Merry Christmas

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MERRY CHRISTMAS

This is a greeting you will probably now be fed up from hearing so I'm saying it for the final time.

The clue is in the title so after all the hard work you have been through preparing for the big day I would recommend that once the sun has set, you close the curtains, put your feet up, have a merry drink or two.

And remember as we say in my part of the world! Take it easy.

Regards

Mark.

 

 

Guilt

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One thing that has annoyed me recently is the incessant guilt a lot of people, companies, and especially some charities throw at you during the festive period. This time of year is basically a time of celebration for the birth of Jesus, for everyone to enjoy. A time for friendship, peace, and to give freely your love to others.

The other day I settled down in the lounge with my laptop while the television played in the background. For the next hour there was a continuous procession of tear jerking adverts, one after the after from charities mostly about animals from Donkey's to Elephants begging for your money. All they wanted was just a few pounds every month and you could save the world.

I got fed up and decided to get away from the guilt trip the adverts had put me through, so I headed into Norwich City Centre to purchase a gift or two. Within five minutes of arriving I passed three people pleading for me to buy the big issue, three street beggars with their pit bull dogs, three charity collectors, and a host of groups singing while collecting money at the same time.

I hadn't given a penny to any and went home after half an hour feeling miserable. The guilt I felt for not giving to all these different people burned in me like a red hot star. From guilt to misery this grew into frustration which lead to anger, and finally rage.

Why should I be pissed off with all these people because at the end of the day me and my family give freely though out the year without seeking reward! So why should we be made to feel guilty now?. The wife and I give our blood freely three times a year through the British blood service. Every year my wife completes The Race for Life which raises money for Cancer research, and in the just six months my personal effort raised thousands of pound for a new disabled toilet in the parish church. Throughout the year we both give out time for voluntary work at our children's primary school, and for a couple of hours for two days a week I help out at Norwich Cathedral and the Parish Church.

Then there is out home. It is very rare for a week to go by without somebody enjoying our hospitality. This weekend a friend of my wife from London is staying then this Wednesday on Christmas Day I will be cooking for nine people while the wife hurries about the house keeping them entertained, then before we even get into the New Year celebrations people will be staying over night.

Don't get me wrong, to me it's not a burden because I love every minute of it.

On Monday morning while we are completing our final Christmas shop we will make sure there are a few extra items which we will donate to the local food bank. I don't want to make myself out to be some angel because I'm not. I've just overdosed on all the begging and I know most people are the same, because the other night when the local Round Table came walking up our street knocking on doors with a big Father Christmas in tow behind a car; collecting money in buckets for charity my children quite gladly handed over some of their pocket money. But I noticed that although all the neighbours where in not one of them came to the door.

So don't feel guilty this Christmas because it's not about giving money, or presents. The true meaning of Christmas is giving your love freely to others.

Regards

Mark.

Driller Killer

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I was still twenty feet from the building and I could hear it already! Yes, one of the most dreadful sounds around; a sound that pierces every nerve in your body, the sound of the dentists drill.

As I walked nearer to the door of the reception the noise of Satan's revenge got louder, and with the dreadful pain I have been suffering over the weekend this was a sound I expected to feel within the hour. Images of that poor person sitting on a fake leather recliner with their mouth wide open while trying not to wiggle with pain filled my head with horror.

Yes in dead, two weeks after having a filling replaced during an emergency visit and my tooth was not only throbbing with pain, but since unwisely chewing  on some gum, my whole jaw was as well.

In was now Monday afternoon three days after that fatal experience with the gum. The previous Friday the whole family had assembled again at the Parish church to watch this time our children's school Christmas carol service. My daughter was performing a solo piece playing her flute while my son was playing in the ukulele group.

I had had some garlic bread with my supper that evening, and thought it wise to suck on some minty fresh gum because I didn't want to stink among the four hundred people in the audience. The show was a great success and at one point it brought tears to my eyes. During all this emotion I forget about my dodgy tooth, and chewed away like a mad man.

We got home quite late after I helped to clear up and put things away. By the time the little ones were in bed, and I sat down on the sofa with the good wife my jaw had started to ache. A nagging ache at first, but like with the wife I thought it would stop in the end, or just go away.

How wrong was I?

I was in agony and swallowed ever pain killer I could find in the house. It did no good. I couldn't get to sleep and spent the night in the lounge with the laptop on while writing a chapter to Daniel Jones Doom the sequel to Frenzy a Daniel Jones story,

Saturday morning I went straight to the local pharmacy and bought two different types of very strong pain killers, plus some special extra strength tooth gel pain relief. I spent the weekend drugged up enough just to numb the pain while not over-dosing at the same time. It shows you how much I was suffering because I really wanted to go to the follow up dentist appointment that had been made after my previous visit.

The pain had spread at one pint all over my jaw from the ear to my throat and felt like I had been abused in a torture chamber. Still, when I heard that driller killer sound of the dentist drill my soul wanted to run away.

I thought I would loose my tooth, but I was only in the building for fifteen minutes with only five minutes in that dreaded chair. I wanted the problem sorted out there and then. I didn't want to have to suffer over the festive period. I wanted to enjoy Christmas pain free, but as I say there is always a but, I'm still suffering at I write this very blog.

The very pretty lady dentist gave me a prescription for some antibiotics to take for a week. She couldn't find anything wrong with my teeth. If it isn't an infection then she stated I would have to have canal-root treatment. It all sounded very painful indeed. Two different visits of up to an hour each, spread over two weeks, while my suspect tooth is drilled to within an inch of it life, the nerves killed off, and the tooth rebuilt sounded like a hellish experience to me.

The only problem is that the nearest date it can be done is in February 2014! another eight weeks of possible pain. So once again it seems I'm always-hanging-around.

The title of my blog sums up very nicely how we mostly lead our lives; we are always hanging around for something although because it is the season to be jolly, and if the antibiotics don't work, then I'm going to buy myself a nice (and large) bottle of brandy because I have heard its one of the best pain killers around.

As they say, every cloud has a silver lining.

Regards

Mark.

P.S my little experiment as I mentioned in my previous blog (It's not looking good) has led to me loosing two pounds in weight in two weeks. Not spectacular I know but if I do need to have further dental treatment, and I carry on shedding pounds then I could loose up to a stone by the time this is all over.

God does work in mysterious ways.

Tis the season to be jolly

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Tis the season to be jolly tra la la la la la la.....

Yes Christmas has come around once again and on Sunday afternoon I ventured into the garage to retrieve the step-ladder, then two minutes later my head was peering into the cold void that is our loft.

The dear wife was at hand so I could pass down to her the various boxes that hold all our Christmas treasures; while the children enthusiastically offered to pull everything out of the packages before we even had a chance to take them down stairs to the lounge.

We have fallen into a routine over the years since the first Christmas together in our first home, and that is the good lady prepares the tree, while I'm out side putting up the ickle lights. There's no point in getting older without getting wiser. Now before I spend an hour outside in the freezing cold delicately places the lights around the guttering, only to find some don't work when I switch them on, I check them inside first. I do find it amazing that every year you put the lights back in their box in full working order, then store them safely without touching them, only to find that a third of them won't work as soon as you get them out a year later. Why is that? Are there fairies living in Mark Kings loft having a frenzy of a time while partying with my ickle lights? It makes you think!

The children were great at pulling things out of boxes when asked not too, but after an hour their enthusiasm had waned. They were more interested in eating the chocolates bought especially to hang on the tree. We held out nerve to their pleas for relief from starvation, and all they got to eat were apples. The dear wife was flagging as well because she painted the town red with her friends the night before, and although she had a lay in until mid-day she would have been more than happy to have stayed in bed all day.

Once my lighting duties were finished I headed to the kitchen and started on the Sunday roast. I gave my usual cooking drink of English cider a miss and enjoyed a bottle of Australian red wine instead, and by five o clock the decorations were up, our late lunch ready, and everyone sat around the table ready to tuck in.

