Mark Hayhurst

Update

Sorry folks, I've been away for a while because there's been changes afoot with the publisher.  It's all good I'm pleased to report and I'm looking forward to breathing some new life into the book.

So...  What's been going on since the last post?  Quite a bit to be honest, the second book has had a bit of a face lift (there's still quite a long way to go in terms sharpening up the ending until I'm happy with it though).  I've also been given a release estimate of next March which gives me loads of time to get it right - Nobody Inn was rushed like you wouldn't believe to meet its July 13th deadline last year and as a result there's a few areas in which it suffered.

The new publisher seem really proactive and within two weeks of meeting with them I've already got three signings in the diary and a couple of radio interviews pending.

Then there's the script...  Friday started as a script and it was always my intention to see it realised as a six part series.  Anyway - so I gave myself a kick up the arse and set about polishing the episodes and putting a treatment together.  It's been submitted to four production companies - I chose them very carefully based on their past projects and plaudits as well as their suitability to handle my subject matter properly (IE keep it wrong and dark and dangerous and not cut it too much) rather than throwing the it out to all and sundry.  Guess what?  It seems to have worked because within 24 hours I've already had some favourable feedback from one of them.  Nothing concrete yet and I'm not going to jump on the first deal I'm offered (if I'm lucky enough to get an offer) but that's a great and positive start.

I've also set up a fan site on facebook for the book so that I can keep anyone interested informed on signings and stuff - I'm whacking a load of extra content on there too in relation to the book.  Almost like the extras you'd get on a DVD, there's uncut scenes, the original script and I'm in the process of putting together a "Making Of..." article.

I've also popped a YouTube profile together and with the help of some over enthusiastic friends I'll be filming and posting some comedy sketches and songs and stuff soon - I'll probably put them on the facebook page too.

So there you go - a bit of a boring post this one but informative I guess.  Best do something to amuse you and give you a giggle before I leave....

Nah fuck it - I can't be arsed.  Just read the book again - it's layered, you'll notice loads of stuff you didn't first time around. 

Chatch ye

Phew!

The second book is finished!  Well, the first draft at least and I hope the publisher likes it because I'm more proud of it than anything I've ever done.  Eleven months (part time) of blood, sweat and tears has gone into that bad boy and I'll be well fucked off if nobody likes it.

The first one was an accident really, it just sort of wrote itself and I was writing it for my own amusement, whilst I'm really proud of it I looked over it again and I know I could have done a better job on it.  I also knew when it came out that it would split opinion and I'm hoping this second one will balance things out.

Nobody Inn got it's first bad review on Amazon and it really hit my sales!  Keeping track of how many books you're flogging is a fucking nightmare because all shops get the book on 90 day sale or return, so whilst you know how many are out there you're always up to three months behind on how things are actually going.  Anyway, I took to having a check on my Amazon sales rank every few hours to see how things were going.  My book started off at around the 150,000 rank and it was rising steadily to an average of around 18,000.  Then that fucker (sorry everyone's entitled to their own opinion) puts up a two star review and for three days my rank fell all the way back to the 100,000ish mark.

Now, I don't mind negative criticism and welcome any opinions on my work but this guy missed the fucking point of the book entirely.  Why do some people expect that because something is in book form it absolutely has to be an immaculately written piece of literature?  There's a real snobbery about it all.  I'm under no illusions, I know my book is the literary equivalent of a popcorn movie, but to be honest when I'm reading something swamped in detail I just end up skipping pages because it bores me to death.  I know what a friggin daffodil looks like I don't need it explaining to me.

Christ, in the first draft I didn't even describe any of the characters, this was mainly because it started as a script and I just thought that if it ever got made into a series or film it'd be much nicer for the people on the screen to dictate how the characters looked instead of trying to find folk right for the part.  Keirsten convinced me to describe them all in the end and I have to say she was right.  With an army of characters like the 14 or so in Nobody Inn there'd never be time to develop them fully but they need developing enough so that you remember their names.

So what now?  I'm deciding between three ideas for the next one, I've got a three book deal and there's no guarantee I'll ever get a fourth so it needs to be good, making the decision on which book to do is going to be more difficult than writing it.  So - here's my ideas.

Anchor Point.

Chris and Carl are comedy writers, their first series checking it out was a worldwide sauces and won them global recognition and many awards.  However, because they'd used all the good ideas in the first series the second one was a let down.  They negotiate a new deal for a brand new series and decide to go away with their families to a large old log cabin in the lakes where they stayed as students years before and came up with most of their ideas.

However, they forget that most of the characters they'd created were based on the local misfits of this small village and as the tourist season finishes the community comes together to exact their revenge.  I really like this idea and it sits well with the other two books but I think it might be better as a film rather than a book so I might do a screenplay instead.

