tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-51548496882861527172024-02-08T04:37:50.123+00:00A Tangled RopeA bloke who writes stuff.David Hadleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05510828634517689127noreply@blogger.comBlogger2500125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5154849688286152717.post-41515191358883054792014-06-14T10:57:00.000+01:002015-08-13T09:20:06.953+01:00This Blog Has Moved<div align="CENTER">
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">This blog has moved to: http://www.davidhadleyauthor.co.uk/</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Sorry, but this version of the blog has now closed. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">However, I have not given up blogging - you don't get rid of me that easily.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">From Monday (16/06/2014) my blog will continue at my <a href="http://www.davidhadleyauthor.co.uk/" target="_blank">David Hadley- Author</a> website more or less as it has done here. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">New site <a href="http://www.davidhadleyauthor.co.uk/?feed=rss2" target="_blank">RSS feed</a>.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I hope you will join me at the new place, but if you find a better way of wasting your time, thanks for stopping by.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Bye (for now).</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">[Books by David Hadley are available <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/-/e/B005DFN62Q">here</a> (UK) or <a href="http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B005DFN62Q">here</a> (US).]
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David Hadleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05510828634517689127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5154849688286152717.post-39751824590221814902014-06-13T11:49:00.000+01:002020-01-27T14:43:45.450+00:00Britain's Greatest Living Olympian<div align="CENTER"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://t2.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcQmyaG_TsOS1arpF8atrr0mJMV7uy7e7805_SH0HHz6LXBaAUPrMQ" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://t2.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcQmyaG_TsOS1arpF8atrr0mJMV7uy7e7805_SH0HHz6LXBaAUPrMQ" height="400" width="300" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Splurge Debunker is probably the UK’s most famous contemporary athlete. Especially since her stunning victory and gold medal in the Freestyle Ladies Radiator-Bleeding final in London 2012. A contest where she won gold against some very strong opposition, especially from the Norwegian Sopwith Fjordbasker.</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It was, of course the controversial decision by the Spanish judge to award Debunker 17 (out of a possible 9) points for artistic interpretation, which enabled Debunker to get through the semi-final against the Russian Expectyouto Diebondski. After the match, the Russian team complained against the ruling. However, later analysis of the slow-motion replay of the Norwegian judge’s calculations, carefully examined by the Olympic Federation’s own mathematicians, showed there had been no foul play and there was nothing illegal in his use of the calculator.</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Debunker survived a doping scandal early in her career, when it was discovered her ability to bleed up to seven radiators a session was fuelled by excessive amounts of strong black coffee and digestive biscuits. However, the use of coffee as well as her aerodynamically-designed ergonomic radiator-bleeding key was ruled not in contravention of the strict Olympic standards for competitive radiator-bleeding.</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Debunker’s radiator key itself was designed by the Olympic team also responsible for designing the ears of Britain’s gold-medal wining cyclists and high divers. There, the problem of wind-resistance against such protuberances can seriously diminish the scores of such athletes by an astonishing 0.000001%. Enough – at this level of competition - to have an almost discernible effect on both the athlete’s performance and their results. Or at least to make a suitably-adjusted graph look impressive in Olympic funding-allocation meetings.</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So, Debunker herself is bound to go down in British sporting history as one of the all-time greats of competitive radiator-bleeding. There are rumours that their will be some recognition of her great achievement in the next New-Year’s Honour list. A recognition that is both timely and more than well-deserved.</span></div><br /><div style="text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Sign up to the <a href="http://eepurl.com/VsqYb">David Hadley – Author Mailing list</a> to receive news about new releases, special offers, forthcoming titles and much more. </span></div><div align="CENTER"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">[Books by David Hadley are available <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/-/e/B005DFN62Q">here</a> (UK) or <a href="http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B005DFN62Q">here</a> (US).] </span></div>David Hadleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05510828634517689127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5154849688286152717.post-76133520542120037902014-06-13T11:09:00.002+01:002014-07-12T11:22:06.640+01:00Ignite Books: David Hadley<a href="http://ignitebooks.blogspot.com/2014/06/david-hadley.html?spref=bl">Ignite Books: David Hadley</a>: This is the first longer work I've read from David Hadley and it gave me a lot of chuckles! Juggling Balls Amazon .com Juggling ...<br /><br /><br /><br /><div align="CENTER"><br /></div>David Hadleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05510828634517689127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5154849688286152717.post-22453628756854644482014-06-13T11:09:00.001+01:002014-06-13T11:53:01.469+01:00Ignite Books: David Hadley<a href="http://ignitebooks.blogspot.com/2014/06/david-hadley.html?spref=bl">Ignite Books: David Hadley</a>: This is the first longer work I've read from David Hadley and it gave me a lot of chuckles! Juggling Balls Amazon .com Juggling ...<br />
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David Hadleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05510828634517689127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5154849688286152717.post-77964894333873718292014-06-12T11:52:00.000+01:002020-01-27T14:43:45.768+00:00The Coming Apocalypse<div align="CENTER"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://ocrg324advancedmediaportfolioamyanderson.weebly.com/uploads/1/3/6/9/13692237/7569135_orig.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="http://ocrg324advancedmediaportfolioamyanderson.weebly.com/uploads/1/3/6/9/13692237/7569135_orig.jpg" height="211" width="320" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">When it began, we – of course – were ready.</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Nearly.</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">As is the way of these things, popular culture had prepared us well for the threat. Everyone who’d watched a film or some TV, played a computer game or read any genre fiction was well-prepared for the immanent zombie apocalypse.</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So, when word of the apocalypse spread, building rumour upon rumour, everyone was ready. We all expected the streets to be thronged with legions of the undead, thirsting for the fresh brains of the living.</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Ah… if only it had been that easy.</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Everyone had been wondering, well, quite a few people anyway, just why the world need quite so many celebrities. Of course, if is a well-known tenet of media theory that the world’s tabloids need a constant fresh supply of young ladies falling out of their dresses at various high-profile celebrity events. But that alone could not explain just why there were now so many so-called reality TV programmes churning out a constant stream of these new celebrities, most with the media half-life of a fatally-irradiated gnat.</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">But, as some conspiracy theorists pointed out, every army needs its infantry, its cannon-fodder.</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Then everyone laughed at the paranoid imaginings of the conspiracy loonies.</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Until it was too late.</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">No-one is laughing now.</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Not now the brain-destroying celebrity hordes are on the rampage down all our High Streets. There they surround innocent people going about their own business. The celebrities then force the ordinary people to engage in mass inane conversations about trivia and banal minutia until their brains explode. Then the ravening celebrity zombie hordes can feed and gorge until it is time to seek out the next victim.</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And people used to laugh when some warned of the dangers of celebrity culture for our precarious civilisation.</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Who is laughing now?</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><br /><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Sign up to the <a href="http://eepurl.com/VsqYb">David Hadley – Author Mailing list</a> to receive news about new releases, special offers, forthcoming titles and much more. </span></div><div align="CENTER"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">[Books by David Hadley are available <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/-/e/B005DFN62Q">here</a> (UK) or <a href="http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B005DFN62Q">here</a> (US).] </span></div>David Hadleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05510828634517689127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5154849688286152717.post-6652464167965496582014-06-11T11:58:00.000+01:002020-01-27T14:43:45.942+00:00Contemporary mathematics<div align="CENTER"><a href="http://ichef.bbci.co.uk/food/ic/food_16x9_608/foods/c/cheese_16x9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="http://ichef.bbci.co.uk/food/ic/food_16x9_608/foods/c/cheese_16x9.jpg" height="226" width="400" /></span></a><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Spindizzy Legobrick is probably the UK’s leading contemporary mathematician. He is famous for solving both <span style="font-style: italic;">Goldfinger’s Postulation</span> and the world-famous <span style="font-style: italic;">Cheese Imponderable</span> first formulated by Gödel during a slow Wednesday afternoon.</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">As most mathematically-literate people are aware <span style="font-style: italic;">Goldfinger’s Postulation</span> claims that each number can be written with either straight lines (such as 1 or 7), or with round curvy bits (such as 6 and 8). 2 of course features both a curved bit at the top and a straight bit at the bottom, and 5 has the straight bits at the top and the curve at the bottom as Legobrick proved.