I'm so glad we can enjoy such an event as Christmas during the long, dark, cold, and wet British winter. Although the true meaning for most people in our consumerist society has been lost in a splurge of debt induced spending. For me watching my children's school nativity plays which were held in the parish church, and were packed to the rafters with happy, smiling, and for forty minutes at least, united people in peaceful surroundings sums up the true meaning of Christmas.

Regards

Mark.

Pippin

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For my readers who have followed my weekly postings from the beginning you will know that one of the major events of recent years that has effected the path my life has taken was the death of my father-in-law.

My mother -in-law's life fell apart over just a short few years. The wife's side of the family was small, but very close nit, and in just three years my mother-in-law lost not only her Husband, but her own mother, father, mother-in-law, and brother-in-law. When her only sister moved away to be nearer to her own daughter the cycle was complete.

Other than my bother-in-law there was nobody in her life except for my wife and our two children. The loneliness was so dark the sadness radiated from her soul like a black whole. We have  been her whole life over these dark years especially her grand children. Wow betide any person who dares to upset them in her presence, and that includes me. If I tick off my children for being naughty they run into her protective arms and stay hugged in its security like the star ship Enterprise behind it's shields.

I have suggested over these years that we get her a puppy to keep her company, and hopefully lift her spirits, but as always there's a but, because she has been allergic to animals all her life so has not had a pet she was a little girl. Then one day fait took a funny turn. The good wife and myself were sitting in the vets with our cat waiting for her yearly check up and jabs, when a lady walked in carrying a little fluffy white dog.

It was so cute and we couldn't help but make a fuss of it. The lady said it was a pedigree Bijon and that they make wonderful pets especially for people who suffer from allergies. Well my ears pricked up and I nudged the wife, 'this is just the thing your mother needs.'

She nodded and then we were called into the examination room by the vet, so in we went carrying the box which contained our cat who had been meowing from the moment we left our home.

All was well with Sunny and as I drove back we talked about the prospects of a new friend for my mother-in-law. My dear wife was nervous about it, but nevertheless she spent months on the internet finding out all she could about Bijons, and checking out respectable breeders.

The long and short of this story is that a few a weeks ago my mother-in-law picked up her Bijon puppy and named him Pippin, and last week Pippin made his first visit to our home. He is a white fluff-ball of fun with lovable, but at the same time cheeky brown eyes that just pierces your heart with love.

He ran about our home in a frenzy and chewed on every corner he could find. There was the odd accident in the toilet department,  and by the time he left the house it had been turned up side down, but what fun we all had with him, and we can't wait until he visits again.

The best thing about it all is that when the mother-in-laws car drove away that evening with young pippin peering out of the back window; the dear wife and I were happy in the knowledge that she won't be going home lonely, and would have someone to snuggle with in front of the television that night.

And that is something I am truly thankful for.

Regards

Mark.

It's not looking good.

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It's not looking good. Two days after having a filling replaced during an emergency visit to my dentist, and things aren't feeling good.

The first night after my visit I didn't feel any pain. Problem solved thought I! How wrong I was again? It seems that although the numbness from the various mouth injections had worn off it was still having a pain killing effect on the gums around my dodgy tooth.

Twenty four hours later I felt a bit peckish and went to the fridge and buttered a piece of seeded white bread. I took a bit and chewed, but after the fourth, and final bite, I thought I felt a slight tinge of pain in my mouth. As normal I tried to ignore it, but it was no good because by this Wednesday the pain relief had worn off fully, and I was suffering as much pain after my dentist visit as before I went.

On Thursday morning I went to the Denmark Café for my weekly breakfast treat of two cheese on toast plus mugs of tea, and by the time I left my jaw ached liked I had tried to chew a swarm of angry African killer bees. I was prepared to phone the dentist again for another emergency appointment because having to wait for a week and half for my follow up check seemed to long to wait.

But, and as I say there is always a but, I have decided to wait for the appointment.

Why is this you may well ask? Why would I want to go through another ten days of pain when I could get it looked at within 24 hours? Has Mark King gone into some mad frenzy?

Well the reason is I noticed I suffer the most pain when I eat, that is when I'm chewing. I've also noticed that over the last two days I haven't snacked at all, and I think this is because I don't want to go through the pain that I will suffer. I've also noticed when I eat a main meal I'm chewing very slowly using the other side of my mouth which I don't normally use, and because of this I'm not gulping my food down, and feel fuller after my meal.

People do say there is normally method in most madness so I'm going to try a little experiment. I'm going to see if I will loose any weight over the next ten days!

I suppose it's a bit like people who use those barbaric electric dog collars to train puppies. When they are naughty it gets an electric shock so the puppy thinks twice about doing it again. Well my tooth is the electric collar, if I'm naughty and raid the fridge, or the biscuit tin, then I will suffer pain.

It might sound crazy, but so is giving up a secure job during the worst reason the world has seen since the great depression to write a book when you have no experience. This is just as crazy, so you could say I have a track record in craziness.

Then again I am British and as the old saying goes; only mad-dogs and English men go out in the mid day sun.

I will keep you informed on how I get on over the next week or so.

Regards
Mark.

P.s
I don't let know if I will suffer any pain while drinking beer. I have suffered with cold drinks so this weekend I will be keeping to English ale served in the traditional way, and that is at room temperature. If I do suffer why supping my favourite pint of Fat Cat Honey ale then my experiment might not last the ten days.

As numb as a Snow Leopard's backside.

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I went to the dentist a couple of months ago for my annual check up. It went without a hitch, I had a sensitive spot but thought nothing of it; but, and as you know by now there is always a but, I was wrong once again. Slowly the pain has been increasing. I tried to ignore it at first like most men do, but since the weather has turned rather chilly over the last week or so the pain has increased.

I phoned the dentist two weeks ago and they said I would have to ask for an emergency appointment and to phone back the next morning at 8am. Did I do this? What do you think? No of course I didn't! I did what all men do and that was to try and ignore it.

It wasn't any good because by this Sunday evening my jaw ached no matter how much paracetamol I pumped into my system; so by 8am Monday morning I was on the phone and after my third attempt I got an appointment for 10am.

The dentist is only a five minute work from my home. I arrived on time and was in the chair within a few minutes. I remember in my youth there was a craze for some pubs to have a dentist's chair. The challenge would be to sit in it while the bar-man poured some cheap, but neat, spirit from the bottle straight down your throat.

As I walked into the room with its sterile features, the dentist and his two female assistants I wished at that moment I was back in some smoked filled boozer with a dentist chair, my friends and plenty of booze. Instead I got a mouth full of painful injections that made my gums, cheek, and lips go as numb as a Snow leopard's backside.

Then there was the dreaded drill. Apparently it looked like I had a small fracture in my tooth so the filling would have to be removed and then replaced. With the two young lady assistants helping the dentist I tried to be as manly about it as possible.  Even with a numb mouth you can still feel the drill doing its worst, and as I laid in the chair of doom with a pair of silly sun glasses on that I was asked to wear, the sweat started to form on my brow.

When I was told that I could now swill my mouth out I thought he had finished only to be told that that he had taken some plaque off, and would now start to remove the filling. Fu#k me, I thought what hell have I got to go through now?

So he went into my mouth once again and the drilling started. It seemed to last for hours, and every few minutes I would flinch as the odd short, sharp, shock of pain, shot across my jaw. At one stage a bead of sweat trickled down the back of my skull itching like mad on its decent, but I couldn't scratch it in case it made the drill slip, and with that my final piece of dignity which I was still trying to hold onto.

In the end it was all over, well that's what I thought but I was told that only a temporary filling was put in to see if it has sorted out the problem, and that I would have to return in two weeks! If it's ok then it can stay in for a couple of years, and if it isn't then I'm back in the chair of doom for another session of driller killer.

So over the next two weeks I will be praying that pain goes away, and I won't have to go through that again for some years to come.

Regards
Mark

I like it darling.

