A 1000 words lost

Postings every Friday

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Boy o boy was I pissed off the other day. I spent Tuesday afternoon writing a chapter to Daniel Jones Doom the sequel to Frenzy a Daniel Jones story. I had spent the morning writing my Tuesday posting for always-hanging-around and then checking , before checking again for spelling, and grammar.

I posted it onto the Internet, and then spent two hours spreading the news. After this I had a four hour inspiration of writing on my new manuscript,  but for some reason that only Microsoft Word knows for itself it failed to save all the work I had done. So I lost a 1000 words of writing, and I have spent the last three days trying to recreate what I had lost. 

Added to this I have been inundated by people asking when they can buy the sequel to Frenzy by Mark King. I love writing my blog, and enjoying my life with all my followers around the world from the U.K, and America, through to Canada, and then South America. From here we can go to Germany, across Europe into Asia and Africa; before ending up in Asia and the far east. From China to Japan I have a loyal almost cult cult following of people who read my weekly postings.

I love you all and I an honoured when you email me, but like I say there is always a but! I can't afford to loose a 1000 words on Daniel Jones Doom because I have been distracted by writing this blog. So from next week I will be posting once a week every Friday.

I hope you understand and still enjoy me weekly posting at www.always-hanging-around.blogspot.com.

Many regards

Mark King

Happy Birthday

Postings every Tuesday and Friday

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Birthdays come but once year, but if you have a family they seem to come every month, and this is the case for me. Last month it was my mother’s big day, and this month it was my daughter’s. Next month it’s my son’s soon to be followed by my father’s and then the wife’s. It seems a never ending stream, and long gone are the days, especially for the children; when a bucket full of water with bobbing apples would do for entertainment, or sweets rapped in various layers of old newspapers for a game of pass the parcel. The simple pleasures of cheese sandwiches, and crisps, followed by jelly and Ice cream no longer full fill the stomachs of the modern expectant child. And then there are the party bags! I don’t know when theses first appeared, but in the seventies you would be sent home after a party with nothing more than a slice of home baked birthday cake rapped in a paper napkin.
 
The party bag has become an after party gift that can end up more expensive to produce than the present that was given in the first place. Children wait excitedly for the big moment when they can delve into the treasures hidden within the smart looking bag; cakes, various assortment of sweets, fancy items of stationery, little toys etc. etc.

So it was on Sunday morning that two cars dutifully chauffeured my daughter, and her friends, from door to door to the Vue Cinema in Castle Meadow to see the film Mr Peabody and Sherman. Plenty of popcorn, sweets and drinks were purchased, and a jolly good time they all had. Afterwards there was a visit for a birthday meal at McDonalds in the city centre with all the trimmings, and then eventually all the little darlings were dropped off at their respective addresses with their party bags.

The adults were worn out, but at least we have another four weeks before it all starts again!

Regards

Mark   

Half a Lent.

Postings every Tuesday and Friday

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It started with an explosion. I couldn't help it. After three weeks all the frustration came bursting out like a time bomb. I've had weeks of sleepless nights, and on occasion's I had no sleep at all because of my chest infection; with it's irritating tickle that drove me crazy every time I laid my head on a pillow, and for the last four nights my son has been waking up between three, and four, in the morning coughing like he smoked sixty cigarette's a day. Also for the last three weeks I've not had the enjoyment of escaping from family life, and getting lost in my own little world; while I enjoy a pint or two with my friends, because in a moment of madness I declared I would give up all alcohol for lent.

Then there were the five days spent poisoning my lungs with paint fumes while I carried out the tedious, and boring task of painting our hallway, plus the staircase too. The fuse was lit on Thursday evening when I went around to my father's home to pick up the children. I love my Dad, and when he asked at the beginning of the year if we could hold his 75th birthday at our house I was honoured. I have been planning it ever since, and was going to gather the whole King Clan to celebrate his big day. As he has now surpassed the average life span of a British male I thought it doubly special that the whole family celebrate.  So when he announced to me, while the children got ready to leave, that he wasn't now bothered about a party, and was even thinking of going away for a couple days instead, it felt like he had stabbed a knife into my heart.