</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Gödel’s <span style="font-style: italic;">Cheese Imponderable</span> however is not so straightforward to resolve. As first stated Gödel’s contention that <span style="font-style: italic;">in an infinite universe there must be some chesses that are not very nice</span> does seem uncontroversial. Especially to those who have not performed any in-depth mathematical analysis of not only the cheeses that do exist, but also of the cheeses that could exist in an infinite universe.</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">For example, even though it runs counter to common sense, in an infinite universe it would be possible to make cheese from all manner of ingredients. Ingredients from car tyres through to geography teachers. Surely, Gödel argued, in his paper introducing the subject, some of those cheeses would not be very tasty. By using certain equations that go beyond the scope of this article he proved – at least to his own satisfaction – that a cheese made of 17th century wardrobes fittings would be very nasty indeed.</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">There the subject rested until the invention of computers. With computers of a significantly powerful processing capacity such as today’s supercomputers Legobrick argued it would be mathematically possible to model several million cheeses. A sufficiently-powerful computer, he argued, could find many – but not all - palatable cheeses made from a whole gamut of ingredients in the time it takes to make a decent serving of cheese on toast.</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">This paper, by Legobrick, was presented to the <span style="font-style: italic;">Proceedings of the World Mathematical Cheese Society</span> early this year and met with both wild acclaim and peer approval. Straight away, several mathematicians with access to such computers rushed off to see if they could come up with a cheese made from ingredients that contradicted both Legobrick’s thesis and were still quite tasty.</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">However, as this article goes to press it seems that Legobrick’s contention that most – if not all – such cheeses made from ingredients not usually used in cheese making only a finite quantity of them would indeed be edible still stands uncontested.</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It will be interesting to see if cheese mathematicians of the future ever do come up with a non-standard cheese that is as tasty as a nice bit of Stilton and thus disprove Legobrick’s solution to Gödel’s great Cheese Imponderable.</span></div><div style="text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><br /><div style="text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Sign up to the <a href="http://eepurl.com/VsqYb">David Hadley – Author Mailing list</a> to receive news about new releases, special offers, forthcoming titles and much more. </span></div><div align="CENTER"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">[Books by David Hadley are available <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/-/e/B005DFN62Q">here</a> (UK) or <a href="http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B005DFN62Q">here</a> (US).] </span></div>David Hadleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05510828634517689127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5154849688286152717.post-53654546966742329922014-06-10T11:53:00.000+01:002020-01-27T14:43:46.119+00:00The Birthday Present<div align="CENTER"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://t3.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcTPe0Zog62KJNrCswVDoSt6bmymJzk828ArALKqXCGnWlbNOH0dPA" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="http://t3.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcTPe0Zog62KJNrCswVDoSt6bmymJzk828ArALKqXCGnWlbNOH0dPA" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Then – suddenly – there it was!</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">‘Oh,’ she said.</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">‘Is that all you can say?’ I was a bit put out, especially after all the trouble I’d gone to. Eye of newt is not that easy to come by, not around here.</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">‘We’ll I’d expected… well, something a bit more….’ She made one of those vague-shaped gestures that are not easy to interpret.</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">‘What is that supposed to mean?’</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">‘Well, you know…?’</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">‘What?’</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">‘Magic and all that?’</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">‘Yes…?’</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">‘I’d just… I suppose… expected something a bit more…?’</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">‘A bit more what?’</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">‘Well, magical… basically.’</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">‘Oh.’</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">‘Not that I’m complaining,’ she complained. ‘Another thing?’</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">‘Yes.’ I realised I was tapping my arm with my magic wand. I remembered what that had done to the handsome prince… well, toad now, of course, and stopped. ‘What other thing?’</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">‘It smells of pumpkin.’</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">‘Right. What do you expect it to smell of?’</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">‘Well… I dunno… leather, metal… that new car smell.’</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">‘It smells of pumpkin… because… well.’ I gestured in the air with the wand, making sure I’d turned it off first, of course.</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">She sighed. ‘Typical.’</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">‘What?’</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">‘I never asked to be the daughter of a wizard. Other dads on their daughter’s birthday…. Well, you know, they at least go out and buy something… not this.’ She pointed down at the car. Maybe bright pumpkin orange is not the right shade for a teenager’s first car, but I’ve seen worse.</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">‘I bought the pumpkin,’ I protested. </span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">But by then it was already too late. She had already stormed off.</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">‘Don’t slam the…!’ I yelled as the door slammed. </span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">‘Well, that went well,’ her mother said in her <span style="font-style: italic;">I told you so</span> voice.</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">‘Yes,’ I agreed. ‘At least I didn’t have to tell her about having to be home by midnight with it.’</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Kids, eh?</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Sign up to the <a href="http://eepurl.com/VsqYb">David Hadley – Author Mailing list</a> to receive news about new releases, special offers, forthcoming titles and much more. </span></div><div align="CENTER"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">[Books by David Hadley are available <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/-/e/B005DFN62Q">here</a> (UK) or <a href="http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B005DFN62Q">here</a> (US).] </span></div>David Hadleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05510828634517689127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5154849688286152717.post-56936572193371349342014-06-09T11:55:00.000+01:002020-01-27T14:43:46.294+00:00The Superhero Saves the Day... Probably<div align="CENTER"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://image.shutterstock.com/display_pic_with_logo/256714/256714,1299561256,1/stock-vector-superheroine-flight-72692140.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="http://image.shutterstock.com/display_pic_with_logo/256714/256714,1299561256,1/stock-vector-superheroine-flight-72692140.jpg" height="265" width="320" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Then… suddenly…!</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">No… hang on….</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Then with all the haste and alacrity of a Public Inquiry she strolled into action.</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">He trembled in terror. Well, there was a frisson of irritation. ‘Yet again,’ the supervillain, Upstart Naughtyman, snorted, looking down. ‘Yet again have you thwarted my plans for world domination. Curses!’</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Fixed-Penalty Notice Woman stood for a moment, arms crossed, as she glared down upon Naughtyman as he tried to find something in the sub-clauses of the fixed Penalty that would enable him to evade justice yet again. ‘It says here I have to pay a fine for attempting world domination without the necessary permits?’</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">‘Yes.’ She smiled to see him cower and tremble in the face of the notice. ‘There are…’ she added, ‘also some concerns about the health and safety standards at your secret volcanic island lair.’</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">‘What? How did you discover all this?’ Naughtyman felt his plans crumbling all around him.</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">‘You had to apply for planing permission for your secret island, didn’t you?’</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">‘Curses, foiled again.’ Naughtyman knew there must be some way he could complete his plans for world domination without some interfering superhero thwarting him. Last time it had been VATInspectorman and his sidekick PAYEboy who stopped him. Thwarting his plans to build a secret nuclear-missile submarine base in Tewkesbury, when they discovered inconsistencies in his VAT returns. Also that he’d been paying his horde of devoted minions less than the minimum wage. But, now this…. He looked up into the uncompromising eyes of Fixed-Penalty Notice woman and he knew he’d failed again.</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">‘My job here is done!’ Fixed-Penalty Notice woman said. ‘So, if you’d just countersign this receipt for my legitimately-incurred expenses. I can be on my way to fight for truth, justice and the bureaucratic way!’</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Sign up to the <a href="http://eepurl.com/VsqYb">David Hadley – Author Mailing list</a> to receive news about new releases, special offers, forthcoming titles and much more. </span></div><div align="CENTER"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">[Books by David Hadley are available <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/-/e/B005DFN62Q">here</a> (UK) or <a href="http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B005DFN62Q">here</a> (US).] </span></div>David Hadleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05510828634517689127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5154849688286152717.post-468966188628680092014-06-06T14:20:00.000+01:002020-01-27T14:43:46.468+00:00Something for the Weekend – Free Kindle Humour: Sex, Pies and Sticky Tape <div align="CENTER"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisnISu8dm5sHAyZ_0AIEq6WBXnq7RsGC29uwk3KmpL2bnGr6by6uxZuZQESeZvj1S05do308Z7MZw64eBadK4E4-zp5Xp0YPpjXzHtXqdpjrm4FerPPe1qJmK1vGuC7Qa8h_hyphenhyphenuKWi7KI/s1600/Sexpiesandsticky+cover11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisnISu8dm5sHAyZ_0AIEq6WBXnq7RsGC29uwk3KmpL2bnGr6by6uxZuZQESeZvj1S05do308Z7MZw64eBadK4E4-zp5Xp0YPpjXzHtXqdpjrm4FerPPe1qJmK1vGuC7Qa8h_hyphenhyphenuKWi7KI/s1600/Sexpiesandsticky+cover11.jpg" height="400" width="282" /></a><br /><br /><h1 align="CENTER" class="western" lang="en-US" style="background: #ffffff; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Sex, Pies and Sticky Tape </span></span></h1><h1 align="CENTER" class="western" lang="en-US" style="background: #ffffff; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Free for the next five days <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/Pies-Sticky-Tape-David-Hadley-ebook/dp/B008733SGA/">here</a>(UK) or <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Pies-Sticky-Tape-David-Hadley-ebook/dp/B008733SGA/">here</a>(US)</span></h1><div align="CENTER" class="western" style="background: #ffffff; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">Here we are back, once again, in Little Frigging in the Wold: England’s most perverse, erotic and excitingly-moist village, for some more tales of rural life, with more adventures and tales featuring Grand Uncle Stagnant, Old Feebletrousers, Strom Thighhammer, the cake shop manageress and many more of Little Frigging’s residents.