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After four continuous nights of broken sleep my son finally went through the night on Tuesday and I hoped for a full nights rest, but, and as you now know there is always a but, I awoke in the early hours of Wednesday not to the sound of my sons distress, but to a throat that was as dry as a duck's backside, and quite quickly turning into a fire ball.

I got up, popped some paracetamol, gargled with some mouth wash, and tried to get back to sleep without much luck. Normally spending a couple of days at home feeling under the weather wouldn't be a problem; it can even be a great time for writing as there is nothing else you can do, but on Thursday morning I had a photo shoot with the award winning photographer Angela Adams www.clickdp.co.uk. The last thing I wanted was to turn up at her studio at the picturesque Earshan Hall www.earshamhall.co.uk with puffy eyes, and a runny noise.

The session was booked for 11am and I was there on time. Now I'm one of those men who doesn't like to have his photo taken. I would have liked to have been the Bansky of literature were nobody knew who I was, but people enjoyed my work none the less. I'm afraid in publishing getting noticed is all about publicity, and for this you need pictures.

Angela greeted me in her studio and talked freely as she set about the lighting system. I was sweating but I'm not sure if it was because of nerves, or the effects of the bug I had picked up from my son. She soon had me posing, giving me directions, turn to the left slightly, chin down, look straight at me, look stern; then with a click of her camera the picture was taken. There would be a few seconds of silence as she looked back on the camera studying the image. She would either say 'I like it darling' or say nothing and then would get me to repose to take the same picture again.

At one point Angela asked me to sit on a very small flimsy stool. After taking about a dozen pictures in this position she paused for a minute, and just as she was ready to take the next set I decided to shift my stance; as I put all my weight onto my right foot the stool gave way and my legs shot into the air with my arse pointing at the lens.

Did she get a picture of me in my moment of distress? Who knows! she is too much of a professional to say, but as I lay on the floor laughing she couldn't hold back the giggles anymore, and we both fell into fits of laughter.

We ended up outside for some full length shots with a wool scarf rapped around my neck which itched like hell. Every time she asked me to look serious, or stern, or moody, the image of me flying off the stool with my backside in full view only to then end up rolling about her studio floor like a drunk on a Saturday night kept flashing across my mind, and for some reason I found it very funny, and I would end up doing the opposite of what she wanted, by laughing.

It is quite serious work and harder than most people would think although I would rather be doing that then working down a mine, or fighting in a war, so I can't complain.

I can't wait to see what the picture's look like, and once I have posted this blog I will be logging onto her website to sign in because she phoned me this afternoon to say they are ready, and no doubt over the next few months you will also see them as they are used through out the media.

Now that's what I call service.

Regards
Mark King

Sleepless nights once again.

FRENZY a Daniel Jones Story

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I've been tired, very tired over the last couple of days, and it's not because of I been burning the midnight oil.

Last Thursday my son felt unwell at school and by Friday morning he woke up with a burning throat and a cough from hell. That evening we put him to bed as normal pumped up with children's medicine, and plenty of hugs, although these aren't much use when they wake up in pain and coughing. Throughout the night the good wife and myself had to rise from the warmth of a cosy bed during a cold British November night to sooth his pain.

By Saturday morning I was knackered, but the boy seemed to get a second wind especially when I suggested he gave football training a miss. 'No' he said, he claimed he felt well enough and off we went. It was a bright sunny day but it was a deceitful glow because there was a chill in air that would have made a penguin shiver, but this didn't concern him as he ran about the pitch with all his friends with nothing more than a T-shirt on.

I paid the price of not being more forceful in insisting that he wore a jacket while he played because during the night I was once again summered to his bed side on various occasions by his horrendous coughing fits. Although I must say that watching his celebrations when he scored both goals was a pleasure to watch.

So by Sunday morning I was even more tired than Saturday, and this time as the rain pored down outside I spent the day at home. That evening we took every step possible to insure a good nights sleep. Plenty of medicine, chest rub, hot water bottle, and pillars, plus a bed time story, and my son went off to the land of nod without a cough in sight.

But, and as I say there is always a but, Sunday turned out the worst night of the lot. He awoke at 2am choking and fighting for breath, and his cough sounded like someone who smoked sixty cigarettes a day. We got him back to sleep but at 3.30 he awoke again in a distressed state, and I got to him just in time to see him being sick over the edge of his bed. By 4am I had cleared things up and settled him back to sleep, but for the next two hours I laid in bed in a semi-terrified state.

Last year my Uncle died from pneumonia. It was totally unexpected, he had been suffering for a couple of days with what he thought was a cold. He didn't drink or smoke and said to his wife he was going for a lay down. When she went to wake him he was stone cold dead, drowned in his own phlegm.

This thought kept going round and round in my head, and I kept getting up to make sure my boy was OK. At six in the morning my son woke up coughing and I got up too. We went down stairs and watched his favourite cartoon channel, and I thanked God.

I never made it to the gym on Monday but took him to the Doctors instead. She confirmed he had some virus and all that could be done was to carry on doing what we had been doing, but to also keep him off school that day. So we spent the whole day together on the sofa, he watched the television while snuggling against me, and I wrote nearly two thirds of a chapter for my next book, Daniel Jones Doom.

All in all a stressful time, but when you think of the misery that so many families have to suffer through war, famine, abuse and, many others like the terrible weather that recently hit the far east, I'm just thankful for small troubles.

Regards
Mark.

The Shuffle

FRENZY a Daniel Jones story

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You just can't beat good customer service and when it happens it's normally the reason why that particular company is successful. Although even then they can still get it wrong.

For a long time, too long to care about in my case, I have wanted to shed some of that flabby weight around my waist that taunts me every time I look in the mirror. I try to go twice a week to the gym at my local club the Oasis, and sweat my way though their 7am spinning classes, but other than that I struggle to achieve much more. I used to go street running five days a week, but my bones are now more like jelly than stone so that's gone the same way as my waist line, out the window.

I've tried compensating by using the running machines in the gym, but there was something missing which stopped me from enjoying it as much as I did when I was on the streets, and I found it quite boring to stay in the same spot for forty minutes; then the other day it hit me on the head like a falling apple. I used run while listening to some pumping music and would be in my own little world forgetting about life's little worries.

So I thought to myself, why don't I buy something that I can use purely for running? I know I will go buy myself one of those Apple Shuffle things, I decided. The last time I went running while listening to music I had a Sony Walkman C.D player that was the size of a brick.

So off I went to the Apple store in Norwich. I must admit I was a bit nervous because one thing I do know about anything that involves electronics is that it's guaranteed to leave me totally frustrated.

So there I was in the store. I had a look at some of the Shuffles on display in there brightly coloured shiny cases and a voice in my head kept saying, 'go on just do it, go on you know you want to' so I made up my mind to buy one. I liked the look of it, it was sleek, stylish and most of all looked simple to use. I went over to a bloke in a blue T-shirt and asked for some help. He asked my name, typed it into a hand held machine and within a couple of minutes a young chap appeared, and answered all my questions, and then it got even better. It cost £40 to buy but before I handed over the money the assistant checked out various sites on the Internet, found a rival retailer selling it for £34, and matched the price. What excellent customer service. I would have gone away from the store paying £40 and been none the wiser.

I went home happy and I could see why Apple is a company its rivals look up to. But and a I say there is always a but, that was the easy bit. When I got home I down loaded the i-tune app onto my laptop and bought my first piece of music. It was a fast pumping dance album that took me back to days as a raver and I couldn't wait to use it on my Shuffle.

Then it all fell to pieces. Could I get this music to sync between the two? Could I hell! After an hour of frustratingly trying everything possible I knew how to do on the damn screen in front of me I was getting fed up with hearing a digital female voice on the shuffle telling me, 'you must first sync with i-tunes;' although in some strange way I did find this digital voice quite sexy. So before I totally lost my cool and crushed my new Shuffle in a fit of rage I admitted defeat, and called the customer service help line using my mobile, which once again ended up costing me.

