Yesterday was a white wash and it was all my own fault. I take full blame—well, most of it—and accept the part I played in this particular downfall.

Wednesday night was one of those nights you just don’t want to end. The banter and laughter was pure and raucous, the adventures were exciting, and the drinks never ending. You can see where I‘m going with this.

I spent the night with some friends of mine who are over from Virgina USA on holiday (that’s vacation). I say friends, though actually I’d only met two of them in the flesh before, the others I knew through a mutual friend (a member of their family) so the stories of the past 20 years have flown through to each other via the middle man. There’s also been a wedding and numerous late night drunken phone calls spanning the Atlantic. So you can imagine how good it was to finally catch up with them all face to face. To tell you the truth, it was more like going on a night out with a distant leg of my own family.

They arrived on Wednesday afternoon via Schipol and after getting settled and something to eat, we headed out for beers. Several bars on The Royal Mile played host to our merry little gang before we headed down to the Grassmarket to continue our session. Stockbridge followed (your guess is as good as mine) and before we knew it closing time had descended. Not to be beaten, though, we headed to that popular little hole in the ground called Fingers Piano Bar.

Beer, whisky and vodka flowed like water from a fireman’s hose and it didn’t stop until I got home just before 4am. It was the next day, yesterday (or later that same day depending how you look at it), that I hit the wall of pain. I was bad. I was very bad. It was lunchtime before I could even move and mid-afternoon before I was able to walk without feeling as though the walls were trying swallow me up. To top it all off, my clothing nightmare came to a head when Gail, unable to decide what to buy me to wear on holiday, dragged me out clothes shopping. Oh my, the pain, the pain.

That said, it was all worth it. It was a fantastic night out and I just hope it’s not another ten years before we do it all again. After a ridiculous oversized MacDonald’s on the way home, with my bags overflowing with t-shirts, shorts and flip-flops, I began to feel like my old self again.

Today I have a lot to do: pack my bags, get everything in order for when I’m away, take care of some paperwork and errands, and try to do it all without stressing my wife out too much. My book order, AMERICA LIBRE, hasn’t arrived yet, nor has my new notebook I was going to use while on holiday. I may have to just buy one on the way home.

Tomorrow will be my final post until August. I‘ll try and make it a good one.

Tally ho!

Spare a thought this morning for my good friend Devon Ellington. One of her beloved cats, Elsa, has been sickly of late and last night she found out the reason why: the onset of cancer.

Devon’s cats have become as well-loved members of the online writing community as much as Devon has. We’ve read about their exploits and shenanigans, their highs and lows, and we’ve seen pictures of them at Christmas and Thanksgiving. And even though I’m on the other side of the Atlantic I am among a large group who are saddened to hear of little Elsa’s plight. My love and thoughts are already on the eastern edge of the States.

Where before I was edging ever so closely to the end of Microsoftland, tip-toeing meagrely towards the point where returning would no longer be an option and a decision would have to be made, this morning I find myself planted firmly in no-man’s land.

Behind me I see a sparse desert devoid of life. A mishmash of broken hardware, abandoned PCs, busted hard drives and RAM cards that never quite met their full potential, lie sprawled on the rocky, sand blasted ground. The blue-grey horizon is broken by the far-off jutting of the Freedom mountains, where my journey began some 20-odd years ago, and plumes of smoke meander upwards from imploded Microsoft software patches burning on the ground and fill my nostrils with the stench of dying coders.

Ahead of me I see a wide expanse of green meadows, dotted with spritely deer and hopping bunnies, and a large oasis surrounded by plush vegetation and apple trees, within which lies a lake of deep, clear-blue water, rich in a variety of colourful fish. The sky over there is a mixture of wispy white clouds floating on a bed of light blue and pink, and birds of all sizes dip and soar in the clear, pollutant-free atmosphere. Beyond the water, on a distant rise among this fabulous view, is a marble plinth. Something glints from the top and I screw my eyes—it’s a Apple Mac Mini and it’s whirring away perfectly, a man smiling as he sits at the monitor next to it while running a variety of intensive applications with ease and perfect results. He looks happy and stress-free. Everything on the other side works in perfect unison and harmony, and I want to be there. I want to know what it feels like to be over there.

Between where I stand and this nirvana of technological promise lies a narrow but dark ravine. It cuts through the earth and rock with vertical precision yet its narrowness tempts me to jump forward in carefree abandon. Yet I know that one small error of judgement and I’ll be plummeting into the darkness and the oblivion that lies beneath. Behind me, the horror and darkness of my days living in Microsoftland; ahead of me, the warm and pleasant Land of Apple—all I need to do is jump. One small jump…

I finished reading The Fall by Albert Camus. It’s a fascinating and thought provoking book, which is vividly written on many layers, too many, I think, for the likes of me to absorb in just a single reading. When I finished it I sat and thought about it for a while; the moments of clarity among the web of lies, the mirrors of truth and falsity that exist in all the different levels and parameters of life. I may have to return to it once it’s settled.

One thing for sure is that each time I read a Camus book it has a heavy impact on me and seems to do on as many levels as his writing! I still think about The Outsider quite often and find myself opening it at the first page for that immortal line: Mother died today. Or maybe yesterday, I don’t know.”

Something else that’s impacted me over the past few weeks has been the separation of two friends of mine. It’s very odd; because of all the friends Gail and I have who have got married WE are the only ones that are still going strong. Everyone else has now either divorced or split, kids or not. The latest in this line of disaster have parted due to what I understand to have been acts of infidelity on her side. What’s worse is I know the third party, I work with them both, and he is repeating himself – more broken families.

Having seen almost all my other pals split in some form or another, this one seems to have affected me somewhat more than the rest and I don’t know why. Since I found out I’ve been having recurring nightmares that Gail is going to leave me, which has manifested itself in regular bouts of insomnia. I keep waking up heavy with grief after dreaming of Gail doing the same to me. It won’t stop, I can’t sleep properly and it’s doing my fucking head in.

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One thing I’ve started doing as a result of reading Stephen King’s book, On Writing, is reading on the way to the office and during my break. I’ve decided to take my current book with me everywhere I go in order to a) get through more fiction and b) enhance my craft. It felt different arriving in the office having already been inside a book yesterday morning, for that pleasure is normally reserved for later at night or the weekend.