When I arrived home to say I was pissed off would be an understatement. My daughter was first out the car and through the front door, quickly followed by my son, while I came in carrying all their coats.

I asked my daughter to take her shoes off at the door; she ignored me while she chatted away about her day.

I asked my daughter for a second time while she plonked her bottom on the stairs; she ignored me while she carried on chattering about her day.

My wife asked our daughter not to lean against the wall, and to be careful with her bag; she ignored her while she carried on talking away like only females can.

My wife for a second time told our daughter to be careful with her bag, and to take her shoes off; but no she ignored her.

I told my daughter this time for the fifth, and finally occasion, in a determined daddy voice to take her shoes off, and put them in their proper place.

She stood up, and grunted at me like children on the cusp of becoming teenagers do; then tossed her school bag against the wall. Sticking out of the top of it was her flute case. It's made of hard plastic, and as it hit the side it took a chunk of new paint out of the wall.

That was the moment when the bomb went off. I exploded. The front door was still open, and all the neighbour's would have heard me as a swung around, holding the coats in the air, and shouted at the top of my voice just like Charlton Heston in the final scene of the Planet of the Apes; 'I have had enough, I have had a F@uk#ng enough.' I flung the coats on the floor as spittle flicked from my mouth.

The family were shocked into silence as three weeks of pent up frustration came bursting out, and for the next half an hour I slowly calmed down as my rage was vented. My daughter burst into tears, and my son followed suit. Afterwards I felt bad. We try not to swear in front of the children, but sometimes it just seeps out. After supper the gilt just increased even more because the reason why my daughter was so excited (and thus not taking any notice of us) was because she had helped to set up a sponsored fun run at her school to help raise money for Sports Relief Day.

I gave her a cuddle and said sorry. I bought off my gilt by doubling my sponsorship money I had promised, and then went to make my peace with my son.

On Friday morning I kissed the children off to school and family life was back to normal, but like I say there is always a but, I couldn't take, or should I say I couldn't allow another three weeks of alcohol free frustration to build up inside of me to the point it would effect my family life.

So as you read this blog I will have returned from the Fat Cat and Canary pub after a couple, or three, relaxing pints with my friends. I will have completed twenty days of being sober, and as I'm not even half the person Jesus Christ is, then I think half a lent is still good going.

Regards

Mark

The Hallway

Postings every Tuesday and Friday

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Decorating your home is like getting married.

The first home you buy; the very first one you can call your own, you want to lavish as much time, and money, on it as you can afford to make it the house of your dreams; just like your wedding day.

By the time you get around to your fourth house it's like getting married for the fourth time. All you want to do is to get it over with as quickly, and cheaply, as possible. You just want to go to the local registry office, find a couple of strangers to act as witness, and then fifteen minutes later it's all done, and dusted. I've only been married the once, but by what I have gained from other people who are crazy enough to keep going through this torture, again and again, the above statement seems quite true.

The reason I'm pointing this out is because since Saturday I have been through the torture that is painting our hallway. It was my second weekend of lent, and I needed to do something that didn't evolve going out, and enjoying myself. I thought if I was going to be bored I might as well be bored, and useful at the same time. My present home is the forth I have purchased, and lived in, as I have worked my way up the property ladder. My first home I bought when I was in my early twenties. It was a one bed end terrace. I spent the first month months gutting it out so it was just a bare shell, and then spent every spare moment of my time, and money on doing the place up. I remember at the time that if I lost my job I would be totally stuffed, because I wouldn't have had the money to finish the work; while at the same time I would be left with an unlivable home that in its semi-derelict state was only worth half what I paid for it if I was forced to sell it. Everything worked out in the end.

Now I'm on my forth home, and three and half years after we moved in I have finally got around to painting the hallway. It's the first part of the house that everyone sees when they visit, but I just haven't had the same enthusiasm I had with my first home with putting my own stamp on the property.

It's also been the bitch of all painting jobs because unlike most rooms that are square, and thus can be easily covered by a roller; our hallway has so many twists, and turns, a lot of it can only be hand brushed. Then there is the glossing. I don't like glossing. This seems to be an infliction only the British household seems necessary for their homes, and boy o boy there is a lot of wood that needs glossing in our hallway.