Jesus An Unauthorized Biography - The Man not The Messiah

Exactly what it says on the tin.  The real story based on all of the gnostic gospels rather than the five in the bible but twisted around a little.  This would be the most difficult one to write but the best book, however it doesn't sit well with the other two I've written so I'm torn.  The other advantage with this is the fact that it'll defiantly cause a stink.  Which means it'll advertise itself.

The Secret World Of Jonty Wilde

Jonty Wild is purposely anonymous.  A creature of habit and routine he keeps himself to himself.  Then one day he realises that nobody can see him or hear him anymore.  Is he invisible? Is he a ghost? How long has he been this way?  He lives as a voyeur for two years watching the comings and goings of the people in Holme Bridge until he realises he has the power to influence situations.  Then he begins twist and play with the villagers. 

The last one is the favourite at the moment because it's set in Holme Bridge like Nobody Inn and Psychotic Escaping Justice but it's a more accessible, less un-pc story and has a fab ending that'd be a great end not just for the book but for the trio.  Thing is tho - it's a little bit fluffy in comparison to everything else.  That has it's plus points - at least my mum will have a book to show off that she won't feel embarrassed about her mates reading.

So that's me at the mo.  In limbo, any help appreciated.  Thanks for reading, now fuck off to amazon and buy another copy of my book.  I'm off to New York in March with work and I want some new trainers from Bloomingdales.

Making progress

It's pretty tough going at the moment with my second book.  I have it all planned out but when I sit down and start writing it it keeps pulling me in other directions.  I'm a firm beleiver in not trying to write and just simply writing to see where it goes but if it goes any further off the track I'm going to have to have a serious re-think.

I'm definately pleased with it though.  This next one is really important to me because it's the first book I've ever written 'on purpose' the last one just kind of happened.  But yes, I'm pleased with it and I'm enjoying where it's taking me.

I went away to Ibiza to write and although I got quite a lot done on the book my mind kept going off on tangents - one of those resulted in a short story, which is unusual for me.  This is only the second short story I've ever written and I thought I'd share it with you.  This is raw, exactly as it fell out of my brain - I intend to tweak it, improve it and do something with it once I've got the next book finished but 'till then all comments are welcome...

Anything You Can Do…

By

Mark Hayhurst

We lived there for almost on four years and I used to love it, lovely neighbourhood, lovely people, everyone took pride their homes and their gardens but mine was always that little bit better… Until they moved in with their perfect little family.  Same as us; husband, wife, two kids – one girl and one baby boy but for some reason they seemed to think they were better than we were.  Their house is directly across the street and it’s exactly the same as ours, I went to have a look round it when it was up for sale.  Sure the kitchen is a slightly more classic design and mine’s more contemporary but they’re both worth the same, if anything I’d think mine could be worth a little bit more.

Was it their car?  They had a mid range four door saloon just like we did but ours is an Audi and theirs is a Lexus.  I checked the prices on line and they’re worth about the same so why do they think they’re so much better than me?

I decided quickly that we’d need to up our game as a family so I gathered up my children and husband and we trolled off to the shops.  A major spring clean was needed.  When I say major I basically mean a full re-decorate from top to bottom.  A new dining table, three piece suite, Plasma T.V., new kitchen doors, new washing machine, tumble dryer, one of those fridge freezers with an ice and juice dispenser in it, replacing all my Asda’s own brand pots, pans, kettle etc with Le Crueset, ripping up the carpets and replacing them with Karndean, ripping out the fitted wardrobes and replacing them with hand crafted free standing ones, ripping out the bathrooms and replacing the old ones with Villeray & Boch in the downstairs loo, a full Roca suite in the upstairs bathroom and turning the on suite in our bedroom into a wet room, all the door handles need replacing obviously and a nice new security light for the front garden.  It was expensive but it was worth it and I didn’t do it all in one go; I didn’t want them having the satisfaction of thinking that they’d twisted my arm, I arranged for the deliveries to turn up on weekends at 10am so I could make sure they were all in; they all ate breakfast together in the dining room which is at the front of their house and looks directly on to mine every Saturday and Sunday morning.  It cost a little more to stipulate a weekend delivery but it was worth it.

Over the course of six months I could feel us gelling as a unit and pulling together as a team to get things done but then I saw something that filled me with horror.  Outside their house was an Amtico van.  After all the care and cost I’d gone to to remove the carpet and replace it with Kardean at a cost of about ten thousand pounds they went and bought Amtico which will have been at least two thousand more.

