Tag Archives: humor

Why I’m the Forrest Gump of Lad-Lit (and a moan about EURO 2012)

truth, blow jobs, anal sex, football , euro 2012, racism, hooligans, writing
The truth, the whole truth……

As a writer who doesn’t exactly shy away from contact with the outside world, I receive a steady stream of emails from people asking me questions. These range from requests for advice on writing to comments about books and all points in between.

All are welcome, all appreciated and all replied to. After all, if someone has taken the trouble to mail me, it’s usually because they have taken the time to read something I’ve written so the very least I can do is respond. Time is, after all, the most valuable commodity any of us have.

However, there is one particular question thrown at me, and on a fairly regular basis, which always provides a warm glow of satisfaction; ‘what’s the next book about?’

The great joy of this question is that it provides both affirmation and confirmation in equal measures. For it provides proof that not only is my work liked, it’s anticipated! Could any author ask for more than that?

What makes it even more special is that my back list isn’t just varied, it could even be described as manic. I certainly can’t think of many authors who’ve published books about subjects as diverse as racism in football and farting although I’m sure there is much a decent psychiatrist could make of that!!

Yet as many people have told me, the eclectic nature of my work is part of the attraction. I am, as one reader put it, the Forrest Gump of lad-lit. I think that was meant as a compliment, it’s certainly how I took it anyway!

This ‘box of chocolates’ reference inevitably leads me onto another oft asked question, how do I pick the subjects for my books? The answer to that is simple, or at least it was.

Like most authors, I have a list of books I intend to write at some point. Some are based on personal experience, a few on a passion for something and others which stem from a simple nugget of an idea I have locked away in what passes for my memory. This list has always been fairly flexible and it’s fair to say that it contains books which will never, ever get written for no other reason than I simply don’t have the required skill to pull them off. And before anyone asks, yes, my autobiography is on there and no, it won’t ever get written. There are lots of reasons for this but ‘no one would ever believe half of it’ and ‘guilty your honour’ are two.

But in the past the underlying reason for the subject matter of a particular book was always purely and simply what I could persuade my publishers to print. A process which all too often was incredibly time consuming and frustrating involving arm twisting, deviousness and even grovelling. Indeed, it is a fact that Billy’s Log, which remains one of my personal favourite books (and is also one of my biggest sellers!) was only published at all because I insisted on having it tacked onto the contract for Barmy Army. But that process took two long years!

However, since the move into eBooks and the speed with which that allows me to both write and publish, things have changed immeasurably. For with the decision on what to write and when being mine and mine alone, not only am I in total control but I can be much more reactive to what my readers are telling me. The astonishing success of both The Crew and Top Dog since they went online (and however you look at it, almost 8 months at number one on both Amazon and iTunes is an astonishing feat) is a case in point. For with Wings of a Sparrow almost complete, I had already taken the decision on what to write next but such has been the volume of requests for a third book in that series, that has now become my next project.

That said, only yesterday I had a ‘bolt-of-lightning’ moment which got me so excited that I had to pull over and send emails about it from a lay-by on the A1 so it might be that things change again!

But that’s the joy of epublishing over traditional publishing. It allows me that flexibility which as a writer, is incredibly liberating.

And as long as my readers are happy to indulge me, I’m only too happy to continue along my meandering path.

God bless ‘em all!!!

*

One final thing I have to say. Just prior to EURO 2012, the BBC aired a documentary which made all kinds of accusations relating to the potentialfor racism and violence in the Ukraine and Poland and featured amongst other things, former England international Sol Campbell claiming that he thought some black and Asian fans might come home in coffins.

As I write this, it is the morning of the England vs Italy quarter final and without wishing to tempt fate, there has not been a mass outbreak of mass racism at a single game nor has there been a single England fan arrested.

We are all used to this type of media fed hysteria ahead of major tournaments but that does not make it right and it most certainly does not make it acceptable. Surely the time has come for the FA to make a stand against this ridiculous, insensitive and above all insulting style of sensationalist reporting and let it be known that it won’t put up with it any more.

But above all, Sol Campbell has done a huge disservice to his country and the many black and Asian England fans who stayed away from the tournament because of his ridiculous assertions. He was also incredibly insulting to the tournament hosts.

Thankfully, the England fans have already let it be known what they think of him with the brilliant ‘coffin parade’ in Donestsk but if he had anything about him, he’d have the balls to come out and admit he was wrong.

I won’t however, be holding my breath.

crew, violence, racism, racist, anal sex, oral sex, necrophilia,
The Crew. Still #1

The Art of Fart!

fart, farting, romance, flatulence, lads, women

Rather than blog this week, by way of a taster (and a bit of promotion!) I thought I’d post up the opening chapter of my ebook, The Art of Fart. 

Please have a read and if you enjoy it, why not download the whole book from either Amazon or iTunes for the princely sum of £0.99.

The Art Of Fart – introduction.

