Post 344. LET'S CALL IT A DAY.

WE HAVEN'T WON A WAR. 

So never mind festive fifty pence pieces, Big Ben's buggered bong, or end of war style street parties. Whether you're a buoyant brexiter or a recalcitrant remainer, let's call it a day, eh? Let's hang Brexit out to dry.

I write as a remain voter whose wife was a leave voter and whose nigh on fifty eight years of marriage has resolutely avoided being so much as ruffled by it.

How, you may (or may not – I don't care) wonder, can that be?
It's a simple answer.

We both see the funny side of it, and of each other; that's how.

Well, look at the plethora of silliness there has been ever since the referendum. Everything about it, from the sullen departure of the idiot whose cocksureness enabled it to the elevation of the fornicating liar who has become his ultimate beneficiary, is utter farce. Dear old Brian Rix should still be alive.

To celebrate their narrow victory the brexiteers have heartily enjoined the powers-that-be to laud it on the day with street parties, chiming church bells and the bonging of Big Ben.

I'm surprised none of them thought to suggest the adoption of The White Cliffs of Dover, sung by Vera Lynn, as their anthem.

To add to this nonsense, the reactionary coterie of Little Englanders who became MEPs last year, stood up today like a bunch of spoiled brats, waving their tiny union jacks, to resign from the EU parliament. Ho-hum.

Leavers who have spurned triumphalism (and my wife is among them), are not mooded to set off fireworks tomorrow night, or to miss the bonging of Big Ben, or to hold a celebration party, or to welcome the newly minted fifty pence piece due out tomorrow, or even to smugly reiterate the words “democratic vote.”

And as far as the fifty pence newcomer is concerned, the much admired author Philip Pullman has said it all: 

“The 'Brexit' 50p coin is missing an Oxford comma, and should be boycotted by all literate people.” 

As an elementary school semi illiterate I would not presume to disagree with him, but I would have written his sentence without the comma before 'and should be...' Sorry, Sir Philip.

That's it for this month.

On Saturday morning the lights go on again all over the world and Boris's government starts to give the NHS £350 million a week.

Do you believe that?

If you do, may I suggest psychiatric treatment?

Post 343. I NOW HAVE A KINDLE.

THANKS TO MO. 

Yeah, she did it again. 
Well, I've always been a book lover. Just never considered reading from anything other than a hardback book or, for the reduced cost when I felt I could wait, a paperback. Mo is a prolific reader, too; our home tends to look like the reading room in a public library.
Then came the kindle publication of The Badgers... and the realisation that I would only be able to read it in the off-piste area of our garden room, where resides my elderly computer.

" That won't do.” said the dauntless Leader. “You must be able to read it in the living room. I have ordered you a kindle.”

She had, too.

What seemed like the next morning the postman (or maybe that nice bloke who believes Amazon will behead him if he doesn't run up the drive with our order the instant we place it) dropped said item into our letterbox.

So I have begun a kindle library.

Started with my own book (which I thought was rather good, but I admit to prejudice) and followed that up with Curtain Call by Graham Hurley (pictured), the first book in a three part series featuring Enora Andressen, which is very good.

Enora is an Anglo-Breton actress who has a worrying brain tumour, a teenage son and a very poor taste in men.

Ensconced on the settee in the living room I have enjoyed every kindle page of her story. Quickly established who was who. 
Well, I've been entertained by several of them over the years. 

Always liked her. She's a fine actress.

First encountered her in The Perfect Soldier (1996) where she played bereaved mother Molly Jordan who goes to Angola to seek an answer to her son's death in a minefield: went on to enjoy her sound performance in Permissible Limits (1999) where she played bereaved wife Ellie Bruce who pilots a Mustang aeroplane to thrilling effect: and now here in the autobiographical Curtain Call, where she plays herself on the brink of divorce, is up for the leading role in a radio play, Going Solo (an adaptation of Permissible Limits) and handles a wounded Brixham trawler in gale force wind to thrilling effect. 

I've got to take in the sequels.

My choice of M. Hurley as a library starter was twofold.

In the first place he is a bloody good novelist (few writers would even attempt a faux female first person present narrative – let alone get away with it) and, in the second place, three years ago (Post 258) I wrote that I had sent The Badgers prologue to pal Ian Dillow and “as a consequence, to the novelist Graham Hurley” and both had been kind in their response to it.

I have kept an amiable eye on M. Hurley's output ever since, and the revelation that some of his books had been published on kindle emboldened me to seek our son's help in placing  Badgers there for me.

Don't know whether I'll ever have the time to write another.

But I hope Graham Hurley will go on and on and on...

Keep reading from whatever source.

Post 342. MADE A FEW NEW YEAR RESOLUTIONS...

KNOWING I'LL NOT STICK TO THEM. 

This year I have resolved:  

1) that I will severely limit my television viewing. 

2) that when yet another reality show nonentity is described on the box as 'a celebrity' I will not say: "Christ! Really?" 

3) that I will find some good in everybody except, possibly, the overpaid professional foulers on football fields. 

4) that I shall try to refrain from automatically translating the words 'the government' into 'those useless bastards' and that
5) I shall eat less, exercise more and refrain from the sort of invective I would never have used on a drill square way back in my army days.
What? Oh, I know I'll not stick to any of those resolutions. We've experienced over a decade of austerity and have just voted for another five years of it. If you don't curse about that you're a bloody saint. 
THAT BOOK.

  

Freshly revised edition. 
In super quick time the edit of the first print of The Badgers of Deep Wood, my story for children aged nine to ninety nine, has been acted on by our son and cover artist, Neil (Godbless'im), and the freshly revised version - cover above -  can now be obtained on Amazon kindle via Google. 
Not much else I can say except that it's an easy read and I hope some of you will give it a go. 
MY READING.
Philip Pullman. I reached the end of Mr. Pullman's The Secret Commonwealth: The Book of Dust Volume Two and found myself hoping he's far enough through Volume Three for me to still be around when it's published.   
Anthony Horowitz. I finished reading Alex Rider: Ark Angel and am just starting Snakehead, another story in Mr. Horowitz's  Bondlike boy spy saga. They're the sort of yarns everyone who scribbles thinks they can write. They can't.
I have also started reading Bill Bryson's The Road to Little Dribbling: it's a long one so lord alone knows when I'll finish it. 
To add to that, among my Christmas presents are two books of short stories by classic murder story writers and Play All, by Clive James, 'a bingewatcher's notebook.' My cup is full.
FINALLY.
Our daughter Jac says I am still unreachable by blog comment. For anyone who would like to get in touch I can be reached on dennisbarnden30@gmail.com 
But, as you can see, time (to quote General Orde Wingate) is the enemy. 
So I'll not reply to unwell wishers. 
Anyone else I'd love to hear from. 
Go safely now.