I’d been so wrapped up in making us a stronger unit that I’d taken my eye off the competition and I’d paid for it in a big way.  Something new was needed.  I decided to have the roof re-slated but this was just a diversion for the hidden closed circuit TV I was having installed to monitor their home.  It was set to trigger by movement and had infra red so I could monitor them at night.

As the weeks passed I came to realise that they weren’t too different us.  They went around getting on with their business, he went out to earn a crust and she kept a good house but that was the problem.  They weren’t too different but they thought they were better.  I could see it in all their smug little faces as they pottered about.

It was about three years ago when I first saw her husband hit her, they were arguing and he smacked her in the eye.  I immediately ran upstairs and insisted my husband hit me with everything he had.  There was no way I was giving her the satisfaction of having a shiner when I didn’t have one so I made him do a right job.  He was bloody useless for the first couple of cracks but by the third one I knew it’d be a good shiner and just to make sure I couldn’t be out done I got him to punch my other eye as well. 

It looked fabulous in the morning and I giggled with glee as I examined myself – it was swollen, red, some of the veins around my eye were clearly visible through my tightened, swollen skin and the white of my left one ran red with blood.  I’d show that fucking bitch, I watched and waited thinking she’d have to leave the house at some time and when she did I’d prune my rose bushes at the front of the garden and say hello but the time never came.

Over the years I’ve beaten her every time but I’ve been too late, when he broke her arm I made sure my husband did a leg.  My first ambulance arrived after hers had gone and she was unconscious when she left.  I was also horrified to realise that they had private medical whilst we were on the N.H.S.  I put that right once I was allowed to return and got us one the best Bupa package available but that didn’t help either.  You’re confined to your own private room rather than being plopped next to someone on a ward so I had no chance of seeing her.

I knocked the beatings on the head after that but I noticed there was some activity once everyone went to bed.  She’d get up and go to a room I couldn’t see.  Perhaps at the back of the house, she’d be there an hour or so and then she’d leave and go back to bed.  She was up to something.  I knew it. 

I bought some night vision goggles from E-bay and one night I sneaked into her back yard and sat there watching.  I saw her silhouette as she woke up and wherever she was going was downstairs but I couldn’t see her through either the living room or the kitchen window so she must have been taking the adjoining door through to the garage.  I crept around the front of the house and lied down at the base of the garage door to see what I could hear.

I could hear a rhythmic noise, not very loud, like something dragging back and forth; it went on for quite some time.  Then some clanking before I heard her go back into the house.  I needed to find out what it was.  Parents evening was fast approaching and I knew they’d be trotting along to the school all together so I made my excuses to my husband and used that as my opportunity to get in.  They use one of those infra red clickers to open the door so I’d bought a one for all remote control that read another controls signal and copied it.  I thought I’d be able to get the signal from my house but the remote wasn’t strong enough.  I needed to get closer so I ended up having to buy some camouflage clothing and hide in the bushes that ran up the driveway one night.

Once they’d gone I had a quick snoop around to see if anyone was looking and ran across the street, pressed the button on the remote and slipped into the garage closing it behind me.  There was nothing in there but I was horrified to see that the tumble dryer at the back was better than mine.  I looked around at the emptiness wondering what the hell could be making that noise but I couldn’t figure it out.  Then I heard them arriving home I knew the sound of that Lexus, it was a hybrid and ran on electric when it went slower than thirty miles an hour so it hummed instead of growling.

I saw a hatch in the ceiling, opened it and pulled myself up before replacing the hatch board.  I heard the car enter the garage and the father congratulating his daughter on getting two A’s – I made a mental note to thoroughly check my own daughters grades and severely reprimand her if they were of a lower standard.  I knew I’d have to be up there for a while so I dodged my way past some boards and rope and tucked myself down at the back.

It seemed like hours before she came down and I panicked a little when I saw the hatch open.  She didn’t climb in though, I just saw her arm flapping around and she grabbed some of the boards.  She left the hatchway open and I crept across quietly and watched her get a saw from a tool box on top of the tumble dryer, she was referring to a small plan she had on a piece of paper and  I could see that she was building some gallows.

I silently crept back to my hiding spot at the back of the garages loft and got to thinking…  What could I make that would be better than some gallows?  Then it came to me – a guillotine.   I waited until she’d finished and then waited another hour or so before I crept back home.  Once I got back I immediately began drawing up some plans to turn a sash window unit into a guillotine.

The days passed and I kept a close eye on her, watching from my monitors and then slipping into the back garden with the night vision goggles, then around to the garage to listen for her neck cracking but that time never came.  Same night after night, she was really taking her time.  Mine had been finished weeks ago.

