3 Years of Blogging - Anniversary Q&A

Some time ago (about a week), I put out an open invitation for you lovely readers to submit questions, to be answered by me, here. Unfortunately, the interest was poor to non-existent (you miserable buggers). Anyway, here are the few questions I did get, with some answers.

What is the correct way to eat a gingerbread man? With a knife and fork.
Do elves really wear those shoes with the curling tips? They do, their Winklepickers are creased.
Why is abbreviation such a long word? Because abbrev. looks silly.
If you wear a sheet for halloween are you a ghost or a mattress? Neither, you're a knob.
What is the speed of dark? The time it takes to punch someone's light out.
Can I throw a pie in justins face? Yes.
Does a jellybaby feel any pain? Not if you give it jellyparacetomol.
What colour are your underpants? Today, they're black.
Is the moon made out of cheese? Yes, it's moon cheese.
Does iggle piggle have nightmares? Yes, about Upsy Daisy having an orgy with the Pontipines and the Wattingers... the dirty whore.
Can I have some cheese on toast? Only if you make me some.
What's the sound of one hand clapping? It depends if there is anyone around to hear it.
What's that smell? Well, it isn't success...
Hello, is it me you're looking for? Sorry, wrong number.

So, thanks to the, ahem, THREE of you that actually joined in, and remind me never to bother trying this again. Ever.

Monday Mix-tape - 29.10.2012

Hello folks! Back again, or discovering for a first time? Well, lucky you, whichever it is. With the current hulabaloo over Scottish Independence, I've gone for a Scottish theme...

1) Take Me Out - Franz Ferdinand
Probably their high-point, to be fair!

2) U16 Girls - Travis
One for Savile and Glitter!

3) It's My Own Cheating Heart That Makes Me Cry - Glasvegas
It's what I think my ex-wife ought to be singing!

4) Bye Bye Baby - Bay City Rollers
Get your scarves out girls!

5) A Girl Like You - Edwyn Collins
One I remember from Atlantic 252!

6) Mellow Yellow - Donovan
Nothing to do with custard!

7) Whistle For The Choir - The Fratellis
Purse your lips and whistle!

8) Why - Annie Lennox
If she don't know, how can we?!

9) 500 Miles - The Proclaimers
And 500 more!

10) Loaded - Primal Scream
I want to get loaded, and have a good time!

So, settle in with your Whiskey, your Bag pipes and your tam-o-shanter, and become an adopted Scot!

Monday Mix-tape - 22.10.2012

Hello, only me again! Sorry, but it's that time again... Mix-tape Time!! I couldn't come up with a theme myself, and despite my invitation to you readers to come up with a theme from time to time, no one has bothered. So I picked up my phone, went to the music player and shoved it on random, and what follows is the first ten tracks...

1) How Do You Sleep? - John Lennon
John has a post-break-up dig at Paul!

2) Act Naturally - The Beatles
Ringo basically admits he can't act!

3) At My Most Beautiful - REM
Cor, I'm gorgeous!

4) Red Scab - Adam & The Ants
Punk scabbiness!

5) I Was Made To Love Her - Stevie Wonder
Stevie knows why he's here!

6) My Little Empire - Manic Street Preachers
Manics come over a little 'Napoleon'!

7) She's Crafty - The Beastie Boys
Either she's sneaky, or good with her hands!

8) Sunrise - Norah Jones
Ravi Shankar's daughter, did you know?!

9) I Feel Free - Cream
No restrictions!

10) Can't Truss It - Public Enemy
Totally un-truss-able!

There you go, a mix-tape selection that's totally random. Until next time!

Countryside Matters

I'm not one to deliberately court controversy, as you know, so I've put alot of thought into this post, fully aware of the emotive nature of the subject matter.

As I'm sure you're aware, the Government have sanctioned a test cull of badgers in the south of the country, the exact areas shrouded in secrecy to protect those involved from animal rights activists, who can be quite militant in their methods - remember the ones who stole the remains of a deceased relative of a family connected to the Huntingon Life Sciences laboratory?

The purpose is to try and prevent the ever increasing impact of Bovine Tuberculosis on our Cattle population. At a time when the numbers of cattle being slaughtered is reaching unprecedented levels, it's widely agreed that action is required. It is the method which is causing the upset. Innoculation of the Cattle population has been suggested, but this won't solve the problem. It has also been suggested that we attempt to innoculate the badger population - this has been deemed too expensive and too difficult (both the trapping, and ensuring against repeat innoculation, not to mention that this won't protect against those already infected). So, this leaves the final option, and the one the Government have approved - the cull.

