The Expensive Cravat is now out in paperback

The Expensive Cravat and Defining Alternative Media are published. Quotilucious, the semi-serious book of factoids I put together originally for publication on Twitter (Now X) and my popular history book, Did Hitler Eat Strawberry Cake? are all mapped out and ready to go... 

I've also got two new projects, an action-packed crime novel, and a local history book that focuses on Cornwall's capital through the lens of Truro Cathedral...  Sh*t Views of Truro Cathedral should be available in the Autumn. 

Don't click off yet because I want to tell you a bit more about my books:

Book One  | Fiction | The Expensive Cravat and English Gentleman and the Imperfect Crime

The Expensive Cravat is a crime novel set 1980s rural England and was triggered by my involuntary exposure to the English Middle Class and their silly ways... You can read a free sample from the e-book here or buy the whole thing for half the price of two-shot cappuccino. 

Here's another extract from the book: 

There had been times when he’d been close to jumping into that grey canal, but something stopped him thankfully.  What would they have thought of him at Finchbury if they knew he could think like this?  Parental deprivation, cold showers and regular thrashings were supposed to have conditioned Tarquin to cope with anything, but Finchbury had made him fidgety and incapable of forming relationships with girls.  Most Old-Finchburians benefited massively from their suffering at school and being spanked publicly by an older boy prefect or private canings by the headmaster, had set them up for life, but Tarquin simply hadn’t responded to the process.  Yes, he’d put a brave face on it and his mother made all sorts of excuses for her son’s failings, but deep down, behind all the adjectives and awful pretentious nonsense, Tarquin was a typical young man with a slightly unnatural crush on Gary Lineker.

Book Two | Textbook | Defining Alternative Media

Defining Alternative Media is the first book of its kind to explore what it means to be alternative and critically explores whether the way in which alternative journalists operate is able to circumvent mainstream media practices.

Using examples from the UK alternative Press, the book identifies two distinct types of alternative journalist; those who desire radical structural social change and overhaul of the mainstream media and those that seek to encourage a sense of community by widening participation in the media. The two alternative journalisms are similar in that they encourage readers to participate, however, they differ in their ideological motivation and political orientation. 

The author argues that defining alternative media as participatory is insufficiently critical of, and in practice, presents too weak a challenge to the dominant practices of the mainstream capitalist press to be considered alternative.

Try before you buy.   Here's a free sample for you 

In the spirit of Alternative Media I set-up the Student Guardian. The sites purpose is to encourage wider participation in journalism and at the same time as provide students with useful information to help them through university. In a nut-shell the Student Guardian gives new writers and journalists a chance to get their articles published without having to mould their writing into what's expected of them by vested interest lurking in the mass media.

NB.  I've recently had to upgrade the site to a more secure version of Joomla. The sites will be back to normal when I have the time, the articles are all there if you can find them... 

If you are interested in Partcipatory, Citizen, or Alternative Journalism you can read more articles from the community here: Alternative Media News 

Book Three | Non-fiction | Did Hitler Eat Strawberry Cake?

If you're an agent or publisher of popular history you might like to take a look at Did Hitler Eat Strawberry Cake? the first of a series of books that takes an imaginative look at one of history’s most frightening tyrants.

I can't draw, but I did I draw this as Hitler images are expensive

 I can't draw, but I did I draw this as Hitler images are expensive 

Written for a popular audience, Did Hitler Eat Strawberry Cake? is peppered with interesting facts and nuggets of information that are communicated to its audience in a range of publishing styles.

While Did Hitler Eat Strawberry Cake? is emphatically History light, the research upon which it is grounded is extensive and is derived from: distinguished biography, academic journals and historical and media archives.

Did Hitler Eat Strawberry will be promoted by this blog and my in-house Social Media Marketing service the Writers Guardian that has over 5000 reader and writer followers.

Read the extended synopsis... 

Book Four | Fun Facts | Quotilucious

Written with stocking fillers in mind, or as one of those little books you pick up at the checkout in book shops, Quotilucious is jam-packed with fun-facts and Quotations you won't find anywhere else on the web... 

Quotilucious would also work well as an App too, popping out randomised fun-facts and quotations. Already tested on the web Quotilucious attracted thousands of followers on Twitter, has had its own Blog and Facebook and webpage that I plan  to resurrect ahead of the book launch... 