Then one day she did something different.  She came down in the night as always but this time she came into the kitchen.  I watched as she broke down in tears and grabbed a carving knife from the kitchen drawer.  She disappeared and then her silhouette re-appeared in the youngest child’s bedroom.  I saw her bring the knife down time after time, the same thing happened with the front bedroom, the older daughter and then finally her husband.  Then she went into the garage and hung herself. 

I darted across the road and started to look around for something better than a knife, I found my husbands cricket bat and decided that that would do nicely and as I pounded my son’s tiny head with it and saw his skull shattering I knew she’d never be able to do that much damage with a knife.  Then my daughter, my husband woke up half way through this one as I’d decided to start with her legs and work my way up, there was a lot of commission before I finally managed to batter them to death but before I finished the job off I wandered over used my remote to open her garage and have a look at her hanging there. 

The fucking bitch had managed to kill her family without getting a scratch on her.  She must have sedated them first or something.  I marched across the road frustrated and used my guillotine.  My head came off with the first swoop.  Its true that as it falls you can still see and hear and as my head hit the floor and I glanced up at my brand new, top of the range Dyson tumble dryer I’d mounted my guillotine on even managed to muster a smile.

That soon changed; the neighbours had complained about the noise from my house and called the police but in my haste to use the guillotine I’d forgotten to close her garage door so it was her the police found first. I couldn’t believe it.

Both of our funerals were lovely, same undertaker, same choice of coffin, same choice of church but she had a better turn out than I did.  The fucking bitch, and although I couldn’t see her anymore I knew she was somewhere with that smug look on her face.  So here we are now.  Buried next to each other at the same cemetery with our families and I couldn’t be happier.  Why?  Because I have a slightly larger headstone.

My myspace blog posts

Sorry everyone - I've not been using this blog as much as I should have so what I'm going to do from now on is make sure that whatever I've posted on the myspace one I copy on to here (I'm at www.myspace.com/markhayhurst b.t.w. and you can listen to my band at www.myspace.com/pluktheband )

Please don't bother reading it if you're easily offended - I don't think there's anything too bad in there but if you're of a nervous disposition or you're a moaning old fucker please go somewhere else.

Oh, and if there are any spelling mistakes I'm sorry - I have dyslexia (that's not me being flippant it's true) so before anyone posts any comments about it I'd like you all to remember that it's a disability and mocking me for it is exactly the same as walking up to someone in a wheelchair and calling them a spacker to their face.  Not very nice is it?

Here you go (most recent first)

Thursday, August 16, 2007

Oh for another couple of hours.... That's all it'd take I think, to get done all the things I need to do on a daily basis.  My mind feels a little bit frazzled at the moment, kind of like someone's picked at one of the seems but instead of just burning the little bugger off like any sensible person they've pulled it until my fragile brain is thread bare. It's hard to fit everything in; books, albums, scripts, blogs - then there's the day job and since I've gone part time it's seeping into my creative time.  I can see it now spilling under my locked door urging me to make proactive sales calls.  I'd get one of those long spongy sausage dog like draft excluders if I thought it would work but that's no match for the day job - oh no, the day job will swallow one of those bad boys whole. I'm standing on my chair now. Call the police...

Friday, August 10, 2007

How’s the book sales going? I swear to God if I hear that question one more time I'm going to explode.  I wish I knew.  But I don't so stop asking!!!!! Anyway, how are you?  Good I hope. Thought I'd best check in as I've not posted owt for a bit but I don't have that much to tell you.  Although if you have any questions (other than the one above) I'll be happy to answer them. Lazers.

Sunday, July 22, 2007

Sunday bloody Sunday So, another Sunday and later on another chart rundown.  When I went out this morning to pick me sen up a bacon butty they were saying on the radio that if Rhianna clings onto the number one spot she'll be the longest running chart topper since Wet Wet Wet did that god awful ballad for that Hugh Grant film.  Well..  Here's to hoping that she's not number one again, not that I've anything against the song you understand.  It's just that ever since she's been at number one singing about that umbrella it's done nothing but fucking piss it down. Thankfully in my little farm house at the top of Halifax I'm safe, this must be one of the highest points in the country.  For two thirds of the year I actually live in a cloud, and for the other third I'm having my roof repaired due to wind damage. I'm getting first feedback from people who've finished my book and there's some interesting comments – my favourite email simply said "You are a sick, sick man indeed.  But very funny."  That made me think, nice one – that's exactly what I set out to achieve.  My mum told me off because I never write anything nice. Sorry mum, I love you but nice aint me.  I'll write summat nice once my wife's squeezed out a couple of kids but until then it's all gonna be twisted. M.

