Just because you’re a woman doesn’t mean you’re right!

I found out it was International men’s day yesterday so I dug this piece up. It was written over 9 years ago and already seems dated and a teeny bit silly.

I am a man and a feminist, and no, I’m not a woman trapped in a man’s body; truth is, I love women, in all respects – they are magical and beautiful beings, but it’s bloody hard work being hitched up to one. They expect you to operate on the same telepathic level of communication that they do. They don’t like long, rambling analytical speeches about the origins of the universe; they don’t like miserable ponderings on the injustices of the world’s political systems – they just know these things instinctively and get on with it.

Women want long walks on a beach at sunset; they want to marvel at the beauty of a cathedral; they want to cuddle strangers’ (and strange) babies; they like to be given flowers (what the hell is that all about?) and they’re always right. That’s not meant to be sarcastic, they ARE always right and we men know this, perhaps that’s why we are so afraid of them. We know that the biggest problem women have with this life is the existence of men. It’s men who cause all the grief: wars, glass ceilings, debts, leaking taps and the overgrown weeds on the patio.

giving-flowersTalking about women, the queen is 80, and what a bloody fuss – she’s been given ‘endless bunches of flowers’ according to Channel 5 news. I guess that makes her the happiest woman in the world. I imagine she gets to visit cathedrals too, but probably has to decline the strolls along the sands in case suicide frogbombers emerge from the sea. Still, even the queen can’t have everything. Anyway, I don’t get it, this false fondness when commentators refer to her highness – “isn’t she wonderful”, “isn’t she strong”, “let’s give her another bunch of dead vegetable matter to show her we care.” Would a king be patronised in the same way? Continue reading

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Happy toilets

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Quantum Relativity

One of the projects I’m working on has the physical attributes of a book. It looks like a book and it reads like a book (or will do when it’s finished). In its present state it contains about 80,000 words all typed up in the same Word document. The content is snippets from diaries, journals, and scraps of paper going back to when I started writing such things half a century ago when I was twelve or thirteen.years old.

I’ve got a few more bits to type up – say a couple of thousand words. When that chore is complete the real work will begin and I reckon it will take about a year. The idea is to then superimpose a story over these seemingly random unconnected scribblings, so the end result will be a kind of meta-fiction-autobiography-fantasy type of thing. So far it looks like there’s a Magic Elf and a thirteen-year-old Alien girl involved in the plot. Continue reading

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Overheard on a train

Overheard on a train on the Heart of Wales railway line. Notes found on a scrap of paper in one of my old files. I’m not sure when this was, probably in the last ten years.

4 girls

‘The annoying thing is all the boys said – don’t, he’s gonna cheat on you.’

‘He took this scale (girl) back to his house then at 2 o’clock there was this scale leaving.’

Old Gits

‘They brought the family down from Newcastle. Newcastle paid the council to take them off their hands. They’re causing obstructions there. None of them working of course.’

‘Look at that fridge – they must know whose house it is from.’

‘There was a banana skin on the bus.’

‘It’s the politicians – they’re ripping us off.’

‘The word is foreign and that’s what you see all the time – what’s wrong with Welsh timber?’

‘They just chuck their McDonald’s all over the car park.’

Shopping Women

‘I go to Aldi for all my veg, then mop up in Tesco.’

‘I’m trying to get them to eat healthy – but all they want is fish fingers and chips. So, I boiled some potatoes and put them with some faggots – all they had to do was microwave them – but they still wanted fish fingers and chips.’


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This is it

Besides the work on other people’s books I do as a publisher I am working on at least three of four of my own.

The second and third books in the DI Frank Lee trilogy – Beats and Bones – the first book Bums has already been published. These are two full-length novels.

The second edition of my poetry collection – The Words in Me, though I may rename it.

This is it – is a full length novel-cum-autobiography. The title and content may change

So this is something I wrote about This is it just now

Friday October 30th 2015

For the blog

As well as all the other stuff I’m working on at the moment I’m writing an ‘experimental novel’. Its working title is ‘This is it’. It’s not easy to explain without sounding like an apologist for Tracey Emin’s Bed, but that is what it is – the Tracey Emin’s Bed of literature – at least that’s the sort of thing is might look like to the casual reader (which is what Tracey Emin’s bed looks like to the casual observer – or I may be wrong and Tracey Emin’s bed might actually be rubbish as may the book I’m working on.).