This is what I can never understand! Why do all these companies invent great products only to then hand it over to the tecki guys; who then seem to spend all their time turning it into one of the hardest things to use on the planet?

So there I was this morning at 6.45am in the gym on the running machine in my own little bubble, sweating like an over-weight, middle aged white man, why I dreamt my way back to my youth on the dance floor raving like an pumped up gorilla on heat, and boy o boy did I enjoy it.

Regards
Mark.

The drop of a ball

FRENZY a Daniel Jones story

Links to

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Frenzy for the rest of the world
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I do believe that different paths are laid out before us and the choices we make, and sometimes not, will decide what direction our life will follow.

Sometimes it might be a hard choice which we have spent a lot of time thinking about all the pros and cons of a certain decision before we decide what we are going to do. Sometimes it is an action that can be taken in a split second without us knowing at the time what an important event it was.

But there is the odd occasion that no matter what choice we make you get the feeling that all you can do is cross your fingers, and then hope for the best; that a greater force than yourself will give you a helping hand.

A good example of this was the other Saturday when the drop of a football changed events. For my regular readers around the world you will know that I am a football fan of Norwich City F.C http://www.canaries.co.uk/. The team had experienced a terrible run of form losing four games on the trot 4.1 then 3.1 then 4.0 and then got totally stuffed at Manchester City 7/0.

The team was fighting in the relegation zone. The manager had spent 27 million pounds of the clubs money on new players, and all there was to show for it was the worst goal scoring tally in the premier league. From the frenzy of talk on the Internet, and media, the general feeling was that if Norwich were to loose their next game then the manager should lose his job.

We had to play West Ham a newly promoted team still made up of players from the lower leagues; also they hadn't won a game away all season; had only scored one more goal than Norwich, and because of injuries they had no strikers to use. We had the advantage of playing at out home ground at Carrow road with nearly twenty seven thousands supporters packed into the stadium for the match.

After 45 minutes the referee blew his whistle for half time and the Norwich players trudged into the tunnel with their heads down to the sound of booing from the stands because the team was losing 1/0. The half time talk among the crowd was that Chris Haughton was heading for the chopping board. To say the first half performance of the team was dispiriting would be an understatement.

So there it is! The path was clearly marked! But, and like I say there is always a but. At the start of the second half the ball was floating in the air within the West Ham penalty box, and their keeper jumped up to catch it. There was no pressure, no one even took a second glance until that is when the keeper fumbled the ball, and it dropped through his arms. It bounced on the grass and as he dived to collect it he knocked into a Norwich striker who went for the stray ball at the same time.

The referee blew his whistle and gave Norwich a penalty.

The Norwich player took the penalty, even at this stage there is only a 50/50 chance the ball would go into the net, but on this occasion the goal was scored. Now it was the turn of the West Ham players to drop there heads, and they did, because Norwich got a second wind which pushed them on to win 3.1. The Norwich team walked off the pitch with their heads held high to the cheers of the crowd, and Chris Haughton is still the manager.

So there it is, just a drop of the ball, and a few simple seconds that changed the whole course of somebodies life. Chris could now be looking not just for a new job, but also a new home, a new set of friends etc, etc, etc. You never know when the ball will drop in your life just like John the plumber when he was told he had cancer, and you never know which way the ball will drop.

Will it drop in your favour or will bounce against you?

Who knows? Well I don't so I'm just going to enjoy as much of life as I can; even if on occasions I just can't be bothered to do anything, just like last Friday.

Regards
Mark

I just can't be bothered

FRENZY a Daniel Jones story

Links to

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FRENZY on Amazon Germany
FRENZY on Amazon Canada
FRENZY on Nook


I

JUST

CAN'T

BE

BOTHERED

I THINK WITH THE NEWS OF JOHN'S CANCER, AND THE DESTRUCTION IN THE PHILIPPIANS PLUS THE ON-GOING WARS IN THE MIDDLE EAST, AND AFRICA, THERE SEEMS TO BE NOTHING BUT DEATH AND DESTRUCTION WHEREVER YOU TURN.

BECAUSE OF THIS I JUST CAN'T BE BOTHERED FOR THE LAST 24HRS TO LOOK AT THE OUTSIDE WORLD BE IT VIA THE NET/TWITTER/FACEBOOK OR ANY THING ELSE.

SO I HAVE DECIDED TO TURN OFF, CHILL OUT, AND BLOCK OUT THE NEWS.

SO UNTIL TUESDAY WHEN I NEXT POST HOPEFULLY THE WORLD WILL HAVE IMPROVED, AND I WILL BE BACK TO NORMAL?

Many regards
Mark.

Dead man walking

FRENZY a Daniel Jones story

Links to

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FRENZY on Amazon Canada
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Life can have the habit of slapping you around the face. Sometimes it hurts, sometimes it can bring you out of a stupor, sometimes it will wake you up to reality, sometimes it can shock you, sometimes it doesn't come as a surprise, and sometimes it can leave you numb.

I try to be positive in my own out look on life although there are always things you wish you could improve on. I wish I could loose some weight, I wish my football Norwich City F.C would win the F.A cup before I die, and I wish I could be more relaxed when the children wind me up; just to name a few, but generally I try to look on the positive, and not the negative.

This hit home to me last Friday when I popped into my local pub the Fat Cat and Canary. I was early and there weren't many people about except for John. I know many people called John and this was John the plumber, not John who I have talked about in earlier posts who goes by the nickname of Dangerous John. Please note there is nothing dangerous about this John because he is a soft as a cuddly teddy.

I call him John the plumber because low and behold he is a plumber by trade. I have used his services many times over the years to work for myself and others. He has worked all if life although the back breaking nature of his profession has taken its toll. He is 68 years old and has worked through any illness thrown at him, and never claimed a penny off anyone. He retired last month after the arthritis, angina, poor blood circulation in his legs, and Hernias to name just four finally told him he shouldn't carry on.

He has also been a drinking partner over the years down the pub and is a natural comedian. He always has a string of new jokes that makes everyone laugh, and is one of those people you don't mind spending time with. His back may be bent from all the hard work, but his clear blue eyes, and cheeky smile, are as fresh as they were the day he was 18.

So there I was in the Fat Cat and Canary supping on my first pint of Honey Ale. I had pulled up a bar stall and sat next to John. He had been in hospital two weeks earlier for an operation on what he thought was just a hernia.

'How are you enjoying your retirement ?' I asked. He shrugged and smiled, and we both took a sip from out pints,

'How did your operation go?' I asked. 'I've got cancer' he replied as he shrugged and smiled, and we took another sip from our pints.

Cancer is the most scary and horrible word in the English language. It is also the most numbing of words. How do you reply when somebody tells you they have cancer? Especially for a man! Women can hug each other, they can cry together, even if they hardly know each other. But what can two men who only casually know each other do?

All you can do is shrug your shoulders and sip your pint together. I tried to cheer him up with some kind words of encouragement, and bought John another pint.

I knew it was troubling him because he normally drinks Fat Cat bitter which is 3.8% but now he was on the Wild Cat which is 5%! He talked for about ten minutes about how the moment he was told over the phone, and how it had left him shocked; then he announced he was coming out of retirement because sitting at home thinking about the cancer was driving him crazy. He had phoned up a mate to see if he had any work, which he did, and then went to the post office to get some new road tax for his old work van. So first thing Monday he was back to work fixing leeks and toilets.

Now that is what I call positive thinking.

Fuck the cancer I'm coming out of retirement.

The saddest moment for me was when he was ready to leave. He told me than finally he was going to go abroad for a holiday. Somewhere nice like a cruise or to a tropical Island. It hit me hard to think that it took something as shocking as cancer to finally inspire him after 68 years to do something he had always wanted to do.

It also brought home to me once again that if you want to do something with your life you need to do it now; it's no good waiting because in the long run we are all dead.

