She saved them all in the end…
Very few things actually matter in life. Simply focus on those things and let everything else go.
Worrying about things you have no control over disrupts your overall wellbeing and erodes your life satisfaction. Decide what matters to you right now.
Protect your peace by controlling your attitude and the things you tell yourself.
Each day, take time to be still and reflect on different aspects of your life so you never lose sight of what truly matters to you.
Don’t forget, this is still available on Amazon. Get it before I do the update on the jacket blurb. There is a spelling mistake, so if you get it now you will get the rare copy!
I’ve been working a lot on my latest book in the Fairy Hanny series, so I took my eye away from my blogs. Suddenly a few weeks have gone and nothing has been submitted.
Then I started to get some emails in saying ‘daily motivation’ and I thought it would be a good idea to share some of them. Here we go…
“Life never stops moving. Every stage of your life will push you to adapt and grow. You can’t really go back to your old self.
You may retain some aspects of your old self, but you have to acknowledge that you’re not the same person anymore.
The experiences you have gone through have shifted you from who you used to be. Focus on growing from the lessons learned and embracing who you are now.
Develop a sense of gratitude for how things are in the present.
Honour your journey.”
When I was very young I heard this song being played on an LP by Steeleye Span. (For the youngsters -LP means Long Playing vinyl record.) It stuck in my head and many years later came out as part of my inspiration for this second book featuring Fairy Hanny. It is an old English folk song. Bedlam was the name given to Bethlem Royal Hospital, a psychiatric hospital in London. It was deemed a hospital for the insane in the fifteenth century, though these days we would say it deals with people who have extreme mental health issues.
At one time wealthy people would pay to visit the hospital to watch the lunatics, a sad case of modern day car crash addictions. Google Bedlam to find out more.
Bedlam boys
For to see Mad Tom of Bedlam, 10,000 years I’d travel
Mad Magdalene goes on dirty toes, to save her shoes from gravel.
Still I sing bonnie boys, bonnie mad boys,
Bedlam boys are bonnie
For they all go bare and they live by the air,
And they want no Drink nor money.
Her staff has murdered giants; her bag a long knife carries
For to cut mince pies from children’s thighs, with which to feed the Fairies.
Still I sing bonnie boys, bonnie mad boys,
Bedlam boys are bonnie
For they all go bare and they live by the air,
And they want no Drink nor money.
I went down to Steven’s kitchen, for to beg me food one morning
There I got Soles piping hot, all on the spit a turning.
Still I sing bonnie boys, bonnie mad boys,
Bedlam boys are bonnie
For they all go bare and they live by the air,
And they want no Drink nor money.
No gypsy slut nor doxy shall win my Mad Tom from me
I’ll weep all night, the stars I’ll fight, the fray will well become me.
Still I sing bonnie boys, bonnie mad boys,
Bedlam boys are bonnie
For they all go bare and they live by the air,
And they want no Drink nor money.
There I picked up a cauldron, where boiled 10,000 harlots
Though full of flame I drank the same, to the health of all such varlets.
Still I sing bonnie boys, bonnie mad boys,
Bedlam boys are bonnie
For they all go bare and they live by the air,
And they want no Drink nor money.
Spirits white as lightning, shall on my travels guide me
The moon would quake and the stars would shake, when’ ere they espied me.
Still I sing bonnie boys, bonnie mad boys,
Bedlam boys are bonnie
For they all go bare and they live by the air,
And they want no Drink nor money.
It’s when next I have murdered, the Witch King into powder
His staff I’ll break, his dog I’ll bake, there’ll howl no demon louder.
Still I sing bonnie boys, bonnie mad boys,
Bedlam boys are bonnie
For they all go bare and they live by the air,
And they want no Drink nor money.
So, Drink to Tom of Bedlam, he’ll fill the seas in barrels
I’ll Drink it all, all brewed with gall, with Mad Magdalene I will travel.
A thought from my latest publication.
One of the joys of writing a book is that you have in effect created a whole series of blogposts! Here is another extract from my latest book.
The original, which introduced the delightful Fairy Hanny, is also available on Amazon.
Enjoy!
“So, as we sip our cold beers, brewed to perfection in silly Suffolk, our eyes are cast upon this beautiful woodland glade.
(Don´t worry about the cast in your eye, you´ll grow out of it. Well, that’s what the doctor said to me.)
At this very moment, in what we choose to call Time, we find ourselves watching a scene unfolding, not too far from the Magical City of Setebos, the seat of the Fairy Kings, where King Innocent the Foetid is the centre of all wisdom, on a planet largely devoid of common sense. It is also devoid of incense, ten cents and senescence.
Setebos!
Setebos!