The point is, it doesn’t really matter what anyone else thinks of my book because I’m writing it only to myself – my future self in fact. So I make the rules and revise them or break them as I please. So, if you were really nasty and / or cynical you could say it’s a wanky book, created only to please myself.

The process by which I am writing (or constructing) the book might be of interest though.

So far I have compiled a total of almost 45,000 words. Some of it is new writing, some of it is copied from old documents in the depths of my hard drive and some of it is typed in from the many dozens of notebooks and thousands of loose papers usually lurking in cardboard in my attic, or more accurately, because I’m working on them, they are now dominating the dining room.

There is so much material in my personal archives that I am having to be very selective in choosing which pieces to include in the new book. This is a good thing because most of the material is so unpolished as to be unrecognisable as writing in the first place – still I hang on to it because I know that underneath the patina are gems waiting to be revealed – whether I will ever have the time to hack away at them is another matter.

The book is a novel, and it is also an autobiography. Obviously it can’t be a full autobiography because how can you get a whole lifetime into a book, or even a library. As a novel it is hard to pin down to any genre but let’s say it has elements of fantasy, magic-realism, science-fiction, crime, suspense, literary, historical, speculative (whatever that is) and I can’t be bothered to carry on searching for words to describe stories.

Let’s put it this way – it is definitely a story, it is definitely fiction, and it is definitely true.

And another thing – this piece is being written for a blog post, but I’m also going to put it in the book.


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Autumn Leaves and Autumn Trees

A couple of off the cuff verses inspired by two photos I took yesterday on a walk through Llandaff Fields to the allotments.


Autumn Leaves

How many trees are on the Earth
How many leaves
How many stars are in the sky
How many moons
How many days are in a life
How many breaths
Just enough!

autumn-treesAutumn Trees

The tree knows where to grow
The stream knows where to flow
The breeze knows when to sigh
The leaf knows when to die

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More about poetry and its tendency to suck

So, now it’s Wednesday October 21st 2015.

Over ten years ago, at the end of March 2005, I wrote the following piece. I found it in the same notebook as the last piece on here about poetry – Poetry Sucks which was written at the beginning of the same month. I guess the posts are related because I must have been thinking along those lines for the whole month but there was no deliberate link, so it’s a coincidence that the article I read reinforced the conclusions I’d come to weeks earlier.

so here it is: Continue reading

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If we were rich

If we were rich, would we still have a table like this?
A table covered in the most recently used bits of shit?
Like scissors and glasses and ashtrays and tips.
Like candles and radios and needles and sticks.

There’s last Thursday’s mailshots and yesterday’s news.
There’s this week’s TV guide and half a pair of shoes.
A table that’s creaking and sagging with clues.
Yes, we’d still have a table like this – it’s the truth.

(This is a poem I just found lurking deep in the entrails of a hard disk – I don’t think it’s been published anywhere (but I may be wrong) – so here it is)

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Vegan burgers and the Con club

When I was growing up in Llanelli we always referred to the Conservative club as ‘The Con Club’. There was no malicious intent in this, after all, in those days, the Conservatives, in Llanelli at least, were not even significant enough to be regarded as a sideshow. I have noticed that in Cardiff the Conservative clubs are referred to as ‘Cons Clubs’ and even labelled as such on their signage. I suspect this is because when you add the ‘s’ it sort of dilutes the meaning of ‘con’ which, when you strip away all the bollocks, is what all political parties, and in particular the Conservatives, are – a great big fat con.

cons-clubRiverside ‘Cons’ club – open for business – hmm!

But never mind about all that – I’ve typed the word ‘Conservative’ far too many times for my mental health so I want to turn to the issue of making a decent vegan burger.

This one is pretty good:

Vegan Black Bean and Mushroom Burgers – Gluten Free

We made these last night, I forgot to write down the ingredients so I hope I haven’t forgotten anything

Makes about 6 burgers

  • 2 or 3 cups of cooked black beans – mashed roughly
  • bunch of spring onions (scallions) – sliced thinly
  • 1 chilli – chopped
  • 4 large cloves garlic – crushed
  • 2 tablespoons gram flour
  • 1 tablespoon ground flax / linseed
  • 1 dessert spoon chia seeds (optional)
  • 1 huge mushroom – chopped finely
  • salt
  • pepper
  • tamari
  • some liquid from the beans
  • rapeseed (canola) oil for frying
  • a bit more gram flour for coating

