Review City

I just popped over to the official The Last Observer page at Roundfire Books and it struck me that it has been reviewed by a hell of lot of people. Fortunately, the vast majority of those reviews have been very good. I will say that the book has been a success on many levels and was well accepted. I am still pushing sales and readers of course…… Read the reviews here.

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Thanks to everyone that has purchased it or reviewed it – it is much appreciated but please do tell others to give it a spin too please!

Meanwhile, I have another book out – Moon Whispers – a new collection of 30 poems. I really think these are my strongest and most vibrant poems and I wrote them listening to music by Blackfield!

Why not give this book a spin – its only 99p or 99 cents on Kindle….

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Meanwhile, I am working on The Lord of the Elements – the prequel to The Last Observer…. hopefully, it will be finished before the end of the year.

Long Leggety Beasties by Alienora Taylor

A super review of a really funny and excellent book…

Rosie Amber

Long leggety beastiesLong leggety beasties by alienora taylor

My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Miss Geraldine Dolan is a probationary teacher in her first job. She’s been accepted as an English teacher at St.Thelma’s school in Cornwall. It’s the 1980’s, the school is in a castle near the village of Port Tossack, there are keeps and dungeons, a great hall and that’s where any thoughts of a resemblance to Hogworts should leave you immediately.

This is adult British humour at it’s driest, full of classic clichés, innuendos and mirth. There are a great many characters to love; The Archers, teachers who meet on the battlements with bow and arrows, Zoe, a plain teacher who looks in love and bets are taken as to who has captured her heart. Rogue is an Aussie supply teacher who brings an Antipodean artistic flair to the story and a set of dinner ladies to rival no…

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My Short Acting Career

Many many years ago, when I was about 13 I think, I was persuaded to appear in the school play. The play, and I will never forget it, was The Snow Queen. I managed to land the part of the Story Teller which, looking back, was a bit contrived but I guess was meant to be a parody of Hans Christian Anderson or similar. I played no role in the action but introduced the story and then popped in and out to explain what was going on, help the characters make key decisions and harass the audience. I can still recall part of the introduction where I was engaged in dancing a little dance while reciting a poem….

Snip, snap, snooper
Pooper bazalooper
Snip snap snooper

It went. Did I feel daft singing that? Yes, I did. Pooper bazalooper indeed! It sounds like something you do in a bathroom.

Having looked up the play on the internet, I am reminded the last part of my introduction went as follows;

Crippety! Crappity — Ugh! {As he fails to get
the right step.)
{He snaps his fingers and begins again.)
Snip! Snap! Snooper!
Pooper, bazalooper. {Quickening.)
Snip-snap-snooper —

Crippetycrappity — BOOM! {He succeeds with
his feet.)
{He hears the audience and slowly turns.)

No comment but the analogy definitely works doesn’t it?

Anyway, I recall learning these and other silly lines and rehearsing and rehearsing and…. The big day arrived and it seemed to go quite well but then how would you know. An audience of parents isn’t he most critical of theatre goers now is it?

Apparently, I did so well that I was invited back for the next school play – Time and The Conways by JB Priestley. I recall none of the lines from this one but I do recall that I played Earnest Beevers – a nice man! This one I found difficult. Ask a 14-year old to act the part of a young man then transition into a middle aged self-made man and then go back to a shy young man again…. I didn’t have much fun. I did like the play though with its messages about the nature of time and reality.

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And this is the rub.

There are still nights when I wake up drenched in sweat and experiencing palpitations because I dreamed that I forgot my lines. Forty-years afterwards I still dream about my fear of it all going wrong. That pregnant pause and rising embarrassment as you realize the poor kid can’t recall what to say next…..You know, I don’t think I forgot my lines. To be honest, I recall very little of it now at all in normal consciousness but somewhere, deep down inside my psyche, I am still there, frozen in time, petrified that I would forget my lines.

The Last Observer’s First Chapter

If you haven’t read my novel I am presenting the short first chapter again to see if I can whet your appetite and convince you to go ahead and buy it…. Murder, mayhem, love, magic, quantum physics, car chases, and a whole lot more in this fast moving adventure about reality.