In my capacity as an employee of a prominent Insurance company, this matter is currently the subject of advice and recommendations to protect our safety, being potentially in the firing line from the animal rights activists (although no cull is currently planned in this area).

Let's just think about this for a moment.

There are some things that need to be considered. Firstly, Cattle play an immense role in the human food chain - we get meat, milk (and consequently butter, yoghurts etc) from cows. Unless some action is taken, the cattle numbers in this country will not be able to provide what we need. What's the alternative? Badgers? Have you tried to milk a badger??!!
Do you fancy a Badger steak with your chips?! No?!
Also, Badgers aren't really the cuddly little creature you read about in Wind In The Willows, wearing slippers, and living in a tree trunk. They can be nasty little blighters! Let's compare:

 

 

So, just to recap: difficult situation, action required, alternatives considered, controversial decision made. I can see both sides of the argument, but the over-riding message is that until a humane method can be found and proved viable, we have to do what's required to protect our cattle, and safeguard the future of the keepers of our countryside - the farmers whose livelihoods are so crucially in the balance.

 

It is also vital to say that this blog is entirely my own opinion and is in no way influenced, or representative of the views of my employer. And that's the truth.

A Little Quiz...

Because I'm bored, and I probably ought to be doing something with one of my many writing projects on the go, I've decided to have a little quiz with you all.

Name the ten sporting arenas below, and put your answers in the comments box:



German Football Stadium



NFL Stadium

English Cricket Ground

Brazilian Football Stadium

Scottish sporting Stadium

Spanish Football Stadium

US Stadium with Musical History

English Premier League Stadium

English sporting Arena

Aussie Cricket Ground

 

German multi-purpose Stadium

 

 



 

 

Monday Mix-tape - 15.10.2012

Hello and welcome back to another Monday Mix-tape offering. This week saw a new single by the longest running Rock and Roll Group in the World. Ever. That's right. almost 50 years after their first release, The Rolling Stones are STILL going! Not something the likes of One Direction or Justin Twatface, sorry Bieber will manage before they return to their rightful places in the kitchens of McDonalds or KFC or whatever fast food joints deem fit to employ them.

But back to the real musicians in question. Yes, The Rolling Stones.

1) Gimme Shelter
Just A Shot Away!

2) Biggest Mistake
What you made by not visiting this blog before!

3) It's All Over Now
Ode to an ex!

4) Sister Morphine
Related to Brother Heroin!

5) Paint It Black
Monotone Stones!

6) She's A Rainbow
But there's no pot of gold at her feet!

7) Get Off Of My Cloud
Possessive over condensed water!

8) Sympathy For The Devil
He was pretty much everywhere!

9) Miss You
No one likes to miss someone!

10) Angie
Not a song about Miss Rippon, I fear!

So, there you have it. Here's to another couple of years at least!

Work In Progress - Feedback required!

Today would be John Lennon's 72nd birthday. A man who has left such an imprint on the world despite only walking upon it for only 40 years, something to rival the likes of Mozart and Beethoven!

Ok, while the Classical buffs are apoplectic with rage over those comparisons, I'll get on with the point of this post: John's death inspired me in a way to attempt a story based in the year 1980, the year of his death, and my birth. I tried to create a character that would have his own trials and tribulations yet eventually his life would intertwine with Lennon's in a similar style to Tony Parsons. My ultimate aim was to get my character in New York on the night of 8th December 1980 and draw parallels with Lennon. The plan I drew out would see my man in the same hospital at the same time, possibly involving a near death experience, only to resolve happily.

So, here is Chapter One of my project, currently entitled, simply, 1980...

Chapter 1

 

It had been a bad year in 1978. The next year was even worse for George Wilson. As the last few minutes ticked away into the history books, and the people around him talked, sang and danced towards the first year of a new decade, George took a swig from his can of beer, swilling it round his mouth before swallowing and looked round the living room. The cream walls covered in bad art, the chocolate coloured carpet, the now empty drinks cabinet in the corner, the furniture pushed against the wall to allow the fifteen or so people to dance to the music coming from two impressively sized speakers. George had been most impressed with the jukebox that took pride of place next to the television in the corner opposite the drinks cabinet. 