Mix all the ingredients adding salt, pepper and tamari according to your taste – the mixture should be firm but moist

  • Form into burger shapes
  • coat with a little gram flour each side
  • chill before cooking if you like
  • fry on a moderate heat until browned and warmed through


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Bums, Beats and Bones

BUMS - Hardback - bookBums is my latest novel. I’ve written bits about it on here. It turns out that it’s the first book in a trilogy of crime fiction stories featuring Detective Inspector Frank Lee. Frank is an ex-punk new age traveller – a hell of a background for a police officer, but that’s just the way he revealed himself to me – it’s not my fault – he is who he is.

As the story unfolded it became obvious that it was too big to fit into just one volume and it became the first of three. the other two novels are called Beats and Bones. Where Bums is set amongst the people who live on the edges of society – sometimes known as bums, Beats involves musicians of all types and ages. Both Bums and Beats are self-contained but also part of a longer arc that is eventually resolved in Bones the final book.

Both Bums and Beats are quite complex stories, albeit presented in a simple and readable format; each is told from the point of view of multiple characters with DI Frank Lee at the centre of the action.

Bums has already been published and I have started writing Beats, so have a fairly good idea of its plot and structure. Bones, on the other hand, hasn’t been started yet, and still exists as an abstract cloud of ideas in my head – it will probably involve a character called Fagend – a contemporary Fagin who runs a gang of young boys selling drugs and engaging in petty crime. It also features Jack, a tall giant of a man who runs a training centre for unemployed young people and is also a magistrate. There’s a lot more in that cloud but it’ll keep.

In the meantime I guess I’m only writing this post because I’ve been trying to get on with writing Beats today and have been unable to focus.

Back to it!

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Waiting Haiku

Sitting outside the New Conway, a pub in a leafy street in Cardiff, on a Saturday night at the beginning of September, sipping a pint of cider while waiting for some friends to turn up.

I had a blank piece of A4 paper and a pen in my pocket. I’d folded the paper before leaving home; it was meant as a stand-in notebook, since I couldn’t find one with any empty pages.

haiku-paperI decided to write some haikus to pass the time. The paper had been folded three times giving eight rectangles of pure white space on each side – each rectangle the perfect size to accommodate a handwritten haiku. I thought, if, by the time I’d written sixteen haikus, our friends hadn’t turned up, we’d go home,

I managed to write six – here they are, straight from the paper – unedited. Turns out they are a bit of a haiku sequence.

haikus, things to do
when you're bored outside a pub
and friends don't turn up
autumn is delayed
by a burst of summer sun
birds take advantage
near summer's end
yellowing leaves start their trip
to the brown gutter
like a dance they swirl
on the pavements, in the road
then they separate
noisy crows in trees
saying goodbye to the sun
when it's gone, they stop
on the bark of trees
forests of green moss congeal
it's complicated

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BUMS – Limited Edition Hardback available now!!

I had an unexpected arrival this morning.

BUMS - Hardback - bookIt was a cardboard box containing the first dozen copies of my new Novel ‘Bums’. This is the first consignment of what is a limited hardback edition of 200 books. It’s the first time I’ve published a hard-cover book and it’s turned out brilliantly.

In the end it all came together much more quickly than expected, so this is just a quick note to say that signed copies of this limited edition are available to buy for just £20.

Click here to go to my publisher’s website and order a signed copy.

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BUMS – New novel is almost ready to publish

Bums is my next novel – it is the first in a trilogy featuring Detective Inspector Frank Lee – the next two books are titled Beats and Bones and will be released next year.

Bums will first be available as a limited edition hardback – that will be available by the end of September. The paperback and kindle versions will be published in October.

Contrary to previous versions I’ve posted, this is the front cover of the hardback dust jacket.

bums-hardback-cover-3-frontmore details soon . . .

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first impressions of the new reality

After a slightly stimulating chat with a mate today regarding the nature of reality that incorporated such things as quantum foam, event horizons, and Zeno’s paradoxes, I realised that every moment is unique. Ha! So what eh! Of course every moment is unique, I mean, in one moment my thumb is hovering above the space bar on the keyboard I’m using and in the next the same thumb is touching the same space bar. And, if you consider a moment to include every other event that is occurring at that exact point in time then it becomes even more unique (if there is such a thing as a sliding scale of uniqueness).

