Collidescope

Stepping up to the job

Oh dear - I've been a bit peaky you know. Some new virus from outer space has been withering me bronichals if you will excuse the expression. It's not that I need a pick-me-up, it's more a case of needing a crane. I knew when I signed up for the gym that it would all come to no good. How many times do you hear that so and so famous sporty sparty athlete has had to pull out of events because they have a sporty sparty virus? Huh - and what type of person do you meet at fitness centres? Yes - it's sick athletes passing on their bugs. When did you ever hear of anyone pulling out of competition because of chocolate? When did you ever hear of a virus that singled out wine merchants or foie gras manufacturers. I would rest my case but it's a bit wobbly.

We are not amused. Obama was far more fun than this.

What got me back to the keyboard was of course Her Majesty the Queen. She's been on the throne for 60 years. Now, what a waste of a career. Anyone who can sit on the same seat year after year with no hope of getting any further should have been a novelist. Today she gave a speech to Parliament and they gave her a stained glass window. Now what sort of gift is that?  You can't just put it on e-bay  tagged as "unwanted gift".  Where would you put it?

Schism of prism

The speaker of the House (of Parliament) John Bercow, gave a speech first, welcoming the Queen's speech. Oh dear - oh no -PM Dave did not like it! Bercow called her "The kaleidoscope Queen".(Police outside fought with crowds to hold back Freddie Mercury fans). But no - he meant Her Majesty. Obviously he set the wrong tone. The Tower of London is being prepared. Heads will roll.

Queen of Romance

One demi-royal was in fact a novelist. The step-grandmother of Princess Diana was Barbara Cartland who is probably the most successful writer of all time. Her Romances sold at least a billion copies and in her lifetime she published 723 books. I wrote to her about 35 years ago asking for the name of her agent. It is beginning to look like she was too busy to reply.


Now let's cheer you up. Dear old Oscar has been in an online Arts mag (The Altered Scale) featuring all manner of music, performance and general fusion. I checked out the event and came across a group that are pure sexy grunge dirty blues that absolutely grips me. I wanna write love and sex like this music. The artists are called "Purgatory Hill". This moooosic howls pure celestial bestial luvstuff.


Emma thinx: If you have to set the tone - avoid the purple concrete.

Bi-Polar Bare

A while ago a lad on the bus was chatting to me about his girlfriend. The mere fact of having obtained such an asset positively changed his demeanour. Instead of his normal monosyllabic grunt and slouch he became a young gent. His acne receded and was transformed into vocabulary.


About ten days ago he did not come out to board the bus to go home. Unsympathetic teenagers grew restive in my mirror. I cranked up the music but that brought complaints from the headphone wearers. At the last minute he appeared being led by a teacher. His tear stained face was swollen. It was over. Over. Over, with that terrible brick wall finality of a dead hamster in the palm of a young hand and the rest of mortality. The vocabulary acne inversion flipped like the magnetic poles of the planet in history.

Yesterday, they got back together. Compasses started to work again. GPS systems stopped talking backwards. No one should feel insecure. It won't last.


I've been giving away books on Amazon KDP. I am one of the more successful donors of the American literary world. However, in the UK, the natural sense of cool reserve and dissimulation prevents the accepting of gifts from strangers. I have the feeling that if I were to tour in my white Rolls Royce cabriolet throwing bank notes to the crowd, they would run after me handing them back. Probably I would get a ticket for littering. 

blueprint for a question not yet asked

Then the unthinkable happened. I started to sell books. Maybe after all I was a writer. I exchanged my life and personality for  sales figures. Some days I see myself as a pie chart, other days a block graph. Yesterday I had that corporate spreadsheet feeling. Personality and self image issues - surely not!
As I looked out from my window yesterday into the cold clear dusk I saw a tree reflecting the direction of life, albeit very simplified. 


Today sales dipped a little. A reviewer thought I should give up and drive a bus or something. The GPS is talking babble. I think I'm too old for acne. Insecure? Me?




Emma thinx: Whatever you've put in someone's life today - they're already passing it on.