It is one of the most natural of bodily functions. Humans do it, animals do it, birds do it and there is even research to suggest that fish communicate with it.

For most men, it provides a ready sense of achievement and even self-worth whilst as a comedy tool it is almost unrivalled. Yet doing it in public is almost universally regarded as a social faux pax whilst in a few countries it is actually illegal.

It is of course, farting. And I am a huge fan. Well, truth to tell I am more than a simple fan. For having studied the act of breaking wind for most of my life I have come to think of myself as more of a fartsmith than a simple aficionado. I might even go so far as to say that I regard myself as something of a fartologist.

Now I realise that is an arrogant claim so it is only fair that I provide a quick resume of my rectal related record to prove that I have the knowledge and experience to back up the fact that I am a leading authority in the anal art department.

My love affair with farting began at an early age. In fact one of my earliest and fondest childhood memories involves an enforced overnight stop at my grandparents house in Tottenham where thanks to a particularly impenetrable pea-souper settling over North London, myself and my four brothers were forced to top and tail in a double bed overnight.

As you can imagine, the inevitable emissions soon created a pea-souper of our own but they also provided us with a great deal of quality entertainment. It also proved conclusively that a fart cannot render you unconscious. Quite the opposite.

However, it is fair to say that the greatest influence on my life as a fartologist has been my father. Not simply for his own proficiency in this area, but for his ability to extract as much enjoyment from the process as is humanly possible.

Initially, this involved relating tales from his own youth and in particular, his period of National Service when whilst undergoing his basic training, he met a fellow conscript who was able to fart at will.

This was the kind of thing legends are made of. For example, whenever they would go on parade, which back then was often, this chap would station himself in the row either behind or in front of my old man who, knowing what was going to happen, would invariably be forced to try and suppress giggling as the inspecting officers approached.

Of course the anticipation coupled with the odd hissed comment from his tormentor would make his struggle even harder and by the time the

fart, farting, romance, flatulence, lads, women
Single women do fart

inevitable trouser roar arrived, my dad would be almost beetroot with pain. Occasionally he wouldn’t be able to help himself and would simply collapse in a heap of laughter which would result in him receiving a major league bollocking. Indeed, given that my dad went on to become a comic, I have often thought that this was where he developed his comic timing.

In later years, as his tribe of kids grew older and the tales of his youth became increasingly boring to us, he was forced to find other ways of amusing himself, usually at our expense. I certainly can’t recall him letting one go and not apportioning blame to me or one of my brothers but as time passed and we became more used to the old mans tactics, his anal activities became limited to a witty post-gruff comment.

Yet even though we were growing increasingly proficient ourselves and were frequently using our gruff grenades on each other both for fun and in competition, my four brothers and I always knew that he was the master. We were also well aware that if we were ever going to extract the long-overdue revenge we sought, we would need to find a new delivery method. It finally arrived when we discovered the art of fart-capture.

Initially, we would fart into our hands and imprison the smell between our palms before pushing our hands into the faces of our victims. However, the problem with this method is that the gas is able to seep through the fingers quite quickly and shoving your non-smelly hands under the nose of an angry sibling was hardly worth the punch it inevitably attracted. As a consequence we moved first on to the use of tea cups -although we were forced to stop this by an extremely unhappy mother- and then screw top jars. The latter proving extremely effective as they not only allowed us to store the farts until required but provided an excellent delivery vehicle. Place under dads’ nose and unscrew lid as he inhales. Simple.

This was fine when he was asleep but things were very different when he was awake because given that he once held a black belt in Judo and had boxed for the Army, only a Kamikaze pilot would contemplate such an attack when he was conscious. As a result we eventually developed what would prove to be our best and most efficient delivery method; the crisp packet.

Fart into bag, twist neck and then approach target from behind. Leap onto back, stuff bag over nose and cling on for dear life.

It was crude but effective and had the added bonus of providing an exciting ‘Bucking Bronco’ style ride for a minute or so. However, it is fair to say that any success was more to do with the actual delivery process as opposed to the forcing of any actual odour ingestion. After all, a Salt & Vinegar flavoured fart is hardly much of a weapon.

Yet the fact that we were not only becoming more proficient but increasingly on the offensive clearly unsettled the old man and as the level and quantity of attacks grew, my increasingly nervous father came up with a new idea. Rather than utilise the fart as a weapon he decided that we would do something together as a family and employ our collective guffs as a form of family entertainment. We began recording them.

It was a genius idea and with a cassette recorder kept on permanent pause and a microphone ready to go, it was not unknown for a C60 tape to fill within two to three days. I cannot tell you the fun we had playing these tapes back much to the utter disgust of my mother and sister. Some years later my brother even put together a ‘Best Of…’ CD complete with titles. It was quite simply awesome.

But by this time the family had started to drift away from the home and I soon joined the exodus by enlisting in the Royal Air Force. However, if anything my interest in flatulence actually increased from that point on. You try living in a 22 man room and not having farts impact on you!

