Blog Posts - Misty books

DOGNAPPED! DAY - YAY!

30/4/2016

So.
Here we are.
At last.
28th. April 2016.
Mark it well.
Official publication day for DOGNAPPED!

It's been a long time coming.
If you've missed all the hype it's a kids book.
For kids.
About 7 - 9 years of age.
I recommend that you buy it for younger children and read it to them.
Because you'll enjoy it too.
I know.
Because I wrote it.
Yes, me.
David J Robertson.
I even have an authors name now.
This is called blowing your own trumpet.
Loudly, I hope.
It's about my dog.
Misty.
And her friends.
Having an adventure.
On a boat.
There's no hidden message.
Or agenda.
Or political correctness.
If you do see any of the above you're looking too hard.
It's just fun.
For kids.
So rush out and order it.
From Waterstones.
Or W.H.Smith.
Perhaps your local independent bookshop.
Even Amazon if you like.
There's a link to Matador at the bottom of the page.
That's the publisher.
And a very nice job they've done of it too.
I'd like to say the same about Ian R Ward.
He's the illustrator.
But sadly I can't.
That's because he's done an absolutely brilliant job!
Stunning in fact.
He's made the book what it is.
Fantastic.
But I would say that.
Wouldn't I?
Now I'm an author.
Officially.
Today.

So - like it.
Share it.
Comment on it.
Shout it from the rooftops.
Make it so viral the internet will need a tanker full of Lemsip to recover!
As long as it's recovered for October.
In time for the second one.
IN THE DOGHOUSE!
The one after DOGNAPPED!
You will buy it?
Won't you?
Good.
Misty will be well chuffed.
Won't she?

EU - THE HOKEY COKEY...

21/4/2016

You just knew there would be another blog along soon, didn't you?
Yes, normal service has been resumed as we consider one of the most important topics of our time.

The EU.

In?

Or out?

The answer my friend is blowing, not so much in the wind, but more through the tiny spaces between the ears of our elected representatives. Yes that's what that strange whistling noise has been, it's not interference on your t.v. madam!
It's certainly put the cat amongst the pigeons hasn't it?

There's some of them on the left agreeing with some of them on the right to stay in.
On the other hand them on the right who want to opt out are cosying up to the lefties to whom they wouldn't normally give the time of day.
So the rest of us might as well do the Hokey Cokey and turn around for all the good it will do.

'They're lying,' scream the 'ins' about their opposite number, 'It'll cost a fortune to come out!'
Meanwhile the 'outs' are whinging, 'It'll cost a fortune to stay in, don't listen to those nasty rotten fibbers,' to anyone who'll listen.
The trouble is the only ones listening are the idiots in the other camp and for them to hear the opposite point of view expressed with quite so much vitriol gets them a bit hot under the collar. Inevitably the game of comedy name calling spirals inexorably out of control, whilst the rest of us wonder how the hell we ever got into this mess in the first place.

In essence it boiled down to a vague idea by our own beloved Mr Churchill. Unable to quite believe that we'd actually won the war and probably deeply certain that we wouldn't be able to pull off the same trick again he suggested that it might be a jolly idea if we all sang 'Ging, Gang, Gooley,' around the same camp fire the way spiffing chaps do after a bout of the old Queensberry rules. (After all, we did seem to owe the guys across the pond an awful lot of money for all the nylons and candy they'd supplied since 1941 - so it might be handy to have a bit of a whip round with our new European chums).
Worryingly though, apart from a lot of gesticulating with two fingers poor Winny didn't have much of a clue how to go about it.
Neither did the men from the ministry. The clubs that they used were old, set in their ways and full of overstuffed, careworn, leather wing-backed chairs. They didn't have much of a stomach for any sort of new arrangement and so they left it to Johnny Foreigner to draw up the rules.