So even by the time you have finished reading this posting I still won't have finished the decorating.

All I want now is to be able to go to bed without the smell of paint up my nostrils, and to be able to get back to writing the next exciting chapter of Daniel Jones DOOM the sequel to FRENZY.

Regards

Mark

George Orwell

Postings every Tuesday and Friday

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George Orwell is one of my all time great authors. It's such a shame he died so young. He wrote what I consider to be two of the best books ever in Animal Farm, and Big Brother, and if he had had another twenty years on this glorious planet then there is no doubt he would have written some other great classics.

He was one of the first author's I read at school, and one the few that I carried on reading throughout adult-hood. In fact I have now enjoyed some of his books three times over the years, and I would like to think that I will reread them again before I go meet my maker, and hopefully the spirit of the great man himself. 

With this in mind any connection to George Orwell is an honour. Every year the Orwell Prize is awarded in his name; one for books and one for journalism. For 2014 my book FRENZY a Daniel Jones story has been listed for the Orwell Prize http://bit.ly/1qzv9HL.

Frenzy does have an underlying message. It's a critique on the people at the very top of world finance system who over the last twenty five years through the use of hyped up bonus payments; have had a feeding frenzy with humanities labour and expense.

Just like Animal Farm that showed how dictatorships come to power, and with 1984 which tells how dictators stay in power; Frenzy a Daniel Jones story shows how we have all been fed a lie by our masters.

That lie is that debt is good, and that we can all live beyond our means. But we can't because the financiers have taken all the money, and a lot of people are going to find out that there is no happy retirement of cruise-ships, luxuries and brand new material things. Like the achievement centre in Frenzy a Daniel Jones story there is no happy-ever-after.

Regards

Mark

   

12 Years a slave

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My first weekend of lent and I was determined to stick to giving up the booze. By Saturday morning my son had made a good enough recovery to be able to stay at his grand-parents, and my daughter was already enjoying her weekend away at camp. So with it being a Saturday and with Norwich playing at Carrow Road it would be a good test of my resolve, because if there is three things that go hand in glove, then football, booze and being with your friends at the same time fits the bill.

With this in mind I decided I needed something else that could take away the temptation; especially as I know my friends would be buying rounds, and I would be included in them. It's very hard to say no when temptation is placed within your hand.

So I asked the wife if she would like to meet me after the game. She could drive in and have a couple of drinks, and then because I would have to drive home I would need to stay sober. When she mentioned she also had two free cinema tickets the deal had been done. She drove in at six after having the whole afternoon child, and husband free, and parked at her office which is conveniently located next to the Steam Packet public house were I normally stop off after the game for a drink. The wife was necking half pints of larger, while I stuck to the diet cokes, and we enjoyed over an hour together talking to my friends. Just after seven in the evening we headed into the city centre for a light-bite to eat; then we arrived at the Cinema at eight to catch the next showing of the Oscar winning movie, 12 years a slave.

We went in with a big bucket of pop corn and sat down to watch the trailers. Now to be truthful it's very rare for my wife to go to the movies in the evening without her falling asleep at some point, especially if she had been consuming alcohol. Next to me sat two other women who had obviously been out drinking before the show because they sat there talking, and laughing, so loudly you could hear their whole life story throughout the auditorium.

I thought I was in for one of those occasion's when I would not be able to enjoy the film because my wife would be snoring down one ear; while these other two women would be annoying me down the other. But like I say there is always a but, I was in for a nice surprise! The story that unfolded in front of everyone was so compelling it had the who audience gripped from the beginning right to the very end; even the wife stayed awake, and I never heard a peep from those other women.

All I can say about it is that it deserved to win an Oscar, and it's a film that should be shown in every high school in the world. It made you think about what a terrible life people had, and are still having in today's world. In a way it wasn't depressing; although at moments it was sickening. Both the wife and I were thinking, and taking about it, the next day which goes to show the power of its story.

It had a positive outcome, and that's what I would most like to think about because it's being positive that allows Love to flourish, and from this all good things like forgiveness, freedom, friendship, caring, and sharing can flourish. To be negative is the opposite of Love, and its most power incarnation is Hate, and from this flows, anger, jealousy, resentment, destruction and ultimately death.