Regards
Mark

The Big Bang

FRENZY a Daniel Jones story

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twitter@author_king




Bang Bang Bang. No not the first line in chapter one of FRENZY a Daniel Jones story, but the noise above our heads as the family stood in the garden on a dark, damp night on November the 5th. To my readers around the world this date is a major event in the history of the U.K. In fact it's possibly one of the most important dates in world history.

November the 25th is Guy Fawkes's night, the date the citizens in this country celebrate the day Guy Fawkes and his gang of fellow catholic conspirators failed in their bid to blow up the houses of parliament; the very day when every branch of the British establishment from the Monarchy, the Church of England, the members of parliament, and finally the Lords of the land were gathered.

They wanted to return the country back to the Catholic fold after the it's split from Rome, and turn it away from its new Protestant path. If they had succeed then the whole world would be a different place as we know it today. Every empire needs a rival that it fears to become truly dominant. A fear which pushes it on to ever greater achievements in it quest for security. The Greeks had the Persians, Rome had Carthage, The British had the French/ Spanish catholic alliance, and America had Communism.

If Guy and his gang had blown the whole British establishment into smithereens then my homeland would have stayed a small country on the edge catholic Europe. There would have been no empire. There would have been no countries called the United States of America, Canada, Australia, New Zealand, India or Singapore . No world universal language called English. No parliamentary democracy in the majority of countries around the world. No industrial revaluation. No one to stand up to the Nazis in 1940. The list goes on and on from science through to the arts, music, and finally literature. Maybe FRENZY a Daniel Jones story will never have been published!

So there I stood with the lighted taper in hand while I bent over the firework trying to light it. Once it sparked into life I scuttled back to the patio doors where the family huddled at what we hoped was a safe distance. The light would be flicked off to be followed a few seconds later by the whizz and bang of exploding gun-powder. Brightly coloured sparks shot into the air followed by bellowing smoke, and occasionally the sound of crashing spent firework cases on the neighbour's roof tiles.

The children (myself included) played with the sparklers drawing make belief pictures and words in the dark. A break was taken for supper. We crammed myself, my dear wife and the children, my mother-in-law, and my wife's brother, plus my parents around the kitchen table as we feasted on Norfolk sausages from the local butcher's, jacket potatoes, baked beans, rolls, fried onions, grated cheese, and mugs of tea. This was finished off with home made apple pie and ice-cream.

The second half of the display went along the same lines as the beginning except for the very end. I had bought one of those special box set of fireworks were you light a single fuse, and stand back to watch your own mini display that last for a couple of minutes. It wasn't as good as the town council display that was bursting into the air from the park just up the road, but with the two going on at the same time we all enjoyed the duel display, and had a wonderful time in the process.

Now every country has its special date that its citizens celebrate. America has Thanks-giving and most of the countries that once made up the British empire will celebrate their own Independence day. This doesn't include the religious holiday's most people on this planet observe no matter what your religious belief. Whatever date you look forward the one thing we all have in common is that celebrating is something best shared with other people; in fact it's almost impossible to celebrate unless there are other people to share the moment with. So if you have something coming up, pick up the phone, send an email or text, or just knock on their door of somebody who maybe on their own, and ask them to celebrate with you.

Regards
Mark

American import

FRENZY a Daniel Story by Mark King

markkingtheauthor@gmail.
@author_king
FRENZY link to American Amazon
FRENZY link to Amazon U.K
FRENZY link to Nook





The make up was on, the cloths were looking stylish, and the mood was just right for a night out. Was it the weekend? Was the wife spending a night out on the town? No it was the 31st of October All Hallows evening or what is better known as Halloween.

The children were very excited and had been looking forward to the evening so by the time the sun said its good byes, and night had descended, they were transformed into Dracula and a witch, with the help of fancy dress, and some face-paint.

Arrangements had been made with a neighbouring family to join together so while the ladies went out into the darkness with the little ones in toe I stayed at home to answer the door, and hand out the sweets.

The grandparents had provided a scary looking pumpkin which they had grown themselves. I placed it on our driveway and left the porch light on, so letting trick or treater's know that they were welcome to knock on our door.

The first started to arrive just as the family walked out at about 6pm and for the next hour there was a steady stream of people at the door. A whole host of little children dressed as zombies, witches, Dracula, ghosts, and assorted monsters. "Trick or treat" they would call out when I opened the door and I would give them some sweets, plus the odd one to the their parents who stood in the dark shivering. Occasionally I popped one in my mouth so by 7.15 when my two smiling, and very happy children, came bundling through the front door I was on a sugar high.

By 7.30 the treats were gone, the pumpkin put away, the porch light tuned off, and there were no further people at our door. Halloween is one of those events that seem to split the adult population in the U.K into two different camps. The first are those like my family who make the most of it, and then the second group who don't like it because generally they see Halloween as an American import.

Well America is a country that has willing welcomed people from every corner of the world, no matter what their background, taken the best of what these people have to offer, and then moulds it into something which we can all enjoy. I can't help but admire any country that can does this, and Halloween sums up what freedom is all about; it's about choice. You have to choose to leave the porch light on, open the door, and hand out sweets, or you can choose to leave the light off, the door closed with your feet up, and enjoy whatever flicks your switch on a cold, dark night.

Of course on the 5th of November we celebrate one of the major events in U.K history, and that's Guy Fawk's Night. A time for bonfires, plenty of fireworks, and for burning the Guy. For my readers around the round we celebrate this night in remembrance of the day when a plot to blow up the British parliament by Mr Guy Fawks and his gang was foiled.

But this time it will be myself standing outside in the cold as I set light to a host of fireworks, and boy am I looking forward to that.

Regards

Mark.

Dreams

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FRENZY a Daniel Jones story by Mark King







Two weeks ago I travelled over to Lowestoft for an interview about my new book Frenzy a Daniel Jones story and also for a photo shoot. The first plans for taking the pictures on Lowestoft fish market went out the window when some job's worth stopped us, but never mind we got a photo of me, the book, and the market in the back ground which ended up being used in four different newspapers.

The interview was between myself and the journalist Kathryn Bradley. It was held in the Volunteer public house, an old hunting ground of mine in my youth, and as we are both professionals we only had a soft drink.

Kathryn had recently moved to the town from her native Yorkshire and was very charming. Her reassuring voice matched her sensual manner, and her skill at writing shorthand was just amazing. As we talked she copied page after page in that magical writing without hardly looking down.

One thing we did talk about was the comradeship that existed in the fishing industry and what a shame it has all but disappeared. Of course this has happened in many other communities, and industries, from mining, and steel, through to ship building. It's a shame when any company closes down and people loose their jobs, but it's a lot more destructive when the whole industry closes because people can move between companies looking for jobs, but whole communities can't move looking for work. So when this happens the whole community is strangled.

It was such a shame to see the old fish market derelict and it had an effect on me more than I had expected. I knew it had gone down hill fast because at lot of my friends who relied on fishing lost their lively hoods, and left town looking for work not just in new areas, but in completely new jobs as well.

For the next few days I had sleepless nights after suffering from some funny dreams. Well not so much funny as more disturbing to be truthful. In one dream I was on board one of the fishing vessels which Colne shipping used to own. I was on my first ever fishing trip after volunteering to spend two weeks at sea, but after just a few hours I was being violently sick down the toilet. The toilet became blocked because of this, and as more people used it to empty their bowls the fuller it got. I kept being sick as it kept filling up. In the end it was full of nasty things and I had only two choices; to be sick outside on the deck as the boat was rocked by a violent storm, and be washed over board, or to stick my head into the toilet.

I woke up in a cold sweat, and my heart was beating fast.

It was the early hours of the morning and I tried to get back to sleep, but it was no good. I kept tossing and turning, and in the end I gave up, went down stairs, and made myself a cup of tea. With mug in hand I settled on the sofa, put the laptop on a pillow, then rested it on my knees, and started to work on my manuscript to Doom a Daniel Jones story.