Ironically, it was the area of Chemical, Biological and Nuclear warfare which most often served to provide me with the best fart related entertainment whilst in the military. The gas mask in particular proved to be an important tool in my education as when you are forced to wear one for up to ten days at a stretch, the absence of odour soon teaches you to appreciate and develop other elements of the anal art.

That is not to say that we did not have any aroma related fun whilst masked up. Indeed, on a number of occasions I actually utilised a needle and syringe to deliver a small amount of self-generated nerve gas through the canister of a sleeping colleagues respirator.

That takes nerves of steel let me tell you. Not to mention a great deal of quick thinking and/or speed when your victim wakes up mid-injection!

Indeed it is fair to say that my time in the military was instrumental in my development as a budding fartologist. For not only did my various duties provide me with long periods of time during which I would ponder and plot but it also afforded me access to all kinds of wonderful machinery and chemicals.

At one point, whilst working on a plant which produced liquid nitrogen which as you will know freezes on contact with air, I even experimented with the creation of fart-cubes. Through the simple act of fart-capturing into jars half full of water, shaking to aerate and pouring the contents into condoms before freezing I soon had a ready supply of arse-cubes which I would sneakily take with me whenever I went out.

Sadly, even though I would place them in all kinds of drinks –mostly to be fair, belonging to people who had pissed me off- the results were questionable to say the least and what satisfaction obtained derived simply through the pleasure of ‘knowing’ what I had done. Nothing wrong with that of course. It is after all what stealth-farting is all about.

Post military, I have continued to hone my skills primarily on my own children and it is fair to say that I am rapidly turning into my own father.  Yet the humour derived from farting has never tailed off and if anything, as the years have passed I have become even more interested in other aspects of the anal art.

That in essence, is why I finally took the decision to write this book. It was I felt, the perfect way for me as an experienced fartologist to not only impart some of the knowledge I have accrued over the years but to extend the fun. My fun.

Because it is fair to say that I love farting. After all, what’s not to love? With the obvious exception of sex there is surely no other activity that can provide as much amusement, entertainment and self-satisfaction as letting one go. Just as importantly, you can do it on your own or in company and you can do it anywhere. In fact location often provides an additional source of humour! That’s not just a double or triple whammy, it’s quadruple!

To that end, I have put together a book which I hope not only explores pretty much every single facet of flatulence from why we do it through to the delights of fart porn, but which I hope will encourage you to follow in my footsteps and develop some of the skills and knowledge associated with colon cologne.

Equally, I have tried to explain just what it is about the cry of the colon which holds such an appeal for we males whilst at the same time generating such angst in females.  Although in many ways, the fact that women don’t ‘get’ farting is one of the major attractions of tootery for me because farting provides a link with childhood and being told to grow up whenever I do it reinforces the fact that I haven’t.

I don’t know about you, but I’m actually quite happy with that. Long may it continue.

The Crew, top dog, spandau ballet, green street

Thanks to everyone who have kept The Crew and Top Dog at or near the top of the amazon charts for the last 4 years! I am both humbled and proud of these two books and indeed, so successful have they been that the third in the series is well on the way to completion.

 In the meantime, if you have read either book, please take the time to leave a review on Amazon or iTunes. They really do mean a lot and are extremely important when it comes to ranking.

 

The Lad Bible

The Lad Bible
The Lad Bible

Hi all, just a quick note to apologise for the lack of any updates recently.

I’m currently snowed under with work on my new book ‘Wings of a Sparrow’ as well as being involved with the development of four different movie projects.

I’ve also been writing material for the brand new website, The Lad Bible which went live last night. Amongst the work I’ve been doing for that are a lad-diary based on my novel Billy’s Log. In effect, it brings the adventures of our sad hero up to date and has been such fun to write that it’ll almost certainly form the basis of the much requested sequel which I’ll hopefully have ready to go by this time next year.

Normal blogging service will be resumed in short time (honest) but in the meantime please click on the picture on the left to visit The Lad Bible. Some of the stuff on there is simply hilarious.

PS: On the subject of lads and laddy things, The Art of Fart continues to sell well so thanks to everyone who has downloaded a copy. If you haven’t and you like your humour both un-PC and gross, this is almost certainly the book for you!

Samantha Brick – A male perspective on a very public bitchfest

I love me. End of.
I love me. And quite right too!

Like many chaps, I have looked on bemused as the drama (or should that be saga) of the Samantha Brick story has unfolded across the media.

Now for those who do not know, Samantha Brick is an average looking woman who wrote a piece in The Mail telling the world that she thought she was beautiful and that she received all kinds of compliments and attention from men who clearly agreed. As a consequence, other women not only felt threatened by her beauty but they were often less than friendly. If you haven’t read it, the initial Samantha Brick article can be found here and speaking as a bloke it’s worth a perusal for one particular reason. I’ll get to that later.