City of expiring dreams and chocolate covered ice creams! Where poets die and crooner’s cry! Though it’s not unusual and you don’t have to be rich! A place for doves to cry and spies to spy! Where watching birds can catch your eye! A city for tourists and two men with four wrists! Where boozers booze and cruisers cruise! Where the Fairies are light and airy, and nothing is dreary! And if you want to go home just find a Gnome! If things get too tricksy just find a Pixy! Where Bigfoot sits Leery whilst eating a canary!
Chomp! Chomp! Chomp!
Was it a yellowy canary or just a parrot looking scary?
Cities all over the Multiverse and Yorkshire have their concentrations of rogues and villains and scum and scavengers and Gypsies, Tramps and Thieves, and Thugs and Yobs and Yahoos and Bullingdon Bores and Lying Bigots dressed in Blue; wherever you go you can be sure they’re there! And if you don´t know where you are going then you will definitely end up on Uranus.
Setebos -Your streets are paved with a Golden Vision and there are golden showers everywhere; your bars are decorated with lasciviousness; there are pretty Fairies all over the place; but sometimes the sky is grey, and we wonder how tomorrow could ever follow today. City of perspiration and inspiration, of expiration and exploitation, of generation and a railway station! Oh Setebos, Mother of Invention and Zapper of negativity, even when it doesn’t pull you through. When the season of mists and mellow fruitfulness comes running through, that is when we see what is owed to Autumn, when the trees do a shimmy of golden-brown leaves falling all around.
Then we know it’s Time to be on our way.
Anyway, on this most auspicious of days, the Sun shines her long-lost rays into this comfortable clearing, dancing from leaf to leaf, roots to branches, catching diaphanous wings of Mayfly’s, who hunt the wilderness for their one day of fame, seeking insectile eroticism before death takes them prematurely to the great Entomologists Display Case in the sky.
A leaf falls silently from the highest branch of a Rowan tree, oscillating left and right as the drag competes with gravity to slow its descent. It caresses the ground like a kiss from a rose, delighting a woodlouse in its humdrum day of decay. A beautiful white rabbit pops into the scene, slowly rubbing shampoo from his eyes; he wasn’t going to worry about being late as this is not the tale of his tail. Soon those stinging eyes perceive a flickering ghostly image, which becomes a shimmer and a glimmer as the light gets dimmer. The rabbit scurries away to a hole in the ground, from which there will eventually emerge a Magnificent Mathematical Yarn – but that’s another story. As the rabbit disappears with his ears, from the twinkling manifestation, appears the delicately roguish Mad Tom of Bedlam; wild silver hair and deep blue eyes trying their best to regain focus.”
I am very happy to say I just published my second book on Amazon. So for the next week or so I will be promoting my work – just like I said I would on this blog!!
The story is the second in the series featuring my heroine, Fairy Hanny. She is a tough go-getter, and also stunningly beautiful. A sort of Amazonian with wings! The first book is also available on Amazon, and I am working on the third in this series.
I thought some extracts might amuse people. So here we go.
“Things are not as they should be on Uranus (I´m sure you know the feeling); someone is fiddling with Time; jiggling about with the quantization of wormholes (how many would you like Madam?); disturbing the elasticated fabric of the raggedy arsed eternal soldier as he wends his way through the Political Battles of Carpathian Princes pretending to be Vlad reincarnated. Maybe it was God playing dice with the Universe, though Albert said there was no chance of that happening. Maybe God was spinning a roulette wheel with a few Russians and they were betting on red all the Time. Yet still Wolfgang said no chance my good man.
Hurry, Hurry, Hurry!
Turn and turn and turn and turn…
Another turn around the wheel!”
Well it is out there. The next instalment of the Tales of Fairy Hanny.
TransUranic Elements: The Dark Side of Uranus.
And now I am working on the third book, so I am putting a section here, for your entertainment. Enjoy.
First one is still there too..
“The Death of Kian.
“What was it that led you to kill the mullet headed Kian?”
A great question.
So great Hanny had to ask several times.
Before her sat the sons of Turenn, now united in sporting Curly perms. Though it could be said that Dennis had developed his look to be something like a curly mullet. And Wayne had grown his hare back. They sat there, dressed in orange and green, though sometimes they dressed in black and tan, especially when being total bastards.
“Alright!”
“Alright!”
“Alright!”
Came three answers of sorts. Hanny thought they were about to shout, ‘Baby Jump’.
Hanny looked upon her new companions with awe. Bodies sculptured to impress the ladies; faces sculptured to win any gurning contest. Why was nature so cruel?
Gorgeous women with pea sized brains.
Physicists lacking social skills.
Politicians lying for a living while claiming to help.
Celibate priests buggering about.
And Princes raping young girls at twelve million quid a time.
There are strange things and strange worlds and strange rules and strange things from Uranus.