As I wrote the dream kept creeping back into my thoughts and I thanked God that I'm an author who has the pleasure of writing in comfort at home, and not a fisherman bobbing about hundreds of miles off land at the top of the North Sea, while the wind is blowing, and your life hangs in the balance.

There were some other dreams too with another one which involved myself, some fish, and a boxing match!

No doubt there is some Freudian reason behind these events, but who cares? Not me because since my birthday celebrations there have been no more.

It was an enjoyable interview. You can miss the comradeship with one of the draw backs to being a writer is the isolation. You can spend five days at home looking at four walls while the children are at school, and the wife at work. This is why I try to get out and about as much as possible either through voluntary work, stewarding at football or verger, and as this is my Friday posting, why I will be heading to my local pub www.fatcatcanary.co.uk this afternoon for a drink or two, and a good old chatter with my friends.

So if you are going out too this weekend have a good time, and try to be good, and if you can't then don't get caught.

Sweet dreams

Mark.

Birthday boy

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www.the-frenzy.com
www,bookguild.co.uk
twitter@author_king
FRENZY a Daniel Jones story.






Saturday was my birthday. I'm not going to reveal my age although I still like to think I can still hack it down with the twenty year olds.

All the lunar stars must have been aligned in the correct heavenly sphere, or something similar along the same lines because every thing fell into place. It's the half term school holiday (it feels as if they have only just gone back after the summer break) and my parents asked if the children could stay around theirs on Saturday night because they wanted to take them out all day Sunday.

The wife and I got an invite to her best friend's 40th birthday party which was being held on the same day as my birthday. They have known each other since they first went to primary school, and now her friend lives in London she doesn't get to see her as often as she likes. 'You don't mind if I go to her party do you?' She asked, 'you have been invited too, but if you don't want to go I understand,' she continued.

It was sweet music to my ears. I was free to spend Saturday night with my friends.

The final piece of the heavenly jig-saw to fall into place was that my football team was playing at home as well.

I started to spread the word via text to meet in the Steam Packet public house at 5pm after the game was finished. I informed Kim the owner I would be holding a birthday bass in his place and all was set. The only draw back I could see on the horizon was if the mighty Canaries were to loose the game against the visiting team Cardiff. This would have put a dampener on the evening as a lot of my friends will have gone to the game.

Well it was a 0.0 draw in the end although quite a good game which Norwich could have easily won 3.0 if the other teams keeper hadn't played so well.

When I reached the pub it was packed with people standing outside to enjoy the last of the autumn warmth before winter hits. I was noticed and as I crossed the road a chorus of happy birthday wafted from the crowd. Everyone had turned up and it took ten minutes to free myself from all the congratulations before I could reach the bar. When I got there drinks were already waiting for me and the offers kept flooding in. I couldn't keep up with all the pints coming my one way and was soon on the Bacardi and diet cokes, a lot of them were doubles.

Kim had provided a free buffy and the atmosphere was in full swing. By 10pm the shots were being necked and people were standing on tables and chairs singing along to football songs. By midnight I was heading home in a taxi in a very merry mood.

When I slumbered between the sheets my bed was empty. By the time the dear wife came home crashing through the bedroom door, fell into bed with her cloths strewn across the floor, and her make up still on, I knew she had had a good time too.

In the morning my head was numb with the first vibrations of a thundering headache looming on the horizon. My heart was galloping like a startled Stallion, my throat was sore from all the singing the night before, and my soul cried out for liquid refreshment that would rehydrate the desert that was my body. I tried to ignore all of this, but when I felt the need to pee it was pointless trying to get back to sleep; I would need to get up.

I turned over in bed and looked at my weekend medical kit; a pint of water, a packet of paracetamol, and some Rennie indigestion tablets. I devoured all three and then turned back towards the wife. I nudged her to see if she was still alive and when she turned onto her side while grunting at me I decided to get up.

I paid a visit to the little boys room and the clock said it was 8am. Now as I normally get up between 5.30 and 6am most days I considered 8pm a good lay-in. I went down stairs and made myself a cup of tea then watched Match of The Day on BBC one. Something was swirling in my head and it wasn't the hang-over? The Sunday morning repeat of Match of The Day starts at 7am so how could it be 8 in the morning!

Then I remembered the clocks should have gone back an hour the night before and it was only seven in the morning. I knew it was pointless  trying to get back to sleep no matter how rough I felt so I decided to enjoy the piece and quite, plus the rare luxury of having the only television in our home to myself, before the children returned, and the dear wife finally got up.

All in all a very good birthday indeed.

Regards
Mark.

More than my job is worth.

markkingtheauthor@gmail.com
www.the-frenzy.com
www.bookguild.co.uk
twitter@author_king
FRENZY a Daniel Jones story by Mark King





Every now and then we meet people who just get up your nose. The type of people who are no-bodies, but because they have a job title they think they might be somebody, although they can't make a choice in life without hiding behind somebody else, or some made up rule.

The type of people who seem to have no other purpose in life other than to just live, and can't or won't do something because it's more than their job is worth to do it. The type of people who are generally called in the U.K; the job's worth.

Now for my other English speaking viewers around the world I presume that where ever you live be it America to Australia then the term, a job's worth means the same as it does in the U.K. For my Chinese, Russian, German, French viewers, and all the other countries where people read my blog I can only presume again you will have the similar name in your mother tongue for somebody who is similar.

Why I'm bringing this subject up is because last week I had the misfortune of bumping into two of these people.

The first was on Tuesday. I had been contacted by the journalist Kathryn Bradley from the Lowestoft Journal www.lowestoftjournal.co.uk who wanted to interview me about my book Frenzy a Daniel Jones story. I was born and bred in Lowestoft and started my working life on the towns fish market when I left school. I completed my apprenticeship as an auctioneer and had a wonderful time selling the daily fish catches from the fishing fleet in the mornings. It was cold work in a noisy and smelly environment with plenty of rough character's, but in the end it all came crashing down when Margaret Thatcher gave away the industry. She signed the EEC common agriculture and fisheries policy. Tens of thousands of people relied on this industry, now there are just a hundred or so.

I was the third generation to have a connection to the market with my Grandfather working as a fisherman on the last steam drifter from the port. Because of this the editor wanted the photographer to take some pictures with me, and my book, on the market and so we arranged to meet there. The only problem was that when we got on site a security guard wouldn't allow the pictures to be taken because as he said, 'it's more than my job is worth.' So we got on the phone to his boss who again passed us on to someone else, who again passed us on. After half an hour and five different people we gave up, and went to Nest Point the most easterly place in Great Britain, then took the pictures there. It only took five minutes and the job was done.

The second occasion was last Thursday at Norwich Cathedral. I volunteer for a few hours every week as a greeter in the hostery at the Cathedral www.cathedral.org.co. I like to get out and meet other people and I greet the visitors at the entrance, point them in the right direction, answer any questions as best I can, and give relevant information. Well on this day a man turned up on a mobility scooter for a tour of the cathedral, but wanted to walk on the tour so leaving his scooter behind. He asked if there was somewhere he could store it and I said, 'yes, under the stair-well.' It's out the way and no problem to anyone.

But, and as I say there is always a but, standing next to me was a minor lay-official from the cathedral who snapped at me, 'no he can't.' This official has his nose stuck so far up his own back-side he loves the smell of his own shit.

'Why I asked? It's not a problems!'

'It's the rules' he snapped again at me.

I said jokingly that rules are made to be broken and he snapped back at me again. If he was around when Jesus Christ was alive healing the crippled, and the lame, he would have snapped at him too for helping the poor, the sick, and the defenceless.

Now I'm quite a forgiving person but some people just get up your nose, and at that point I just wanted to punch his one. I've never heard such clap-trap before because people are always leaving things safely secured under the stairs, but this petty job's worth decided differently. So I just shrugged my shoulders moved away and got on with my life.