</span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="background: #ffffff;"> </span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white;">This book includes over one hundred stories involving inter-village competitive orgies, the erotic use of foodstuffs, how to extract as much money from tourists as possible, the naked pogo-stick steeplechase, mid-air and deep-sea perversions, the use of the fetish unicycle, medieval woodland perversions, the erotic use of cardigans, achieving match fitness in an inter-village orgy squad, accountancy fetish night in the village hall, and – of course – the best way of sellotaping a Cornish pasty to an assistant librarian for erotic purposes and much, much more.</span></div></span><br /></span><br /><h1 align="CENTER" class="western" lang="en-US" style="background: #ffffff; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Sex, Pies and Sticky Tape </span></span></h1><h1 align="CENTER" class="western" lang="en-US" style="background: #ffffff; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Free for the next five days <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/Pies-Sticky-Tape-David-Hadley-ebook/dp/B008733SGA/">here</a>(UK) or <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Pies-Sticky-Tape-David-Hadley-ebook/dp/B008733SGA/">here</a>(US)</span></h1><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><br /></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="background: #ffffff;">Some comments on David Hadley’s writing:</span></span><span style="color: black;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="background-color: white;">“Wonderfully weird.”</span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white;">“brilliantly funny story. I love it.”</span></div></span><span style="color: black;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white;">“good god, I haven’t laughed so much in ages. “</span></div></span><span style="color: black;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white;">“very funny, I had a good laugh at this story”</span></div></span><span style="color: black;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white;">“Clever, and very funny.”</span></div></span><span style="color: black;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white;">“really funny, had a right good old laugh at this</span></div></span><span style="color: black;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white;">story.”</span></div></span><span style="color: black;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white;">“This made me laugh so much, tears came into my eyes….”</span></div></span><span style="color: black;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white;">“I just sprayed barely masticated tomato all over my keyboard from laughing too hard”</span></div></span><span style="color: black;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white;">“highly creative and hilarious as always”</span></div></span><span style="color: black;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white;">“lol this is so funny.”</span></div></span><span style="color: black;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white;">“another one of yours I truly enjoyed, “Old Feebletrousers” love it!”</span></div></span><span style="color: black;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white;">“This is a very funny story, it made me laugh.”</span></div></span><span style="color: black;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white;">“Absolutely brilliant. Thank you”</span></div></span><span style="color: black;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white;">“This piece produced a lot of giggles!”</span></div></span><span style="color: black;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white;">“Yep! This was a real funny piece, it had me laughing….”</span></div></span></span><br /><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><h1 align="CENTER" class="western" lang="en-US" style="background: #ffffff; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Sex, Pies and Sticky Tape </span></span></h1><br /><h1 align="CENTER" class="western" lang="en-US" style="background: #ffffff; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Free for the next five days <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/Pies-Sticky-Tape-David-Hadley-ebook/dp/B008733SGA/">here</a>(UK) or <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Pies-Sticky-Tape-David-Hadley-ebook/dp/B008733SGA/">here</a>(US)</span></h1><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Sign up to the <a href="http://eepurl.com/VsqYb">David Hadley – Author Mailing list</a> to receive news about new releases, special offers, forthcoming titles and much more. </span></div><div align="CENTER"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">[Books by David Hadley are available <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/-/e/B005DFN62Q">here</a> (UK) or <a href="http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B005DFN62Q">here</a> (US).] </span></div>David Hadleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05510828634517689127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5154849688286152717.post-77929833347475007612014-06-06T11:55:00.000+01:002020-01-27T14:43:46.641+00:00Undercover Policing and its Drawbacks<div align="CENTER"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2-ps.googleusercontent.com/x/www.trendhunter.com/cdn.trendhunterstatic.com/thumbs/xblessthatdress.jpeg.pagespeed.ic.mSRY0q9QSN.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="http://2-ps.googleusercontent.com/x/www.trendhunter.com/cdn.trendhunterstatic.com/thumbs/xblessthatdress.jpeg.pagespeed.ic.mSRY0q9QSN.jpg" height="243" width="320" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Of course, those that first met PC Splank Horology off-duty, knew little of his secret life as an undercover policeman. The persona he adopted, of Hotwire Treehugger, was part of an attempt by the police to infiltrate one of the UK’s most notorious extremist environmentalist organisations. The first such operation since PC ‘Stan’ Nark had posed as a dandelion to gain entry to the nascent underground Free Festival scene back in the early 1970s.</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">As the police eventually realised, many extreme environmentalist movements are far from being the benign force for good that a naïve glance at what they claims to be true would suggest.</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Therefore the decision was taken to insert an undercover police agent into one of the more extreme sects of this proto-religion. A group then known as the Eco-Taliban. An extremest sect that even refused to walk on the ground in case they traumatised an earthworm. Only making an exception – of course – for their compulsory treks to the dole office. </span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Many of the sect’s activists attempted to overcome the crisis of conscience caused by the walk to the dole office by attempting to master the art of levitation. Something that even their shaky grasp of science and/or reality should have told them was doomed. Especially when one of their leading lights, Daisy Birchkisser, failed to levitate off the White Cliffs of Dover. Thus becoming a substantial source of nourishment for those very imperilled earthworms she’d sought to save. </span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">This irony was not entirely lost on her followers. Two of whom also lost their lives whilst trying to erect a sustainable shrine to her in the very spot - just a few feet from the cliffs - where she’d failed to levitate above. They and their shrine did the same as Birchkisser, also failing to levitate. All much to the delight of all the - now morbidly-obese - earthworms in the vicinity of the area they plummeted to.</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It was at this point that Hotwire Treehugger appeared on the scene. Arriving just as the Eco-Taliban were about to stage their most spectacular protest. They wanted to attempt to stop several local gardeners from mulching their allotments and thus – they believed - upset the karma of the local earthworms.</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Treehugger warned against this action, knowing, though his experience as a local bobby, how handy several of the allotment-holders could be with a well-aimed dibber. </span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">However, Treehugger’s reluctance was put down to cowardice and he was sent for re-education with one of the group’s wise philosophers and activists, Geoff Monobrow. Monobrow explained to Treehugger just why bunnies were so fluffy. Also explaining how everything would be eternal summer and wonderfulness as soon as the group assassinated every Briton with a car. Then they would turn the motorways back into ley-lines. Every motorway services would then become a place of sanctuary for local wildlife. A place where the birds and earthworms, the foxes and the newly-liberated domestic fowl could all live together in universal peace and harmony.</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">As this vision of bucolic nature living in harmony unfolded before him Treehugger broke down. He confessed that he was really PC Splank Horology and he would be resigning from the force the very next day to become a member of the Eco-Taliban as soon as possible. Thus enabling the worldwide eco-revolution to take the western capitalist world back to its rightful place in the Middle-Ages.</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Later, in a press conference, the Metropolitan Police denied all knowledge of either PC Splank Horology, or his alleged undercover pseudonym of Hotwire Treehugger. The fact that several lorryloads of documents had been shredded as soon as the news broke was, as the chief constable said, ‘Just one of those things.’</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Meanwhile, it can now be exclusively revealed that Hotwire Treehugger is now living with a female rabbit and their kits in a hole just off the ley-line formerly known as the M6.