it depends on which part of my past the questioner comes from) "why have you stopped doing your blog thing? I liked reading it, it sometimes made me laugh."

 

Fair enough, good question.

 

The answer is quite simple - I don't have the ability to put it onto the internet on my own. I can't even work that Facebook thing! It's too complicated for a fountain pen person like me - I'm an old codger now you know! And I can't expect Andrew or anyone else to do it for me. Anyway, I am trying to do everything by myself these days and I am not doing too badly at it. I just can't get to proper grips with this computer thing, not really - but I am trying. Oh I can do my desktop publisher stuff and emails, (or in my case, Gmails) but that's more or less where my abilities come up against a road block.

 

Besides, I don't seem to have anything interesting to say these days - heard it all before. In fact things are getting just like that old movie mentioned earlier, seen it that many times we not only know the story line backwards, we are even beginning to learn the words too.

 

However, let me impart a bit of utterly uninteresting news - Kindle Direct Publishing are going to take me off their list on December 31st because I am required to fill in a tax form for the American IRS and I don't know how to do it.

 

Bugger it! I will just make myself another cup of tea, sit back and watch yet another movie on the telly.

Yesterday?

Well, would you believe it? Once again Young Lochinvar has come out of the west to give valuable assistance. I better explain that.
As regular readers of my periodical drivel will be well aware, I haven't written much on this site of recent times. There is a reason for that, mainly because I didn't know how to do it. Well, I'm not as computer literate as some people may think I am. What I used to do in the past was write whatever I had to say and send it off to Andrew and HE put it into the ether, if that's the way to put it. However, recently I have been trying my best to do things myself and not rely or depend on other people. Some things had to fall by the wayside and this blogger thing was one of them.
Then, as usual with me, Fate took a hand.
In the last three days five different people have asked me why I am no longer writing my weekly trash column, they said they liked reading it because sometimes it was almost amusing. I felt the urge to inform Andrew of this in my usual long-winded way and he sent me an Email with 8 easy steps, an idiots guide to blogging, so to speak. I've been trying all day and finally I think I have got it right!
Hooray! Three cheers for personal incompetent perserverance!
In fact, if you are reading this then clearly I have managed to beat my personal dragon, I have cracked it, as they say.
So, here we go. If this works then expect to read a lot more drivel from yours truly.
I wonder if I can persuade Andrew to post the thing I sent him this morning, or was it yesterday?

Nothing is simple

Why is it that nothing ever works the way we expect it or want it to? Perhaps I should explain that.
 
Andrew had a great idea which he passed on to me - put your books onto Kindle, get readers that way, there is gold in them thar pages.

Great plan, how do I do that? I ask.

Andrew told me and I went straight to Joe, my brother-in-law.

"Does this make sense to you?" I asked.

"Nee bother," says he in a Mackem accent as he duly did what was needed to be done.

Don't ask, I have no idea, but he had to convert text into something or other - Mandarin Chinese for all I know. The point is, he did it and now the first book is there, ready for anyone to download at a peppercorn price - and a lot of folk have done just that. In fact, I am given to understand that it's actually being discussed or mentioned on Facebook. I don't go on there myself so I got that second-hand.

"Right then," said Joseph. "Time to get the next one ready so we can put it on Kindle in a couple of months' time."

Well, I have a total of thirty-two novels, or similar, ready to convert into cash. Five of them (I think it is five) are award winners so that's okay - promising - and the more I put on there, the more folk will read them if they like my style of writing.

Joe had the next offering, a Pretty Boy Floyd story all converted from hard copy onto a memory stick.

"Right," said he, "all you have to do now is edit it all and that will be that."

Can't do it of course. Apparently the thing we have got is simply a document file and the computer will not let me edit it at all. Joe has tried to download several programmes to allow editing - none of them have worked.

So, the big question today is, "How do I edit a file that is (according to Joe) in PDF (whatever that is) into something I can edit on the computer?

We all went to York on Saturday gone. About forty-five of us piled onto a bus at a tenner a head, many carrying booze to sustain them on the road to a pub-crawl around York. Well, it WAS after nine in the morning - people need a drink by then. I was sitting next to my sister Ellen Jane, Skippy, or, as she is known to the FBI, "Pwhoaarrr, keep her away from us!"

We all duly arrived at York and everyone scattered, seeking pubs. When we got back on the bus at half nine that night there were many cheerful characters and the drive back was spent with those at the front singing Beatles songs while those at the back sang football songs and everybody poured beer down their throats. Not me of course, I'm training to be a saint.

Got back home at about half eleven and went straight into the pub for a drink. I went home at about two in the morning - my sister had gone hours earlier. And that was the tale of the trip to York.

So, all I need now is some idea of how to convert the text from PDF to something I can edit - and find out how to stop my sister from sitting next to me on our next booze run.

The Voice In The Wilderness

Travelling light

So there I was, yesterday, and my little sister Ellen Jane, she of the horses and dogs, wanted to travel to Burnley to see our family who live there - Kenny, Jean and various neices, nephews etcetera.

"But you are working Sunday night!" said I.

"We can drive down on Friday night," said she, "have a good night out on Saturday and you can drive back Sunday morning while I have a kip in the back!"

"Oh," said our hero, "so no drinking for me because I'm driving, is that the plan?"

"Spot on," says she.

"Well," said I, "you can cough up half of the petrol money then."

"Tight bastard," said she unkindly.

So, last night at about ten-thirty or so we set off, her doing my head in and me resisting the urge to chuck her out of the car.

All went well, very light traffic, until we got to Scotch Corner where I pulled in for the loo.

"Go to the loo," said I.

"Sod off!" was her response. "These places cost a fortune."