The Wacky World of G. Michael Vasey

It is short but it sets the scene…..

Chapter 1

A Dead Psychic

There was something remarkable about Michael Kent. His
crystal-clear and deep-set blue eyes, sunken into a pale and
haggard face, seemed to penetrate into the depths of your very
soul. He appeared to be capable of reaching inside of you so that
he could search through your entire contents without first having
had the courtesy to ask. Michael was a well-known psychic in
those parts. Locally famed, and at the same time loathed, for his
apparent ability to help the local constabulary solve unsolvable
crimes. Yet now he was an unsolvable crime himself.

Kent had been found dead just outside of his favorite pub, the
Rose and Crown. The back of his head caved in like a boiled egg,
and the contents of his larger-than-normal skull splattered about
the pavement. No one had seen how he had…

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The House on Our Street

I posted photos of some of the decorative pieces on houses down our street the other day amongst which were representations of the green man, Hermes, Gorgons, Mary & Jesus and masons. Plainly, this wealthy street had some sort of masonic connection on the part of its owners or its builder. If perhaps you wonder how I can be so confident in this view, then you need to look at one particular house on the street…

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I think the hexagrams (triangle and compass) give the game away…..

This is what our street looked like around 1920 just after all of these houses were completed.

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Trams no longer run down the street however.

Apparently, many of these houses were built by Frantisk Pawl, an architect who was a Knight of the order of St. Gregory and won many awards for architecture in Brno. It was he who built houses replete with stone mason and masonic imagery and yet it was he who was bestowed apparently a knighthood by the Holy See for services to the Roman Catholic church.

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Just at the bottom of our street are the sensational art nouveaux Tivoli buildings – also replete with masonic and pagan images and also designed by Mr. Pawl.

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A Barren Day and My Roots

Its one of those days when I am uninspired and don’t seem to have anything to say that I haven’t said before. No poetry, no bursts of irked energy for a good old rant and certainly no spiritually uplifting thoughts or feelings. These sorts of days happen. Perhaps its because I have done nothing but write anyway – white papers, Analyst briefing notes, articles, presentations etc. etc. I really do write for a living it seems – if you are interested in those professional writings take a look here).

So….

What then?

Just recently I have been feeling a bit homesick for Houston. I mean, Houston was home for 17-years and after being away almost 8-years, I do miss it from time to time. I miss the heat would you believe and I miss the general ambience – the buildings, restaurants, bars…. but not enough to go back and live there.

I left home when I was 18. I couldn’t wait. There was nothing wrong with home nor family. I adored my parents and have two lovely brothers. I miss the hell out of my Dad and can’t wait to see my Mum here in a few weeks time. But, I wanted to stand on my own two feet and sooner rather than later. So off I headed to Birmingham and Aston University and the to Leeds for a year and then Glasgow for two more until, with Ph.D. done, I started my career in Aberdeen. Three years in, I moved to Sunbury on Thames and two years later to Ottershaw in Surrey then on to Basingstoke, Hampshire. From there, I was off to Houston and then Dallas before returning to Hampshire only to head back to Houston again. And from Houston I went to Brno spending a couple of years in Prague along the way.

You see, I got itchy feet!

I haven’t put down roots. I like all the places I have lived but none of these places is HOME. I don’t know where home is to be honest.

They do say home is where the heart is but where is my heart? Its physically located in Brno – which is home for me at the moment – but it is rootless as I am. Perhaps this is why I see things differently sometimes. I owe and have no allegiances (save to Hull City AFC) and my passports are to me simply papers of convenience. I am not to be labelled by nationality. I am me and me is fine thank you.

But roots? I’m unsure that I will ever find my roots this side of Neverland. I still remember something from my childhood… memories of somewhere else. That somewhere felt real to me and this one just doesn’t. My roots are there wherever there is…

Perhaps my roots are to be found towards the second star to the right, and straight on till morning………

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