Whatever the truth of her claims regarding blokes walking up and paying for cabs or buying coffees etc, (and I don’t know, nor really care) what is fascinating about this story is the reaction from the sisterhood of women because to say she attracted a negative response is an understatement. In fact vitriol doesn’t come close whilst even hate could be judged ‘abuse-light’. Both in the media and on social networking sites women went for her with a ferocity the like of which I haven’t seen since my days living amongst the legendary hunting females of South Wales! The notorious Valley Commando’s.

Amongst other things she was accused of being self-centred, having a mirror made of beer goggles and being seriously deluded. It was to be fair, quite funny primarily because it did kind of prove her point! However, looking at it objectively as I am want to do, there was one simple reason for this bitch-fest and that is that she had broken the golden rule of womanhood; she had admitted that she is happy with her looks. Or to look at it another way, the female way, she’d become arrogant.

Oh yes, women spend their lives trying to feel great about themselves and read countless magazines and books packed to the gunnels with information on how to try and achieve it. Indeed, it’s the fundamental ideal which underpins the entire chick-lit genre! But for a woman to actually come out and say that she feels fabulous and that men adore her….. well, that’s not on. Especially when she’s only average looking.

And that is the fundamental reason for this jealousy –and that’s what it boils down to- because it’s not her looks but her confidence, her self-belief even. If she’s that secure in her appearance, why aren’t I? If random men pay her attention, why don’t I get it?

A female brick.
A female brick.

I, of course, made this point frequently and was shot down for my trouble. I wasn’t the only one either. When she was interviewed by Ruth and Eamonn Holmes on ITV’s This Morning, Ruthie was almost struggling to control her fury whilst poor Eamonn was clearly fearful of saying anything which might result in retribution from his angry wife later on. Fair play to Ms Brick though, she gave as good as she got in pretty much every interview she gave.

In the following days, Samantha Brick wrote more articles about her life and provided more explanation for her self-confidence. She lives in France where men are more attentive and has a loving husband who adores her. But most importantly she also has a father who told her from a very early age that she was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen.

Now other than providing me with a great deal of amusement as I’ve watched (and heard!) the wrath of women unfold and leaving aside the fact that as a career maker, Samantha Brick’s original article was as fantastic a pitch as I’ve ever seen, for me as a male this last sentence is the one which struck a chord. Because speaking as a proud dad, my two daughters are the most beautiful girls/women I’ve ever seen and every father I know thinks the same thing. And quite right too.

And the more we tell them, the more we hope that they believe it because I never wanted my girls to grow up feeling anything other than fantastic about themselves and I’m proud to say that they don’t.

Writing in her autobiography Dawn French makes great play of the fact that her father told her every day that she was beautiful and Gwyneth Paltrow says the same thing. Both took it as gospel because it came from their dads and it shaped their lives which is exactly what it should do. Yet neither of those attracted any condemnation when they put those words into the public domain because they are famous. Yet Samantha Brick isn’t or wasn’t and so she is an easy target.

Yet rather than have a pop at Samantha Brick, shouldn’t we all be giving a hearty pat on the back to her father because whilst his daughter might be lacking in the humility department, in terms of instilling confidence he did a fantastic job with her.

And sadly, there are an awful lot of dads and indeed mothers who could learn a huge lesson from him.

The Crew. A thriller by Dougie Brimson
Still #1

Could I once again say a very humble thank you to everyone who has kept my books so high up in the various online charts. The Crew and Top Dog have been at the top of the Amazon football download charts for over 6 months now which is some achievement so thanks to you guys for downloading them.

A new book is on the way and this will almost certainly be followed by the third book in the Billy Evans trilogy!

More news and details on my website which you can visit via this link!

Football is up shit creek so let’s bring back the 80’s and have done with it.

Terraces + scarf = awesome
The terraces were awesome places to be.

The other day, someone sent me a link to a video. It was one of those YouTube compilations made by some genius on their laptop and featured a fairly hefty slice of action from the early 1980’s. Not just any action mind, but Watford action. It was quite simply awesome.

But it wasn’t simply the sight of Luther Blissett and Ross Jenkins banging in goals for fun which brought such joy to my drab supporting life, it was the memories it dragged up of the so-called ‘bad old days’ of going to football.

Now no one knows better than I that to walk along memory lane you have to pass through a mental filter which removes the vast majority of bad bits but the truth is that for me and for most of the people I know, watching football in the early 80’s wasn’t that bad at all. In fact it was absolutely fantastic.

As a Watford fan the football was amazing, the travelling generally hilarious and even encounters with other fans usually provided a degree of humour. All that running away also kept me extremely fit!

Yes, I know that there is a degree of brevity in what I’ve said here but there is also a serious point and it is one which all too often seems to have been forgotten.