So, between one moment and the next, countless molecules, atoms, and sub-atomic particles have moved in some way, in fact it’s probable that every single particle that exists in all the infinity of the universe has moved, because nothing is actually static, nothing stays the same, everything changes, all the time.

The friend who I was talking to – over a cup of tea in the Chapter Arts Centre as it happens, later emailed me a link to a wikipedia article about Zeno’s paradoxes, if you want to find out more here it is: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Zeno’s_paradoxes

I have read it and will go back to it and I promise I’m not being lazy but I am not a scientific writer – I don’t really care about science – and probably don’t believe in it anyway. Science is just a feeble attempt to make sense of something that is beyond making sense of – the something that exists before science and will exist when science fades, as all things do. No matter how far out science goes, how deep it penetrates, how far back in time, or forward in time, there is always something more, something that science cannot explain.

Also philosophy – which is a sort of science in that it tries to prove something using logic and, arguably, evidence. Yes, also philosophy is merely a wisp on the breeze of eternity.

So, if science and philosophy fail me what is left?

No, it’s not religion.

I was trying to get to a point, so let me see if I can just jump to it without all the bother of following a structured logical path.

OK, this is it. You are a different person than you were a moment ago, the universe you are in now is a different universe than the one you were in a moment ago. Every moment is another you, another universe.

I would go on but I am tired and no one is listening, not in this universe anyway!

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broken bin bag on pavement – Canton, Cardiff

speaks for itself really!


Of all the possibilities that existed at that moment, you didn’t expect this did you?

Click on the pic to look more closely

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Sugar, Tofu, Soya Beans, Tahini

01-shopping-listI NEEDED to get a few things from the shops, so made a list.

This is it.

Just 4 items, that’s all I needed and if I was being honest then I didn’t really need the tofu because that’s what the soya beans were for (to make tofu), and I certainly didn’t need the sugar – no one ever needs that. I could have lived without the soya beans and tahini for a couple of days too.

A modest list don’t you think?

After I’d written the list and was on the way to the shops I remembered I needed bread so headed up to the deli in Pontcanna to grab some Allen’s organic.

I FANCIED a white loaf 02-white-loaf– it’s a rare treat, a good simple old-fashioned bake – makes great toast.

From Pontcanna I meandered in the general direction of Cowbridge Road East, or Cabbage Road – as the street is aptly named by MR Marc Robert Roberts of Zeuk and Chapter fame.

I WAS STRUCK by the super-abundance of brightly-coloured flowers and lush green foliage that adorned the front gardens in Pontcanna Street, Plasturton Avenue, Sneyd Street and Kings Road.

I TOOK a few pics on the way to Cabbage Road; and wrote a song in my head. More on the song in a later post. Here’s a montage of the photos:

Can you spot the odd one out?

Can you spot the odd one out?

I WENT to Home Bargains to get the sugar. I lost the plot a bit and found myself wending my way up and down the aisles, staring at the contents of the shelves, looking for that elusive ‘something’. I kept seeing the same few people doing the same as I was, stumbling around like post-consumerist zombies, trapped in a loop of comestibles and consumables until the end of time.

It's got to be in there somewhere - right?

The answer has to be in there somewhere – right?

I WENT ON to the health shop to get the tofu, soya beans, and tahini, then realised that in my stupor I’d forgotten to get the sugar from Home Bargains, but rather than go back there, partly because of the queues at the checkout, I went on to Tesco, even though it would cost me 20p more for the same amount of the sweet stuff – and it’s bloody Tesco, but there you go – nobody’s perfect.

I WALKED back via the Chapter Arts Centre where there was a crowd in the bar watching a clownish-looking man and a woman in a yellow wig throwing each other around to a sound track of cartoon-like noises.

The aforementioned MR M R Roberts was working behind the counter.

“What’s that all about?” I asked.

“It’s art,” he said.

“I thought it was dance,” I said.

“Dance-Art,” he said, nodding wisely.


Dance-Art in Chapter

Dance-Art in Chapter

WHEN I got home I unpacked the shopping

The haul from Home Bargains - No Sugar!!!

The haul from Home Bargains – No Sugar!!! A hemming kit? How the hell did that get in my basket? The small jars are bruschetta toppings, bought on a whim to go with the white bread – 2 for a quid.