There are some things King has said that I think I really needed to hear both from a self-confidence angle as much as a personal reality check. The book is making me look at myself, study how I compare and how my methods and thinking relate to the advice he is giving. I’m in tune with some of it and totally at odds with the rest, and it’s the bits I’m at odds with that are causing the biggest internal analysis—I’m making myself be brutally honest with my own perceptions of what kind of writer I am and what I should be doing to grow.

Not only that, but there are some things he said that have unleashed me from restrictive perceptions I had. For instance, he talks about using the tools you have and to go with your gut reaction, the words you choose first being the most natural to your rhythm and flow. Don’t be tempted to go back and fill in other words to make your work more interesting. Only through reading more and writing more will that happen naturally.

This is something I’ve been guilty of in the past, both of going back and replacing words that then lose their impact, and of feeling useless because my vocabulary is not as strong as I think it should be. King is telling me to let the story and my natural instincts take over, and through this I will see my work improve and I will be able to take my enjoyment out of writing to a whole new level—and that’s the bit I think I needed to hear.

I think you will gather from this, and previous days, that this book is having a huge impact on my writing; how I feel about it being part of my life and how I approach balancing it with my family and work. I feel like invisible bonds have been undone and those things that worried me seem to be dissolving before my very eyes.

Monday was another fine sunny morning over the east of Scotland, and one I got to enjoy by walking to work from my drop off point in the town. I still have to take the bus for the largest chunk between Leith and the town centre, but it’s still a nice walk as you can see the Forth in the distance with Anstruther and the Fife coast lying beyond.

This week is going to be a long one in the day job. My boss is off on holiday so I’ve a lot to cover, plus I’m working double shifts, which means 8am to 5pm daily—probably longer with the boss being off. I managed to get away at 5pm yesterday and met Gail at the supermarket. We bought stuff for dinner then headed home to make pea and mint soup and enchiladas. Gail’s pal and doggie joined us for dinner (Laura’s away for a couple of days) and they had brought chocolate gateau for dessert with them. It was a delicious Monday night meal and I was stuffed!

The dog, Gracie, got so excited when she saw me she sprayed pee all over the hall as I was cuddling her. Her days in our house are numbered as a result, especially once we get the living room done up.

The rest of my evening was spent on the phone to a mate. We don’t get to talk much through work commitments at both ends, but we’re planning our next little trip for The Diners. Could be Amsterdam, could be London, could be Dublin, not sure. But our 90 minute call was a productive one as well as a balancing one.

Until tomorrow, peace and out!

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It’s Monday morning, it’s cold outside, I’m leaving for work and I’m sore from the weekend. But best of all, I’m happy.

The last three days had much of what we have come to love about a Diners’ trip; endless laughter, non-stop slagging, ridiculous behaviour and an aperitif or two to whet our whistles. Our venue was the beautiful city of York, and we made ourselves known within two minutes of boarding the train.

The fun began at 07:50 as several bottles of Grolsch (it was on offer at the ‘offie’) were cracked open to the sound of the London-bound train’s wheels squealing out of Central Station into the dim light of a fresh Friday morning.

We arrived in York at 11:33 and after locating the hotel and dumping our bags, found a local pub—The Edinburgh Pub, would you believe—and tucked into some well-earned stodgy meals for lunch. There then followed a monster pub crawl around the bars of York; O’Neill’s, The Windmill, The Nags Head, The Artful Dodger, The Priory and The Parish to name but a few.

It was, as they say, an awesome trail of laughter and frolics, and it was therefore no wonder that by the end of the night I had got lost on the way back to the hotel, and had to locate the train station in order to persuade a taxi willing to take me the few hundred yards to where I knew my hotel was, but simply unable to find.

Saturday was a less lively day with my hangover amongst the worst of the group. That said, we ended up doing pretty much the same thing again —same pubs, same drinks, same people, different jokes. My donner kebab at the end of the night was well-earned!

It wasn’t a cultural trip as you can probably tell, and by late-morning on Sunday we found ourselves on the train back home. When the train switched at Waverly I bid the rest of The Diners farewell and jumped in a cab for home, where I proudly spent the next few hours lying on the couch under a rug and watching crap films and programmes on the telly.

It was that kind of weekend but I needed it. Yes, I feel tired and sore from all the stupidity and all the drinking, but hey, I only see my pals every now and then and I really needed to forget who I was for a few hours and just go mad for a bit. Mission accomplished. I took a few photos of the lads out and about but have still to upload them—tomorrow’s post will hopefully contain.

Time to wrap up January’s GDR:

Fiction
* Re-start writing Baccara Burning – done; 6 of 6 edited and moving forward once again
* Write one new short/flash story per month – not done
* Re-submit any rejected/recalled short stories – not done
* Submit more fiction/poetry competitions – not done

Poetry
* Write at least one poem per week – done
* Work on Silly Poems for Wee People Vol.2 – done

Editing
* Stay on top of RR submissions – not done
* Publish RR issue 9 for December 2009 – done

Freelance
* Create platform for client to sell arty products – not done; client not ready
* Get a few more gigs to review for NotW – advance gigs lined up through record label
* Keep up all websites updated and relevant – done
* Scotland’s Treasure for February – Album Review done; 1 pending
* SDR website for Feb issue – done and will be published today
* Catch up on all outstanding gig and album reviews (1 album; 4 reviews) – done

Reading & Learning
* The Kenneth William Diaries by Russell Davies – IP
* On Writing by Stephen King – IP
* One Good Turn by Kate Atkinson – not started

Non-Writing
* Re-launch diet – IP

Things That Turned Up
* The Bluegate Poets have recommended FF to its members

Submissions Made
None; several shortlisted for immediate submission though

Outstanding
Still a few short stories—need to chase these up this month and turn them around.
I’ve taken SLICK off the list since it has been so long that I have not heard back from the agencies concerned.

Successes
I’ve managed to get things going again, which I should regard as a positive. I’ve not managed to set aside as much time as I would have liked but it has been and extraordinary month in the day job and so I should take it as a success that I managed to get as much time as I did.

It was great to catch up and get renewed vitality and energy for BACCARA BURNING. My priority remains to complete my outstanding works of fiction and move forward with a new chapbook or two. It was equally as pleasurable to find a new location to write outside my home, something I need to take more advantage over if I am to get greater results from shorter spans of writing time.

It’s not a direct thing, but I feel more generally positive about my writing than I have done in the last few months. There’s been a quite a lot of upheaval in my private life and so just putting pen back on paper so regularly has been a great step towards having more writing in my life again.