You see whenever talk turns to watching football in the 80’s mention is invariably made of the hooligan element and to be fair, as someone who was around at the time and who has since written a fairly reasonable amount about it, they were certainly relevant. But the reality is that not every game involved trouble and not everyone who stood behind a goal or travelled home and away was involved in violence.

Yet here we are 20 odd years later still talking about the 80’s as if every game involved mayhem on the terraces. More to the point, whilst the

Hooligans in action. And decent fans backing away from them.

popular image the modern game portrays is of one where all of the stadiums are full of happy smiling faces, the stark reality is that the history of violence is still being used to generate a fear which in turn is used as an excuse to exercise control over fans. Be that through the imposition of designated seating, the use of oppressive stewarding, alcohol bans  or even the continued refusal to bring back standing inside our grounds.

This isn’t good enough. Like the industry football has now become, fan culture has moved on since the 80’s and the time has surely come to acknowledge that and consign the memories of the violent minority to history.

Yes, as a culture it still lingers in the streets outside as well as on the internet and of course everyone must be vigilant but with the risks to the individual now greater than ever, even the most hardened of idiots thinks twice if not three times before throwing a punch inside a ground.

But more to the point, by setting aside the fear of hooliganism and placing a degree of responsibility onto the shoulders of the fans –who lest we forget, actually fund the game- we might actually see a return of the one thing which seems to have gone missing in action at all too many games in recent years, atmosphere.

Because no one can be in any doubt that the atmosphere at football these days is a pale shadow of what it was back then nor can they question the simple truth that atmosphere was generated largely from amongst those who gathered together and stood behind the goals.

The imposition of designated seating was almost solely responsible for killing that and if taking what many still foolishly consider to be a backward step is the price of bringing it back, then I for one think it’s a risk worth taking.

And I don’t doubt for one second that I am the only one who thinks that.

This blog first appeared on www.totalfootballmag.com

The joy of an eBook author!

a kindle reader laughing at an orgasmic fart.
A Kindle reader in hysterics whilst reading The Art of Fart!

As anyone who knows me will be well aware, I have an intense dislike of the festive period and in actual fact, am something of a Grinch. There are all kinds of reasons for this ranging from my distrust of religion to the fact that my birthday is the 7th January (which meant crap presents when I was little) although to be fair, none of this has never stopped me planting myself in front of the telly for the duration and consuming both food and drink as if they were about to be made illegal.

However, as the ongoing farce that is my life meanders (or should that be bludgeons?) its way into yet another year, it might come as something of a shock to discover that I have spent much of this last festive period working feverishly.

The reason for this bizarre and totally unexpected turn of events was the launch of my latest book, The Art of Fart, which was released in December and is the first I have ever written solely for publication as an eBook.

Normally, when a new book hits the shelves, I leave the bulk of the promotional work to the publishers who will deal with all the pre-release publicity and arrange various interviews and appearances as well as sending out review copies to interested media outlets. The result being that they tell me what to do, I do it and all being well, books are purchased by the fabulous people that are the general public.

This time however, there is no PR department meaning that it’s all been down to me! Not only that but being an eBook it was fairly pointless doing any pre-launch work because there was nowhere for potential readers to even pre-order let alone download the finished article. The upshot being that I had to sit twiddling my thumbs until the day The Art of Fart hit amazon at which point, I went into a frenzy of self-promotion!

However, I quickly learnt that what little knowledge I did have with regard to the promotion of books was all but useless and so other than follow the bog-standard Facebook and Twitter route, I was faced with a fairly rapid learning curve. One which grew ever steeper the more I tried to climb it!

For having entered what was in effect a whole new world of publishing, not only did I have to totally rethink my approach to book PR but I had to take an entirely new perspective on the online writing and publishing world much of which I am ashamed to say, I had previously ignored. As a consequence, I have now become involved in various writing communities such as KIndleboards.com and writers-online.co.uk (which are actually good fun and involve all kinds of lovely, talented people!) and thanks to them, have been able to learn a huge amount about the delights of such mysteries as amazon tagging, twitter hashtags, etc.

Thankfully, it seems to be working really well and is actually having a knock-on benefit with my other ebooks as the number of downloads have all increased markedly. On which note, I am delighted to inform you that thanks to the good folk at www.ebookpartnership.com who I cannot commend highly enough, if you search my name on any ebook outlet you will see that my novel The Crew is a free download as is my very first book, Everywhere We Go. Indeed, I now have a total of 12 ebooks available online and not just for the Kindle but all other electronic readers as well as your PC.

Of course now that everyone is drifting back to work the next stage of promotion can begin as I will begin targeting the established print and broadcast media. Hopefully, that will secure some press exposure although it’s fair to say that the title of the book let alone the subject matter may well limit the opportunities available!

farts are sexy
farts are sexy

I also have a few other ideas on the backburner including one which I hope will be quite spectacular! That may well have to wait until it’s a bit warmer though!