Health Shop Booty, complete with Tofu, Soya Beans and Tahini

Health Shop Booty, complete with Tofu, Soya Beans and Tahini would you believe!

Tesco sugar - couldn't resist the 69p peaches

Tesco sugar – couldn’t resist the 69p peaches

AFTERWARDS I went to see my friend on the other side of town. For the first time in many visits I noticed he had several little buddha ornaments and versions of Bagpuss and Tigger about the place; they were poking out between houseplants, on the edge of the coffee table, that sort of thing.

Tigger under the tele

Tigger under the telly

WHEN I arrived he looked a bit rough.

“I’ve got the heebie-jeebies,” he said. “Can’t go out or anything.”

“Aw!” I said. “Anything I can do?”

“Nah!” he said. “It’s my own fault. I’ve been doing something I shouldn’t have been doing.”

“Ah!” I said. Have you slipped off the wagon again?”

He nodded.

I shook my head – it wasn’t good. He’s got a history of over-consumption of alcohol – it’s had serious consequences for his health.

“I know,” he said sheepishly. “I’m a fucking twat – an idiot.”

“I’ve been popping morphine tabs as well,” he said. “I know I shouldn’t, but sometimes, it’s the only thing that works.”

“They’re really addictive, you better watch out.”

“I know,” he said. “Three days of hell to get off that stuff.”

I nodded.

“Not as bad as giving up alcohol though,” he said. “When you’re as dependent as I used to be. You can’t suddenly stop drinking. It’s dangerous.”

I nodded again.

“You can die from that – I found out too late.”

I had to laugh. It took him a while to see the funny side, but he got there in the end.

“I’m starting to feel better now,” he smiled.

BEFORE I left he gave me an aloe vera leaf to squeeze on a small burn I had on my finger.

“It’s magic,” he said.

Aloe Vera, The burn was cured and the skin healed in 24 hours!!!

Aloe Vera. Edit: The burn was cured and the skin healed in 24 hours!!!

More on that song later . . .

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It’s definitely summer in Wales

I’ve been a bit verbose lately so here’s a photo montage. All pics taken on a walk through Pontcanna and on to Home Bargains in Cowbridge Road.

Can you spot the odd one out?

Can you spot the odd one out?

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water on the smoke

I did think it would be good to listen to Deep Purple’s Smoke on the Water from 1972 while writing this, and I am listening to it, but to be honest it seems dated and restrained. Yes there’s some nice little riffs in the mix and it does build nicely but I wouldn’t put it up there on the top tunes shelf with Led Zeppelin’s Whole Lotta Love from 1969 for example.

Hang on . . .

Now I’m listening to Whole Lotta Love and it smacks Smoke on the Water’s arse with a rather large paddle. Maybe it’s because when the album Led Zeppelin II, where the tune comes from, was released, I was living in a flat in Paddington with a bunch of roadies (one of them went on to become Led Zeppelin’s roadie as it happens) and we’d just scored some very tasty Mexican Grass, so I spent many happy hours, lying back, stoned to buggery, eyes closed, headphones snug, drifting into the void on Led Zep’s shimmering discs of sound that seared deep into my primal core – orgasmic.

Anyway, back to what sparked off this post.

Water on the smoke

Water on the smoke

I went to buy some soya milk and then popped into the Post Office to send a pair of too big Vegetarian Shoes back. When I came out it was drizzling with rain – a fine spray, quite pleasant in a way – a soft cool shower on a muggy day. When I got home I noticed a strong smell of burning aromatic wood permeating the house. Damn, I’d left the bathroom window open and some nitwit had lit a fire in their garden which was being dribbled on by said soft shower; consequently it was billowing smoke like a hippie from the aforementioned sixties.

So. after I pointedly slammed the bathroom window shut, I thought, ‘wouldn’t it be a larf to write something about that and make up an attention-catching headline’, so seeing as it was about smoke and rain (i.e. water) then the tune Smoke on the Water came to mind. I couldn’t even remember the song, but the title is well and truly embedded into the fabric of my brain, and I suspect into millions of other brains around the world and particularly into the brains of people of a certain demographic.

How much other crap is crammed into that endless space in our heads, and is that all we are? Are we just a mashup of memories and memes, blended with a trove of trivia, Is that what makes a person? If I had your memories would I think like you? Would I behave like you? I mean what if I was the person I am now, whatever that is, but remembered only your life? What if you were still you but could only access my past? Would I become you and you become me? If so then we wouldn’t notice – perhaps that goes on all the time.