And so a few years later up trotted a European superstate, broadly based on the federalist goals of the very bounders that we'd beaten into submission only a few short years before. And lo and behold our old chum Mr De Gaulle wasn't about to let us join in the fun. Having taken cover over at our house while we did the fighting on his behalf he suddenly forgot his manners.
It certainly wasn't cricket, but it damn well was our ball and they couldn't play unless they let us bat first.

So they did.

Out for a duck!

Bugger!

Essentially what happened next was that the 'outs' used to be the 'ins' and the 'ins' used to be the outs. There you are, European politics summed up in a nutshell. What had occurred as usual, was that our leader's perceived view of public opinion appeared to swing against them and so they simply swapped coats. Nothing to do with the good of the country, more a question of maintaining their place at the top of the dung heap.

Politicians know Jack. That's the lesson the rest of us learnt a long, long time ago.
Around the time of Simon de Montfort in fact.
And yes, I do know that many of you will say that our member (appropriately enough) of parliament works very hard on our behalf and perhaps that is true, But collectively? As much as they say they do know, the more it becomes apparent that their ambition is a good deal greater than their IQ.

Will we be better off out? No one knows and anyone who tells you otherwise is an idiot.
Will we be better off in? No one knows and anyone who tells you otherwise is an idiot.

Should we shake it all about? Probably, it'll be so much more fun!

Next time I may discuss the geopolitical map - put on your tin hat for that one!

By the way, does anyone remember the words to 'Ging, Gang, Goolie?'

Four Funerals and a Wedding...

19/4/2016

Sadly it's true and not some weird parody of a film title.

By Wednesday evening the fourth funeral of recent times will be over, another soul dispatched to bang on the pearly gates and enquire about the price of admission.

At least the wedding was good!

Perhaps it's a sign of getting older ourselves that we seem to notice that the journey to the precipice is speeding up.

Our shield is gone.

The ranks of those that went before us have largely been decimated, taking with it casualties from our own peer group and also, sadly, a few from the ranks of the younger generation. But now we are next in line, grabbing like a drowning man at each new day and then relieved as it dawns, marvelling at our own temporary immortality whilst trying to push to the back of our minds the inevitability of the human condition.

It's been eighteen months since my own battle with the grim reaper. As they cracked me open like a lobster and plucked out my still beating heart to re-plumb it I swear that I heard him sharpening his scythe.
Perhaps two years before that I would have let him slice me like a lemon.
Things can sometimes get that bad.

Certainly six months before that I would have helped him to buff up his blade.
Isn't it strange how life turns around?

That moment when they thrust the bloody organ back into my chest really was a rebirth. My old life had gone, for better or worse and a different road lay ahead. Oh, I tried to rejoin the race, but I'd already been lapped and I needed a new track following my pitstop.

I think I've found it.

To be sure it's not the motorway of youth along which I careered without stopping to admire the scenery or even a cursory backward glance. Pink Floyd warned me that I'd miss the starting gun, but although I heard the words I failed to heed the message.

But then neither is this the rutted cart-way onto which I had strayed, lost and without a map to guide me. This is a path, smooth on the surface which suits the more sedate pace I now choose. It is broad, allowing those who wish to accompany me to join at their leisure, but not so wide that the shysters who would steer me wrong nor the highwaymen who would rob me can travel alongside.

Inevitably there will be obstacles, but they will not be allowed to grow into barriers.
Without doubt some of my fellow travellers will not complete the journey with me.

Certainly I will one day join them.

But it was a bloody good wedding!

THE TWEET NOW STANDING ON PLATFORM 3...

8/4/2016

You'll never guess what.
Remember the other day when I told you about John Gilstrap following me on Twitter.
Yes, o.k., remember that annoying conversation I inflicted on you, honestly you're hard work sometimes!
Well I've got another bit of news.

Yes it is.
Very perceptive of you.
Another Twitter follower.

Bet you can't guess who?
Donald Trump - no!
Nor the Queen.
Who said David Beckham? No, it's not him either.