Never mind because as an author you need to take features from people you meet in day to day life for both good, and bad characters, and this is what you need to do if you come across such petty job's worth. As I'm now writing the manuscript to Doom A Daniel Jones story if I need a couple of arseholes to use in it I know just the two people to base them on.

Regards
Mark King

Bring on the rain.

markkingtheauthor@gmail.com
www.the frenzy.com
www.bookguild.co.uk
twitter@author_king
FRENZY a Daniel Jones Story by Mark King.





I woke up on Monday morning feeling tired. I slummed on the sofa with a mug of coffee hoping it's caffeine would wake me up. I turned on the television and watched as the weather girl dampened my worn out spirit even further with the news that all I could expect all week was five days of continuous rain.

My mother and step-father had stayed over on Saturday night with the wine, and beer, flowing freely and when they left on Sunday my liver was struggling after three enjoyable days of wining, dining, and merriment. So by Monday morning my well intentioned plan to be in the gym by 7am had gone the same way as the Sunday roast I had cooked, and consumed the day before; down the toilet.

I tried to kid myself that I would go later in the day, but as the rain started to lash against the house I settled myself on the sofa with my laptop on my knees, and called up the manuscript for DOOM a Daniel Jones story the sequel  to Frenzy.

For some reason my time recently has been taken from me like a lolly pop from a child, I just don't know what happened to it; but I do know one thing, and that's I haven't spent near enough time on DOOM a Daniel Jones story. The first royalties for Frenzy have distracted my direction of thought, and to carry on the success of Frenzy I need to keep on writing.

You can be a good writer but to be a successful writer you need to publish as many books as possible. If you look at some of the best known authors you will see that they have been published many times.

So the conditions on Monday were perfect for writing. There were no distractions for me and I didn't want to go far so when I started to write I couldn't stop, and I was still writing at nine in the evening, sitting in the same spot on the sofa while the wife sat at the other end watching her usual fare of Monday night television soaps in Eastenders and Coronation Street. For my viewers in America, or China, or Russia, or anywhere else around the world. I don't know if you get these programmes in your relevant countries, maybe on some obscure cable channel? But if you do I can tell you for me there is no better reason to write if all you have to look forward are these mind numbing soaps

So while most people will be looking out of the window when they wake up this week feeling down in the dumps because it's raining; I'm quite looking forward to it because deep down I do love writing as well as reading, and I know this week there will be none of the distractions that come with a glorious sunny day when the sky's are blue, and there is only the odd whiff of a puffy white cloud floating silently above.

Of course that's what I would to think is going to happen, just a week of writing and reading, but as I say, there is always a but. When you work form home the dear wife will always have a long list of choirs to do, and it's no different this week because once this blog has been posted I will have to load up the car with boxes full glass bottles, and other items, then slog my way to the recycling centre, and stand there in the poring rain as I place each individual item into the relevant bins, green and brown glass in the right bin, clear glass in another etc.

The list will go on and on so while the dear wife is on the school run I better get writing.

Regards

Mark King.

Enjoy your life.

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FRENZY a Daniel Jones story by Mark King





The beginning of the week started well. I have finally managed to bring my dispute with Dulux paints to a final conclusion, and we got some compensation for the year of hassle we went through as we stood our ground. It wasn't so much the money in the end but the principle of seeking fair justice in our dispute which counted.

I also got a phone call from a journalist who wanted to interview me about my book FRENZY a Daniel Jones story, and to take some pictures.

One of the draw backs now that we have settled with Dulux is that we can go a head and repaint our doors, and while we are at it also my daughter's bedroom. Now there are things I enjoy doing in life and things I don't, and decorating defiantly falls into the latter.

The weather also started to improve.

My daughter has been away for three nights on a school trip and my son stayed around his grandparents on Thursday so me and the good wife had one of those rare luxuries in a family, and that's a night together without the children.

As the saying goes, 'when the cat's are away the mice will play' and boy did we have some fun.

I have received my first royalties for FRENZY a Daniel Jones story and treated the dear wife to a night out. We got a taxi into the city centre and went for a drink, or two, before finishing off in a Spanish tapas restaurant.

It was a good week, the type of week that makes all the hard work worth it.

I always say 'life is hard, but someone has to enjoy it,' and I try my best to be one of these people. There's plenty of grumpy people about and if it makes them happy being grumpy then that's their choice.

So I'm carrying on with the rest of week as I started it, and where ever you live around the world enjoy your life, and don't let the grumpy people get the better of you.

Regards

Mark

Winter has arrived

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FRENZY a Daniel Jones story by Mark King






Winter has now arrived in the U.K. After one of the best summers we have experienced in the last few years; well when I say best summers I mean by the standards we are used to this country. On occasions it was almost like being in the Mediterranean with endless days of glorious blue sky's and hot weather.

We British are famous for always talking about the weather, but compared to most parts of the world we have it quite easy here. Places like the Gulf of Mexico especially around the south east cost of America get  hit with hurricanes  and then there are the typhoons that devastate the coastal areas of Asia from China to India. These places experience floods on a biblical scale.

You can then go to the other extreme to the parts of the world where they have little or no rain and people have to scratch around the dirt just to survive. Even great modernised countries like America, Russia, Australia, and China can suffer from droughts that ruin the lives of the farmers who rely on the coming of the rains to feed their crops.

In the U.K we consider it a drought if we aren't allowed to use the water-sprinkler on our lawns. Then people accuse the water companies of taking too much profit, and not investing enough in the water system while at the same time blaming the government for letting these companies getaway with it.

In the U.K it's the same when the rolls are reversed with too much water and there is flooding with the same people complaining about not enough money being spent on flood defences. Now the flooding we normally have here is about ankle deep and hangs around for twenty four hours before it drains away, nothing like the flooding you had in New Orleans the other year or which certain countries in Asia have to suffer year after year when they can be under water for weeks.

So winter has arrived in the U.K, we have had four days of showers and on Sunday it rained all day. So what did we do? Well the wife took the children bowling with some friends while I stayed at home cooking a lovely English Sunday roast with pork (and crackling), stuffing, roast potatoes, cauliflower cheese, Yorkshire pudding, roast parsnips and carrots, plus cabbage and smashed swede, and to top it all off lashings of gravy as normal.

I cooked enough so there would be plenty of food left over to make bubble and squeak for the family' s Monday evening meal, and while I prepared the food with the radio on, and a steady supply of strong English cider in hand, I took the occasional glance through the rain lashed windows and thanked God that all we have to moan about in my part of the world is the changeable weather.

Regards

Mark

All paid up

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FRENZY a Daniel Jones story by Mark King






Well I pleased to announce that there are still people and times were a hand-shake means trust and honesty.

For regular readers you will know that last Saturday my car was hit from behind and damage caused to the bumper. An agreement was made over a hand-shake and on Wednesday Evening the guilty party arrived at my home with payment in hand to cover the repairs. I gave him a signed letter in exchange as a receipt which stated this was the end of the matter.

No Insurance companies, no lawyers, no middle men, no garages, just a mobile repair man who will spend an afternoon on my drive way while I keep him supplied with mugs of tea as he works his magic on the family car.

If only most things in this modern world could be so easy, uncomplicated, and carried out in a manner of good will!

Just think what a different world we could all be living in now?

People happily keeping themselves to themselves not forcing their views on anyone who doesn't want to listen, and if their lives bump into each other for what ever reason then both parties would treat each other in an honest, and respectful manner, sealed with a bond over a hand-shake.

Unfortunately there are too many people in this world who will use any opportunity to feed off some ones misfortune for their own greed, or push their personal view point, be it in politics, religion, business or personal life, and a hand shake is no guarantee of honesty.

It's easy for all of us to ask why can't everyone live a positive life without lies or deceit, but a lot harder to admit that you lie to yourself all the time. As an example as it's now the weekend I know for a fact that I will wake up either on Saturday or Sunday morning with a stinking hanger over, and will then say to myself, 'that's the last I am going to drink so much alcohol!'