 

George didn’t know anyone here, and to be honest, he didn’t even know why he had stayed long after Peter had left with his girlfriend. He was about to drain his can and leave when his thoughts were interrupted by a slightly podgy woman in blue jeans, black knee high boots and a bright pink blouse, unbuttoned so low that the bright white lace on her bra was clearly visible. George tried to look her in the eye as she sat next to him on the already crowded little sofa and spoke to him in a Liverpuddlian accent that made his toes curl.

 

“Do you know Chris?” She made herself comfortable on the sofa, causing the kissing couple on the end of the sofa to pull apart and cast disgruntled looks in their direction.

“Chris? Er, no not really. I came with Peter and his bird. Peter used to work with Chris,” George explained.

“Oh, right,” she said. “I’m Pat, his sister. Nice to meet you.” She offered George her hand. He took it and gently shook it, feeling the softness of her skin and the slightly too chunky jewellery.

“I’m George,” he half-smiled at her.

“Well, George, what are you hoping for in 1980?” She nuzzled up to him.

“I’m hoping for a good year for a change,” George told her matter-of-factly. He didn’t see the point in burdening her with his whole history. Any attempt to tell the story would have taken the discussion into mid-1981.

“Funny that, so am I! You won’t believe what a shitty year I’ve had,” Pat chuckled. George was praying she wasn’t going to elaborate, but she did. For what felt like hours but was actually only ten minutes, Pat told him all about her boyfriend that dumped her by letter, her dabbling in heroin, her motorbike accident and finally, what George never wanted to know, her resulting hysterectomy.

 

George excused himself to go to the bathroom before Pat could tell him any more horrifying stories. On his way, he passed countless couples snogging and indulging in heavy petting. George counted six exposed nipples and three glimpses of female knickers in the journey up the stairs and across the landing. He knocked on the door to check the bathroom was empty and waited a few minutes. He could hear the excitement building downstairs as people realized it was nearly midnight. Just as the bathroom door opened, he heard Pat trudging noisily up the stairs. George ducked in without a second glance and stopped short. The smell caught in his nostrils and almost made his eyes water. He turned and fled the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. He didn’t want to know who had caused that. He edged away from the bathroom and noticed Pat standing at the top of the stairs. She cast him a sultry look, licking her lips and rearranging her cleavage seductively. George took a deep breath and went to walk past her and down the stairs.

 

“Where you going, Georgie boy?” She laughed as George approached.

“Off downstairs. See in the new year,” he told her. She grabbed him by the waist and pulled him in close to her. George could feel her breasts pressing up against him. She started grinding her crotch into his. She leaned in to kiss his neck, and George got a great view down her chest. He noticed a pierced nipple and a little tattoo of a heart. Then he was hit full in the face by the smell of alcohol and tobacco smoke. He smiled politely and pulled away from her.

“Sorry Pat. I don’t think you’re my type, love,” he tried to let her down gently.

“You what?” She cackled. She ripped her blouse open, revealing her white lacy bra and ample cleavage. “This isn’t your type?” George shuffled uncomfortably. Thankfully there was plenty of noise so no one else was too aware of what was going on. He shrugged and turned round to go downstairs.

“Fuck you then, Georgie boy! If you’re not man enough to handle me, it’s your problem!” She bellowed after him.

 

He came into the living room just as the countdown started. The music was off, and the radio was blaring out. The room was filled with shouted counting from five down to one. As Big Ben began its famous chime, balloons filled the air, party poppers exploded covering the revelers with the paper streamers. George happily kissed and shook hands with everyone else. He even joined in when the party emptied into the street. Other parties joined them from surrounding houses, all mingling and wishing well. George was surprised to bump back into Peter and his girlfriend, Marie. They had only gone next door, to Marie’s mothers.

 

“Happy new year, Georgie mate!” Peter bear-hugged him. When released, George gave Marie a celebratory peck on the cheek. Before they could continue the conversation, they were mobbed by more well-wishers. Eventually, Peter was able to tell George that the accommodation problem was solved.

“Marie’s kind mum has said you can sleep on her sofa.” George was relieved as he had been facing the prospect of sleeping rough somewhere in Liverpool.

 

Marie made her excuses and went back into her mum’s house, leaving George and Peter sitting on the front garden wall talking about football, women and the future. So deep in conversation were they, that they didn’t notice the distressed semi-naked woman stagger past crying about being attacked by a pervert. Eventually, Peter and George decided enough was enough and retired to their respective beds. As Peter headed up the stairs, he gave George a pat on the back.