That was uncalled for. It's not sodding Gervais, no. You know how I feel about that tosspot! Incidentally, have you seen him lately? He seems to have gone a bit quiet. Not that I'm complaining about that.

In fact about this Twitter thing, I am teasing a little bit.

Yes I am.
You see it's not a person at all.
No, it's not Lassie.
Or that lion off the old MGM movies.
No, hold on. You're missing the point. This is a bit like one of those animal, vegetable, mineral questions.
My new follower is not a sentient being at all.
No, not that either - you're thinking of senile.

You'll kick yourselves when I tell you.

It's an organisation.
No, not MI6.
Nor the CIA.
Why on earth would any of you think that I should be under surveillance by the secret services? I ask you!
It's not the cast of 'A Game of Thrones,' either. Don't get me started on that farce again for heavens sake!

Give up?

I don't blame you, 'cos you'll never get it.
Ready?

TRANSSIB PETERSBURG!

Yes, really!
It says on their website, 'Russian railways official travel information.'

No, I don't know why they would want to follow me in a million years either!
But they do.

I had a bit of a theory. You see DOGNAPPED! does take place on a canal barge.

Travel related see.

Well it's hard to tell. I did delve a bit deeper into the website but it's... well it's in Russian. All those upside down and back to front letters.
It is, I agree with you - very confusing.
Well I suppose life does get a bit strange if you live on the wrong side of the Urals.

You know what? You may have been right before. MI6 and the CIA may be watching me now after all. They probably think that I'm a spy. After all my middle name is James, yes that's what the 'J' stands for. Shaken not stirred, that could be me. Perhaps they think that DOGNAPPED! is a code book.

Strange this should happen after my old mate John Gilstrap turned up isn't it? He is a thriller writer after all. Is this life imitating art?

It's all beginning to make a sort of sense.

If you remember I did a blog only a few weeks ago about my Sky box and mentioned Chicken Little and the SKYFALLing in.

I've previously mentioned my heart attack and my second chance. You Only Live Twice - geddit? Knowing me under anaesthetic it is entirely possible that I could have screamed out Dr. No! You're scaring The Living Daylights out of me. I'll Die Another Day! And I am still here, so that does give me a quantum of solace.

Me and Kate got engaged, so diamonds really are forever. And with the next ring she'll have a gold finger. And what do I get her as a wedding present, the world is not enough.

Perhaps they're watching Kate. She could be the spy who loved me!

Gervais keeps turning up stroking his pussy. A bit Blofeld-esque don't you think.

And now a retweet from Russia. With Love? Your guess is as good as mine!
No wonder I have the spectre of someone on her majesty's secret service looking over my shoulder with a view to a kill. No doubt that'll be the man with a golden gun and a licence to kill.
Well you never know.
Oh, you do know! Sorry, I'll never say never again.

You can call me James.

Get me a pint of Martini.
Do I look like I want an olive in that!? I'll have one of those little umbrellas though. And a slice of lemon, a glassy cherry, ooh, ooh and some lime. Ah, lovely. Have I got some of that sugar from around the rim on my top lip?
Yes? Pass that serviette.
Is that better? Good!
P.S. For your eyes only, I know that I didn't get them all, but could you have done any better?
похищенный!

DEAR JOHN...

5/4/2016

Ahem!
Pardon?
Oh, sorry. Just clearing my throat.

Ahem. Ahem!

Well yes, as a matter of fact I have got something to say. I just wanted to be sure that you were listening and I didn't want to butt in. Didn't want to appear over keen.
Or needy, no. Have it your way then.

But now that I have your attention - I've got a new follower on Twitter, is all.
No I've never really understood it either, all those hashtags or whatever you call them.
Yes, that's it. End of message.
A new follower.
On Twitter.

Of course I've got more than one following me! I've got just over three hundred actually, seeing as you've asked.
At the moment.
For now.
O.k. then, I just thought that you might like to know.
That's all I wanted to tell you.