Overall, and all things considered, it’s been as good a month as I could have hoped and I’m very pleased.

Failures
The only downside would be that I didn’t manage to make any more time but that’s a small one; other priorities took over and they are of the kind of thing that the time went to something more important. It’s been a good month overall and I don’t want to look at anything that could be twisted into a negative if I over-examined it.

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Welcome back to ‘Freedom from the Mundane’, in what is arguably my first post of the new decade (by name), but is most definitely the start of a brand new year.

Twenty-Ten, Two Thousand and Ten, Two-Oh-One-Oh; by whatever way suits I hope you all had a fabulous Hogmanay and have since had a great start to the year. I wish you all the best of luck and prosperity and that 2010 is the best of all that you wish!

As for me, I am shifting gears. Well, it’s more like a cranking of rusty steel but the turn of the year has pushed me into a much better zone, a place where there is more room to manoeuvre and breath, a place where creativity has begun to sprout like the first shoots of spring, which is kind of ironic, because it has been the coldest and whitest Christmas and New Year period Scotland has seen since I was a toddler!

We left for our break at lunchtime on Wednesday and headed north-west from Edinburgh to The Trossachs. With the weather having been so bad up until then we had worried over whether we would make it or not, but there was no need for panic as the roads had been very well cleared all the way through to our destination.

Our home for the nest few days was a cabin overlooking Loch Ard, behind which the Royal Forest sprawled out over mountains and snow-covered peaks. The temperature during the day was around minus 2 degrees at best, but at night we experienced minus 11 degrees centigrade—all good fun and not really noticeable after a few sherbets!

That first night was Party Night with all our families together for the first time; Mikey and Elaine with their children, Abby and Tomas; Craig and his mother, sister and her kids, Isla and Lewis; the Group Captain and his wife, Fiona; and us lot making up the rest of the numbers.

It made for a great night with lots of food, drink, and games being played including a murder mystery where we all had to act out different characters. I was Terence Shrimp, a dodgy photographer not dissimilar in style to Kenneth Williams, so my part suited me perfectly as I could camp it right up! Beer turned to vodka and it was 4am before I got to bed that night.

Hogmanay (Thursday) and a very relaxing day indeed. Miraculously I felt no hangover despite being woken at 7:30am by Mikey’s kids having breakfast (I slept in the kitchen/lounge), and for the rest of the day everyone relaxed, played games, dozed, drank some beers and ate. Gail, Laura and I went for a walk along the banks of Loch Ard before returning to make dinner for everyone.

We all shared a few more drinks and seasonal episodes of Still Game and Only An Excuse, then we saw in the Bells to the sound of the chimes of Big Ben on the stroke of midnight. Much hugging and kissing ensued before the kids went to bed and the rest of us stayed up until 4am, once again with help of old Mr Smirnoff.

If Hogmanay was relaxing, the First Day of the Year (Friday) was a positive sleep walk. A late rise followed by a full English breakfast was then followed by dozing around, watching various films, munching crisps and drinking the odd beer. That pretty much sums it up although an early game of Monopoly followed by a late game of Trivial Pursuit got the party moving again, and yet again we found ourselves drinknig vodka at 4am on the -11 degree balcony.

The 2nd of January (Saturday) was departure day so after packing we all got in our cars and drove into Aberfoyle. There, we rendezvoused at a local tea shop for a brunch of hot filled rolls, soup, paninis and coffee, before we all went our separate ways.

Our next mission was the postponed Christmas Day Clan Gathering at my parent’s house near Glasgow. We arrived around 1pm and got tore into my Father’s hastily opened bottles of Champagne, which was accompanied by lots of present swapping and a most exciting level of noise. Everyone was there; my folks, my sister Lindsay, my other sister Fiona with hubby Nolon and her wee baby Charlotte.

From there we moved into the dining room and cracked open the wine to go down with a superb home-cooked meal consisting of a smoked salmon starter, roast beef with all the trimmings, chocolate gateau or Banoffee Pie for dessert (I had both) and a cheese board with coffee ( I had lots) afterwards.

To appease my father who had purchased several cans of the Black Stuff, I moved onto Guinness soon afterwards and soon I was back in the Land of the Half Cut.

Our original plan had been to leave for home that evening but with heavy snow in West Lothian, a car crash on the M8 and no more room in my parent’s house, we found ourselves more or less stranded. Cue the man of the moment, my mate Mikey, who we had just spent the last few days along with his family up in The Trossachs. He lives up the road from my parents and was only too happy to take us in for the night. We got there around 11pm and with Laura put to bed we sat up and had a few more beers in his kitchen!

Sunday morning and with the partying all but done, we headed back to my parent’s house to say goodbye to everyone but not before I cooked a massive fry-up for everyone. It went down a treat after the day/night before, and soon we were on our way home to Edinburgh.

Conditions were pretty bad but the roads themselves fair enough to cope with if we took things easy. The journey took us twice as long as normal but we got there in the end, and by 4pm I was getting into trouble for snoring in front of the television, such was my exhaustion brought about mainly from excessive lazing about, alcohol and food. Relaxation, in other words!

The heavy snow that had caused us to be stranded out West meant new problems getting work today but I suppose my lateness could be more attributed to my accidentally sleeping in and not being down to any non-running public transport. If it weren’t for a lone taxi on Leith Walk I may never have made it in before 11am, but I did and all is well.

As I sit here tired and with heavy eyes I reflect on what was a wonderful Christmas and New Year. And as I think towards the new year I do so with a glimmer of hope that things are looking much better in a lot of areas. I’m not one to count my chickens before they hatch, but the start of 2010 is looking much better than the end of 2009.

I’ve not had time to upload my holiday snaps just yet but they will be on display tomorrow. Also up tomorrow will be my GDR for January. If you’ve managed to read this far then I thank you and with you once again my wishes for you to have a totally spiffing 2010!

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It was a weekend to remember; a weekend never to forget. From St. Mirren Park on Saturday (arguably forgettable) to Depeche Mode on Saturday night (definitely forgettable), and from the ska party in Glasgow on Sunday to the Madness gig itself, it was a great weekend topped off by one of the best Madness gigs ever witnessed.

To summarise, I shall begin at the start. I headed through to Glasgow around lunchtime on Saturday and joined my sister at her flat on the south side. I dropped off my gear and we headed through the fog to Paisley to see St. Mirren play Falkirk in a league match.