Sunday, July 15, 2007

Thanks!!!! Hi people, I just wanted to post a massive thank you to all of you that came to the launch I had a great (although stressful and exhausting) night.  My hangover has just started to wear off but I still could do with some shut eye. It's been the most hectic week in a long time, Monday I rehearsed all day, I was in the recording studio with Planet Lounge Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday then the Lauch/Gig on Friday, then arseholed all day Saturday. Now I've got two solid weeks to do at the day job so my promoting will have to take a back seat for a bit... Thanks again and see you later.

Saturday, June 23, 2007

A sneak peek Here's the first chapter of my 2nd book, Psychotic Escaping Justice, it's still in the first draft stage but I thought I'd let y'all have a butchers so you can tell me what you think... PSYCHOTIC Julie Newton As I drive down here tonight I need to once again remind myself that looking through people's bedroom windows is a numbers game and sooner or later I'm going to see some fit young bird lying spread eagled, naked on her bed, frigging herself off.  Law of averages.  Surely.  Unfortunately though in all the years I've been doing this I've seen nothing, well, I say nothing, I got a bit over excited at seeing a massive pair of tits before I realised it was a fucking Jordan poster on someone's wall.  And I saw some sixty year old woman in a bra once, it was shit.  But I knocked one out over it anyway.             I wish she'd keep the fucking noise down back there.  The banging and bashing from the car boot is doing my fucking head in.  If she'd just chill out for a bit it will all be over.  I'm letting her go free you see; she's a lucky one.  Well, not so much her being lucky as me being a bit sloppy in all honesty.              I had it all worked out and slaved tirelessly to make sure there'd definitely be nothing linking back to me with the rest of them. I chose incredibly carefully after the close shave I'd had with the first one and the rest were planned to perfection but I let too much emotion creep back in this time and that's never a good idea, not that my choices aren't emotive; they most certainly are.  It's just that I can't really justify doing it to someone who doesn't truly deserve it and I can't have it link back to me.             This one was different though, I knew her.  Julie Newton.  When I started at primary school she used to sit next to me and for my first year of school she used to spend a large proportion of the day with her hand on my cock and balls.  I was too young to get a hardon but not so young that I didn't enjoy it.  Then in the second year, much to my disappointment, she ended up sat somewhere else.             I didn't have much to do with her after that until a couple of years later when it came to moving to junior school and I was put next to her again. On the first day I was looking forward to seeing what her reaction would be when my cock started to swell in her hands but she didn't try and touch it.  Eventually after a couple of weeks I plucked up the courage to suggest that she gave it a grab and she looked horrified, she raised her hand and grassed me up in front of the whole class.  It was seriously embarrassing.  That's not why she's locked in the boot though.             When we went to high school the classes were split up to match the intelligence level of the pupils, she was in class one (stupid) and I was in class two (a little bit less stupid).  I would like to point out at this point that I was never actually stupid, school just held little interest for me, she wasn't stupid either and our paths crossed again when we were both promoted to class four in the third year.             Now, for the first two years of school all the bright kids had been learning German so when we got moved up we were two years behind, the teacher eventually told us that it was probably for the better if we found an empty classroom and spent the double period studying.             Boy did we study, biology mainly.  By the time we'd reached the third year Julie had developed into a seriously fit looking bird.  She was taller than most of the boys and had an excellent figure, great legs and to this day the best pair of soft, large pert breasts I have ever squeezed.  Her hair was blonde, eyes were blue, her features were perfect and she had skin like porcelain.             It all started off quite innocent, she used to get me to play with her hair as she rested her head on the table but as thee weeks progressed she asked me to tickle her back, then she'd un-tuck her school shirt so I could touch her skin, every time my had passed across her bra straps I had to struggle not shoot a load straight into my pants.             As the weeks progressed I got more and more confident and slowly started making my way around the front, her tight perfect stomach at first and then her breasts, over the bra.  Soon I progressed to removing the bra and spending the best part of the hour just softly caressing her tits.             Then one day Julie brought her mates diary in and we sat and read it, a particular bit we were interested in was an entry in which she mentioned being fingered.  Her friend was known as Kit Kat around the lads changing rooms because more than one person had got four fingers up her.  She didn't mention this in her diary though, it was quite a blunt entry in all honesty, it simply said '24th August, Jamie came around to mine when mum and dad were at bingo.  Sucked tits and fingered.  Julie mentioned that this was something she had never done, of course I offered to do it for her, and explained that I'd never done it before either.  She told me to tickle her legs, to start at the bottom and work my way up.  So I did.             Slowly working my way up those smooth, long, pale legs, my brain doing two jobs at once, concentrating on making sure I was doing the best delicate soft stroking I had ever done and concentrating on not exploding in my school trousers.  This particular part started to get really difficult as I got the knee because I had to start pushing her skirt up slowly.             Once I'd got to the top of her legs she opened them and I began to rub her, first on the outside of her white cotton knickers and then once I started to feel them get damp I moved slowly to the inside.  At this point she leaned over and started to kiss me, I was amazed.  She was good looking and popular and I was a nobody, yet here I was copping off with her, my hand rubbing her warm, wet, virginal vagina.  