Roll Play Exercise

Spot the difference

There's a song by Janis Ian which contains the line "Let's drink a toast to those who best survived the life they led". Well - here's to all those who've survived the drink and the toast - and the butter, the foie gras and the chocolate. Life catches up with us doesn't it. The bus driving blogger novelist carboholic lifestyle has done its worst. It is not that the situation has got out of hand. It has got out of both hands. Soon I'll have enough spare tyres for every wheel on the bus. It had to stop. I have joined a gym. When I finish my morning shift I go straight to a modern cathedral of techno-flab where there are merciless machines that have ways of making you squawk.

 Even worse the place is half full of skinny pert anorexics who do not need to be there and spend their self righteous time watching the sagging wobblers gasping for survival. If that were not bad enough I encounter neighbours and acquaintances to whom I would never present myself in rippling Spandex. I have seen a few films of an erotic and anatomical/educational nature where the participants wear masks so as not to be recognised (I assume) by friends, work colleagues or members of the book club. A small comfort like this would double membership. Luckily a little ray of sunshine fell upon me today. I staggered back through the door after a treadmill session watching a TV show about liposuction and heart transplants. There on the mat was a lovely sample selection from "Hotel Chocolat". Damn - I must have forgotten to cancel my subscription. And before I move on to literary matters here is a video clip I found whilst researching Vladimir rootin tootin Putin. I think it's about dieting. Keep watching until you see the ballet dancers! Wow - Oscar likes this video, but only the classical paintings. Seriously though - this world has so many cultures! Rejoice.


Tomorrow (Saturday 3rd March) is a free KDP day for "Knockout". The tweetbots and all the engines of cyber triberr will be whirring. I apologise for all the self promo. If you've not got your copy roll up roll up. Here are the links:
Amazon USA
Amazon UK
Amazon France
Amazon Germany
Amazon Italy
Amazon Spain



Emma thinx: Beauty is only deep skin.

Hacking Coughs

OK - I'm a News junkie. At lunch time I watched the BBC NEWS. For an hour I followed a story that James Murdoch had resigned from News International. There was a 40 second interruption to tell me that North Korea had appeared to modify their approach to nuclear annihilation of  Earth. Thank goodness they did not linger on that limp little column filler. 


I was first in the queue on Sunday morning to buy the new disgusting filth soaked pack of lies, scandal and gossip that the Murdochs have launched to replace the degraded, vile, sex obsessed and delicious News of the World. To me it was a bit disappointing to be honest. I wanted a story of top toff politicians in frilly ladies' panties  being whipped by pouting sexy Russian spies in an exclusive underworld vice den. I wanted the dark soil of alliterative  adjectives raked open. The new Sun was a bit PC and non confrontational. It was like an anger management course for boxers. (Yes comrades - this is the latest wheeze of the world controllers. A British boxer, Dereck Chisora, has been ordered to seek anger management counselling after a punch up with another pugilist.)


Now - I am no Murdoch fan. He is a Union breaker and a tyrant. Normally I would have no sympathy but here is the truth of it all. Murdoch got in amongst the toffs and the self seekers at the top. They took his cash. They courted his affection. They were elected on his say so. They chortled and bloated at his overflowing table - glad to see lesser nobles, commoners and opponents beaten with shitty sticks. Then - the baron forgot who was king. He attacked other barons - not realizing that he was NOT actually himself in the club. He is a foreigner and a bruiser. You can guffaw and chortle inside the club but you cannot attack the club. Sadly, in the UK, affairs of the boudoir are in the public interest and light fell on several erect parliamentary members. 

Now sensational News! Newspapers have been paying police and officials for juicy inside information!!! Journalists and cops intermingle, drink and chat together! CLAMOROSO as they say in Italia - although these days they can only afford lower case to save ink. Surely the sweet innocent public are astounded by such notions. Even worse, the hapless  ex-editor Rebekah Brooks was given a retired police horse to look after. Can civilization withstand any more immorality on this scale? Such a tale of kindness to animals has elevated her in the opinion polls above every single politician in the land. 


I'm no fan of Murdoch or News Corp. All the same I'll tell you who was afraid of the News of The World. It was the drug dealers, the child pornsters, the hypocrites who would control you, the pimps, the corrupt sports stars, the arms dealers and the perfumed icons who rolled in filth.  I loved the News of the World and I doubt it will ever be replaced. 


No one needs me to tell them that this a grubby old world. While we are waiting for the broom to sweep it clean let's keep the lights on and shining in the corners. When you live in shit, light may have to pass through a sewer to reach you. 


Emma thinx: Scandal - the tabloid word for desire.