Three Hoodies Save the World

Constant moaning and whinging about everything

I Will Always #Blog Love You


If I should stay
I hope I won’t
be in your way
So I might stay or
I might go,
but I know
I’ll think of you
every step
of the way
And I will always love you
I will always blog love you

Mostly sweet memories
Is all I’d take with me
No more goodbyes
No outcries
We both know you
have all you need
And I will always love you
I will always blog love you

I hope life treats you kind
And I hope you have all
you’ve dreamed of
And I wish to you joy and happiness
But above all this, I wish you love. I will always love you…
even if you don’t agree with my beliefs, we don’t have to believe the same things to be friends, to find common ground, to wish each other well, and to support each other, because as…

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Another picture to make me smile.

I came across this grumpy chap a few days ago in a forest.

The fact that a woodpecker was enlarging his eye at the time couldn’t have helped.

Nobody ever hugs me!!
Good news – for me anyway.
    After a lot of faffing about I finally got GIMP 10.02 working. I just knew they’d released ver 10 too early.
    No matter. It seems to be working fine now. Especially since I saved myself about a billion gig by not downloading all the translations.

Pictures to make me smile.

I’ve been away for a while, but now I’m back and will begin blogging again once I’ve gouged the rust out of my keyboard.

The first picture to make me smile.

This is my grandchild. My baby is actually having a baby!! It should make me feel old but I don’t care. Don’t know what persuasion of child it is yet. They don’t tell us over here in case we do away with it. It’s a stupid old rule so we’ll just have to wait.
If anyone does work out whether it’s a boy or girl, please don’t tell me, I’m enjoying the suspense.

Second smiley picture.

Harley doesn’t sleep, he just hits the pillow and dies. If I could just get one hour’s uninterrupted sleep at night I call it a victory. That little rat get’s about twelve – lucky little sod.

Third picture. This doesn’t make me smile; more like sneer since it’s the worst thing I’ve every painted. I’ll keep it, though, just to remind me of how much better I can do.

Children of Shadows Cover Reveal

Amaranthine by Joleene Naylor

Ume got to keep her spot on Children of Shadows! How could I resist getting to see her in the flesh? Now, the real question: Who do you think will be on the next cover?

What do you think? Like it? Love it? Hate it? Want an autographed paperback copy? If so message me, otherwise leave your thoughts in the comments!

(It may take a few days for all retailers to update the listing with the new cover, so if you don’t see it yet, it’s coming!)

Paperback | Amazon Kindle | Smashwords | Barnes & Noble | Apple iBooks | Kobo

The new Collector’s cover will appear in August, so you have until then to grab the old collector version where Ume is hand drawn.

my sig

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Time for a mini gripe – athon

I haven’t complained for a while so now I think it’s time. This is only to get it off my chest since if I so much as say anything other than “yes madam” to “She”, she’ll swat me.

For six years I’ve been salivating over the completion of GIMP 2.10, and today it arrived.

I loaded it up, sweating in anticipation.

Lovely splash screen, nice speed – until the error messages began. I’ve never seen so many in my life. If I’m to believe the amount of missing DLL’s then I must have none at all, yet if that were the case then nothing would have worked before.

I uninstalled and tried again, this time getting it from a different source. Same thing – nothing. It just don’t work. Then I spent an hour finding the previous version, since GIMP had kindly deleted 2.8 from my comp on installation.

All is well now. I’ll just have to wait a little while longer until they sort it out. Stable version my starboard buttock!!

    As you can see I got bored at the end of my latest painting and will probably get back to it sometime.
    Whine number two
    In the last month I’ve been through four brand new phones. We all know how long it takes to set up a new phone, now multiply that by four.
    The problem is that other than the magnificent eight core processors and batteries that last forever, they just don’t work. In fact I must be the person the phone shops are all waiting for; someone who actually demands an older phone running Android Lollipop.
    Since it’s clear that Nougat (ver 7) is absolutely rubbish, or just hates me, I’ll just have to wait until I can afford something running Orio, and hope they’ve fixed the GPS which just doesn’t work for more than ten minutes at a time. My boss has been very understanding about me rebooting the phone every fifteen minutes but his patience can only last so long.
    Tomorrow I go back to work with my brand new/old phone. I pray the satnav works like it used to on my antediluvian HTC which finally bit the dust a few weeks ago.

Is it just my imagination?

I had to accompany someone to the hospital today.

Upon looking over my shoulder in the car park, I found someone looking over mine.

When you get really close it’s just someone’s sloppy brushwork, but If it was him then it’s a very comforting feeling.

If it turns into a shrine, then it’ll be a very expensive one. It costs about a pound a minute to park there.

I discovered something I forgot about.

A few years ago (I can’t remember when since I already converted the MS to TextMaker and erased the original registry date), I wrote this. It was going to be a long novel which is why I probably lost interest at page 47.

Curiously, its going to be a Scifi novel. I might start it up again, since just for a change, I know how it will end.

Spitfires and black holes: who’d have thought it.

The Spitfire’s death was fiery and extended.
     After an uneven descent punctuated by several barking coughs from its smoking engine, the aircraft’s undercarriage began to unfurl from its uniquely shaped wings. Or at least part of it did. One wheel descended properly, in jarring counterpoint to the other side: a jagged strut protruding starkly at an angle the designer had never envisaged. That and the shattered tail boded ill for the once beautiful but now mortally crippled aircraft.
      The pilot must have been injured and missed the both emergency flares, his peril compounded by the Luftwaffe raid of the previous night which had destroyed both radios. In a furious attempt to do something the fire crews raced forward, blue lights flashing and sirens bellowing in a futile attempt to keep up.
    Moments later one wheel gently touched the wet and newly cut grass of the improvised airstrip. For a few seconds longer its final flight remained serene before the fractured wheel strut dug in, slewing the plane in a sweeping cartwheel until the opposite wing tip touched the ground. The wood and canvas frame held briefly, long enough to pivot the entire machine back into the air one last time before the wing finally snapped off at the fuselage, hurling debris in every direction as the plane lurched downwards. Beneath the eruption of fuel, coolant and oil the shattered aircraft finally halted on what was left of its right side. The silence lasted but seconds as the high octane fuel made contact with something hot. The resulting explosion enveloped the entire structure in a billowing cloud of smoke and steam and fire.