</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><br /><div style="text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Sign up to the <a href="http://eepurl.com/VsqYb">David Hadley – Author Mailing list</a> to receive news about new releases, special offers, forthcoming titles and much more. </span></div><div align="CENTER"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">[Books by David Hadley are available <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/-/e/B005DFN62Q">here</a> (UK) or <a href="http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B005DFN62Q">here</a> (US).] </span></div>David Hadleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05510828634517689127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5154849688286152717.post-26790164993743227432014-06-05T11:54:00.000+01:002020-01-27T14:43:46.814+00:00Into the Storms<div align="CENTER"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://ih3.redbubble.net/image.4735296.6640/flat,550x550,075,f.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="http://ih3.redbubble.net/image.4735296.6640/flat,550x550,075,f.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">She came back to me through the rain that night, looking like someone who’d just come back from a war. Like someone who had just survived some great catastrophe. We hung on to each other through that dark and stormy night like two storm-tossed survivors of some great wreck. Around us the world we knew tore from the reality we understood and set adrift on these wilder waters of some stranger possibility.</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Until that night, I was sure of reality. I felt the great weight of it anchoring us to this world around us. That night, though, we clung to each other as we saw the world outside our window slip, break, crack and fall. The world we knew became this new, strange place we could not understand or even name.</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">For a while afterwards, neither of us was sure if we were alive or dead. We did not know whether we had slipped through some crack in what we once regarded as the real. Or, if – somehow – we had slipped free of the living world altogether.</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Each night, from then on, as we searched these twisted, changed streets for some sign of the familiar. Seeking somewhere where we could be safe as we dodged and evaded those strange creatures that had merged from the cracks in all that was once real. All while we wondered if we would ever see our familiar old world ever again.</span></div><div style="text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><br /><div style="text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Sign up to the <a href="http://eepurl.com/VsqYb">David Hadley – Author Mailing list</a> to receive news about new releases, special offers, forthcoming titles and much more. </span></div><div align="CENTER"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">[Books by David Hadley are available <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/-/e/B005DFN62Q">here</a> (UK) or <a href="http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B005DFN62Q">here</a> (US).] </span></div>David Hadleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05510828634517689127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5154849688286152717.post-36423555447481208702014-06-04T11:52:00.000+01:002020-01-27T14:43:46.986+00:00Smoke on the Breeze<div align="CENTER"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE6Y5c-8s6LJ9nt5iZ-pLBTIVygBpuaZxvqTT6yX96sL3Et1BbbhYli1OflTpaR8Hv0bUET9jWJN6DTpD0BvUQnNx0kYxueuCJD5Hh0qWxRjOlFVCwUIzfdrPtNWsxx1YMZ8hXwPoIVsc/s1600/BILD0149.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE6Y5c-8s6LJ9nt5iZ-pLBTIVygBpuaZxvqTT6yX96sL3Et1BbbhYli1OflTpaR8Hv0bUET9jWJN6DTpD0BvUQnNx0kYxueuCJD5Hh0qWxRjOlFVCwUIzfdrPtNWsxx1YMZ8hXwPoIVsc/s1600/BILD0149.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Shirena was weary; she'd been up late the night before with the old woman, treating a sickly calf. Now she'd been out wandering the woods since it had been light enough, searching for the herbs to replace the ones they'd used treating the calf.</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Shirena dropped her basket to the ground and slumped back against a tree trunk. No doubt, she thought, the calf will be snuggled up against its mother, while she was out here in the morning-cold woods.</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It had taken Shirena hours longer than she'd hoped to find the plants the old woman needed. There were none in the usual place, so she'd had to go deeper into the woods, further than she'd ever been before. </span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Now, she wanted to rest for a while before going back to the village.</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">She awoke, she didn't know how long later, smelling smoke on the breeze. She wondered if any of the men had ventured into the woods to hunt or gather building wood.</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Sighing, she got to her feet, picked up her basket and headed back to the path that led to the village.</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">There was smoke and... well, little else of the village left when she tuned the corner out of the woods. Shirena just stared, her basket dropped and forgotten.</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">She ran for the village, stumbling over something, which turned out to be old Toma, the oldest man in her village. She had treated his cut hand a few weeks ago, and now as she looked down, a silent scream caught in her throat. She could see he was beyond her healing ability, beyond the healing ability of even Beena the old woman.</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Nothing remained, except smoke and bodies, the bodies of the men and of Beena too. Shirena half-smiled to see the old woman had died with her knife in her hand, its blade bloodied. </span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">There were a few strange bodies too, wild-haired men, their hair as pale as that of hers and her fellow-villagers was dark, lying where their drying blood soaked into the ground.</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Then a hand grabbed her by the hair and dragged her away, screaming past more of the strange pale-haired men, laughing gangs of them, all taking turns picking out which ones they wanted from the women of the village.</span></div><div style="text-indent: 36px;"><br /></div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Sign up to the <a href="http://eepurl.com/VsqYb">David Hadley – Author Mailing list</a> to receive news about new releases, special offers, forthcoming titles and much more. </span></div><div align="CENTER"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">[Books by David Hadley are available <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/-/e/B005DFN62Q">here</a> (UK) or <a href="http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B005DFN62Q">here</a> (US).] </span></div>David Hadleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05510828634517689127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5154849688286152717.post-76024016479743320222014-06-03T11:59:00.000+01:002020-01-27T14:43:47.160+00:00Politics in the UK<div align="CENTER"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://i.dailymail.co.uk/i/pix/2013/05/08/article-0-19AD786A000005DC-577_634x458.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="http://i.dailymail.co.uk/i/pix/2013/05/08/article-0-19AD786A000005DC-577_634x458.jpg" height="231" width="320" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Pembroke Doolaly is probably best known to the UK population as one of the foremost exponents of riding the British political gravy train. He has been at the top of British politics now for almost forty years. Thereby surprising a great many of those who take an interest in politics by still being alive.</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">In his early days, as the son of the Earl of Doolaly, Pembroke, of course, joined the Labour party, anxious to be seen as one of the people. Providing of course, none of those people got too close.</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">He inherited the seat of Puddletown South in that great Labour tradition of nepotism from his uncle Bacillus Troutcock, who gave up the seat when he became Lord Troutcock. Troutcock entered the Lords pledging to work tirelessly to bring about the end of inherited wealth and privilege. </span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">After serving in the Labour government as Secretary of State for Cabinet Meeting Chocolate Biscuit Provision, Doolaly saw the writing on the wall. He crossed the floor of the house to join the Conservative party in time for the rise of Margaret Thatcher. His constituents all bought their own council houses with money provided by Doolaly - which although technically illegal was covered by parliamentary privilege - and Doolaly’s natural aptitude for political blackmail.</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">In the Conservative party he rose to Chairman’s assistant in charge of buying stamps.</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">For a while when the Tory party waned through the Major years, Doolaly did consider joining the Liberal Democrats.</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Instead, in a crisis of conscience and cash flow he rejoined the Labour party under Tony Blair. </span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">While out canvassing in his seat, Doolaly saw real poverty for the first time. Pembroke was aghast to discover there were some households, after living for three or more work-less generations on benefits, who had TVs with screens that did not fill up an entire room. Some of them had been forced to choose between pay TV subscriptions and feeding their children. With some of those children reduced to eating as little as seven packets of crisps, and less than the national minimum of 14 litres of fizzy drinks, a day. ‘Some of the children weren’t even obese,’ a shocked Doolaly said on leaving one house where the woman and her 46 children had barely enough benefits to keep them comatose through ingesting cheap lager by the bucketful. The woman had even confessed she was forced to give her new born baby milk ‘like some savage in darkest France… y’know where the giraffes come from?’</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Once more entering cabinet, where he claims he hid in a cupboard during the Iraq war discussions. He claimed he was out of the room fetching Gordon Brown a new mobile phone when all the wrong decisions were taken.</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">After that, he thought about joining the Conservative party again, but decided it wasn’t worth the bother of having to rejoin Labour at the next election after that. So, he decided to stay on the Labour backbenches in opposition and continue making money, where he remains to this day. He is almost as rich, wealthy and privileged as those on his front bench who taunt the Tories opposite for being rich, privileged and out of touch. Something that could never be said about Doolaly after his impressive parliamentary career, and his herd of libel solicitors held on retainer. He has promised to step down at the next election with his safe Labour seat democratically awarded to his own son, Trainshed Doolaly. </span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Truly, a fitting end to a glittering career in politics.</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><br /><div style="text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Sign up to the <a href="http://eepurl.com/VsqYb">David Hadley – Author Mailing list</a> to receive news about new releases, special offers, forthcoming titles and much more.