After a pretty dismal first half (except for a delicious pie and Bovril) the Saints came bursting out the blocks with a 35-yeard screamer. When Falkirk equalised in the last minute of the game I was unable to show my disgust due to the fact I had in fact been frozen solid to my seat and was unable to feel my hands, legs or feet.

From there we went back into Glasgow and found a pub around the corner from Central Station to try and warm up. A few pints of Guinness later and I was still not warm, but it was time to head out to the SECC for the Depeche Mode gig.

I expected more from the concert. Only recognising one song, Enjoy the Silence, because most tunes were post-1986 at least. It was a gig for DM diehards and not anyone who had come along to hear all their old hits. While their stage set was certainly impressive it hardly made up for it, and I left (before the final song) feeling ripped off and let down.

After a good dinner of MYO pizza and a hearty sleep, Sunday was with us. It was still very foggy across Glasgow, as it had been across most of Scotland for the previous two days, and with it a real nippy cold front. That didn’t stop me getting changed into my Madness t-shirt and Harrington for the big day, and after a full Scottish fry-up in Ludovics Café in Mount Florida, Binny and I headed off to the Clockwork Pub for our first few pints of the day.

A coupe of hours later we headed off by cab to Pivo Pivo and their now infamous pre-ska party, first held for The Specials triumphant return to the city in April, and now again for Madness. We got there just after 4pm and it was already filling up nicely. Skinhead after ska fan came trooping through the door to be met with good beer in a low-hung roof and a jukebox playing The Specials, Madness, and other ska classics.

Soon all my mates began turning up also. Wee Stoo and his fiancée, Fiona; Stevie Ward who I had not seen in about five years; Peter and Dave Gardner; Iain Mason, Rob Wardlaw, and even Stewart Rennie who had made the trip from Portsmouth after telling his burd he had to attend a mate’s funeral so he could get to make the trip!

Local ska band, Esperanza, entertained the crowd with some great numbers and really set the party in motion. It was one laugh after another with the old crew back together again, and my stomach still aches from constant joking and all the hyperactive laughter from the exciting build up to the gig,

Pretty soon it was time to head to the venue. Finding the words to express the emotions one feels arriving at a Madness gig is hard enough, but trying to do it for my 20th Madness gig is even harder. The Academy is such a fine venue and perfect for the likes of Madness to strut their stuff, and so it proved.

We took our places front centre and after taking in their pre-gig video, mostly made up of material from their 1981 movie Take It Or Leave It, a kilted piper walked on stage to introduce the arrival of the band. And what a fantastic reception the lads got as they walked on.

With the pleasantries out of the way it was time to separate the men from the boys, and Madness launched into their seminal intro song, One Step Beyond. The floor was bouncing and the crushing immediate, as Madness kicked things off with one stomping hit after another. Baggy Trousers, House of Fun, Wings of a Dove, Embarrassment, The Prince; all the old classics were there.

But what really made it for me was the range of material they played. Unlike Depeche Mode the previous night, Madness know how to please everyone and covered a bunch of songs off their new album, The Liberty of Norton Folgate as well as a variety of album tracks from the early days. Such a joy it was to hear ERNIE and In The Rain performed live, although Clerkenwell Polka is not a live song for the faint hearted!

All too soon the finale was approaching, and as Madness belted out It Must Be Love, I watched the big screen behind them and as the song finished up my picture appeared along with Rob and Stoo; the three of us with stupid faces and Fez’s remained up on stage long after the band departed. It made my night and I made sure to tell everyone around me that it was my picture up on stage!!

Then the lads came back out, bagpiped again with The Flower of Scotland, and launched into their finale. Tarzan’s Nuts first followed by Madness, and then the wildly exhausting but perfect end to any gig, Night Boat to Cairo closed things off. I even got a touch of Suggs sweaty towel as he threw it into the crowd!

Exhausted and with sore ribs and feet—I twisted my knee quite badly during The Sun and The Rain—we all said our goodbyes and headed home; Binny and me via the kebab shop to stock up on badly needed grub and Irn-Bru.

As for yesterday, the word recovery just about sums it all up, although I did manage to meet my mother in town for a bite to eat and a chat with Binny before heading back through to Edinburgh.

SO! Twenty (20) Madness gigs have I done and it was an absolute joy, not just because of the great set, and not just because of the fun I had for 90 minutes in the mosh pit, but for being able to say all the old faces were there back together again and loving every minute of the build up.

Madness fans are a special breed and the folk that make up my group are all diamond geezers and gals—long may it continue, and long live Madness!

Here’s my pictures of a great day out…

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I really need to do something to cheer this blog up so I’ll begin with a short review of my recent trip away to Fuengirola in Spain. I went away with the determination to refresh myself and let my hair down and for the most part I achieved it.

I drank with my friends, partook in furious laughter and comical sessions of camp gaiety, and enjoyed a couple of lazy afternoons under a low 80 degree sun. It was a great few days away with The Diners, as we now call ourselves. I also came home with a new name—apparently I look like Christopher Biggins, and boy did I play it up in the pub when that joke went around. Great fun!

I got home early on Tuesday evening and was pretty tired, grabbed a small bite to eat and hit the sack early. Work was very busy last week and I began to feel quite run down by the weekend. I had really been looking forward to a weekend doing nothing, and so on Friday I had a DVD night with Laura and we ordered pizzas for dinner.

Later that evening, though, I went out to feed by bunnies and was gutted to find Mopsy, the tanned one, lying dead in her hutch, her sister nosing about her wondering why she was just lying there. I removed her body and looked her over—nothing, no marks to say they’d had a fight, no sign of illness or disease. Then I realised this had been the first year I hadn’t brought the rabbits inside the few nights all the fireworks were getting set off around the neighbourhood. The only thing I can positively attribute her death to without any proof, is a heart attack brought on by fireworks.

I have to admit I’m pretty gutted. She was only 3 and a half and should have lived at least another 3 years. Saturday was pretty mournful as a result and I spent most of my time with Laura. Yesterday I spent another day with Laura, this time we went up into town and went for coffee, hot chocolate and pastries. We also went out to the big pet shop at Corstorphine and stocked up on food for the remaining bunny, Pippin, and bought her some new toys. She seems more than aware that the hutch is a large and lonely place now, and she seems to have lost some of her spirit. Hopefully she’ll forget.

