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

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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

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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

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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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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

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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.