She undid my trousers and grabbed my cock, she started buy just squeezing it slowly for a while before she went for it and began pulling me off.             If there's one good thing she taught me it was fucking cock control and I held on as long as possible.  Looking back on it I could have done a much better job, I didn't even know what a clitoris was at that age so I just fucked her with my finger, it must have been pretty crap for her.  It wasn't for me though; I eventually came just as the bell for the next class rang.            I couldn't believe what had happened and I was busting to shout it from the roof tops.  I confided in my mate Andrew and the cunt went up and asked her to see if I was bullshitting.  She was horrified but rather than just deny it she made it worse.  She told him it did happen and that I had a tiny penis.  Which I don't have by the way.             So for the rest of school I was cursed with a nick name that to this day if someone who knew me back then sees me is still used.  My name is Jeremy Wilkinson, but I got called Will for short, after this incident I was 'two mil will'.             The following two years were horrible and that's why I wanted to get my revenge on her, I wanted to beat her, then tie her up, then show her what my 'two mil will' could do.             Emotion had crept in and damn nearly ruined everything.  It's like being on the school bus with aching bollocks all over again.  She's there in the boot, half naked, gagged and bound and I could have her whenever I want but that would leave a trace.  It's a fucking shame.  That was my first rule; don't have sex with them, no matter how much you want to.             So I'm going to just drop her off in the middle of nowhere.  I've been careful; I'm pretty sure she's not seen me or heard me speak and she doesn't know where she's been, where she's going or what sort of car she's in.  Although she does know it has a spacious boot.             It's probably partly her fault I became fixated with sex.  God only knows how much different I would have turned out if I hadn't had my cock and balls fondled for the best part of a year when I was four years old, although at least when she did it I liked it, not like when that fucking bastard did it.             I'm impressed with how I caught her though it was great.  I'd seen an article in the Gazette about sloppy police work and potential corruption within the local force and noticed her name below it, I didn't even know it was definitely her, she was certainly old enough to have got married and it's not the most unusual name but Holme Bridge isn't a big place and I was going to fucking find out.  I called her pretending to be a police officer, her voice sounded familiar which gave me a bit of confidence, I told her I had some very important information that should be put into the public domain and I arranged to meet her in the car park of the Nobody Inn, a pub that's been closed for about two years now, I told her I was choosing there so that I wouldn't be seen and insisted on anonymity.             I was actually choosing there because I can see it easily from my attic room, the pub's just a ruin now, it was always doomed, some freak was looking after it that died in a car crash, which I narrowly avoided by the way.  Then once it re-opened it wasn't long before another car came speeding around the corner and hit it, it was a tragic but fucking funny accident.  It was a husband and wife and she'd been sucking him off whilst he was driving, he must have lost concentration and as he rounded the corner he smashed the car into the side of the pub, when the fire brigade removed the wreckage they found them both dead.  In the impact of the smash as the front of the car buckled the steering wheel had jammed the woman's head by her bloke's crotch and forced her mouth closed.  She was removed with his detached cock stuck down her throat.             Then last year a trucker was coming around the corner and passed out, it turned out he was diabetic and driving illegally, his truck went straight into the side of the pub.  He survived as it happens, but a lot of the locals didn't, and nor did the pub.  The fire brigade failed to realise that the Lorry being stuck there was the only thing holding the fucking pub up so when they removed it around two thirds of the building collapsed.             Due to some small print loop hole the insurers didn't pay up so the brewery just made the remainder safe, it sits there bordered up, propped up with metal stilts and bouldered in.  They always put boulders around everything that's derelict around here, especially abandoned car parks; it stops the Gypsies getting their caravans in.  Christ they even occupied a car park that was still in use not long ago, it took ages for the police to get rid of them, it's not like they could clamp them I suppose; that'd just ensure they stayed.  They sent out a gypsy liaison officer from the council to negotiate with them.  A fucking gypsy liaison officer!  I never even knew such a thing existed.  Now they've cleared off but some smart arse has meddled with the tariff sign, it reads one hour – sixty pence, two hours – a pound, gypsies – free for a week.             I digress, back to the point.  I've been experimenting with different types of poison and venoms over the last six years and I've built up quite a collection of highly illegal pets and concoctions and have had varying degrees of success over time, I've become quite the expert now.  I decided to try saxitoxin on this occasion; it's found in marine algae but sometimes finds its way into shellfish and poisons people if they eat it.  It was a risky choice because I'd not tried it out on my guinea pig and was fully aware that too much could give her respiratory failure and not enough would simply make her very ill.  The effect I needed was temporary paralysis.  I wanted her to realise what was going on to a certain extent.  Chloroform would be good if it behaved the way they lead you to believe on television but I found out that both the dosage and results are a lot more complex than they ever seemed on the A-Team or Knight Rider.  Mind you even if it was as simple as popping a few drops on a hanky and shoving it around somebody's mouth to knock them out it'd be pretty boring.  Even if it knocked them out for long enough you wouldn't be able to really scare them.  