I’ve done a lot of reading over the past couple of weeks—a lot of reading—I’ve not been in the frame of mood to write at all other than the odd journal entry. Reading has traditionally been an entertaining thing for me, something I liked to do for enjoyment and relaxation. Over the past few weeks, though, I’ve found something else in books—solace, retreatment, and more than a little self-examination.

The Scruffy Dog Review has re-launched after a short absence away. Check out the new look site by visiting www.thescruffydogreview.com.

My email is working again although I am still missing emails from last week. It shouldn’t be too much longer as the company copies millions of accounts from one server to another. I can understand now that takes time but I wish they’d more their arses.

Fiction
* Complete writing Baccara Burning
* Re-submit any rejected/recalled short stories
* Enter/sub more fiction/poetry competitions/deadlines

Poetry
* Write at least one poem per week

Editing
* Stay on top of RR submissions
* Prepare RR issue 9 for December 2009
* Start preparing RR issue 10 for March 2010

Freelance
* Get a few more gigs to review for NotW
* Launch SDR website
* Work with new client for driving instructor site
* Keep up all websites updated and relevant

Marketing and Promotion
* Publish November newsletter
* Bring Podcast idea to life

Reading & Learning
* The Kenneth William Diaries by Russell Davies
* The Butt by Will Self

Non-Writing
* Re-launch diet

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‘Tis the eve of Halloween and all around mysterious things are happening. Work has pretty much taken over everything I’ve been doing, and there are things happening in the day job just now that I must attend to. I’ve not dropped the ball with absolutely everything though, and have managed to keep a few things going, but all in all it’s been a bad month.

As you can probably tell there’s been some shit. Not going into anything but it’s not been the most glorious of months at all. There have been a few high points but it’s not really a month to remember in any respect. My period of renewal seems to have died on its feet.

I’m reading a fabulous book just now. My wife bought it for me out of a second hand stall for £1—The Kenneth William Diaries is about 3 inches thick and full of his own personal diary entries from 1946 onwards. I never thought it would be such a marvellous read; funny, witty, and providing an amazing insight into one of Britain’s most beloved of actors.

This time tomorrow I will be in Spain. It’s my annual lads’ trip away to foreign climes, and with all the hours I’ve had to put into the day job lately, and my need to let my “hair” (sic) down and try get everything back into balance, it really cannot come quick enough.

I’ll spend this evening in an airport bar with the Group Captain and Five Bellies, then at 5am tomorrow meet up with the final member of the squadron, Mikey P From the Crazy Y-B. Then it’s Malaga here we come. Last year it poured torrentially the entire time we were there, and we watched the rain bounce from the inside of a variety of pubs. Great days—I’m hoping for more of the same.

If you’re interested, I’ll be doing my utmost to Tweet over the weekend. No pictures unfortunately because my phone has no camera, but you can track my adventures around Fuengirola by following me on Twitter.

I find myself having to utter those words I always promised myself I never would, but I would be lying to you if I said anything else other than, “life got in the way of my writing.” Just typing it makes me feel like a loser, but as Devon said, my GDR wrap-up is as much about what didn’t happen as what did, which is just as well because it makes for dire reading. It follows after this post.

I’m aware I’ve got a stack of email and blog entries to catch up on, so if you have emailed me I will get back to you next week. I’ll try and fish out the urgent ones before I leave for Glasgow this evening.

Hope you all have a great weekend. See you on the other side where hopefully things will have improved.

Fiction
* Complete writing Baccara Burning – not done
* Complete editing on Greener is the Grass – not done
* Positively work towards clearing away fiction backlog – not done
* Re-submit any rejected/recalled short stories – not done
* Enter more fiction/poetry competitions – done
* Meet fiction/poetry e-zine deadlines – not done

Poetry
* Write at least one poem per week – done
* Finish developing ideas for new chapbook – still ongoing but have more poems to work with

Editing
* Stay on top of RR submissions – done
* Prepare RR issue 9 for December 2009 – not done
* Start preparing RR issue 10 for March 2010 – not done

Freelance
* Get a few more gigs to review for NotW – not done
* Work with new client for driving instructor site – waiting for feedback/go command
* Complete SDR website for 3rd November launch – done
* Keep up all websites updated and relevant – general updates to stay accurate
* Complete ST column for SDR re-launch – done

Marketing and Promotion
* Publish October newsletter – done
* Bring Podcast idea to life – not done

Reading & Learning
* The Butt by Will Self – done
* Try and fit more reading time in – done
* The Kenneth William Diaries – IP

Non-Writing
* Re-launch diet – ROFL!!!!

Things That Turned Up
Non-writing events have impacted my writing more than at any other time in my life.

Submissions Made
None

Outstanding
Fiction
Barcelona Review 1
Every Day Fiction 1
Spinetinglers 1
Gemini Magazine 1
Identity Theory 1
Be A Better Writer 1

Poetry
World Haiku Comp 5
National Poetry Comp 1

Slick – still out there

Successes
None. It’s been a bad writing month – negligible writing month – and it’s down to the one factor I always tried my best to avoid saying: “life got in the way”

Failures
Everything.

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Bit of a busy weekend, both in the house and on the socialising-in-restaurants front. It seems Gail and I are currently in high demand for attending people’s functions. A good thing? Not if you’re a hermit like me, it’s not. Well, I say hermit, more like part time loner. Aren’t all writers, though?

I left work in the rain on Friday and got home early evening to find a phone message waiting from my mate. I had been looking forward to having the house to myself, getting some writing done and maybe ordering a pizza with a movie, but he had cancelled on me several times already and we really needed to get together to talk through his marital problems (he walked out on his family a few weeks ago). So I shifted into gear and arranged to go out.

We visited the Bonoful Indian Restaurant in Portobello, which as it happened, was an excellent choice. We talked for several hours and as we did so, also enjoyed a very impressive Indian meal: quality vegetable pakora followed by their Chilli and Garlic Lamb with pilau rice and nan bread—the most delicious nan bread I’ve had in many a time—all washed down with a couple of Cobra Lagers.

Into Saturday and the day was spent with the family and my in-laws. During the day Ian was round for tea, telly and holiday snaps (not mine), and in the evening, Gail and I took everyone out for a meal. We went to the Buffalo Grill in Stockbridge, home of the best cooked steak meals in the east. I had a rare T-Bone, and polished it off with a bottle of BYOB red wine before heading off for more of the same (wine, that is).