I know for a fact that will be a lie.

Regards

Mark

The Car Crash

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FRENZY a Daniel Jones story by Mark King






On Saturday afternoon I was driving with all the family in the car. We were travelling to see my parents and as I approached a roundabout I put the brakes on and came to a stop. The only problem was the car behind failed to do either and went up my back-side. Well not my back-side but the car's rear end.

I heard the screech of the tyres, and then a shudder, as car hit car, and then a loud crunch. So there we were on the edge of the round-about blocking half the road, but it didn't seem to stop, or slow down, other drivers who carried on with their journey.

My daughter went into a frenzy and started to cry, but my son was fast asleep and no car accident was going to wake him up.

The other driver got out of his car at the same time as me with his hands in the air saying, 'I'm sorry, I'm sorry, it's all my fault.'

We inspected the rear bumper and it was manly damage to the paint work, and number plate. There was no damage to his car. It was agreed that we wouldn't involve the insurance companies and he would pay for the repair to the paint work. We swapped details and then went our merry way.

When we arrived at my parents my son woke up non the wiser and after a few stiff drinks, and a Chinese meal we had delivered, I had forgotten all about the incident until as the wife was driving back home we passed the same spot.

On Monday morning I got a quote for the repair and in the afternoon the man phoned me up to find out the cost. He seemed happy and has even offered to drive over to me, and pay in full.

So far so good, it took just a couple of days to sort it out sealed with a hand shake. I only wish the customer services department at Dulux paints could have been so easy two years after we bought their faulty product.

He has arranged to drop the payment off at my house on Wednesday evening and soon after the repair worked will be complete. So by Friday's posting the whole affair should be over. I hope!

Regards

Mark

I smell gas

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FRENZY a Daniel Jones story by Mark King.





The other day I awoke in the morning and walked down the stairs still half asleep. When I stepped off the bottom step I thought  I could smell gas. I walked into the kitchen sniffing the air.

Now in our part of the world you can get the odd funny smell wafting in from the fields that edge around where I live, but when my little boy said he could smelly eggs I decided to call out the gas board.

There is a national free phone number to use for emergency call outs if you can smell gas, but as there is always a double standard with most businesses these days you have to pay for the call if you use the mobile phone!

I followed the instructions given by the chap on the phone and turned off the gas from the box outside, then opened all the windows and told the family not to turn on any electrical switch's.

Anyway within the hour a friendly man arrived from the company who look after the national gas system with his little machine which could sniff out any gas. He walked from room to room and then checked the outside box.

Walking back into the kitchen the man said we had low gas pressure then walked over to the cooker and said, 'here is your problem.' He pointed at the cooker hob and turned off one of the nob's.

The wife and I looked at each other, blushing, and she immediately blamed me.

The previous day I had cooked a lovely traditional Sunday dinner with roast chicken, roast potatoes, Yorkshire puddings, cabbage, stuffing and various other vegetables, plus lashing of gravy. As the gas man then pointed out that if I had left one of the rings on it would still be burning so the most likely course of the problem was coursed when the cooker was cleaned.

So it was the wife's fault, but I still took the blame anyway because sometimes all we want is an easy life.

I could have taken this view with Dulux Paints, but with them I have decided not to take the blame for their mistake and to fight all the way with this big international company.

Regards
Mark

Turkish Delight

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FRENZY a Daniel Jones story by Mark King.





I have been in a frenzy over the last four days going through two years of paper-work trying to  gather as much evidence in my quest to gain justice from Dulux paints after their faulty product caused our internal doors to fade. They have pushed us from pillow to post. We have the original tin of a paint plus the faded doors, but this isn't good enough for them!

Never mind I did get some good news that cheered up my weekend. The rights to translate my book FRENZY into Turkish have been bought by a publisher in Istanbul. There are 100 million people around the world who speak this language, and now they can read themselves into a frenzy with my book. So another country to add to the list where FRENZY a Daniel Jones story by Mark King is on sale.

I found out late on Friday about the successful completion for the Turkish deal after I returned from my Friday morning voluntary work. I also had a wedding to organise at the Parish Church, and with other things that need doing in the day to day running of family life it was wonderful to open the letter when I got home. With all that was going on it was quite late until I had written, and then posted my Friday blog. It can be hard getting my Friday blog out and I'm tempted to post it on Saturday morning instead, But, and as I say there is always a but, it all depends on you want.

So please feel free to give me your views at markkingtheauthor@gmail.com and I will see how it goes. Just going back to my last posting I finally got my money from Barclay's bank, but double standards go on as I encountered the other day.

I had to pop into the city centre for half an hour and parked on a street where there are parking charges paid for at the on-street parking meters'. The thing is they don't give change and with the fee set at forty pence per fifteen minutes the cost for my half hour of parking was eighty pence, but I only had pound coins in my pocket. So the local council made an extra twenty pence out of me. Now I once worked in the car park industry, and I know for a fact that all pay and display machines can give change, and when they don't it's a deliberate con to get more money out of the general public.

Could you image the uproar there would be if you went into a supermarket bought eight pounds worth of goods, handed over a  ten pound note, and then the till operator refused to give you any change?

It's the same principle but the double standard is that the council on the one hand want you to pay all your local tax's due in full, and on time, and to be a good citizen by leading a clean, and honest life while at the same time they are stealing my twenty pence.

So there is Dulux, then Barclay's Bank and now Norwich City council to add to the list of organisations and no doubt there are plenty more to add.

Regards

Mark.

  

Double standards

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FRENZY a Daniel Jones story by Mark King






Thank you for all your support with my dispute with Dulux paints, and it seems that I'm not the only one who has had a poor level of customer service from this once well respected brand.

I do wonder why a lot of companies don't learn that to keep a customer's loyalty involves more than just getting money out of you. Or why they don't learn from history because in the long run the most successful companies, and the ones that ultimately survive, are the ones that learn how to not only give customers what they want, but also how to treat their customers when they do get it wrong.

We all get things wrong and humanity has a great ability to forgive, but not to forget.

Dulux are not the only brand to be claim to offer a premier product and service when they cant live up to that claim. Another brand which at present has a terrible case of double standards is Barclay's Bank. They seem to have been involved in one way or another with most financial scandals that have come out into the open.

Barclay's chief executive was forced out and replaced recently by another who then claimed in the national media that the bad old ways of exploitation purely for profit would end, and they would focus on the needs of their customers.

What a load of old Cod's-wallop as we say in my part of the world.

I have two accounts with Barclay's Bank with one of them having a six monthly charge to use it. They take money automatically from account one to pay this charge on account two, and the money is transferred by their computer in a fraction of a second between the two.

Now this is the double standard that Barclay's bank employ.

The other day I transferred some money from account two back to account one and did it take a fraction of a second to complete? No it will take seven days!

Yes, seven days. The money disappeared instantly from account two and then I received notice it would take seven days to appear in my other account.

What is Barclay's bank computer doing for the next seven days, going on holiday? Has their computer booked seven days leave so is now laying by the pool soaking up the sun, drinking cocktails?

No. I tell you want it is doing! It is holding onto my money and earning interest which is not paid to me, but which is used to inflate the bank's profit. It should be classed as theft because the bank is taking interest that should rightfully belong to me. If you consider that millions of their customers will be transferring money electronically, and which should go through the system in seconds, but is being held back, then the money they make using this scam must run into millions of pounds.

This brings me back to Dulux paints or what I should say is Akzo-Nobel who manufacture the paint. We have been dealing with them for over nine months in trying to get fair compensation and what a farce it has been.

Matt Pullen a U.K based director of the company for Northern Europe appeared in the national media twelve months ago to admit that Dulux paints has changed their product causing it to become faulty. He claimed that all complaints would be sorted out quickly and fair compensation made.

I ask then is nine months considered acting quickly, and is £100 fair compensation for the cost of re-painting 26 internal doors both sides plus nearly two years of stress?

What do you think?

Regards
Mark