Something that stops the body from functioning but keeps the senses aware is much more fun, you can still do what you want but you get the satisfaction of knowing that they're aware of what's going on and just can't do anything about it.             I knew from looking on the web that only zero point two milligram's was a lethal dose for a human so I'd carefully measured out half that, mixed it with a shot of vodka and put it in a syringe.  Most standard injections have an alcohol base you see and vodka is a pretty clean spirit so it works quite well.  I just needed to keep my fingers crossed that she'd not put on a shit load of weight since we left school or the effects could be compromised.             The easiest way to actually administer this particular substance is through food but there was no guarantee I could get her back here to do that (certainly not without her seeing my face) and in this game you need to keep one step ahead all the time, I made more than my fair share of mistakes at the beginning but I could afford to back then.  Nowadays the fucking police are all over the place like a bastard rash.             Once I'd got the toxin sorted I unpacked the small manual ventilator I'd had delivered a few weeks earlier and read the instructions to make sure that if she did end up getting short of breath I'd be able to keep her alive.  I couldn't believe it was so simple to use, simply pop the mask over her face and depress and release the plastic balloon attached to it.  Simple.  And a fucking rip off, it cost me nearly two hundred quid. So, I was sorted, my toxin and my safeguard were ready, now it was just a matter of timing.  The land the pub sits on is square and the car park is like a U shape, the base of the U going around the back of what's left of the boozer, I'd arranged to meet her at midnight as all the old dears that live surrounding the pub would definitely be tucked up in bed and I was sat in my darkened attic room looking through the windows with the binoculars waiting for her to arrive.  My eyes kept straining as it was so dark and I was concerned that I might not be able to see her arrive but my fears were quashed because at about five past I saw a pair of headlights pull on to the street before stopping by the boulders, she was driving an old Lexus, I was surprised because I thought that the Gazette would pay shit money.  Perhaps she was freelance or had a boyfriend with a bit of cash or something.  As she exited the car I zoomed in on the vehicle to make sure there wasn't anybody else in it.  It was clear. I popped on my Jacket, scarf and baseball cap, carefully put my syringe and ventilator into each pocket and set off out.  I sprinted around the corner and as soon as I had the pub in view I began to walk casually, she could see me but I was too far away for her to be able to identify me properly, even if it was daylight I had the cap low and the scarf high.  I waved and she waved back, I figured if I waved first that she wouldn't see it as a threat when I started running towards her, maybe she'd just assume I was getting a wriggle on because I was late.  It worked, I ran towards her with my head bowed slightly but instead of slowing down as I got closer to her I charged full pelt at her.  As we fell to the floor I got the syringe from my pocket and pumped my concoction into her thigh.  She struggled for a small while, biting my hand as I tried to keep her mouth shut but she didn't make much noise. Then she started to convulse and I was concerned that the dosage was wrong but after a few seconds her legs stopped moving, the rest of her was still moving like she had an electric current going through her but their was definitely no resistance from the legs.  After what seemed like another ten seconds or so this had spread until just her head was shaking then a few seconds after that she stopped.  I rolled her over, took off my scarf and tied it around her eyes as I was unsure weather she'd be able to see me or not in her state.  Then I went through her pockets and found her car keys, I pressed the unlock button and carried her over.  She wasn't very heavy and I was concerned that the shot might have killed her.  I didn't have time to piss about checking at this point though and opened the back doors of the car.  It was a shit hole inside, it was obviously hers and by the look of it this was her office.  Papers and notes scattered in and amongst the empty food packets and empty Volvic bottles.  I picked her up and threw her on all the crap across the backseat before getting in and driving away. I was aware that if she knew what was going on, there would be a good chance she could narrow down a police search if I only drove around the corner and it could potentially cause me problems later on so I took a drive for twenty or so minutes on the country lanes around Holme Bridge before returning home.  I had to stop a couple of times to ventilate her, every now and then she'd do a dry gasp and panic would shoot through me. Once I got to my street I had a good look around before I risked opening my garage door, the coast was clear, so I pressed the button on my keys to open it and carefully, quietly reversed the Lexus in before pressing the button again to lower the door.  Once inside I got out of the car and carried her through the internal door and into the house. I laid her carefully on the floor whilst I went back to lock the car and the door.  Once I was back in the house I opened the basement hatch and went down to check everything was in order.  The shackles were secure, the room was clean, mattress was clean and all of the tanks and cages were in order. I brought her down and laid her on the mattress, then carefully removed all of her outer clothing, not for any sexual reason just yet; I just wanted to dispose of the clothes to make sure that any trace of me was wiped from them. Once I'd finished I put the clothes into a bin bag for later disposal, then I went into my bedroom and turned on the P.C.  I have a web cam set up down there and as I watched her lying lifeless and limp I wanked, it felt good to be able to do it for me this time and I came almost immediately.  As soon as I had and the excitement had lifted reality and remorse landed on me like gravity on steroids.  What a fucking idiot.  Everybody I went to school with knew I had a grudge against her and unlike the rest of my victims she'd done absolutely nothing seriously wrong.  I knew I'd just have to wait a while and then dump her off somewhere.  Her car posed problems of it own, but with my contacts in the trade shifting a dodgy motor wasn't too tricky a business.