</span></div></div><div align="CENTER"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">[Books by David Hadley are available <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/-/e/B005DFN62Q">here</a> (UK) or <a href="http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B005DFN62Q">here</a> (US).] </span></div>David Hadleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05510828634517689127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5154849688286152717.post-35353615348163223172014-06-02T11:58:00.000+01:002020-01-27T14:43:47.339+00:00More or Less<div align="CENTER"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://thumbs.dreamstime.com/x/female-android-8165210.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="http://thumbs.dreamstime.com/x/female-android-8165210.jpg" height="320" width="234" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I don’t know.</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">There was a time back long ago when I thought I did know. I looked out on the world, out there, and I thought I understood it. I thought it made sense to me. I knew – at least, enough to get by – how the world worked. I understood, as much as anyone can, why people did what they did.</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">More or less… of course. </span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">None of us really knows enough about the world, or about other people. But – somehow – we get by. That’s what I knew: enough to get by and that’s what I did – I just got by.</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I had no great theory of the world, or the people in it. I just thought it more or less made sense, and the people – more or less – did sensible things. Although, any glance at the Evening News programme will bring some doubt about the latter. </span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Mostly though, even those people on the News in faraway places – more or less – lived lives like mine. They got up, went to work, looked after who they needed to look after and tried to do the right thing. Most of them did, anyway. They seemed just as bewildered to be on the News because of some catastrophe or cock-up as I would if I were in their place.</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Then, though, she – Jeanette - came into my life. Then everything changed and things no longer made sense. I wasn’t even sure if those people I saw each day were human, not any more.</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><br /><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Sign up to the <a href="http://eepurl.com/VsqYb">David Hadley – Author Mailing list</a> to receive news about new releases, special offers, forthcoming titles and much more. </span></div><div align="CENTER"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">[Books by David Hadley are available <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/-/e/B005DFN62Q">here</a> (UK) or <a href="http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B005DFN62Q">here</a> (US).] </span></div>David Hadleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05510828634517689127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5154849688286152717.post-6323732714220671982014-05-30T11:52:00.000+01:002020-01-27T14:43:47.516+00:00One from Shelter 15<div align="CENTER"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.cynical-c.com/archives2/bloggraphics/44005350_04.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="http://www.cynical-c.com/archives2/bloggraphics/44005350_04.jpg" height="230" width="320" /></span></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Everyone said those from shelter 15 were the best. I’d worked hard, got my promotions and saved every single penny from working as many extra shifts as I could. I knew I deserved the best, so only one from Shelter 15 would be good enough for me.</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">A lot of those on my shift, first when I was just another worker, and then as I rose up the supervisor ranks said I was a fool waiting so long. Others though, those who knew, said I was doing the right thing and one from Shelter 15 would be ideal for me.</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Then I heard market day had been put back for a month. Even when I had the money and I could afford – finally – one from Shelter 15, it seemed the fates conspired against me.</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I thought maybe those who prayed to the old gods were right and maybe I should learn how to pray too. But they didn’t seem to have better, or worse luck, than those of us who never prayed. Anyway, I’m not sure if their god would approve me praying for one from Shelter 15. From what I can see that god doesn’t approve of much and wouldn’t approve of anyone trying to buy some happiness.</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Anyway, eventually the storms cleared and the word came down from the administrators that the Shelters had all agreed the next market day. </span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So, a week before the market day, I withdrew all my money from the bank, to smiles all around and people wishing me luck, I set off for the market green.</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It took a few days for me to get there across the Nowheres. </span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It still amazed me to see all the stalls from all the shelters spread out across the valley under the bright purple sky.</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Once in the market itself, I took a deep breath, took a tight grip on my money belt and strode straight over to Shelter 15’s stall.</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">‘Yes?’ the stallholder said, smiling because he knew why I was there.</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">‘I’d like to buy a wife please.’ I dropped my moneybag onto the table.</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Sign up to the <a href="http://eepurl.com/VsqYb">David Hadley – Author Mailing list</a> to receive news about new releases, special offers, forthcoming titles and much more. </span></div><div align="CENTER"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">[Books by David Hadley are available <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/-/e/B005DFN62Q">here</a> (UK) or <a href="http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B005DFN62Q">here</a> (US).] </span></div>David Hadleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05510828634517689127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5154849688286152717.post-19260351810278211742014-05-29T11:57:00.000+01:002020-01-27T14:43:47.693+00:00The Entrance to the Lair<div align="CENTER"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://25.media.tumblr.com/93e8c785163589ec87d7bcd4d24e0e95/tumblr_mxofjwkqcw1sm30qco1_500.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://25.media.tumblr.com/93e8c785163589ec87d7bcd4d24e0e95/tumblr_mxofjwkqcw1sm30qco1_500.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">He prepared himself and took a firm grip on his <a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="http://atangledrope.blogspot.co.uk/2014/04/here-be-dragons-possibly.html"></a><a href="http://atangledrope.blogspot.co.uk/2014/04/here-be-dragons-possibly.html">lance</a>, ignoring the smirk from the peasant. ‘Are you sure this is it?’</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The peasant nodded. ‘In here… definitely.’</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Sir Gawain studied the cave entrance. ‘It’s a bit small.’</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">‘Are you worried your lance is too big to fit in the hole?’ The peasant smiled helpfully.</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The squire snorted and doubled over.</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">‘Squire!’</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">‘Sorry, sire… I… er… sneezed.’</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">‘You’ll do more than sneeze when you get in there.’ The peasant seemed to relish the prospect. ‘Go on, then.’</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">‘Aren’t you coming?’ Sir Gawain fiddled with his visor.</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">‘No… I’ve got…..’ The peasant looked around the mist-shrouded landscape, what they could see of it. ‘It’s harvest time.’</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">‘What, this time of year?’ Sir Gawain knew little of farming. In fact the only thing he knew about agriculture was not to fight a battle in a field recently vacated by livestock… it was a bugger to get those sort off stains off armour. The latter thought made him wonder just how fearsome a dragon could be. He didn’t want to be trapped in a suit of armour with those sorts of smells on the inside.</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">‘Shall we go, then Sire?’ The squire helpfully stepped to one side holding her flaming torch up just inside the cave entrance.</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">‘Peasant. I order you to go first!’</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">‘Fuck off… I’ve got a harv….’</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Sir Gawain swapped the lance to his other hand and drew his sword.</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">‘Oh, bollocks,’ the peasant said, grabbed the flaming torch from the squire and stopped into the cave. ‘Come on then.’</span></div><div style="text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Sign up to the <a href="http://eepurl.com/VsqYb">David Hadley – Author Mailing list</a> to receive news about new releases, special offers, forthcoming titles and much more. </span></div><div align="CENTER"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">[Books by David Hadley are available <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/-/e/B005DFN62Q">here</a> (UK) or <a href="http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B005DFN62Q">here</a> (US).] </span></div>David Hadleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05510828634517689127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5154849688286152717.post-22502743566015661312014-05-28T11:56:00.000+01:002020-01-27T14:43:47.866+00:00The Land of Tears<div align="CENTER"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBZJDJvaa9ubUN_K0HRuX4Y3iWtK_Ost8Mhk7FuJDIIykzEhnqjxtXAd5vtkDuXcIv9aov-5Q-uBYaM3FzV63wZNgusODeojr_LYdFT-roETqWvg983BLwSIHc_8xXtX1WVb_n6ardvXE/s1600/BILD0056.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBZJDJvaa9ubUN_K0HRuX4Y3iWtK_Ost8Mhk7FuJDIIykzEhnqjxtXAd5vtkDuXcIv9aov-5Q-uBYaM3FzV63wZNgusODeojr_LYdFT-roETqWvg983BLwSIHc_8xXtX1WVb_n6ardvXE/s1600/BILD0056.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It was not raining… for once. We came out into a dry morning. The clouds hung low in the sky, heavy and foreboding. But the rain had stopped.</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Maybe we would manage to get back to our beds this time without getting soaked. Everything was wet; everything that wasn’t wet was damp. That which was no longer wet or damp had rotted away.</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I smiled – for a moment – as I remembered Jed saying something about the rain in this country. Then I remembered Jed was no longer with us, and then I remembered how he’d died and I stopped smiling.