Here's three to be getting on with: 

Fun Facts | Chicken, or Egg? The answer is Egg

Fun Facts | An Oxymoron is a upper-class twit who's Dad got him into University

Fun Facts | Salavador Deli painted beautiful representations of meats and 

                    sundry cheeses..

Quotilucious | Funny makes money...

New Book coming soon: 

Book Five| Sh*t views of Truro Cathedral

What at sh*t view?

If you're a publisher, or agent interested in publishing Sh*t views of Truro Cathedral please message me... 

This is the first of a series of posts promoting my forthcoming book: Sh*t views of Truro Cathedral. 

I might write some blurb up one day... 

More sh*t views

The Expensive Cravat | Chapter 1: Sitting up

The Expensive Cravat

We all "sat up", as they called it.  A curious phrase which contradicted what we were expected to do, which was to sit down.  The anomaly was probaly fixed in Rachel's childhood when "sitting up", as opposed to sitting normally, was compulsory.  Nevertheless, not wanting to appear rude, I sat bold-up-right, with my chest pushed out as far possible without busting a rib.  I felt a right tit if I’m honest, but what could I do?

Meals were always an ordeal for the Petersons. As I waited I scanned the runway and counting the receptacles that cluttered the table.  The contents of the cast iron blood red saucepan were transferred to a similar vessel then placed with a family of heavy-weight dishes on ornamental metal trivets to protect the oak.  In time, these spuds and sundry "veg" would find themselves on plates ready to eat.

Derek, that’s Rachel’s husband, had been "sitting up" for nearly thirty-five years and Gretta, their daughter for nearly twenty.  The family accepted having to sit up straight for Rachel and apart from slightly pronounced sternums the Petersons were, more or less, free of disability.  Derek, though, did suffer from wheeziness and drawn-out bouts of "sitting up" didn’t make breathing any easier. 

The wine too waited dutifully by the fire. It was undoubtedly a good one, smooth, as wine buffs say - very smooth.  I momentarily wondered whether it might be a fruity one, or perhaps possessed a hint of something or other, but I really hadn’t the nostrils for wine.

"Fifty pence a bottle in France”.

Derek knew everything about France and wanted to live there one day.  He hoisted the bottle to eye level and pointedly examined the label. Then, in a soft Anglo-French accent, proceeded to announce the grapes origin and hinted about the quality. 

"Produce of St. Emilion 1982," adding with the softest of sniffs "you can't beat a good Bordeaux, can you Rachel"? 

Lowering the bottle to within an inch of his not inconsiderable nostrils he produced a bolder sniff, and concluded, "superb…" 

"Do you like Claret Jack?" Rachel asked politely. 

Derek tilted the bottle and gave the label another once over. 

I knew Claret was wine, but what category it fell into was a mystery to me.  What I did know was that if I drank anymore of it I would have serious digestive problems later.  

Sitting up straight next to Derek was Gretta.  Derek and Rachel, who was at last dishing up the veg, had been desperate for one of each before Gretta came along.  It was such a nuisance.  Right up to the birth Derek was convinced Rachel was expecting a boy. The theory for the origins of male offspring, according to Dr. Derek was nothing much to do with chromosomes, or DNA, but personality.  If, the theory went, one or other of the parents could be forceful enough a male would be produced.  To Derek this appeared the truth and remained so even after Julie was born. At first Derek was unable to accept it.  He had certainly tried, but perhaps Rachel that hadn't concentrated hard enough during the process?  A couple of years later, an oh-so-determined Rachel and Derek, created Raymond and, at long last, they were a family.

Despite the difficulty I was experiencing holding myself in a perpendicular position, I waited patiently to eat .  You see I hadn’t the series of additional muscles that Derek and Rachel had built up over the years, which had enabled them to complete the Sitting up performance effortlessly.  While we were waited, salivating like Pavlov’s dogs, Rachel commuted to and fro the Kitchen collecting an array of salad, more vegetables, and finally the main dishe Chicken-a-la-Crème.   I counted eighteen vessels of one sort or another that between them took up all but the tiny triangle of table reserved for the wine which was due, any moment, from its ideal warming position next to the fire.  It was all very odd, not just because we’d been sitting there parched for forty-five minutes, but because the fire, guarded by two splendid ceramic King Charles Spaniels, wasn’t even lit.  It just flickered an impotent glowing red thanks to a special bulb that shone through a coal-effect piece of plastic.  Nevertheless, while it was a poor substitute for the real fire that used to be there in Auty Hilary's day, it was a nice little example of 1950s electric heating.