Yesterday was spent working in the house and garden, and today I find myself back in the day job.

I’ve been so wrapped up in other things lately, including the family holiday, I never realised July was coming to an end. I totally forgot to do my GDR wrap-up and prepare my August newsletter! Being away for two weeks and feeling like shit for a week after I got back, pretty much took up my entire month, so I’m going to roll July’s GDR into August, but add on the small extra that is the Edinburgh Book Festival. It really cannot come soon enough for me.

I’m slimming down again, in more ways than one. I’m cutting back on the broadness of my work, because each year I find that somehow I get involved in lots of other work that builds up, which pulls my attention from my original plans. My focus becomes squint, my concentration spreads, and my output suffers in quality. I am NOT going to let this happen this year. This is the perfect time for me to re-assess where I am and take a mid-GDR/year stock of my writing life.

I’m also slimming down around the waist it would seem. After this weekend you might not believe it but since all those salads must really be paying off. My trousers are hanging off me more and more, which is causing quite a stir among the ladies in the community, let me tell you!!

Anyway, back to reality…

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Tomorrow I’m on the road for a few days on my annual trip to Blackpool with my best mate. While I’m gone, please make welcome the awesome author (you really should buy her book!) Cate Masters.

Yesterday I could hardly concentrate on anything at work what with my weekend of fun and frolics impending. I had plenty to tie up though, so the day still went pretty fast. Well, that and the fact I left at 3.30 and walked out into the blazing sunshine yet again.

This morning my author copies of STELLA arrived and they look fantastic! As I write this, though, I’m all packed and ready to head off for my 18th annual trip to Blackpool. 18 years we’ve been re-enacting the same trip; same hotel, pubs, seats in pubs, meals, you name it. It sounds sad but as the Mafia say, it’s our thing!

On Friday you can win a copy of the STELLA e-Book by visiting the Bleeding Espresso, a great blog run by Michelle Fabio. I’ll try and logon at some point to answer any questions but can’t promise.

Until next week then, why not check out the Edinburgh Zoo Penguins!

I’ll try and Twitter as we go, but if not, I’ll see you all on the other side!

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Yesterday’s blog tour stop over at Cate Master’s was a great success. Cate gave me a special interview plus the spot came with a free giveaway of a copy of STELLA. It’s open until Sunday so you can still be in with a chance of winning, you only have to point your browser to http://catemasters.blogspot.com.

Day job yesterday was totally manic. I seem to have hit a rich seem at the moment and am juggling several projects all at once, moving them all towards successful completion as well as being on what we call the BAU shift, i.e., it’s my week for dealing with all the regular tasks, daily system problems, and admin stuff.

When you feel yourself in the groove like that, being able to absorb everything that’s thrown at you, produce quality work and answer every single question that’s thrown at you, it gives you a great buzz. It’s not dissimilar to the feeling you get when you’re writing and you hit an almost out of body phase, where the words just come, you’re working on auto pilot, and anything that the characters throw at you, you can handle. There’s a great sense of satisfaction and relief when it’s over, mind you, and it takes quite a while to relax and come down off it.

The mate I was supposed to be meeting for drinks in the evening cancelled on me. He’s going through a bit of a marital crisis at the moment and he needs another man’s view on life and some support, so I’m pressuring him already to rearrange. It’s a case of must do rather than feeling obliged, because there’s a lot at stake and I love them both dearly.

That left my evening rather spare. I didn’t need a dinner because I’d gone for lunch myself in the work canteen. Thursday’s are macaroni & cheese day, and the trick is to wait until later in the lunch slot to go down because they throw the stuff on your plate instead of sticking to the rations. I had a massive plate of the stuff with chips (to provide my tummy with a lining since I thought at the time I was going to be out drinking), and sat and read The Guardian in a corner of the canteen. Think I might do that more often; most relaxing.

I’m still working on the draft for a blog spot I’m on next week. It’s rounding itself into a more coherent piece but it wasn’t easy, such was the size of the remit; enjoyable though, and a good challenge. Also got some editing done on that final short story I have going through the processor.

A friend and writer I spent some time with at last year’s book festival returned an email I sent him. He’s jacked in his day job to take sabbatical year doing various writing and publishing courses, as well as working on some projects. He’s also just completed the first year of the Diploma in Creative Writing and Literature at the OU. It’s a brave move but he’s done it before so I have faith.

We’ve arranged to meet for beers if not before August, certainly while the festival is on. He’s one of the few people I can talk to sensibly about writing instead because he isn’t living in dreamland like so many writers I meet seem to be. You know the ones; he actually does it instead of talking about how great it’s going to be when he’s famous. We had some great in-depth discussions about writing, publishing and books last year so I’m looking forward to meeting up with him again.

Plus he likes to drink so we’re a good match there also.

Today I MUST finish up all my outstanding work – day job and elsewhere – then tonight (straight after work actually) I’m off for drinks then to see The Beat who are playing at the HMV Picture House in Edinburgh. They’re a 2-tone band also touring for the 30th anniversary, and while I’ve seen them many times before I’m looking forward to some good skanking. I’m also writing it up for News of the World but it might not get used due to space issues this week. Fingers crossed.

Wondering what the image at the top is? If you’re fed up of the political mess the country is in just now, the get behind the campaign to put make Boris Johnson the next Prime Minister of the Great Britain. As the camapign slogan goes, “can you imagine the fun?”

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I’m a guest of the rather wonderful Cate Master’s today. This is a special interview with lots of new information and a giveaway, so go check her blog out at: http://catemasters.blogspot.com.

We have new neighbours. They’ve moved into the adjoining house and have made their presence felt. As a result, I’m not their biggest fan.

Thankfully they are only renting. The bloke who bought the house to develop it had it up for sale, but with the credit crunch, the sign changed from FOR SALE to TO LET a couple of months ago.

The new family – two adults, 1 YA, 2 kids – moved their furniture in by hand in a series of cars last Friday – at MIDNIGHT. Outside my window were God only knows how many people, arguing over the best way to carry the wardrobe in the door. What was wrong with the furniture already in the house is beyond me, but they obviously need the storage. I lay unable to sleep and listened to them clattering up the stairs and walls, loud chattering, and music blaring. Wonderful.