Woah! Wait a minute.
Yes, I'm still here.
Excuse me interrupting again, but don't you want to know who it is?

Well, I don't like to name drop.
Oh, all right then.
It's, erm, ready for this - John Gilstrap.
Yes, really!
I knew you'd be impressed.

What? No! Not that guitarist from the seventies.
You must be thinking of Gordon Giltrap.
John Gilstrap.

G.I.L.S.T.R.A.P.

Yes, Gilstrap - you've got it.

'THE' John Gilstrap actually.

He's a novelist.
Like me.
Yes, I know it was only a kids book. And yes, I do keep harping on about it.
No he doesn't write 'that sort of stuff' too. My mate John writes thrillers. In fact he's a New York Times bestselling author.

How about that then?
I can tell that you're impressed.
Although you do hide it rather well.

Well he felt compelled to 'follow' me, so I think that I can technically call him a mate.
No, we haven't been 'down the pub' together. He lives in America.
We obviously have a long distance relationship.

I don't know exactly where his house is, no.
America's a big place.
Well, as you point out, we might bump into each other next time I visit Disney. Somehow I doubt it.
Isn't it in Paris?
Oh, there's another one!
In Florida.
And California as well!
Who knew?
Bet they're raking it in then, eh?
At least that's trebled my chances of meeting him.
What do you mean, meeting who? John of course. Gilstrap. Honestly you've got the attention span of a...

What's that?
No I don't know why he wants to be my pal. Perhaps he'd like a few tips.
No, not about drinking, writing! Yes, I see what you did there. I can tell you thought that was funny! Bloody hilarious if you ask me!
Not!

I'll agree, there is a bit of a gulf in genres. He writes about this private investigator bloke, Jonathan Grave, in fast paced, explosive action - I've written about my dog Misty and her adventures on a canal boat. But you know what, if he's ever at a bit of a loss, got the old writer's block - yes, we authors all go through it from time to time - I might be able to help.

I hadn't really thought about how - throw in a comedy elephant and several platefuls of sausages perhaps, what plot wouldn't benefit from that?
Yes, I know, that is a scene from my book, but I feel the concept may cross the children's/ thriller divide very nicely, don't you?

All right! Be like that then!

Not jealous are we?

Sorry, you're not..? You're not impressed because you know..?
Oh, him!
Really!
Well good luck with that one! Didn't you read my blog back in February? Oh, and in November last year come to think about it. Don't say I didn't warn you - it's not my fault if you don't keep up!
Come to think of it I did wonder where he'd gone.
You'll get no rent off him for being on your Facebook page you know. Tight as a duck's bottom!

Yes, I know him of old.
Ricky bloody Gervais!

He did pop back to my page the other day actually.
Yeah, cheeky bastard! Only wanted me to share photo's of posters plugging his latest film.
Can you believe it!

My mate John wouldn't do that.

Proper gentleman he is!

I think I've got a far better class of friend, don't you?

FROM CHICKEN LITTLE TO RUPERT...

27/3/2016

The Sky is falling!
Actually it's not.
Failing may be a better word.
Better tell Chicken Little the news.
I first rang them last Tuesday I think it was, the Sky helpline that is.
You see the t.v., instead of showing pictures of a moving variety simply displayed a static message along the lines of 'Your viewing card is not inserted.'

Excuse me!?

Call me a liar if you like but that viewing card has not been touched in many a year and it has certainly not been removed from it's snug little slot. Now I am a veteran of such events from way back and I pride myself on knowing what to do when my Sky+HD (probably a registered trade mark type comment is appropriate about now - I'd hate to get sued for using its proper name) box begins to tell porkies.
You see it's not the first time.
Strangely the solution is to actually remove the offending card, unplug the box, the t.v., the fridge, microwave and anything else which uses elastictrickery. You then disappear into the kitchen and make a cup of tea - kettles are immune from the disease which can throw other devices into complete meltdown apparently.

