Three Hoodies Save the World

Constant moaning and whinging about everything

Archive for the month “December, 2015”

Things not to do when you don’t drink.

Well, actually this is about just one thing not to do when you don’t drink.

I’ve bored enough people about how I hope to get three books published by Christmas. That dream isn’t going to happen, so I’m ploughing on regardless.

Late, very late on Christmas eve I finally finished the final version of Three Hoodies Save the World 3. Elated beyond belief I drank my annual bottle of wine the day after with my Christmas lunch, and later, bored out of my mind from too much James bond and Star wars I took a look at my work before sending it to my absolutely wonderful fantastic, great (she may read this) beta reader, only to find that my last eight hours of work had not saved. I don’t know why since my auto every-five-minute-save warning did obligingly blip every five minutes. I’ve had a stern word with my aging XP machine which involved quite a lot of profanity.

There was little point in kicking or throwing my computer out of the window in disgust, so I did what most normal people would do and began again – after my annual bottle of wine, a very nice burgundy with a billion percent alcohol and with a body that doesn’t drink alcohol anymore.

Three hours ago, about eighteen after beginning, and it’s done and on its way to my wonderful, fantastic generous to a fault beta reader and I think my head’s about to explode.

I’ll never touch a bottle of wine ever again – until next year where I’ll already have locked the door to my writing room.

I hope you all had a good few days off and did what normal people do, which is to relax and enjoy yourselves.


I’ve changed the cover yet again for Old Geezers 3 and won’t touch it again, probably.


My last ever book cover.

I’ve been painting for about five years and slowly getting better at it – but – I’m never going to be good unless I devote more time to learning the basics. So once my three final trilogies are finished I’m going to take a year off writing to learn how to paint.

People are familiar with my style now and apparently that’s important, which is why I’ve done this one the same way. My next novel’s cover (whenever that may be) will be completely different, and hopefully good.

Thus here is the cover (maybe) for Old Geezers Three. I worked long and hard on the title so that people won’t know exactly who’s revenge is being wrought unless they read it. I hope I’ve come up with an interesting ending.

So here it is, and I’m not going to mess with it again – probably.


Despite everything…


Despite a job that’s probably going to do me in, and a daughter who wants to since I won’t let her have a new donkey, horse, Mini turbo or perfume extracted from the soft bits of an animal on the absolute verge of extinction, I’ve managed to finish the penultimate edits of my three new novels. As expected they won’t be ready in time for Christmas, well not this Christmas at any rate.

I’m about to begin the single thing about writing that I hate. There may be another method but so far I haven’t found it, so if anyone knows a better way of checking a novel for errors than reading it backwards I pledge the soul of my first born as recompense.

After all the things I’ve denied her for Christmas she’ll probably spring at the chance.

And just to compound my belief that the world’s out to get me, my wife’s car went into the garage for it’s annual service today and several hours later I received a call from the garage.

“Brakes,” said the man on the other end with the exasperated tone I remembered so well from the time he used to perform said task for my daughter before she finally began using a new garage after that unpleasant incident with him foaming at the mouth after her request for a… well better leave that part unsaid.

“What about brakes?” I enquired as politely as possible to the phone which seemed to be heating up.

“Your missus’ car hasn’t got any. Would you like some?” Not wanting to tell him that the answer was self evident I nodded and put down the phone. Then as quickly as possible picked it up again and after waiting for about ten minutes, politely confirmed that I would and blamed a localised earthquake for cutting the line, which he probably didn’t believe as the garage is only two hundred yards from my house.

Now I’ve just got to wait for him to call up and give me the price.

I happened across the number for the French foreign legion’s recruitment hotline on the Net. I’m keeping it handy.

Dadsky part two.

I finally realised that beating one’s daughter to death is probably considered bad form and so we had a conversation. Or rather I did the talking while she listened, scowling murderously in that manner of which only a young woman is capable.

“You’re not having a pony, and that’s the end of the conversation!”

Curiously she didn’t launch into her usual shtick, which is to say screaming that I hate her before running off to her bedroom and slamming every door on the way hard enough to splinter the house’s foundations. In fact she smiled. It wasn’t a smile I’ve ever seen in a human before; in fact more like the one that giant shark displayed before biting Robert Shaw in half in Jaws. I don’t know what frightened me more, the silence or that ghastly smile.

“Alright,” she said with the guileless expression one might see in a toddler, “if I can’t have a donkey then can I have something for Christmas?”

I nodded eagerly for unlike me she hasn’t expressed any desire for a Harley, or a 911 turbo or a personal Lear Jet.

Later on she emailed me a photo of the bottle of perfume she’s convinced will have every man in the known universe swooning at her feet. Obediently I went down to the local perfumery to enquire how much it would cost, hovering as close to the door as possible without the security guard arresting me whilst waiting for the news.

“How much???????????????”

I’m going to start googling the local donkey sanctuaries this very moment.

Oh, Dadsky.

In my daughter’s twenty years on this planet I’ve had every permutation of my parental title.
Image courtesy of google images.

“Oh father.” Usually precedes scorn.
“Pater.” Same thing.
“Oh Dad?” A request for something I can’t afford.

“Daddy!” I’ve broken something.

A couple of days ago she hit me with a new one, and although relieved that her vocabulary is finally growing, I had no idea what: “Dadsky” preceded.

I found out today. Bearing in mind that she already has an old pony, on its last legs – literally, and an enormous horse, so large in fact that after seeing Louis the Limp sleeping in his usual position, which is to say on its back with his legs wide open he tried the same thing and now has to have giant cushions on the floor of his stable since if he lies down he can’t get up because the big galumph’s legs are so long he gets stuck and squeals like something being slowly eviscerated. And as for their combined flatulence – even the Starlings and Swifts that usually frequent the stables have flown away to safer climes leaving several of their number behind comatose or dead.

So back to Dadsky.

My spawn has indicated her requirement for a donkey. Now don’t get me wrong, I love donkeys. They’re really cute even though they don’t apparently do anything save standing in a field all day looking cute. Louis hates donkeys even more than he hates other horses. Richie, the aforementioned Klutz doesn’t know what to make of them and after trying to eat the only donkey in the yard a couple of weeks ago galloped off screaming with his tail about two inches shorter after the donkey failed to see the funny side of it.

“Why do you want a donkey? Why why why why?”

Even falling back to her old standby hasn’t worked, ie, “you hate me and wish I was dead.”

She won’t let it rest until I beat her to death or give in. I’m beginning to consider the former.

Is it time for bed yet?


I got what I wanted. I finally got a job. Not for want of trying but things are not what the British government would have us all believe.

I can confirm that milk and honey does not drip down from the trees; neither do the streets positively sparkle with gold.

Nevertheless I got a job – and it’s killing me.

Right, got that over with.

We’re enjoying a hurricane in england today. The Met office are calling it a storm but they haven’t been blown straight over three lanes of a motorway on a motorbike and directly towards the maw of a grinning truck coming the other way. It was quite fun.

Usually, whenever I go round corners I try to take the bike down low because I enjoy it. Just because she got the heels of both shoes torn off on one particularly exuberant ride one day, my wife won’t ride with me anymore. I mean, they couldn’t have been really expensive since everyone knows that shoes are not spelt Choos. Must have been some cheap knock-off.

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