Now whilst all of this is good fun and is hopefully spreading the word and selling lots of downloads, the problem is that doing all of this takes time which stops me doing anything else. And one of the most important questions I have to address is what to do next!

I have managed to whittle this down to three ideas now and all being well, will make the final decision over the next day or so. One thing I do know is that it will almost certainly be another eBook. Primarily because it’s such good fun!

On which note, if you haven’t read it yet, The Art of Fart is available for just £1.53 at http://www.amazon.co.uk/Art-Fart-Joy-Flatulence-ebook/dp/B006MISNFI/ or $2.68 at http://www.amazon.com/Art-Fart-Joy-Flatulence-ebook/dp/B006MISNFI/

If you do read it, please let me know what you think or better still, leave a review on amazon. They really do help!

Feminists Suck.

Feminists should man up!
A Feminist

I won’t bother to list any of those here as some have already been tackled whilst others are on my ‘to do’ list. There is however, one subject I have been putting off tackling primarily because I’ve been wary of causing offence. But now, in the spirit of my new found approach of ‘not giving a toss’ (see previous blog) I am happy to turn my opinionated howitzer in its direction. That subject is women.

Now don’t get me wrong. I love women, really, I do. As I’ve said before, I think they are more fun, more supportive, usually more intelligent and generally better all round human beings than the average bloke. I’d even go so far as to say that if I had to list my top ten favourite mates and working colleagues, at least 8 of them would be female.

Yet in spite of that, in common with the majority of my fellow males, I find women totally confusing. Well, to be brutally honest, I think they are all barking mad.

In essence, that was the central theme of my novel Billy’s Log. Written as a response to the anti-male propaganda that was Bridget Jones’ Diary, I used it to try to convey the shear frustration increasing numbers of men had come to feel whilst trying to find a long-lasting relationship in the face of the feminist man hating onslaught that took hold of the UK in the early 90’s and which manifested itself most visibly in the horrific ‘laddette’ culture.

Much of Billy’s Log was based on my own experiences as a relatively shy and very average looking male but it struck a chord with a lot of lads who had been through similar experiences (and response to the recent launch of the eBook version has shown little has changed!). Unexpectedly, it also attracted favourable comments from a number of women many of whom told me that it had finally helped them understand that being a bloke isn’t always quite as simple as they had thought. 

However, this isn’t a blog about blokes, it’s a blog about women. And the older I get, the more it becomes increasingly clearer to me that much of the confusion which forms the core of the modern day battle of the sexes stems from one simple truth. For whilst women have quite rightly sought equality both in the home and the workplace, when it comes to their relationship with the male of the species they have never actually been able to come up with a true definition of what equality actually means. Or to put it another way, they have no idea what it is they actually want.

What this means in real terms is that they are, to coin a phrase, fucked. Because without that definition the only thing they can do is to aspire toward what men have. That’s fine if you think equality means being able to get shit-faced, vomit in the street and act like a complete twat every Friday and Saturday night but not so fine if you actually want to hang on to your self-respect.

But more importantly, what this also means is that in the drive to be ‘equal’ (whatever it means) too many young women have given up the one thing that defines their sex; femininity. I mean for gods sake, this very weekend London will see women protesting under the banner of a ‘slut walk’. If it wasn’t so sad it’d be funny.

For me, this self-inflicted demise of femininity has been an own-goal of Ryan Giggs proportions. Not least because it has completely baffled entire generations of men who now take their emotional life in their hands whenever they open a door for a woman or perish the thought, pay her a compliment! (and lads, just for a laugh the next time you are out, say something complimentary to a random woman. Trust me, it will freak her out) and as a consequence prefer instead to seek solace in the company of other like-minded and equally baffled male souls. 

The tragic but inevitable result of this has been that the art of courtship and romance has all but vanished. Indeed, to me one of the great ironies of the modern age is that single women spend their lives bemoaning the lack of romantic men when they are the ones who have scared them all off! Women of course will argue that until the cows come home but from where I’m sitting it’s a cast iron fact. And let’s not forget something here…. that word, equality. It works both ways remember. So lads, when was the last time your other half did something romantic for you? I’m not talking permission for the odd fumble (which they told us for years wasn’t what they actually meant by ‘romance’!) or the odd pack of Primark pants, I’m talking flowers, chocolates, tickets to football or even an unexpected pack of Bud! I rest my case.

And that’s the bottom line here. Equality might mean equal but when it comes to relationships too many women don’t actually want real equality at all. They want the pick and mix version. The one where they get the good bits such as the romance and the emotional support but without having to give too much if anything back in return.

women, know you job. It's cooking, kids and sex.
Happy Wife

Yet what the hell is wrong with the idea of a woman who actually wants to stay at home to make it a warm and welcoming environment in which to bring up her kids? Absolutely nothing, that’s what! Let’s be honest, can you honestly say that this would not be a better country if more mums did that? Bloody right it would. Thankfully there are plenty of women who are happy to fulfil that most important of roles and so shouldn’t one of the major aims of the feminist movement be to recapture the dignity of the housewife rather than continue to tag it as some kind of subservient occupation for women who aren’t clever or ambitious enough to want to do something ‘real’ and more productive!