</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The woman saw my smile disappear and she ducked down under my arm. She gathered some wood and kindling out of the box we used to keep the wood dry. She was still struggling into her clothes – such that they were – as she hurried to light the fire. </span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">For a moment, I wished I knew her language so I could ask her name. I’d heard her crying in the night, last night, as she lay with her back to me, her naked skin damp against mine. I’d thought about asking why she cried, then remembered she could not tell me even if she knew what I asked. Then I remembered about the cold, the constant rain and how Jed died. I knew I’d probably die the same way too before too long. </span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Then I’d wondered why I hadn’t asked myself why I wasn’t crying too.</span></div><div style="text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Sign up to the <a href="http://eepurl.com/VsqYb">David Hadley – Author Mailing list</a> to receive news about new releases, special offers, forthcoming titles and much more.</span></div><div style="text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div></div><div align="CENTER"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">[Books by David Hadley are available <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/-/e/B005DFN62Q">here</a> (UK) or <a href="http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B005DFN62Q">here</a> (US).] </span></div>David Hadleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05510828634517689127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5154849688286152717.post-87913158743066105252014-05-27T11:54:00.000+01:002020-01-27T14:43:48.040+00:00Hollywood's Current Leading Star<div align="CENTER"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.gamesdbase.com/Media/SYSTEM/Sega_Master_System/Snap/big/Secret_Commando_-_1986_-_Sega.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="http://www.gamesdbase.com/Media/SYSTEM/Sega_Master_System/Snap/big/Secret_Commando_-_1986_-_Sega.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Slingback Chaingun is probably still Hollywood's most famous leading slab of acting muscle, despite rapidly approaching his 85th birthday, or as his publicist insists, nearing 45. Still with a full head of jet black hair, the body of Arnold Schwarzenegger in his prime crossed with a mountain gorilla. He is also – allegedly – well-endowed enough to make a stallion feel inadequate, Chaingun is rapidly approaching his 65th year in the movie industry.</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Some say he is typecast as the misunderstood rebel on the side of truth and justice with a massive gun. Other critics, however, see this more as an in-depth study of the modern world. An examination of the crisis of masculinity that forces men to take on overwhelming odds armed only with a miscellany of high-powered weaponry.</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Many feminist critics, though, dismiss Chaingun and his whole oeuvre as conforming to outdated stereotypes of masculinity. In particular the role of the male in society as warrior with the innate male understanding of which end of the gun the bullets come out of.</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">However, in the real world, away from academia, Chaingun remains a star in the only way that matters. His last twenty-seven films have all been massive box-office successes, especially the last 14 films in the phenomenon that is <i>Shooty Kill-Death Mayhem (parts V-IXX)</i>. </span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Here Chaingun plays the rogue Green Beret Steve Massacre in his seemingly never-ending quest to take on every failed state, dictatorship, terrorist organisation and jungle location. All in a solo attempt to rescue brave American captives from torture, abuse, un-American involvements and certain death. Each in a multitude of cinematically-gruesome ways as the scriptwriters can imagine. All while the US government does all it can to disown, discredit and abandon Steve Massacre to his fate. </span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">At least right up to the last act, where they discover he is winning. They then send a helicopter to take the captives back home to a hero's welcome and a massive boost in the polls for the incumbent president. Meanwhile Massacre is left behind in the jungle to await the discovery of yet more innocent Americans in peril.</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">All of which goes to show why even at the great old age of 85… 45, Slingback Chaingun is still at the top of his game, and long may that continue.</span></div><div style="text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><br /><div style="text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Sign up to the <a href="http://eepurl.com/VsqYb">David Hadley – Author Mailing list</a> to receive news about new releases, special offers, forthcoming titles and much more. </span></div><div align="CENTER"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">[Books by David Hadley are available <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/-/e/B005DFN62Q">here</a> (UK) or <a href="http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B005DFN62Q">here</a> (US).] </span></div>David Hadleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05510828634517689127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5154849688286152717.post-23369637638985172302014-05-26T11:47:00.000+01:002020-01-27T14:43:48.214+00:00The Joker<div align="CENTER"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://t2.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcRFSMU11ApMlzlaFdb4MeUIxXFQ2XlCO5WeNnS23OZWOzsjYeI12A" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="http://t2.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcRFSMU11ApMlzlaFdb4MeUIxXFQ2XlCO5WeNnS23OZWOzsjYeI12A" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><div style="text-indent: 36px;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Well. It is a funny way to make a living, especially when it turns from a lark to a job, then a living and then a career.</span></div></div><div style="text-indent: 36px;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The first time I was a little bit drunk. I did it for a bet. It was an open-mic night at a local club.</span></div></div><div style="text-indent: 36px;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The girl… Helen was her name… maybe. She said ‘I dare you.’</span></div></div><div style="text-indent: 36px;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I wanted to impress her, get into her knickers… or, more accurately get her out of them. So I dared.</span></div></div><div style="text-indent: 36px;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I was a hit.</span></div></div><div style="text-indent: 36px;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">They invited me back… several times.</span></div></div><div style="text-indent: 36px;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Somewhere along the way, I lost Helen. But there were others, some who didn’t even wear knickers, at least by the time they’d come back to my hotel room as I toured up and down the country.</span></div></div><div style="text-indent: 36px;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I won contests. I played bigger clubs. Got on TV panel shows and made a dick of myself. I got into the theatres and, over time, became the headline act.</span></div></div><div style="text-indent: 36px;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Then, as mysteriously as it happened, it started to unhappen.</span></div></div><div style="text-indent: 36px;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I was no longer on TV, no longer in the theatres.</span></div></div><div style="text-indent: 36px;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So, here I was, with Suzie, my manger, crawling around the back streets of some northern town, looking for their local comedy club.</span></div></div><div style="text-indent: 36px;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">‘Is that it?’ Suzie peered through the rain-smeared windscreen. The windscreen wipers in my knackered old Rover only worked on intermittent, so I had to wait for them to crawl across the screen.</span></div></div><div style="text-indent: 36px;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">‘Looks like it,’ I said.</span></div></div><div style="text-indent: 36px;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">A few minutes later, we’ found somewhere to park the car, and ran through the rain, getting soaked to the skin.</span></div></div><div style="text-indent: 36px;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Suzie pulled the door open.</span></div></div><div style="text-indent: 36px;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Inside, music played, the lights were on and my name was on a poster on the wall, but we were the only ones in there.</span></div></div><div style="text-indent: 36px;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">‘Bloody hell, it’s the Marie Celeste,’ I said.</span></div></div><div style="text-indent: 36px;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Then I turned to see Suzie, mouth open in a wordless silent scream, pointing at the bloodstain that spread across the dance floor.</span></div></div><div style="text-indent: 36px;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I wanted to turn and run, but I didn’t because I could hear something breathing, breathing heavily, behind me.</span></div></div><div style="text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Sign up to the <a href="http://eepurl.com/VsqYb">David Hadley – Author Mailing list</a> to receive news about new releases, special offers, forthcoming titles and much more. </span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div align="CENTER"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">[Books by David Hadley are available <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/-/e/B005DFN62Q">here</a> (UK) or <a href="http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B005DFN62Q">here</a> (US).] </span></div>David Hadleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05510828634517689127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5154849688286152717.post-40310245721308086042014-05-23T11:59:00.000+01:002020-01-27T14:43:48.387+00:00Supermarket Eroticism<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://transitionculture.org/wp-content/uploads/128991414848125000trolleyDjpg.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="http://transitionculture.org/wp-content/uploads/128991414848125000trolleyDjpg.jpg" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><div style="text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Only then could we see just why she needed the tin of pilchards. Notwithstanding – of course – all the usual reasons a lady of her... inclinations engages in such a blatant – and full-frontal – display of full-on shopping.</span></div><div style="text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Of course, in a society that doesn't like sex, but loves porn, such a display of uninhibited purchasing of domestic staples is bound to bring on a certain sexually-charged frisson. Especially if the young lady in question is more than averagely attractive and has a massive pair of shopping lists.