 

“It’s gonna be a good year for you mate. A good year,” he smiled. George smiled back at him and sidled into the front room where Marie’s mum had left some blankets and a pillow on the sofa. As George got undressed, he replayed the evening’s events in his mind, congratulating himself on refusing the emotional mess that was Pat. He folded his clothes and laid them in a pile on the floor. He climbed under the blankets in his Y-fronts and vest and struggled to get comfortable. As George was dozing off, he thought he heard a woman screaming in the street outside. He dismissed it as party noise and fell asleep.

 

George was woken up by the smell of frying bacon. He quickly got himself dressed and headed into the kitchen. Marie’s mum and dad were sat at the small wooden table talking and laughing. Peter was leaning against the sink drinking a coffee, Marie was in charge of the cooking. Marie’s dad stood up and introduced himself and his wife as Graham and Audrey. George shook his offered hand and thanked them both for their hospitality. Marie handed George a mug of coffee, and Audrey motioned him to take the empty chair at the table. George sat down and took a sip of his coffee. As usual, he swilled it around his mouth before swallowing. Marie put three plates of fried breakfast on the table in front of them. Graham looked enviously at the plates, but stood up and excused himself.

 

“He’s not allowed fried food anymore. Not since his heart attack,” Audrey explained. George nodded and gave a sympathetic smile. Then Audrey herself got up.

“So Audrey has agreed to give it up in support, haven’t you love?” Graham put in. Audrey looked longingly at the plate as well. With a sigh, she nodded and followed her husband into the lounge. As Marie and Peter took their place at the table, George heard the television come to life.

“Mum is very supportive of dad. She was in bits when he was ill,” Marie explained through a mouthful of bacon. George nodded. Peter was busy devouring his breakfast. 

 

They had moved into the living room with Marie’s parents when there was a knock on the front door. Graham muttered something about privacy as he got up to answer the door. He left the living room door open, so they all heard the panicked conversation at the door. Graham dealt with visitor and returned to the living room. He was met with four pairs of eyes staring at him with curiosity.

 

“Chris next door. Can’t find his sister, or something. Said we’d keep an eye out.” He muttered as he sat down.

“That poor girl. She’s been through hell this past year,” Audrey said to nobody in particular.

“Is that Pat?” Marie asked her mum.

“Yes, nice girl. Got in with a bad lot, she did. Caused Chris all sorts of worry, she has.”

George looked around the room and saw plenty of sympathy for this Pat. He dared not fill them in on his encounter with her. He had an uncomfortable feeling of guilt in the pit of his stomach. She hadn’t been that bad after all, he told himself. Damaged yes, but all she’d wanted was a bit of intimacy with a stranger. Besides, she had very clean underwear.

 

Peter and Marie had to return to Shropshire that afternoon as Marie was due on duty in the evening. Peter was always boasting about his ‘own little Florence Nightingale’ and the fact that she was everybody’s favourite nurse on the ward. Only in his most unguarded moments did he actually admit that the long hours and anti-social shift patterns caused him grief. Peter and George said their goodbyes and once more thanked Graham and Audrey for their hospitality. They sat in Peter’s rusty Ford Cortina as Marie said a longer, more emotional goodbye to her parents. Marie climbed in the back and Peter revved the engine into life. They drove off down the street, passing a police car parked outside next door. George took a look out of the wing mirror and thought he saw a familiar figure wrapped in a blanket being led into Chris’ house by a stern looking policewoman.

 

The journey back to Shropshire was subdued to say the least. Marie was stretched out on the back seat of the Cortina, dozing under the comfort of a blanket, George was still a bit tired himself, and Peter was fighting to stay awake at the wheel. The trip through the Mersey Tunnel was eerie to say the least, there was hardly another car on the road. Every time he passed through a road tunnel, George was always reminded of the scene in the Godfather, when Michael Corleone is on the way to the restaurant to kill Solazzo and the bent cop. That film had captured his imagination completely. The second part was not as good in his opinion – he had found it confusing at times when the two storylines came and went just as he was getting his head around it. But then George had always felt he should have been Italian. He liked tinned spaghetti and Juventus Football Club, not to mention Sophia Loren.

 

George was broken from his reverie by Peter turning the radio on. The static screeched through George’s head as Peter searched for something he discerned as listenable. On the back seat, Marie stirred from her dozing and stretched. In doing so, she inadvertently nudged the back of George’s seat.

 

“Sorry Georgie!” She said, genuinely apologetic.

“No worries. I didn’t really feel anything,” he lied. She’d caught him right in the middle of his back.