The other day I came home from work and they’d tipped a huge bucket of white paint over part of the front of their garden, the pavement outside their house and onto the street. The kids and family pets got it all over their feet and dragged it up our driveway, and the cars have left tyre marks up and down the road. They’ve showed no sign of cleaning it up. Wonderful.

Every night, late at night, cars come and go from their house. They aren’t quiet people either and I’ve been woken up after midnight a couple of times in the last week alone. Last night they were renovating; hammers, shouting, kids screaming – until way after 11pm at night. Wonderful.

They are the neighbours from hell.

If you found yourself nodding in agreement as you read the last passage, there’s a chance you might be racist. You see, the new neighbours are Pakistani, and mentioning this issue has become a bit of a faux pas for some people in my street.

“Don’t say Pakistani out loud” or “Don’t mention them they might hear you” – I don’t like them for the reasons detailed above, NOT because they’re Pakistani.

I don’t like them because they’ve pissed me off by being anti-social, NOT because they’re non-white.

I don’t like them because they are only renting the property whereas I OWN my home, and that means they don’t have the right to treat the street like a dumping ground for toxins, NOT because their homeland sponsors terrorism.

There. Said it.

Over at the day job I had a good day managing to beat two major deadlines with my workload. Tired when I got home, though, but Gail made a terrific dish of tortellini with garlic bread for dinner, which perked me up.

In order to have bookmarks for my STELLA promotion, I ordered a bunch of cards from the same place I got my flyers and other material. They were much wider than I anticipated, though, so I spent last night creating a new one with two images down its length, and will cut them up using a guillotine before distributing.

This took me much longer than I intended, though, because merging the two images dropped the resolution to the point the bookmarks looked awful. I got it done eventually, but as I said, it took me ages to get it right.

Today, I have to finish up an article for a blog tour spot next week, post more promo material, polish BRIEFS, and if possible, get some work down on BACCARA BURNING. I’m meeting a friend tonight after work so won’t have time to do anything else.

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Some of the more eagle eyed among you may have noticed I have changed the spelling of Marc Palombo’s name in yesterday’s obituary. I mentioned all the pranks he played over the years – this was another – he got the last laugh after all.

For years I always wrote ‘Mark’ in correspondence, and when I would say to him that’s how his name was spelled, he always claimed jokingly, It’s spelled with a ‘c’ – the Italian way.” Nobody ever believed him – we all thought it was just him larking around. I knew it wasn’t a joke when I saw the Order of Service in St Fillan’s Church yesterday. Marc with a ‘c’, not a ‘k’ right enough.

Marc’s funeral was beautiful. St Fillan’s was packed out with people having to stand at the rear and the upstairs balcony. I used to go to school along the road from the Church and had walked past it a million times, but had never actually been inside. It’s hundreds of years old and is a beautiful wee church. Not being Catholic, nor by any means religious, I did find the ceremony quite comforting and at times extremely moving.

I hadn’t slept much the night before and had got up and ready to leave two hours beforehand. Unable to write anything, I ended up working on updating my freelance websites to pass he time and take my mind off things.

We left Edinburgh at 8:30am and arrived in Houston, a tiny village in Renfrewshire near where my parents live, where I was schooled, where many of my friends came from, and where I hadn’t been in over ten years, shortly after 10am.

There were a lot of people already milling around but Gail and I went straight into the church. I had been nervous all day – not the right word, anxious or tense is probably more accurate – but when I saw Marc’s face on the front of the Order of Service I felt the first wave of tears behind my eyes.

The ceremony was beautiful. I didn’t get much of it but that’s nothing to do with me, I was only there for Marc and the family not the Mass. Marc’s brother and sister both made readings, and one of his other friends, Lorna, read the eulogy. When it was over and it came time to take the coffin from the church, they played Marc’s favourite song, You’ll Never Walk Alone by Gerry and the Pacemakers. There wasn’t a dry eye in the house after that.

We followed the hearse by foot along to Houston Cemetery, where after a short speech by the Priest, Marc’s father, brother, nephew, and sever cousins, lowered him into the ground and threw earth onto the coffin. It’s been a long time since I was at a burial; I always find them harder to take then cremations; colder and more real.

We walked back to the car and Gail drove us to the Royal Bridge of Weir British Legion Club, the place where Marc used to drink with us if we were watching he football or just out for a pint. I badly needed a whisky by this point and it didn’t last long. I’d been unable to eat before leaving Edinburgh, but managed a couple of sandwiches and sausage rolls.

I spoke with Carlo. We did a bit of catching up and reminiscing over his brother, and we shared a whisky in his name. I found out why Hogy, Marc’s best pal who I mentioned in my obituary and also in yesterday’s eulogy, was nowhere to be seen. Not that long ago he had taken some bad drugs and fallen unconscious on a couch at a party one night. He was still lying face down by the following afternoon before anyone thought to see if he was okay.

Hogy’s brain had been denied the proper levels of oxygen for too long, and is now severely brain damaged and unable to do anything for himself any more. To complete the trilogy of tragedies, Hogy’s father couldn’t take the pain of seeing his son become a vegetable, and died of a heart attack only a couple of weeks afterwards.

Before I left, I gave Eva and Benny big hugs and a kiss – the Italian way (both cheeks with back slapping as we always did – and spoke with them both for a bit. My heart really went out to them, but I was kind of relieved to see they didn’t appear to be quite as bad as I thought they might have been. Maybe it’s just not sunk in yet.

Gail and I stayed for just over an hour then headed up the road to stop in and see my parents. We had a quick cuppa in the back garden under a glorious roasting sun, before heading for home around 2:30pm.

And that was it. I couldn’t do much of anything for the rest of the day. In fact I fell asleep for an hour soon after getting back. I felt totally drained and expelled of energy and it was a good way of stopping myself from thinking about it all.

I tried to do some writing in the evening but couldn’t – my mind was totally numb and devoid of anything useful. I gave up and put some music on, ate a small dinner and went to bed with a Frasier DVD around 9pm.

Today, I’m feeling much better. I felt a smaller stab of pain when I saw Marc’s Order of Service lying on my desk this morning, and when I say that, I think I mean it’s probably sinking in I’ll never see the big guy again.

I must try and lift myself through this because I have a deadline today for a blog I’m a guest of tomorrow. It’s not part of the STELLA blog tour, it’s an article post over at Love, Romances & More. The STELLA blog tour is over at Lara Stauffer’s Ramblings of a Suburban Mom today – go and check it out!