Reality Bites Issue #3

Lost my mojo.

What exactly is a mojo?

Well, whatever it is – I’ve lost it.

Can’t be bothered to advertise my new novel upon which I’ve bestowed so much love.

Can’t be bothered to begin the next one.

Can’t be bothered to paint.

I think I’ve spent so much time struggling for a chance to do all three, that now, when it’s been handed to me on a plate, I just can’t do it.

On the plus side, there is a new episode of NCIS on tonight – ho hum.

I think it might be because my daughter is pregnant.

I’m happy about that because she is. It’s just that my little princess is no longer small enough to send to bed early if she misbehaves. She’s a woman now and can tell me exactly where to shove it if she chooses.

And if one more person joyfully tells me just what fun it is to be a grandad I may just slaughter them.

I may have got this writing malarky wrong

For months I’ve been immersed, nay, drowning in my new book, Sods Law. Now, less than a week after publishing it, am I going hell for leather trying to advertise it? Well, er no. All this time I’ve been writing, rewriting, and trying to make it the best thing I’ve ever written. And now I’m starting the new book.

As I may have mentioned, I’d love to be filthy, stinking rich, but I just want to write. Don’t get me wrong, I will make some (feeble) attempts to advertise Sods but the new one is burning a hole in my head.

And I’ve just worked out out my villain is going to carry out his dastardly deed.

Haven’t quite worked out out my hero is going to foil him yet – or even if he will.

Can’t wait to find out.

Here’s a passage from Sods Law I really enjoyed writing. Just another display of my juvenile humour but I like it.

  ‘Teach them to come barging into our house,’ Doris growled, sniffing the air suspiciously, but clearly with more things on her mind let it go. ‘Who were they?’ she demanded wrenching open drawers and cupboards before tossing the shopping in and slamming them with as much violence as she clearly wished she’d been able to visit upon their three recent visitors.
  ‘Don’t know.’ Arnold really didn’t know and had no wish to share the room with an angry Doris and a rack of carving knives. Whether she would actually have assaulted them was another matter. Most of their annoying visitors, like Jehovah’s Witnesses and representatives from the council usually got the message before his wife had recourse to violence. Chantal turned to leave but halted at a voice, an oddly strident and excited voice. Even Arnold froze in surprise since it was the first time he’d heard more than two consecutive words emanating from this particular mouth without either of them being obscene.
  ‘I seen ‘im before.’
  ‘Oo?’ demanded Chantal, obviously more able to decipher what passed for English from her friend. As if to forestall any more complaints from her father concerning her own grammar, a sly wink on Waynette’s blind side reminded him of their previous conversation on said matter.
  ‘That geezer outside. He’s a copper, a real minger.’ Interested now, Chantal turned to her friend with a smile.
  ‘Which one? There was three.’
  Perhaps surprised with her own outburst Waynette grinned. It wasn’t a pleasant expression, but being the first Arnold had ever seen from her he decided that anything was better than nothing.
  ‘The one what was in your face. Seen that tosser before.’ Having rediscovered the art of speech Waynette’s face became animated and with a surprisingly nice smile it was almost easy to overlook the strange clothes she was wearing, most of which he noticed, belonged to his daughter.
  ‘When have you seen him before,’ said Doris, her stern voice enough to dampen Waynette’s euphoria somewhat.
  ‘Told you. He’s a copper. Came to our place after mum’s new boyfriend moved in.’
  ‘The one what reads all those dirty mags? Or the one that tried to do it to…’
  ‘That one,’ Waynette said smiling nastily. ‘Won’t be doin’ that again for a while.’
  ‘Wait a minute. I’m getting lost.’ Arnold felt his head spinning. It might have been confusion or a vague memory that the sausages he’d eaten just a short while ago had been out of date by nearly a week. Waynette’s smile of derision returned to the one he remembered so well.
  ‘He knicked my mum’s boyfriend. But it took three of them,’ she remarked with obvious approval.
  ‘When, why?’ Doris stuttered apparently unconcerned by their grammar.
  ‘Ee’ was growing skunk in our garden shed. Would have been alright,’ she said with regret, ‘except that the next door neighbour’s dog went in chasing a fox, and when it came out dragging one of the plants, it was stoned. Weren’t half funny.’
  ‘One of the plants?’ asked Arnold, only vaguely aware of what dope was because he’d heard it mentioned in one of those real life cop shows on the telly. As for skunk he had no idea.
  ‘Yeah, but that weren’t the best bit. He ran off with it and dropped some by the foot of another copper what was nicking the ice cream bloke for selling beer to the kids.’
  ‘And they took him away?’ Chantal asked, entranced with the whole scene.
  ‘Yeah, but they had to let him go in the end.’
  ‘Why?’ Doris’s voice clearly displayed her disgust.
  ‘Well they couldn’t prove that mum’s boyfriend had grown it. So they let him out, but not until they’d given him a kicking for slashing in the cop car.’
  ‘Slashing?’ croaked Doris in confusion, but only long enough for Waynette to simulate the action to Arnold’s barely concealed amusement.

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