Tea made you can now switch everything back on - ah! the reassuring hum of your household appliances on standby - wipe the offending piece of plastic with a lint free tissue and stick it. Back in the slot of course.

No. Not that way round!

That's it, printed arrows pointing toward the box, little gold micro chip thingy that looks like it's been singed around the edges pointing down.
Job's a good 'un.
See what you've done there. That's right, you've discharged the static. That's why your hair's standing on end and you're getting a shock off the shagpile.

So that's what I did.
Three times!

'Your viewing card is not inserted.'

Oh yes it is chummy!
But Sky+HD (I would insert the registered trade mark symbol at this point if I knew where to find it on the keyboard) box isn't having any of it.

So - Google the Sky helpline and review the Frequently Asked Questions. Turn off all appliances which use elastictrickery, make a cup of tea and watch St. Elmo's fire jump from your fingertips. Or words to that effect. Not exactly the answer I wanted but exactly the one I was expecting.

I rang them up.

After listening to the options - have you tried our FAQ's? The solutions there may save you a long wait - I settled down in my telephonic queue. (Incidentally - who remembers, back in the day, sending the apprentice to the local hardware shop for a long weight to see how long he'd stand there until the penny dropped?)

Oh, hang on - someone's answered.

I explained the problem.

He explained the solution.

But - I tried to inform the very nice man, I have already discharged the static three times which is why you can hear my hair crackling down the phone line.
Please, he said, just for me and while you're doing that I can make myself a cup of tea.
So I did - again!
Annoyingly it worked! Sod's law I suppose.
Grovelling apology to the Sky man for stupidly wasting his obviously valuable time and listening to his assurances that it was all in a days work and the unstated implication that he dealt with morons like me every few minutes. I hope he enjoyed his brew.

We enjoyed a good couple of hours viewing, Supervet - he's good isn't he! Then we tried something else which was so good that we both fell asleep as it started - synchronised sleeping, it should be an Olympic event. Pleasingly we have a new t.v. (thereby hangs another tale) and if you don't interact with it in a set period of time it turns itself off - clever, huh?
The next day it's time for The One Show - I know, I know, but what do you watch whilst you're having your tea?
Except it wasn't.
It wasn't The One Show that is.

'Your viewing card is not inserted.'

Well that's just a bald faced lie!
I didn't even bother to try to turn myself into a Van Der Graaf generator (the first band I ever saw live incidentally - how about that for a fascinating fact?) Oh no siree! Static free I was straight on the phone for a long wait.

And long it was.

Very.

Calls are free from a Sky phone line by the way.
I don't have one.
This is costing.
An arm.
And a leg.
Luckily I still have one of each left following my call earlier in the week.
Oh, hang on - yes here he is.
Sadly not the same guy.
Yes, I'm sorry - why the hell am I sodding sorry! - but my Sky+HD (bugger the trade mark niceties - sue me if you dare!) box is not working. And before you tell me to unplug it, let me tell you chummy that it is not, in any sense of the word, working!

By the way I forgot to mention that the hard drive or whatever inside my Sky+HD box (tough titty on the trade mark front, Rupert!) is now making a grinding noise that sounds like the little men inside that make everything work are driving a juggernaut down a gravel driveway.
And before you start let me just say that I am aware that the aforementioned Mr. Murdoch is not part of this setup any more, but you can bet he's getting a very nice cut out of my subscription thank you very much!

But meanwhile, back on the phone - I'll send you a new viewing card in the post, he says.
Partial result then.
I don't think that will work, I politely inform him, trying as technically as possible to explain the truck and garden path scenario.
Ah, he says, but to get an engineer to come and look at your Sky+HD (balls!) box is going to cost £65 call out. And what then if the drive needs tarmacing or the lorry needs new tyres!

FFS!

The card very efficiently arrived the next day.

'Your viewing card is not inserted.'

The Sky+HD (no I don't care!) box is coming out, never to be replaced.