It is a credit to the decedents of the slaves and to America in general that they are generally a positive nation, because I wouldn't have liked to live in a world if it was the opposite.

Regards

Mark

Life is like a pin-ball machine.

Postings every Tuesday and Friday

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Life is like a pin-ball machine and you are the little silver ball that gets knocked about. One minute you are up there bouncing about lighting the lights while the bells go ding, ding, ding, ding and then the next minute you are dropping straight through the flippers, and into the darkness of oblivion. 

And this week this is what my life has felt like. On Saturday I enjoyed a fantastic time partying the night away bouncing about without a care in the world, but by Tuesday morning I awoke at 2.30 am in the morning with a sore throat, and coughing for England.

Yes I had come down with a cold and I know who I caught it from; a good friend of mine I haven't seen for some months. When he arrived at the party with his wife he was so pleased to see me he wrapped his arms around me then plonked a big sloppy kiss on my lips. The only problem was that he was just getting over a cold, and now I'm just starting one. I've been totally worn out during the day because on Tuesday and Wednesday night when the good wife and myself went to bed; I started to nod off to sleep and my throat would tickle so much it felt like a fairy was using a feather on my tonsils. I would burst into a fit of coughing, and in the end I had no choice but to get up, go down stairs, and make myself a cup of tea.

By the time I had finished it I was wide awake, so I fired up the laptop, opened the Daniel Jones DOOM document and started writing on the new manuscript while I enjoyed the silence. So every cloud does have a silver lining because I'm now two thirds of the way through.

By the time Thursday evening arrived my eyes were so tired I couldn't stop them watering, and when my head hit the pillow no amount of tickling would wake me up. But like I say there is always a but. At midnight my poor son, who has only just got over a horrendous cold that put him through horrible coughing fits that scared me so much I nearly rushed him to hospital one night because he couldn't breath, started to cough.

It didn't sound good and I got up to give him some medicine, and once he finally settled down I found it hard to get back to sleep.

So now I'm knackered and all the plans we have made for the weekend are up in the air, because unless my son and I make a quick recovery then we will have to change the whole weekend. My daughter is off to a Brownies camp weekender, and the boy was due to stay around the grand-parents, but there is no way he can now if he is ill. Not just for his sake, but also for my parents sake because my father is 75 years old in June, and very vulnerable to nasty little bugs.

So as the weekend is near I hope you enjoy it, and that you will be healthy, and if you are the type of person whom likes to take a few minutes out each day to contemplate life then please keep safe and sound, and don't fall between the flippers.

Regards

Mark.    

  

The 50th before lent

Postings every Tuesday and Friday

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Once again another country in on the brink of falling apart after it showed so much potential in joining the modern democratic world. It's not just the Arabic nations that failed to successfully transfer themselves after the population cried out for freedom, but Ukraine as well. By the weekend politicians around Europe were talking about it being the most dangerous situation to face the West in the 21st century.

I was invited on Saturday to a friends 50th birthday party being held in city centre bar he had hired in the heart of clubland in Norwich. There was a live band booked and a good crowd of people on the invite list. This weekend was also the last before lent. I don't normally take much notice of this Christian period in the calendar, but over the last twelve months I have been reducing my intake of alcohol cutting down to just one day a week of blissful celebration. With this in mind when lent was mentioned over the kitchen table during a family evening meal I decided in fit of provado, or should I say madness, to declare I would give up all alcohol for the six weeks of lent.

So Saturday was my last opportunity before the great challenge, and with the idiots at the top of food-chain trying their best to start world war three I decided to see out the night with a bang. And what a night it was! The music played long into the early hours, and the drink flowed, and I even made it onto the dance floor. I bounced about like I was 23 again at a rave. 

A friends wife who stayed sober gave us a lift home while the first birds were starting to tweet as my head crashed onto the pillow. When I awoke the world was still spinning, as well as my skull, and when I got out of bed my stomach did too.

So now the hard bit begins? Six weeks of self control. It will be hard no doubt, but what I do hope during this period is that the idiots at the top can show as much self control, and don't do anything stupid like start a pointless war.

Regards

Mark