Then, quite suddenly, the conversation on the merits of the French Stick over other World Breads, paused. The air became still and strangely no sound at all came from the kitchen. No one dared move. "Please start," Rachel announced, as if she  surprised that we wern't already tucking in.  My first reaction was to swiftly pick up my knife and fork, but I quickly realised my folly as the others made instead for a bulky looking handkerchief held in a smooth fake-ivory ring.  Oh look, I thought, I have one too…  I put down my temporarily redundant utensils and watched how Derek and Gretta unravel their cloth and place on their laps.  I left mine where it was being quietly confident that I could consume my dinner without soiling my trousers too much.

I just knew somehow, after years of being deprived of a trouser safety net that I could satisfactorily convey food from plate to mouth. What I wasn’t so sure of was whether I would have the same level of success filling the plate itself.  Skills do have to be learnt, and I had no experience of loading shafts of asparagus at arm’s length.  Rachel was very kind and offered,

"Would you like some carrots Jack?" 

As if by magic several lengths of lightly-buttered Carrot slid to their destination.  "Want some Daddy?" Gretta asked.  Derek took the dish and in one seamless movement he was served replacing what was left of the Carrots next to the Broccoli with a manual dexterity I had not seen before - or since.  Gretta proudly told me later that she had once seen her father serve an entire meal of over sixteen items in under twelve minutes and the whole time had managed to remain seated.  It was really quite astonishing.  In time we had our plates prepared with food to eat and Rachel had joined us. 

"Are we alright?" Rachel queried, and we all said, "yes, fine thank you." Well, except Gretta and Derek who both had the experience to add a, "mmmm..., that looks delicious." A micro-second too late I stuttered an, "I can't wait - mmmm..." but it didn’t really work. In the end though I hadn’t done that bad. Three out of a possible thirteen foods I'd served without aid:  Potatoes, Cabbage, and Parsnips, the rest were either provided by Rachel, or Gretta, who I couldn't help noticing looked tense.  Was it because Gretta was unhappy about my performance serving myself, or perhaps my shoulders were too far forward as I spiked that miniature Courgette?  

Read in Pdf

I am planning to upload a chapter a week.  Any resemblance between my fictional characters and real people is probably, at some level, deliberate - I wonder if you're in it? More on The Expensive Cravat  

Sh*t views of Truro Cathedral (View III) | International Cathedral Day

New book | Sh*t Views of Truro Cathedral

To mark international Anglican Cathedral Day I have chosen this particularly sh*t view of Truro's finest.

It's hard to imagine today what Truro Cathedral would have looked like in the thirteenth century, but I think all of us would agree that set against the walled gardens of these traditional magnolia decorated and relatively affodable homes the Cathedral's magnificent splendour shines through.

I love the inkling of greenery nestled in the nearground of the Cathedral between the houses that momentarily distract the eye from the mesmorising lines of telecom cable.

 #AnglicanCathedralDay

More sh*t views:

View another image and follow on Twitter

New Book | Sh*t Views of Truro Cathedral (View II)

It is with enormous pleasure that I can now release the second image from my new book: Sh*t Views from Truro Cathedral.

Southern elevation taken with 2015 Nokia Lumia 635 

Another fine example and symbol of English power and prestige over Rome and Celtic Cornwall, this recently refurbished and relatively spacious Cathedral also includes occasional religious talks and exquisite musical interludes.

Go to Sh*t View I (The Golden Dragon)

More on the Dissolution of the English and Welsh Monasteries 

Sh*t Views of Truro Cathedral

This is the first of a series of posts promoting my forthcoming book: Sh*t views of Truro Cathedral.

...and the lord said let their be light and their was light and Pork Balls 

Taken from the steps of Sunley Gymnastics, I love this shot for the magisterial quality of the street light more than for anything else. Street lighting that has selflessly illuminated hungry visitors making their way to the Golden Dragon for decades.

Go to Sh*t View II Power over Rome II 

Can I write for you?

I write nifty tweets, blogs and Facebook posts so you don’t have to http://t.co/aBLZtlLA98 #copywriting #socialmedia pic.twitter.com/ZOdBeMDCRn

— Tweet Writer (@NiftyTweeter) June 2, 2015

If you'd like me to write for you please message me