I will be calmer.

And richer.

And Rupert sodding Murdoch can insert the card into his slot where even Jerry Hall won't be able to see it shine!

And talking of the Texan supermodel, I’m sure that she will be able to remind the executives at Sky t.v. of that little fracas that began down at the Alamo when the Mexicans wanted their cannon returned - if you want your Sky+HD (registered trademark infringement alert) box back:-

ASHES TO ASHES, ROCK TO FUNKY...

16/3/2016

In a blog back in May of last year, I reported live from Huston Space Centre that shortly we would all be off to Mars. If you remember I said that we would have to travel light, with no room for even a clean pair of pants. For my readers in the USA I guess that means undershorts or some such phrase - I thought you spoke English for heavens sake. No wonder Superman always wore his kit back to front! (Don't want any bilingual mix ups here, remember when the French programmed that probe in kilometres rather than miles a few years back - yeah, the infamous SPLAT! shot, you got the one. As David Bowie may have commented, 'I think my spaceship knows which way to go-oo.' But let's face it if that lot the other side of the English Channel have anything to do with it, it won't stop when it gets there! How embarrassing!

Oh, how we all laughed!
Parlez vous Francais? Oops, obviously not!
Cue mutterings of 'merde,' and a lot of Gallic shrugging. (Incidentally and perhaps for discussion another time, if we get out of the EU do we get our measurements back?) And yes, thank you, I do know that there's a funny squiggly thing under the 'C' in Francais, but I don't know where it is on the keyboard, o.k! Besides, it's only French, so who cares.
Anyway, I digress.
Who said, 'as usual!' I can type and hear at the same time you know, it's called multitasking!

But I fear that I may have inadvertently misled you good people and must apologise - and quickly, before you all rush to take your protein pills and put your helmets on. It appears that we are about to learn the answer to Mr. Bowie's question very shortly - provided they haven't invited the folks who sent them the Statue of Liberty to have another play on their computer.

What do you mean, 'Which question?'
'THE' question.
Is there life on Mars? of course.
And it appears that the answer to the poser on America's tortured brow could after years of speculation to the contrary actually be - yes!
Not little green men you understand. Or even laughing gnomes for that matter. No, neither of those would pose a problem, the human race has a unique solution to tackling the tricky question of integrating with alternative societies - it's called genocide. Or as near as dammit anyway. There are still a few Red Indians and Aborigines about, but not nearly enough to worry about.

What they think they've found up there (Or is it down? Do we really know which way round we are in the Universal scheme of things?) sloshing about the old Red planet is - water.
And what do you get with water?
Yes, mud I grant you, but not really the answer I was looking for.
Ice cream franchises?
No, now you're not paying attention are you!
One of the most important, fundamental and significant discoveries ever.
O.k. if you want to, take a few minutes to mull it over.

You're no closer to an answer really are you. Shall I let the cat out of the bag?
Life!
O.k. Perhaps it was a silly question, but I don't think that you were really trying.
‘Oh no love, you're not alone!’ The artist formerly known as David Jones again. Makes you think he may have known something all along. Sadly it's too late to ask him now.
But, like I said earlier, it's life but not as we know it. Cue Star Trek theme music. Thank you,Bones.
So what is it they think that they may find?
Bacteria.
What!
Yes, you heard correctly. Bacteria. Apparently the little blighters are quite partial to the dark and moist - no madam, I think you might find that's a fungal infection but I know where you're coming from, if you'll pardon the expression. Try some Canesten! If that doesn't work get someone to look into it for you.

The rest of you - stop sniggering!

Now I've seen the Actimel advertisements and am quite aware that there is such a thing as good bacteria.
But, be honest, there's also some slightly nastier stuff about.
Call me cautious in the extreme but do we really want to go messing around up (or down) there to find out if it's good stuff or bad stuff lurking about on the planet we named after a chocolate bar?
Now we know why poor old David's starman didn't make it back. Major Tom was strung out on Lemsip. Not so Hunky Dory after all.
I've had man-flu on and off now since Christmas. Believe me we have enough bacteria of our own to go around thank you very much.
Just imagine - all that extra snot! At least that explains the little green man theory.