“Bloody radio. It’s all crap!” Peter’s cursing filled the air. “I’m gonna get a stereo with a tape player.”

Marie leant forward into the gap between the two front seats. She smiled and stroked Peter’s neck. He arched his neck so he could trap Marie’s hand between his head and shoulder. They giggled amongst themselves, so George took over the radio tuning, for something to do. He finally found a Beatles tune that was almost static free, and they all settled down to listen when the song ended and some foreign sounding bloke started talking gibberish. Peter’s cursing was joined by George’s.

 

As the Cortina rattled towards its destination, the weather slowly turned from sunny to grey. At one point, the windscreen was dusted with light flakes of snow, before turning to rain just as George got excited. He may have been in his thirties, but he still loved a good snow. It was getting darker and colder by the minute as Peter coaxed the car home – it was a well-loved car and was almost on its last legs. As George tried to tease some heat from the heaters to keep warm, Marie snuggled under the blanket and moaned.

“It’s about time you traded this heap of junk for something more reliable, Pete.”

“There’s nothing wrong with it,” Pete exclaimed defensively. Marie scoffed from beneath the blanket.

“It’s rusty, rickety and a drain on your wallet. It cost you a packet over the last few months.”

“It all adds to the character!” Pete said, feeling hurt.

“Whatever,” Marie chuckled.

 

Peter dropped George off at his house and took Marie off to work. The Cortina coughing smoke alarmingly as it retreated down the street. George chuckled to himself as he shut the door. He took a look around the now sparsely furnished lounge, victim of George’s need for money. He flopped down in the remaining chair and found himself fighting sleep.

 

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And so ends the opening of the story. I would be interested to hear what you think of the story so far, and any suggestions would be given fair hearing too! Is this one worth persevering with readers?

My Room 101

To celebrate my 101st blog post, I'm doing my own Room 101 show. To those who are looking blankly at the screen wondering what in God's name I'm talking about, then just nip over to Wikipedia, or Youtube for an idea.

Too lazy? Ok, then. Room 101 was originally a BBC Radio show hosted by Nick Hancock (remember him?) and then a TV show hosted initially by Hancock, before being replaced by Paul Merton, and then in it's most recent incarnation, by Frank Skinner. The premise was for celebrities to appear and attempt to cast their pet hates and peeves into this place of horror, as long as they could persuade the host. Based on George Orwell's 'Nineteen Eighty Four' where Room 101 is a torture chamber in which a prisoner is subjected to their own worst fear, phobia or nightmare.

Up to speed now? Right, then I'll begin...

First in the firing line, it's the current crop of Televised Talent Shows. Starting with Pop Idol all the way back in 2002, through BBC's supposedly more credible Fame Academy, to X Factor and Britain's Got Talent. Whilst it may initially have been about finding a bona fide singing star from people like you and me, over time it has become more of a sickening cavalcade of idiots, morons, attention-seekers (and that's just the judges) and borderline personality disorders all trying to get their face on television fueled by a promise of untold glory and riches. My main gripes are the way the music business has been so badly warped by what gets churned out, and how these days, the competition seems to be more about ratings than actually uncovering a semblance of embryonic talent. Simon Cowell has thankfully pissed off to the US to pollute their airwaves, taking with him his habit of trying to manipulate the public into going his way, and getting in a sulk when they didn't - remember his miserable sour face when Will Young beat his little protege Gareth Gates? Or when One Direction failed to win the other year? How dare people think for themself!!
Finally, ask yourself, of all those who reached the finals of these things, how many have shown versatility or sufficient talent to truly last? I rest my case, can I put post-Millennium Televised Talent Shows into Room 101 please?

Secondly, I would like to consign to Room 101 pointless Horror/Thriller movies. You know the ones, no discernable storyline other than to go through a collection of feeble frights of stupid girls or idiotic teens. Claiming to be based on a true story, when there's about as much truth or reality in them as the ideas in David Cameron's head and words he speaks.
As far as I can see, it can be traced back to the Blair Witch Project. Wobbly camera-work, poor lighting, trying to give the home movie feel (if it's a home movie, it must be true!). Since then, film-makers have followed the same or similar theme interchanging the popular craze (zombies, poltergeists, serial killers etc) and putting in as many 'scary' set-pieces as possible. And people keep watching them! More to the point, there seem to be an awful lot of "scariest movies of the year", that I don't even remember being advertised at the cinema - making them straight to DVD shite. Have I done enough to get these into Room 101?

