The White Wraith

For all those so inclined, here is my new book, bright and shinny and available to download HERE in an INSTANT! SH.

The First, Again, Because it Sounds Good

A verb. A verb? Don’t scream a verb at me, I wouldn’t know what one was if it grew teeth and decided to bite me on the bottom. Not that a verb should want to do such a thing, from what I hear they are the more quiet, retired and reserved members of the literary world. But saying that one did, in all essence of the suggestion, wanted to sink gnashers into my arse, I would have a jolly firm word to say about it. I Just wouldn’t be entirely sure what that word was. Sure, it all seems like fun, the dreamy sun basking in the bluebell sky, casting lashings of warmth down on your pasty thigh regions. But when push comes to shove, shove comes to picking the bugger up and hurling him off a bloody tall cliff, preferably a white chalk one, just in keeping with the tradition of the damn thing. SH

The First

As it was said, or was not said to me, the world is one man’s blunderbuss as it is another man’s buttered toast. You can try and mix it all together, wield it forth as a sharpened weapon, or if you like it can be enjoyed at your leisure. It needn’t surprise me or you that anything that’s said nowadays can be labeled as genius or complete bollocks. It centrally has nothing whatsoever, a cormorant’s fart on Tuesday, to do with what was said or written, but is graded by what others say back about it. You’re typical tripe is still typically tripe, but the guided in gold legend that is created for it by a plethora of thirteen to fifteen year olds it taken as market standard. I wish I’d had the time to banty on more about this, but I probably will, so lest yourself move away from your cotton trousers for the day, I’ll pick this up another time. Indeed. SH

Opinion.

Opinion. When you take some time to think about opinion you come to think about what it is and who it serves. What good does it do for one person to criticise another, no matter how horrid their actions. Even if there actions be not horrid, maybe trivial or commonplace. What profit does it then feed to compound this by running down an action that in all essence will not do anyone any great harm? Does anyone, and especially those being the subject of it, care about another’s opinion anyway? If they are of a particular thought pattern anyhow, what someone else thinks doesn’t shake them at all, and if anything only strengthens their resolve to continue on just as they are, surely then circumventing the whole intention of an opinion against them. I suppose these examples fit more into the category of critical opinion, since opinion itself does not have to be in essence critical. Although any opinion will almost always be, by some definition, contrary to the thoughts and beliefs of at least one other. People are quite happy to say that they ‘hate’ Justin Beiber, or that they ‘hate’ Lady Gaga. The fact that these people have never met these celebrities seems irrelevant to their qualifications to voice a firm opinion of them, despite the lack of information they have to make have an intelligent one. So to have an opinion about opinion, what does that involve? Is it even possible without opening a wormhole of consciousness in the back of your brain? Who knows. But it’s only my opinion. S.H.

You Suck

The glue, it seeped like molten lava, down the page and onto the floor. Alas, he had done it. My homework was ruined. I was going to be dead. The slimy bastard, his nose so high and ugly told tales of perceived excellence, just stood there with a mask of innocence slapped there on his face. If I were a buzzard, or a tiger perhaps, or even a mouse, anything with claws enough to be used I would have ripped that mask and skin with it too clean of that putrid little skull. His thinness bothered me. His shadow bothered me. His presence bothered me. There was nothing I could do. S.H.

The Bullet

When will that elusive one turn up, when will that gun be fired and the bullet caught between the teeth? Lord, the government and the guy who works at the supermarket only knows. I’m sure they don’t really, but saying it makes me feel better. A long time spent on a short trip, that’s what it feels like, the long way round to the shops. Three times. Make that four. And then you forget to buy the tea bags, so you have to go back. Twice. Oh life what twisted fun you must be having with us all. Glad you’re enjoying yourself, leave the back door unlocked for me, would you? Thanks, you’re a star. SH.

Huffington Post and Self Promotion

http://www.huffingtonpost.co.uk/neil-ayres/how-well-do-we-really-wan_b_1281507.html?ref=uk-culture I think to stick out from the crowd in literature does not require the public to KNOW you, but to KNOW OF you.

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Totally forgot what I was going to say ... There I was, all excited to get words down on screen and POOF! It's gone. Never mind, all will come back to me. It always does in the end.

Seeking a Friend for the End of the World

It seems that Keira Knightly may have been blissfully dragged into a decent film role for once. Given her previous choices and track record it looks like Steve Carell might just have pulled off the impossible and put her on the road to a good'un. Check out the trailer and let me know what you think. Toodle pip!

Get up you useless waste of - oh, mother, it's you ...

Drip off, take shelter, walk along, just ride. Why he decided to utter those four strange two word phrases at that particular time was a bridge too far for my meagre comprehension to wrap around at such an early hour in the morning. And by early I mean 11 am. And by 11 am I mean 11 AM! It's funny how sleep seems to take on a rather tragic character when you forget to meet him after work for drinks. He gets annoyed. Sleep would rather you met him, on time (or near enough) in all your splendour (or lack there of) and when the sun doth shine, precisely EACH and EVERY night. When you miss an appointment he’s been known to shake his head in fettered pity and sprinkle out simple words into your ears like ‘pleb’ and ‘tool’, just when you were thinking of getting to know the guy again. SH.

Sky

He threw his hands up high in the air, as if trying to hold the sky in place. SH.

Blank

His face was blank; a colourless poster, a starless night sky.