"It's free!" I cried, but she wouldn't have it.

"No," says she. "We will wait until we are on a country road and you can pull over while I go behind a bush."

So, following the directions of the sat-nav faithfully, I duly turned into a layby on the A59 just outside of Ripon......and got stuck. We were well and truly kaput.

"Idiot!" she cried.

I phoned our Ken. "Come and get us."

"Can't until the morning," said he.

All night, stuck there in the dark with her, Ellen Jane, all wrapped up and sleeping like a baby while wearing MY socks for her poor cold-arse feet. I sat there, freezing and slowly changing my mind about euthanasia - not for me, for her. All sodding night, shivering like a dog crapping a bone - no fun at all.

Kenny turned up at half-seven and duly dragged us out of the field we were stuck in, sniggering all the way - and he has been telling the family about it ever since. I may never live it down.

So, two things you should know for peace of mind:

1. Take no notice of sat-nav instruments, they were configured by idiots.
2. Don't take Ellen Jane with you.

The Voice In The Wilderness

Stranger than fiction

Strange things are happening these days.

When I say "strange" things, I don't mean anything bad or problematic, just that I seem to be moving into a strange world recently - the world of computer literature, Amazon and Kindle accounts, all of which is a bit strange to me.

It would appear that all of the years I spent writing, a lot of it drivel I must admit, but with a grand total of thirty-two novels, it wasn't wasted effort. Once written, and, in the writing, winning five awards with the five entries I made into competitions, the next step would logically be to start on the publishing trail. So that is the current plan with a little help from family and friends.

Incidentally the awards won were all Koestler Awards and they were The David Astor Award, The Galberg Award, two Gold Awards and a Platinum Award. So, it is fair and honest to describe myself as an award-winning author, is it not?

Then, through the kind patronage of a great friend of mine, I discover that I can actually put my stuff onto Kindle and folk will pay to download it to read - so that is the plan.

First, I need to have stuff in a format that lends itself to on-line publishing and we have no idea (yet) what that format may be. However, I know someone who does and when he turns up later this evening that is what we will be doing, putting something onto Kindle.

The novel I intend to begin with is "FREDDIE", the story of a young fellow and his upbringing in the roughest area of Sunderland - The Barbary Coast.

Let me tell you how it all started.

Originally I just wanted to write a sort of dedication to an area long since changed out of all recognition, so I wrote a letter to the Sunderland Echo asking that anyone who lived in the Barbary Coast and who had a story to tell should write to me. I got lots of response and the story more or less wrote itself. The oddest part is that the story, pure fiction I might add, has been named as the best account of life on the Barbary that has ever been produced. One fellow from Monkwearmouth has read it and swears he remembers some of the action in the book. He can't have - I made it all up. But the description of the area is so perfect that it seems to be true. And that, my friends, is the way to do it. The line between fact and fiction is so blurred that it cannot be seen.

As I said, things have been a bit strange lately.

The Voice In  The Wilderness

Gremlins and suicidal mackerel

Anyone who would normally expect to read drivel from me at least once a week may well be wondering where I have been - or there again, probably not. I mean to say, I would have to think an awful lot of myself to think anyone gave a fiddler's fart whether I wrote or not...or, as the Irish would say, "I'd have to be up myself." Well, I hope I am not.

Having said that, there is a good reason why I have been incommunicado for several weeks - it's computer problems again. There are, I am sure, some folk who will remember how self-satisfied I was when I finally managed to get somewhere with one of these things without Andrew breathing advice into my shell-like. My brother had all the equipment needed to ensure my success with the infernal thing and I was quite complacent. Three desktops, three laptops, printers, scanners - the works. Everything should have gone swimmingly, but once again that fickle ould whore Lady Luck decided to take a hand. My brother also has a teenage son who is about as responsible as a snowflake for an avalanche. The lad, bless him, had been on every computer downloading all manner of rubbish until the computers weren't just running slowly, they were barely functioning. So, everything had to be completely cleaned off and all rebooted. (Incidentally, I have no real idea what I just wrote, I merely repeat what I am told.) Anyhoo, that all took a week or so and when they all came back it was only to discover that there was a massive problem with internet connections because of my brother's Wi-Fi connection, incompatible with that of whoever had rebooted our computers. So, it all had to be done again, so I asked him to reboot mine with Windows Seven, which he has - Windows XP has been consigned to perdition now.

What does it all mean?

It means that I am back online again at last, hooray for technology - give me a fountain pen anytime. While all that was going on I have not been idle, I have been slowly rejoining the world of family.

Last week we went fishing a couple of miles outside of the piers here on the Mackem Riviera and I caught five mackerel, not bad for a learner. The fact that mackerel practically commit suicide by catching themselves is neither here nor there. We only came back in because my brother-in-law got sick!

On Friday, after I had seen the probation, we went horse riding - brilliant!

I shall be doing both at regular intervals.

Hopefully the gremlins have now gone from our system.

The Voice In The Wilderness

My first kids' party!

Yesterday I did something I have never done before - I went to a kids' party. You know the sort of thing - a dozen or more five year old girls, yelling and running everywhere, jumping on bouncy castles and eating rubbish. I had expected tears somewhere along the line but the only appearance that Miss Tantrum made was at the end when they all had to leave - one didn't want to go!

I don't know what anyone else thought, but in my humble opinion these shindigs should employ at least a couple of bouncers - keep the little monsters under control. And that's just the mothers.

I particularly liked the part where they all sang "Happy birthday" because they all started yelling for three cheers. On and on they went - and they even continued the cheering when they all went back to jumping, running and yelling.

As I said, I have never done it before but there is a first time for everything, so I am told.

The Voice In  The Wilderness