Finally, I would like to put into Room 101 Bingo/Gambling websites. You've seen the adverts on the television, Foxy Bingo, Sun Bingo, Bingo this, Bingo that or whatever. Closely followed by Ray Winstone's big head, that bloody annoying Ladbrokes fella, Bet this bet that - next goalscorer, next player to gob onto the floor, next manager to point to his watch and so on.

A colossal amount of money is wasted on these things every single day, so much so that gambling is the nations new vice since the Government and Health people made smoking the modern day equivalent of leprosy. Yet Gambling arguably causes more heartache and hurt but without the ever more restrictive laws dictating to its addicts. The Government have clearly got to take steps to prevent it getting out of hand - actually forget that, they're probably trying to work out how to make a shed load of money out of it. Adverts everywhere, Sporting sponsorships, Television exposure is all putting money in the wrong hands. Now, can Bingo/Gambling websites go into Room 101??

So, these are my three choices for Room 101, what are yours?

Monday Mix-tape - 08.10.2012

Sorry to say this, but yes, another week gone, even worse, the weekend is finished now too! So, if you can read through the blurry tears of acceptance, this week it's time to pay tribute to a man who would have turned 72 on Tuesday 9th October 2012. He has an airport named after him, his own area of New York's Central Park and countless other memorials across the world. It's...

1) God
So, what does he believe in?!

2) Working Class Hero
Ironically, he couldn't have been more middle class!!

3) Oh My Love
A little love song!

4) Out The Blue
Surprise!!

5) What You Got
You really don't know, until you lose it!

6) Stand By Me
From his covers album!

7) Watching The Wheels
Just watching them!

8) Grow Old With Me
Released posthumously!

9) #9 Dream
I don't know what he sings either!

10) Imagine
Just in case you didn't already know!!

Can you tell who it is yet??!! Oh, there are no prizes for guessing. See you next time!

I lost the battle and the War (& Peace)

About six months ago, I decided it was time for me to take on a literary "classic", so I picked up War & Peace off my bookshelf and dived in, determined to finish the book before the year was out.

Well, it's now the 2nd October and I've given up.One hundred and eighty-odd pages and I've had enough. I tried, I really did, but in the end the dense, hard-going prose got the better of me.

It's not the first 'classic' I've taken on, I hauled myself through Robinson Crusoe, and quite enjoyed The Count of Monte Cristo, but neither of those could prepare me for the pure stodge of Tolstoy's novel.

Normally, I can sit down and read a good book for hours on end, sometimes long after I should really be asleep, but not this one. Sentence after sentence strained my eyes and hurt my brain, each new character sending me leafing backwards to work out who they were and what connection they had - and when I'd finally worked it out and resumed my place, I'd lost enthusiasm and gave up shortly afterward. I couldn't even bear to take it to Austria with me in May, I plumped for a trilogy of James Ellroy books, which I carried on with back home, with War & Peace sat neglected on my bedside table gathering dust.

Eventually, feeling guilty, I picked it up again and really dug in at the end of July and into August, even taking it on holiday to South Wales with me (yes, a second holiday, aren't I middle class?). Sadly though, I've not picked it up again since the beginning of September, and it doesn't fill me with excitement to think of doing so. Which has got me thinking...

Is it me? Or is it modern society in general that isn't able to handle such a literary challenge? It's safe to say that these days everything is given to us in easy to digest chunks, so when something like War & Peace comes along that requires commitment and concentration, we struggle. Welcome distractions like magazines, television or games consoles get in the way.

I've ready too many books to count in my lifetime, and this is only the second time I've given up on a book - the first time was Catch 22 by Joseph Heller. So maybe it's just the style of writing that has beaten me down.

I've read many Tony Parsons and Nick Hornby novels, and enjoyed the turning of every page, James Ellroy is also another of my favourites, and I can't remember how many times I've worked my way through the Adrian Mole canon (to the amusement and mocking of my family), and even as a youngster I was tackling Agatha Christie books before I left Primary School, so I know I'm not a stupid person (although my ex-wife did recently try to suggest I had mild Dyspraxia).

So, this post could be seen as a review, a poor one at that. But I am determined to return to War & Peace at some point in the future, and defeat the beast. For now though, I need to immerse myself in something a little lighter, so I will be picking up a book my brother gave me for my birthday back in July, 'Hope And Glory' by Stuart Maconie.

Just out of interest, are there any books that you readers have tried and given up on? If so, would you give it another go?