Domestic slave

For as most blokes know only too well, the truth is that women actually hold all the power already. Be it in relationships, work or in the home. They’ve just forgotten how to wield it.

 

No More Mr Nice Guy.

As requested ...

The other day someone levelled an accusation at me. I have, apparently, mellowed.

Initially, I dismissed this outrageous slur out of hand but as they pointed out, my blog, which was set up for the sole purpose of providing somewhere for me to get things off my chest, has recently become little more than a cross between a glorified diary and a series of plugs. And to be fair, as I pondered this later on, I realised that my accuser was right. The question of course, is why?

After all, I pride myself on my love of moaning and as plenty of people can testify, it’s not like I moan any less these days nor is it for want of suitable subject matter! Leaving aside my personal and working life (if only you knew the half of it!) I only have to pick up any national newspaper or turn on TalkSport and I guarantee that within 30 seconds I’ll be off about something.

Equally, I have always loved sitting down and tearing into something or someone but it is nevertheless a fact that my enthusiasm for letting rip has indeed waned in recent months. Which brought me back to the question of why?

However, before I could even begin the search for an answer to this most simple of questions, it landed in my inbox courtesy of The Purple Diva. An amazing woman and a fabulous writer who does things with words the like of which I can only dream about. And it came courtesy of a simple URL. A URL which led me to what I can only term a proper full bore championship winning rant.

It was sent in January 2001 by the famous author Hunter S. Thompson to Holly Sorensen, then a Production Executive at an independent film studio, The Shooting Gallery and related to the adaptation of his novel, The Rum Diary, to which Sorensen’s studio held the rights. Things had not gone well and eventually, Thompson reached boiling point.

Read on…..

Transcript

To HOLLY SORENSON / Shooting Gallery / Hollywood / Jan 22 ’01

Dear Holly,

Okay, you lazy bitch, I’m getting tired of this waterhead fuckaround that you’re doing with The Rum Diary.

We are not even spinning our wheels aggressively. It’s like the whole Project got turned over to Zombies who live in cardboard boxes under the Hollywood Freeway… I seem to be the only person who’s doing anything about getting this movie Made. I have rounded up Depp, Benicio Del Toro, Brad Pitt, Nick Nolte & a fine screenwriter from England , named Michael Thomas, who is a very smart boy & has so far been a pleasure to talk to & conspire with…

So there’s yr. fucking Script & all you have to do now is act like a Professional & Pay him. What the hell do you think Making a Movie is all about? Nobody needs to hear any more of that Gibberish about yr. New Mercedes & yr. Ski Trips & how Hopelessly Broke the Shooting Gallery is…. If you’re that fucking Poor you should get out of the Movie Business. It is no place for Amateurs & Dilletants who don’t want to do anything but “take lunch” & Waste serious people’s Time.

Fuck this. We have a good writer, we have the main parts casted & we have a very marketable movie that will not even be hard to make….

And all you are is a goddamn Bystander, making stupid suggestions & jabbering now & then like some half-bright Kid with No Money & No Energy & no focus except on yr. own tits…. I’m sick of hearing about Cuba & Japs & yr. Yo-yo partners who want to change the story because the violence makes them Queasy.

Shit on them. I’d much rather deal with a Live asshole than a Dead worm with No Light in his Eyes…. If you people don’t want to Do Anything with this movie, just cough up the Option & I’ll talk to someone else. The only thing You’re going to get by quitting and curling up in a Foetal position is relentless Grief and Embarrassment. And the one thing you won’t have is Fun…

Okay, That’s my Outburst for today. Let’s hope that it gets Somebody off the dime. And if you don’t Do Something QUICK you’re going to Destroy a very good idea. I’m in the mood to chop yr. fucking hands off.

R.S.V.P

(Signed)

HUNTER

Upon reading this, I immediately realised what my problem has been. Instead of embracing the concept that my blog allows me the freedom to say pretty much what I want about what I want whenever I want, I had instead begun to follow the ‘if you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all’ ideal.

More worryingly, that had also begun to spill over into my working life. My god, I have lost count of the number of times in recent months I have encountered either ineptitude, deceit or even condescension and instead of sending off a Thompsonesque style missile aimed directly at the relevant anus, I have sat back and done pretty much sod all. In essence, I had somehow become ‘nice’.

Fuck off

Well fuck that. No more doormat for me. Normal service is about to resume.

Be warned….

Football…. enough said

I have recently received a number of emails asking me why I rarely seem to blog about football these days. It is after all the subject of most of my books and given that the bulk of the content is forged from my opinions, it is reasonable to expect that I will have comments to make on most things relating to the great game and that a blog is the perfect place to put them.