</span></div><div style="text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Of course, there are many who will take only one list on their shop. But such - known as 'vanilla' or 'ordinary' shoppers - to full-on supermarket fetishists, know little of the illicit sexual thrill having an extra shopping list can add to the experience. After all, at the top of most people's shopping sex wish-list is a desire to experiment with threesomes. For many people, that means the standard, 'buy two get one free' offers. For others, though, it can be more inventive. Right up to and including setting off down the aisles with two shopping trolleys. Of course, the dexterity, let alone the desire, needed to control two wayward and independently-minded shopping trolleys is of course not all that usual in our repressed society. We cannot deny it exists, at least, judging by the number of specialist websites displaying shopping women – and sometimes even men – in erotic poses with two – or even sometimes more – shopping trolleys.</span></div><div style="text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Of course, the usual self-appointed moral guardians and religious leaders have condemned erotic shopping and all it entails. But we have to ask ourselves how many of them have ever felt the sudden overwhelming need to go out and buy a can of pilchards?</span></div><div style="text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I know I have.</span></div><div style="text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><br /><div style="text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">[Books by David Hadley are available <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/-/e/B005DFN62Q">here</a> (UK) or <a href="http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B005DFN62Q">here</a> (US)]</span></div>David Hadleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05510828634517689127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5154849688286152717.post-1164397454307579802014-05-22T11:56:00.000+01:002020-01-27T14:43:48.561+00:00It was Nowhere<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOBVgdAgOI6pUd1zbk7r7e4EizO-TjqbeF88tYw4Luo4_StKphzK0Y0Huwm7KpmHa6kNmN0IiWz6EyR4AGDuLXifti6qzEPBpw-xT5Blp2hVBu5yb4sIGWpe03s9Kj6k8LZi5tfbD891A/s1600/BILD0020.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOBVgdAgOI6pUd1zbk7r7e4EizO-TjqbeF88tYw4Luo4_StKphzK0Y0Huwm7KpmHa6kNmN0IiWz6EyR4AGDuLXifti6qzEPBpw-xT5Blp2hVBu5yb4sIGWpe03s9Kj6k8LZi5tfbD891A/s1600/BILD0020.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></span></a></div><div style="text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">There was nothing there. At first it was just wasteland stretching as far as I could see. Stubby trees, brambles, weeds and grass, little more and all overgrown. There was something familiar about it though, even though I couldn’t place it. As I walked on, looking for anything that would tell me where I was, I realised it reminded me of the waste ground around where I’d grown up. Back then, there were many places where demolished houses and factories had been, with the site just left to grow wild. Great places if you were a kid back in those days when you were just let out in the morning to roam and explore.</span></div><div style="text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">This, though, looked bigger than those places, as though a whole area, the whole area, as far as I could see had gone wild. Then, looking around up on a small rise I had the feeling I was home.</span></div><div style="text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">There were none of the houses, shops, factories and all that. No roads, street lights and pavements. But looking around I realised that this was where I lived. There was something there, the place behind the buildings under the roads and pavements. It was where I lived, but everything human removed from it. </span></div><div style="text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Half-closing my eyes I could imagine all the human habitation given a place and a name. Eyes half-closed, I could see it all how it was only yesterday, back when everything was normal. Not like it was now, when I’d woken up and found myself here, either long before humans came to inhabit this place… or long after they’d all died and gone.</span></div><div style="text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">[Books by David Hadley are available <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/-/e/B005DFN62Q">here</a> (UK) or <a href="http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B005DFN62Q">here</a> (US)]</span></div><br /><div style="font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 36px;"><br /></div>David Hadleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05510828634517689127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5154849688286152717.post-10684246150408621922014-05-21T12:01:00.000+01:002020-01-27T14:43:48.732+00:00No Stranger<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/d/d1/Fireplace_Burning.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/d/d1/Fireplace_Burning.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><div style="text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">We spent our last night together in that chamber above the main room of the inn. Downstairs we could hear all the others drinking, singing, carousing and having a good time. Up here, though, in a room lit only by a few small candles and the fire in the stone fireplace, we knew we only had these few hours together. Jenny knew that come the dawn I would be gone.</span></div><div style="text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So we kissed and held each other. Neither of us wanted to say anything that would break the spell of our last hours. She held me close afterwards, lying on my chest, her hand wrapped around me and her leg thrown over mine, almost as though she was trying to hold me there. I could feel the flutter of her eyelashes against my chest as she tried to stay awake, even though both of us knew we needed the sleep; sleep that would not come for either of us.</span></div><div style="text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">But, eventually, in the end, we both must have fallen asleep at some point, because I did not see Jenny again for around 200 years.</span></div><div style="text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I woke up again lost deep in some woods, not knowing where I was or when it was. Time had slipped by, that was all I knew. Eventually, using those tricks we all have to learn if we are to survive in this kind of life I managed to find some clothes I found I was back in the old country too, for once. But I still had no idea when it was. From the look of the clothes, I guessed sometime around the 17th century.</span></div><div style="text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I walked out of the trees in the thick wood into a clearing. There was a merchant’s caravan there, stopped to camp for the night as the summer evening slowly turned into a warm summer night.</span></div><div style="text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I walked up to the first camp fire. It had a pot of stew simmering over it and the smell of cooking meat and vegetables drifting towards me on the evening breeze.</span></div><div style="text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">‘Could you spare some food for a stranger,’ I asked the figure bent over the pot.</span></div><div style="text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Jenny looked up at me and smiled. ‘You are no stranger,’ she said.</span></div><div style="text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><br /><div style="text-align: center; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">[Books by David Hadley are available <a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="http://www.amazon.co.uk/-/e/B005DFN62Q"></a><a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/-/e/B005DFN62Q">here</a> (UK) or <a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B005DFN62Q"></a><a href="http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B005DFN62Q">here</a> (US)]</span></div>David Hadleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05510828634517689127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5154849688286152717.post-11299632957070989182014-05-20T12:03:00.000+01:002020-01-27T14:43:48.906+00:00The Mystery of the Stick<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5-Vf5QvvredxXo3KeIQyOa2DfWWMYbILv33naQ9-hxI_Y0Ohi9NP10G43MqHYQ6LGwMBlQvVC5l68KJKjYpWwSeLWo2DNkl54NoP4GP-4c6CInC5XSGXAARLr162QdKhUTZ6Lqy_4Bco/s1600/Magic+wand.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5-Vf5QvvredxXo3KeIQyOa2DfWWMYbILv33naQ9-hxI_Y0Ohi9NP10G43MqHYQ6LGwMBlQvVC5l68KJKjYpWwSeLWo2DNkl54NoP4GP-4c6CInC5XSGXAARLr162QdKhUTZ6Lqy_4Bco/s1600/Magic+wand.jpg" height="179" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Well?’</span></span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><br /></span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I….’</span></span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">She put the object down on the desk between us. </span></span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I stared. I’d wondered what had happened to it. ‘What’s that?’</span></span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><br /></span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">You know what that is.’ She folded her arms, standing up straighter behind her desk. She was still shorter than me, despite the heels and the power dressing. </span></span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I could see she took my tallness personally. ‘No, is it some sort of stick?’</span></span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><br /></span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">No.’</span></span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><br /></span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It looks like a stick to me. Where did you get it?’</span></span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><br /></span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It was found….’</span></span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><br /></span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">What, by the stick-finder general?’ I almost laughed at my own joke.</span></span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><br /></span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">This is not funny.’</span></span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><br /></span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Well, as humorous sticks go, I can see it lacks a certain risible quality.’</span></span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><br /></span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">We don’t like smart-arses here,’ she said it with conviction.</span></span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I reached out as casually as I could and poked my wand with my forefinger, trying not to react at the now-familiar surge of power. I could pick it up, one quick gesture and Maureen would be a newt…. I was so tempted. </span></span>‘<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It’s just a stick. So, what?’</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><br /></span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It is a magician’s wand.’</span></span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I turned my shock into mocking laughter. I studied Maureen as carefully as I could while pretending scorn. ‘Does Paul Daniels know? If he’s lost it, there could be a reward.’