21 Jun 2007

Hayfever!!!!! Category: Life What a fucking bastard!  I'm sat here with my nose streaming like I've done a ten hour coke binge, my gob feels like someone's inflated the roof of my mouth and put tickling powder in it, my eyes are swollen, the whites of them have gone yellow and they're actually hanging over my eyelids!  I look like a fucking frog.  I tell you I'm not far off gouging the itchy bastards out with a spoon. Every year I get this and every year it gets right on my tit ends, last year was a peach.  I took my car into Audi for a service and they gave me a convertible TT as a courtesy car for the day, it was an absolutely beautiful day and I thought - nice, I'm gonna look cool as fuck in this. And I did...  For about half an hour, when I took it back at the end of the day my hair looked like I'd had an electric shock, I'd sunburned one half of my face and I was hayfevered up to the max.  I looked a right twat. Anyway, that's my moan out of the way, I was thinking today about how odd it must be for people from outside Yorkshire to listen to us speak to each other and realised why so many people think we're rough.  The reason is the way we communicate with each other; offensive words are polite conversation around here.  I was in the pub the other day and a bloke walked in, grabbed this other bloke's arse and said, "Nar then ya fucking cunt!"  The other bloke's response?  "Oh hiya, how you doing yer fucking nob head" This is how best friends communicate with each other around here - it's odd.  So anyway, all I'm saying is if you come to Yorkshire don't be scared of us; we're more likely to cuddle you than fight you and if we call you a cunt we probably mean it in a nice way. Laters.

17 Jun 2007

Muse @ Wembley Category: Music Well, after months of giddy anticipation I went to see Muse at the new Wembley stadium last night and I'm afraid to say I came away feeling under whelmed... It was such a shame too, I've seen both The Streets and Muse before and thought that live they were nothing short of amazing, they pulled out all the stops and made an effort here too it's just unfortunate that for some reason it sounded fucking shite. My initial thinking was that it must be the fault of the sound engineers but I quickly discounted that; there's no way Muse would pick a bad crew.  The only thing I can think is that it's the stadium itself causing the problem.  It's been designed to amplify and contain crowd noise for football matches, so all you can hear when you're in there is an echoey roar. The vocals were muffled, the guitars sounded awful, God it was annoying. The Streets once again worked their arse off and managed to win over a crowd that never really cared and Muse (other than the sound) were mesmerising.  I can't wait to see this on DVD or something with the sound sorted - the show they put on was awesome. Dirty Pretty Things though...  Fuck me they're shite.  I've seen better bands playing at the local on jam night.  I quite liked the Libertines although I don't see what all the fuss is about Pete Doherty, he's no musical genius he's just a fucking smack head dirty finger nailed scratter with a fit bird.  From interviews I'd read I always thought that Carl Barat sounded like a decent bloke, which I'm not disputing he is but his band are pants.  A load of four bar code bobbins with crap melodies performed incompetently.  It actually made me angry watching them, I see loads of unsigned bands all the time and in recent years I can't remember seeing one as bad as Dirty Pretty Things live. So yeah, I'm a little upset by the whole thing but never mind - you live and you learn.   So to clarify - The Streets and Muse are still two of the best live acts on the planet but Wembley is probably the worst venue and Dirty Pretty Things need to fuck off somewhere else. Sees yer later.