There is however, a significant difference between the two. Yes, I know I’ve written entire volumes which amount to little more than a series of rants about this or that but books take time to research and construct and even longer to make the leap from my laptop to the shelves in Waterstones. Blogs are more instantaneous and as such, the risk to both my blood pressure and my bank balance are immeasurably greater. After all, I am knocking on a bit and I’ve almost been sued twice for things I’ve put in books and they were viewed by lawyers before they went into print! I can have a blog online in seconds so who knows what trouble that could get me into!!!

As a consequence and in a rare fit of common sense, I realised long ago that if I’m going to rant about anything in my blog, it needs to be about things into which I can try to inject either some humour or some sarcasm. Possibly even both. That isn’t to say that whatever I write isn’t genuine or heartfelt because in the main, it will be but if I’m going to do it, it’ll only be because I enjoy it.

That’s the problem I have with blogging about football. For there is so much about the great game which just simply pisses me off that I fear that at my age, my meagre brain would go into meltdown if I went off on one about it. Call me old-fashioned, but life as a gibbering wreck doesn’t hold much of an appeal.

For example, everyone knows that football has been destroyed by greed, that agents are vermin and that most players seemingly have little in the way of morals or basic intelligence. Furthermore, a significant number would almost certainly be working in MacDonald’s or languishing in prison if things had gone slightly differently for them.

On top of that, anyone with an ounce of intellect knows that the majority of football fans are so blinded by passion and loyalty that they allow their clubs to treat them in a way which would have you calling Watchdog if Tesco’s tried it. I could go on, but I am sure you get my drift.

And so as a consequence, these days I tend to dismiss everything which doesn’t happen on the field of play no matter how ridiculous or outlandish it might be as being well, sadly typical whilst anything which happens on the field is largely irrelevant because if it doesn’t involve my beloved Watford, I don’t really care anyway.

There may of course be odd occasions where I won’t be able to help myself. In fact, when I heard news that the odious John Terry had been reappointed as England captain and was busily giving it the large one to sections of the media about how harshly he’d been treated in the past, I not only almost vomited but started to reach for a keyboard.

But those occasions will be few and far between. Football has after all, become a parody of itself these days and there are only so many ways you can say that without it getting boring.

Besides, there are so many more fun things to blog about these days. Oh yes indeed.

 

Football…. enough said

I have recently received a number of emails asking me why I rarely seem to blog about football these days. It is after all the subject of most of my books and given that the bulk of the content is forged from my opinions, it is reasonable to expect that I will have comments to make on most things relating to the great game and that a blog is the perfect place to put them.

There is however, a significant difference between the two. Yes, I know I’ve written entire volumes which amount to little more than a series of rants about this or that but books take time to research and construct and even longer to make the leap from my laptop to the shelves in Waterstones. Blogs are more instantaneous and as such, the risk to both my blood pressure and my bank balance are immeasurably greater. After all, I am knocking on a bit and I’ve almost been sued twice for things I’ve put in books and they were viewed by lawyers before they went into print! I can have a blog online in seconds so who knows what trouble that could get me into!!!

As a consequence and in a rare fit of common sense, I realised long ago that if I’m going to rant about anything in my blog, it needs to be about things into which I can try to inject either some humour or some sarcasm. Possibly even both. That isn’t to say that whatever I write isn’t genuine or heartfelt because in the main, it will be but if I’m going to do it, it’ll only be because I enjoy it.

That’s the problem I have with blogging about football. For there is so much about the great game which just simply pisses me off that I fear that at my age, my meagre brain would go into meltdown if I went off on one about it. Call me old-fashioned, but life as a gibbering wreck doesn’t hold much of an appeal.

For example, everyone knows that football has been destroyed by greed, that agents are vermin and that most players seemingly have little in the way of morals or basic intelligence. Furthermore, a significant number would almost certainly be working in MacDonald’s or languishing in prison if things had gone slightly differently for them.

On top of that, anyone with an ounce of intellect knows that the majority of football fans are so blinded by passion and loyalty that they allow their clubs to treat them in a way which would have you calling Watchdog if Tesco’s tried it. I could go on, but I am sure you get my drift.

And so as a consequence, these days I tend to dismiss everything which doesn’t happen on the field of play no matter how ridiculous or outlandish it might be as being well, sadly typical whilst anything which happens on the field is largely irrelevant because if it doesn’t involve my beloved Watford, I don’t really care anyway.

There may of course be odd occasions where I won’t be able to help myself. In fact, when I heard news that the odious John Terry had been reappointed as England captain and was busily giving it the large one to sections of the media about how harshly he’d been treated in the past, I not only almost vomited but started to reach for a keyboard.

But those occasions will be few and far between. Football has after all, become a parody of itself these days and there are only so many ways you can say that without it getting boring.

Besides, there are so many more fun things to blog about these days. Oh yes indeed.