Bogie men, obviously!

And let's face it the media couldn't give a fig - if Dave's correct, and he has been so far, all the papers really want to know is whose shirts you're wearing whilst you're floating about in the vacuum of space.

So dear reader - when we have so much to sort out on our own poor benighted planet, lawmen beating up the wrong guy for example - do you really think we ought to go messing about with bugs from other rocks?

AND THE CURTAINS TWITCHED AT BUCKINGHAM PALACE...

9/3/2016

You know that children's book that I’ve been harping on about?
You do!?
Well, I'm glad the message got through at last.
I just wanted to say (if you hadn't already heard of course) that I took delivery of said tome from the publishers on Monday.
It looks fantastic!
I am so chuffed that my level of chuffedness is currently off the chuffedometer scale!
Ian R Ward should be chuffed too. His illustrations are fantastic.
Matador Publishing should be especially chuffed, they've made a great job of it. Thanks to all the crew there.

I've got 750 copies - want one? Just let me know. Misty will put her paw print on it I’m sure. I’ll sign it and everything thing if you want me to, in exchange for shiny round things with a picture of Liz on of course.

Neither her nor Phil were in the other day by the way - if you remember I told you we were popping down the smoke. I sent her a message, if you're about, I said, just run the flag up the flagpole. No sign though. Between me and you though I'm sure I saw the curtains twitch as we were walking past - shame really, I'd have loved a cup of earl grey and a slice of Victoria sponge.
It might be that she took a look at those two plays wot I wrote. Have you seen them? They're both on the website - Going Home and Carbon Footprint, under the Plays sidebar.
Perhaps she took the hump!
Some people got no sense of humour and you know that look she gets sometimes, yes the one where she seems to have swallowed a wasp, that's the one.
Perhaps it was a good thing that I kept out of the way, it could have been, 'Orf with his head,' and a one way trip to the bloody tower!

Anyway, I digress. It's here - DOGNAPPED!
I like it.
Perhaps you will too!

But don't take it too seriously - It’s for kids really!
If they're between 7 and 10 then they will enjoy it.

ORDER ONLINE AT www.troubador.co.uk
OR eMAIL books@troubador.co.uk
OR TALK TO MISTY djrdeign@live.com I'M SURE SHE'LL BE PLEASED TO HEAR FROM YOU.

ISBN 978-1-78589-144-1
PRICE £8.99

GRIZZLY ADAMS'S GRANDAD...

4/3/2016

Spring is sprung, the grass is riz
I wonder where the birdies is?

Oh, I love those old sayings, don't you?
Yes, Spring is here at last, meteorologically speaking anyway. And before you start I am well aware that the Spring Equinox does not technically occur until the 20th of March but if it's good enough for Tomasz Shafernacker (not a name that rolls of the tongue as easily as Michael Fish I grant you, but let's move with the times, eh?) then it's good enough for me.
Winter's gone.
Days are getting lighter and longer.
Temperatures are on the up. Theoretically anyway, let's just pretend that it didn't snow yesterday.
Life is good.
So, what's happening then?
Good question.
Well as you are no doubt well aware the book is officially out at the end of April. What do you mean, you hadn't been paying attention!?
It's a kids book, age 7 to 10 ish,
DOGNAPPED!
Misty's in it - she'll be miffed that you didn't know, wait till I tell her!
I got loads of copies coming.
Want one? Perhaps we can do a deal? I'll get madam to put her paw-print on it for you.
I’m shaving off my beard, oh, so you hadn’t noticed that either! Here it is - enjoy it while you can, go on - have a good laugh about Grizzly Adams’s grandad and all that.