If you ever make sense of that paragraph above and believe it to be true then it means we are just our memories. The things we think we believe in, the stuff that makes us the sort of people we are, all that, it’s just decoration, window-dressing at best. But that’s not all we are is it? God, we are so complicated, so complex at every level of our existence that it’s just not possible to ever get to know ourselves let alone each other.

But, there is mitigation; if I was a religious person I might call it faith, but to me it’s simply the feeling of being alive, of being capable of experiencing the physical word and able to contemplate what it all means.

Shit! I’m supposed to be editing my novel ‘Bums’

Ah well, everything in its own time eh!

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Jack of Hearts

jackofheartsIT was almost ground into the pavement outside the gift shop – a single playing card – the Jack of Hearts.

I took a snap on my phone thinking I might post it to the Facebook group – Found Objects Forum. I often think about posting stuff to the group but rarely do – probably because its founder – Marc Robert Roberts of Zeuk and Chapter fame, does such a great job with his own photos and commentary I feel my efforts are paltry by comparison. it’s worth checking out if you like that sort of thing. (Click here to have a peek)

Anyway, I haven’t posted it to the group and probably never will.

It did get me thinking though – about another Jack of Hearts I was involved in a while ago.  This was a television series from 1999 starring Keith Allen as a hard-boiled probation officer. I worked on the production for two weeks during filming at the Coal Exchange in Cardiff’s Tiger Bay. I use the term ‘work’ in the sense that I got paid (not much – OK £70) for hanging around on set for up to 12 hours a day and occasionally walking about or pretending to chat in the background of a scene. I only did it because I was skint.

The star of the show was Keith Allen, who, coincidentally I knew for a while when he was a teenager. He was one of my brother’s best friends and even then his riotous behaviour foreshadowed his future reputation as a bit of a wild man.

So, the TV series, Jack of Hearts, was a flop, though it didn’t too much damage to the future of BBC Wales, who are now at the top of their game with the worldwide success of other shows made by them including Doctor Who and Sherlock, along with the Roath Lock studios and the building of their brand new headquarters smack bang in the centre of the capital city.

I don’t know why Jack of Hearts failed to get much of an audience, it was a tight production with decent actors, a good director, and a hard-working professional crew. The concept seemed reasonable enough and though the script had some development issues it was as good as it could be.

It’s the same with creative work of any kind – you just never know how something is going to turn out or how it will be received. Obviously the work has to have some merit and has to be approved by a sufficient number of informed people to validate it. Or does it? That’s another question, but my point is that no matter how much time, skill, and energy you put into a project you can never be sure of its success Just look at the credits for Jack of Hearts on the Internet Movie Database – IMDB. It’s a page lacking in any detailed information and you’ll notice that the star Keith Allen’s name seems to be missing in the visible main cast list, but just look at how many talented people were involved in making the series – and they had all the resources of the BBC behind them.

Still a flop!

So, what’s the secret then? Persistence? Hard work? Talent? Connections?  Or do you have to be some sort of gregarious likeable person? You probably need most of the above attributes but you need one other crucial ingredient – what’s called luck! I mean, the mere fact that you exist is in the multi-trillions to one region, as close as you can get to an impossibility as it’s possible to get. The fact that a particular unique mix of nature and nurture came together and created the indescribable complexity of you is a miracle in itself.

So, if life is a gift worth having then you’re already lucky beyond measurement.

Funny what thoughts a grubby playing card can stimulate.


I was walking through Riverside earlier when I saw bunch of seagulls swoop into an alley.

Gulls swooping - the pigeons have beaten them to it

Gulls swooping – the pigeons are in the race too

I think it was a pile of breadcrumbs against the wall that attracted them

A minute later I saw a bunch of humans bobbing and drifting on the river Taff

Paddling standing up on the Taff

Bobbing on the Taff

Seagulls in an alley! Humans on the water! What’s the world coming to?

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Bums Cover again

I don’t know whether this cover that’s emerged into the pixellated light is going to make it all the way to print or whether it will be completely rethought and redesigned. I think I need to leave it for a bit while the final proofreading of the text (81,900 words – 260 pages) takes place sometime in the next month.

Latest version of the cover for Bums

Latest version of the front cover for Bums – the novel

BUMS-COVER FULL 50 percent

The full cover- front and back – with blurb

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