</span></span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><br /></span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It is yours.’</span></span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><br /></span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">What would I want with a stick, especially some conjurer’s toy?’</span></span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><br /></span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It was found in your desk.’</span></span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><br /></span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I… what?’</span></span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><br /></span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Hidden.’</span></span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><br /></span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Who’s been searching my desk, you have no right…!’</span></span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><br /></span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It is not your desk. It belongs to MalTech. We can search our property if we want, when we want.’</span></span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><br /></span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I didn’t put it there, it is not mine.’</span></span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><br /></span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Then you won’t mind if we dispose of it then?’</span></span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I shook my head as the rest of my body began to tremble. Molcur was right; the wand did now feel like part of me, a very intimate part of me.</span></span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><br /></span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Come on, then.’ Maureen snatched up my wand from her desk. I saw the look of distaste on her face as the magic reacted to her hostility.</span></span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><br /></span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Where are we going?’ I followed her to her office door.</span></span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><br /></span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">To the incinerator.’</span></span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br /></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br /></div><br /><div align="CENTER" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;">[Books by David Hadley are available </span><span style="color: navy;"><span lang="zxx"><u><a class="western" href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/-/e/B005DFN62Q">here</a></u></span></span><span style="color: black;"> (UK) or </span><span style="color: navy;"><span lang="zxx"><u><a class="western" href="http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B005DFN62Q">here</a></u></span></span><span style="color: black;"> (US)]</span></span></div>David Hadleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05510828634517689127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5154849688286152717.post-74747777335901487892014-05-19T12:00:00.000+01:002020-01-27T14:43:49.082+00:00I Hold in My Hand a Piece of Paper<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://t0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcR5OeWiI9hLvtuUuGztEUucCodnoX52umcJJ9rhhL-3Ht9v1-8nwg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://t0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcR5OeWiI9hLvtuUuGztEUucCodnoX52umcJJ9rhhL-3Ht9v1-8nwg" /></a></div><br /><div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">This is, of course, the question we all must ask of ourselves as we stand here on the cusp of the brink of the edge of a new world. Or, at least it would be, if we hadn't – temporarily – mislaid the piece of paper with that question written on it.</span></div><div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">However, I do have a few other pieces of paper I've gathered over the last few... well, looking at some of them: many, many... er... years.</span></div><div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So, ladies and gentlemen of the world's press gathered here to bear witness to these momentous events on the world's stage. You will no doubt be aware of how hard all the world's leaders, politicians, statesmen and stateswomen gathered at this summit have worked to bring about this... this.... Well, whatever it is we have done at this moment of crisis in the world's history.</span></div><div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Ah!</span></div><div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So, if you are as hungry as I am, and don't quite trust the banquets put on by our generous hosts, I have here on this historic piece of paper in my hand the phone number of an excellent takeaway. They do deliver, but only in a five mile radius of central West Bromwich. So I think we can put that particular piece of paper to one side and move on to announce that....</span></div><div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Ah, if you are looking for a good time then Lusty Trudy of Glamorga... er, probably not. If my wife is watching this press conference, as I'm sure everyone in the world is, then can I make absolutely clear that piece of paper was not mine. It was, in fact, handed to me by a member of the Danish delegation.</span></div><div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Right, moving on.... Ladies and gentlemen of the press, do any of you need a taxi in Glasgow?</span></div><div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">No?</span></div><div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Right.</span></div><div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Can I just say that the government of Great Britain will stand resolute and firm in its commitments. I pledge to you all here and now, that we will – in the fullness of time get half a pound of carrots, a small wholemeal loaf, a box of tea bags and a tin of chicken or fish flavoured cat food. At least, as soon as time and resources allow.</span></div><div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Ladies and gentlemen of the world's press, I thank you for your time. </span></div><div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">There will be no questions. </span></div><div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Thank you and good night.</span></div><div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br /></div><div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br /></div><br /><div align="CENTER" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;">[Books by David Hadley are available </span><span style="color: blue;"><u><a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/-/e/B005DFN62Q">here</a></u></span><span style="color: black;"> (UK) or </span><span style="color: blue;"><u><a href="http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B005DFN62Q">here</a></u></span><span style="color: black;"> (US).]</span></span></div>David Hadleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05510828634517689127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5154849688286152717.post-55692155078611758902014-05-16T11:47:00.000+01:002020-01-27T14:43:49.256+00:00A Cure for Politics?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://image.shutterstock.com/display_pic_with_logo/371617/371617,1324055653,3/stock-photo--aged-and-worn-vintage-photo-beware-politics-sign-with-fingers-pointing-90930845.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://image.shutterstock.com/display_pic_with_logo/371617/371617,1324055653,3/stock-photo--aged-and-worn-vintage-photo-beware-politics-sign-with-fingers-pointing-90930845.jpg" height="230" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Pilchard Defenestration is, of course, the UK's current most popular anti-politician. As we all know the rest of the population has grown increasingly disenchanted with both politics and the politicians who inflict it all on us. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Consequently, there has been increasing interest in such election candidates as Defenestration. They are the candidates who oppose all the current political parties and their cynical electioneering. All of them hold out a promise to voters that they will – somehow – be different.</span></div><div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Although, as most people not infected with the <u><b><a href="http://atangledrope.blogspot.co.uk/2013/12/pandemic-panic.html">political virus</a></b></u>know, anyone who takes even an anti-politics stance can become infected with politics. Especially if they get too close to anyone carrying the virus.</span></div><div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Although many people are immune to politics, it is always possible for them to catch a new strain. Particularity, if they have not – over the years – learnt to inoculate themselves against infection. Hence the sudden popularity of the Liberal Democrats during the 'I agree with Nick' TV debates a few years ago. Many people who had regarded themselves as immune to politics found themselves – often against their will and better judgement – feeling a need to vote Lib Dem after those broadcasts. Despite them having a contempt for the other two parties they thought would grant immunity to the political disease.</span></div><div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Of course the same happened when, recently, the UKIP and Liberal Democrat leaders attempted a debate. Many formerly immune to politics suddenly, in the days afterwards, found themselves considering voting UKIP.</span></div><div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Although, it must be said that, for most people, a dose of politics, although possibly worrying for friends and family of the infected person, soon passes. It goes, leaving nothing but a headful of meaningless statistics that prove nothing and a small scar on the memory.</span></div><div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It therefore remains to see if Pilchard Defenestration and his anti-politics stance are really all he claims. Is he a cure for politics or a carrier of another mutation of the political virus? The same virus that has infected many people who previously thought themselves immune to the banal inanities of politics and the political process. </span></div><div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Doctors specialising in the disease of politics say it is too early to tell if Pilchard Defenestration and his followers are really carriers of some new political virus. Or if they are – as they claim – the cure that mankind has been longing for ever since Aristotle was one of the first to warn the word about the disease he called <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Politics_(Aristotle)">politics</a>.</span></div><div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br /></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br /></div><br /><div align="CENTER" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;">[Books by David Hadley are available </span><span style="color: blue;"><u><a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/-/e/B005DFN62Q">here</a></u></span><span style="color: black;"> (UK) or </span><span style="color: blue;"><u><a href="http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B005DFN62Q">here</a></u></span><span style="color: black;"> (US).]</span></span></div>David Hadleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05510828634517689127noreply@blogger.com0