And here's the after - not much of an improvement I grant you, but this is all I've got to work with! I refused anaesthetic by the way, how brave was that!

Talking of things medical, I got an appointment at Birmingham Dental Hospital - really looking forward to that then, like a hole in the head. And I guess if the dentist's aim is a bit off that's what I'll end up with!

And then we're off to London at the weekend, so if you fancy popping round to rob the place now is as good a time as any. Kate's daughter and family are over from the States for a visit, so we're off to meet them.

And then we're off to London at the weekend, so if you fancy popping round to rob the place now is as good a time as any. Kate's daughter and family are over from the States for a visit, so we're off to meet them.
We're stopping not far from the Houses of Parliament, so I might pop in for a chat with Dave and Jeremy, put the world to rights as it were. I've got a few suggestions as it happens, but I'm not too sure if the River Thames has a short pier that they can both take a long walk on. Still, it's worth a try, they can only say no.
After that, a bit of sightseeing? Pop in to Liz and Phil's place for a cup of tea and a slice of fruit cake - if they're there of course, they do seem to spend an awful lot of time up in Scotland.
Perhaps a quick spin on the old Eye. Then again perhaps not, it is a bit high after all.

And before you know it we'll be home again pretty sharpish because I'm expecting some books to be delivered from the publisher. Not sure if I'd mentioned it, it's called DOGNAPPED!
It's for kids and Misty's in it.

Psst! Wanna buy one...

Gervais is still BLOODY WELL here!

21/2/2016

I just thought that you might like to know that he's still here!
My unwanted lodger.
Yes, that's right - Ricky bloody Gervais!
And his sodding cat!
If you're unsure what I'm raving about now, you might like to delve back in the archives to my post, 'Pavlov's dogs and Gervais's bloody cat!' Yes, I had my first rant about, 'David Brent' on the 27th of November last year.
If you recall (or indeed may have just read) I revealed how he turned up, uninvited and unannounced, along with his moggy and started to live rent free on my Facebook page.
Bloody cheek!
Can you believe it!
And he's still here!
Every now and again a smug little post appears with - 'Ricky Gervais is live now' - and a picture of the aforementioned comedian, head down, gazing at his pussy.
What's all that about?
Talk about rubbing it in!
I thought he'd buggered off to abuse all and sundry at the Golden Globe awards.
Apparently not. That must have been pre-recorded months ago before he turned up here. I mean surely he couldn't have snuck over to the U, S of A and back again without me noticing- he makes so much racket in everything he bloody does. He's like an annoying wind chime, the slightest puff and he's off, rattling away!
Empty vessels and all that.
And anyway, even if he did manage to sneak out - did he take the cat?
I sincerely hope so.
I hope he didn't think that whilst he was off on his jollies that I was going to look after the mangy thing.
Come to think of it the dogs were looking a bit underfed for a couple of weeks.
You know the look that you get, head tilted to one side, pleading, 'are you going to feed me yet?' And of course I'd shoo them off, telling them that they'd had all they were going to get and not to try it on with me, greedy critters!
Could I have been mistaken?
I bet the cat had their dinner, thus leaving me now feeling alarmingly guilty!
And he's supposed to be against animal cruelty!
Rent, Gervais, rent!
If you want to stay, you got to pay.
After all I'm feeding three animals now.
Perhaps I ought to charge him for board as well as lodging.
And then, out of the blue another post popped up. The same picture but now it said, 'Ricky Gervais was live a few minutes ago.'
Really?
Is that so?
All I can say is that it must have been a premonition, 'was' live, 'cos if he don't cough up soon I'll bloody kill him!
Got to go, I've got a couple of dogs that I've got to feed up. And apologise to!
Misty!
Milly!
Good girls, come on you can have an extra helping today. Yes, blessums, daddy's been a naughty man, letting that nasty puddy tat eat your din dins.
I mean, honestly...
Look at those innocent little faces.
Those wide, pleading eyes.

Gervais - You Bastard!