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I’ve spent the last few days thinking about Marc Palombo, my friend who died suddenly on Friday 5th June. I’ve tried to think of ways to sum him up, what he meant to me, the things I liked about him, the memories he was part of – kind of a hard thing to do for a bloke who was only in his forties.

Marc was one of those guys who came from between generations. Born in the sixties, he had the cheek and rudeness of a young man our age, but had the calming head a much older big brother might.

Marc was a huge part of my life while I was growing up, but I never really considered it until now. When I went to nursery school I met a young boy my age, one of the first friends I ever had, and his name was Carlo Palombo. We spent the best part of 25 years together as best friends, until some things happened and we drifted apart. Carlo had a big sister, Verna, and an older brother called Marc, and over the years Marc became as much of a friend to me as Carlo – in recent years, more so.

He had several nicknames, most of which I have no idea where they came from. His eternal nickname was ‘Blue’ – a jokey reference to the fact he supported the green and white of Celtic. He was also referred to as ‘Superlube’, an anagram of Blue but with Super stuck in front. Blue’s pal, Hogy, had a couple of belters for him, names which nobody but Hogy could get away with: ‘Fluffy’ was one of his favourites, as was ‘Buffalo Bill fae Maryhill’. You can see why only the bravest or daftest among us would dare. The other was ‘Marco P from the Crazy Y.B.’ Don’t ask me what the Y.B. was, it was funny and that was all that seemed to matter.

Blue was a funny guy with a unique sense of humour; “that’s out of the blue,” we would say when he came out with a cracker. He told jokes and didn’t care what people thought of him, and between the three of us went much prank playing and gags. I remember once locking him out of his own house when he got back from work, and another occasion when we hid the keys to his car. The sound of Blue screaming in anger was as over the top as it was funny – the desired reaction.

I think one of the funniest things Blue ever did was try do defrost a pizza. We came back to the house one night to find the food blender had been moved underneath a low hanging light, with a frozen slice of pizza resting on top. When we asked what he was doing it turned out he didn’t know how to use the oven and was trying to defrost it from the bulb’s heat.

It was Blue who introduced me to The Jam and The Who. He was a bit of a mod back in the late 70s and early 80s, and I still remember a massive Union Flag with The Who emblazoned on the front spread over the wall of his bedroom. Ironic, when you consider his football allegiance lay with Glasgow Celtic.

He was also a big fan of Madness and The Specials, and one of my favourite but most annoying stories, was when he lost the drumstick he had caught at a Specials gig, thrown to the crowd by the drummer, John Bradbury.

But as well as listening to punk music, Blue loved Motown. As he cruised along in his Gold painted car, it didn’t seem to fit his look or image as the sound of The Supremes or Stevie Wonder blasted from his open window. But Blue never much cared what folk thought of him.

It’s common for obituaries to glorify people falsely, and I can’t deny Blue made some horrendous mistakes in his life. One of my earliest memories of him was when he got caught vandalising a phone box during his mod days, and a few years ago he made a poor error of judgement when the local paper snapped him selling less than ethical items out of his ice cream van. But the guy was human, and I can publicly vouch for how sorry he was afterwards.

Ice cream vans played a huge role in Blue’s early life. He had never been much of an academic – he left school at 16 – but he moved into employment working as a van driver for his family-owned ice cream company, Palombo Bros. They did a roaring trade through the 70s and 80s, and as a kid it was an awesome sight to see Blue cruising past in his van.

In those days money from the vans left his family very well off, but the business nose-dived towards the late 80s as the demands of economics changed. In response, the family set up a video rental store with Blue as the man in charge. It did very well until DVDs came along, and that was the end of that.

Blue was never a slim bloke. In fact, he was a very, very large guy, who I often witnessed being ridiculed for his size, but remarkably, never seemed to let it bother him. Another example of his patience, or just his dead pan poker face never allowing you to see his feelings, I was never sure.

His weight, despite the root of it lying with a bone condition in his hips, was never helped by his eating. Thursday nights after the video shop closed was fish supper night, and I often took the drive with him and his brother into Johnstone for a chippy out of Sandro’s.

Whenever I went to the football it was normally in Blue’s car. Every home game and some away, we drove to the match, always with the window down so Blue could smoke. I can’t remember how many people we used to fit in his car in those days; Celtic’s Championship winning game against Dundee during their Centenary year, April 1988, saw about twelve of us pack in with Celtic tops, scarves and cans of Tennent’s Lager.

Blue used to take me, Carlo and Hogy fishing at Newmills Trout Fishery near New Lanark. We hardly ever caught anything, but my lasting memory was when Blue sat down at the side of the lake and his deck chair gave way. He rolled back with his wee legs sticking up in the air, his rod flailing at his side – and us three rolling on the ground laughing uncontrollably.

Blue was a big snooker fan, but despite his patience in other areas, he was always first to lose it when he missed an easy red. It always made for a hilarious moment when his temper finally caved and he slammed his cue down and stomped out the room, taking the rest of the balls off the table as he went.

By 2000 Blue had lost an impressive amount of weight and was getting a lot of exercise and eating all the proper foods. It was paying huge dividends for him as he looked slimmer, healthier, fitter, and more mobile than I ever saw him in his entire life. With that kind of motivation, things were looking good for him.

But things must have slipped. Blue phoned me a couple of years ago to tell me of his Uncle’s passing, but when I looked for him at the funeral I couldn’t find him. I found out later he couldn’t attend because he was bed-bound, and I know how much not being able to attend would have broken his heart. It was a catch 22 for Blue; unable to move because of his worsening bone condition, and the weight piling back on as a result.

Blue had been ill and in pain for the last couple of years, but as his health deteriorated he still kept in touch with me by mobile phone. Often I would receive the odd text or unexpected phone call, and despite me having dropped contact with his younger brother, he still provided a link to some fond times in my life.

When I received the call last Friday that he had died, it came right out of the blue for everyone. It was a sudden and unexpected death and I was totally shocked by it. Blue was only in his forties, too young for anyone to go, but we all hoped he might be able to recover somehow.

It’s so very hard for me to believe that he has gone, and taken with him a huge part of the memories I had when growing up with him. He was a good guy, and I feel for his family, his brother Carlo, and his parents who have to bury him today, Eva and Benny.

What I can’t believe most of all is that I’ve just written Marc ‘Blue’ Palombo’s obituary. It should have been the other way round.

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