The sons of Turenn sat at the great table. They had been eating for hours and now the chicken legs, racks of ribs, Olives and jelly’s had all but disappeared. It was time to dismiss the rest of the revellers and reveal their revelations. Time to confess their misdeeds, without admitting the truth to All and Sundry, especially on Sunday. After all, All was one of the biggest gossips in the Turenn Household, and Sundry was a right twat.
Hanny would be thrilled to hear the truth, if it ever came out. Though coming out as the ‘truth’ was not quite the same as living in a closet.
So it came to pass, alack and alas, that Kian wanted to pass through the Lands of Turenn, on a secret mission to the west, at someone’s bequest though we don’t know the rest. He knew his ridiculous mullet would make him recognisable to anyone in the Turenn tribe. So, he conjured up a little bit of that old black magic, the type keeps you in its spell, that old black magic that you know so well. Then with a whiz and a biz and a fizz Kian turned himself into a pig. In more recent years it has become common place for Politicians to familiarise themselves with pigs, though at the time of Kian it was a novel approach; he wrote a book about it.
Kian, disguised as a pig, believed he could tootle his trotters across the Land of Turenn and continue with his mysterious quest.
“Stupid fecker,” said Brian. “As if we wouldn’t notice a pig with a mullet!”
Thus, it was that Brian, Dennis and Wayne chased the pig with the mullet and speared it. Then they ate fresh pork chops that night, having first buried the entrails in the local dung hill to keep the dogs away.
As he lay dying the pig/Kian cursed the sons of Turenn.
“At first I thought he had ‘spare’ wounds,” explained Wayne. “I am dyslexic, even though such a diagnosis does not exist in the Legendary Land of Faery. What could be so bad about a ‘spare’ wound? Hey how many wounds have you got? Any spare ones so I don’t have to go over the top?”
Hanny looked perplexed.
“When I realised they meant ‘spear’ wounds, I knew things could be falat!” continued Wayne.
“Falat?” asked Hanny.
“He means fatal,” said Dennis. “The dumb fuck can’t even say his lines dead proper.”
“Falat – that’s what I said!” said Wayne.
“That pork was rather tasty,” smiled Brian.
“You can’t beat fresh Prok,” agreed Wayne.
“Anyway, once we had scoffed the lot and stored some Kian sausages in the freezer, we got an angry call from Lugh,” explained Brian.
“Where is my mullet headed son?” cried Lugh.
“We turned him into pork scratchings,” laughed Dennis.
Lugh was as angry as Rottweiler on speed.
“Nobody kills my kin or my grunters!” shouted Lugh, for he was sad at the death of his dad.
And so it was that the sons of Turenn were beckoned to the High King Daffte at Tara to say goodbye to their freedom.
They admitted to their guilt at eating the porcine father of Lugh, but hey, a bit of crackling never did any harm. And what of the battle of the hairdo’s? To pay or not to pay, was that the question?
“Oh, wonderful King Daffte, what is so wrong about spearing a pig, even though it is sporting a mullet?” asked Brian.
Brian suggested that maybe an avant-garde pig keeper was very fond of mullets on his pigs. How were they to know? If a pig specialist had decided on interesting hair styles for his charges, how were the sons of Turenn to distinguish between black magic Kian and an audacious swineherd? The sons of Turenn felt they had won a logistical victory.
King Daffte turned to Lugh.
“What do you reckon? Reasonable mistake? Especially as they ate the pork!” said Daffte
Lugh lifted a pint of fine dark ale and cried copiously into his beer.
“Oh, marvellous King. Lord of Lords and owner of swords! Dou you have any boards? Or rope we can call cords? Or sections of circles, also chords, though spelt dead different?” screamed Lugh. “These twats murdered and barbecued my Old Man! They should die! Die! Di diddly eye tie die die!”
Daffte was not so daft.
“It could have been a genuine mistake. Some of the swineherds have taken to sending their pigs to hairdressers to smarten them up. A pig with a mullet is not that unusual these days,” said Daffte. “I tell you what; you suggest a punishment for these lads. It can’t be outright death, though it could be a fatal task!” said Daffte.
Lugh sat alone on his seat of stone and munched and mumbled on a bare old bone.
“Are you excited?” asked Daffte.
Daft question.
Lugh was planning his revenge.
“I have a list of eight tasks to complete,” declared Lugh. “If they get the lot done then I can forgive them, Plus I will be better off too and I can mourn my old fella.”
“Did your cock drop off?” asked Daffte.
The sons of Turenn, Brian, Dennis and Wayne, huddled together for a few minutes. They stood and looked directly to King Daffte.
“Whatever,” said Brian. “Whatever this knob end asks, we will do it.”
“Wow!” declared Daffte.
“We are Rick hard! Hard as Nials!” declared Wayne.
“Do you mean as hard as Nials the Merciless?” asked the King.
“No, I mean as hard as nials you knock into wood with a hamour!” said Wayne.
“Seems a little fishy,” said the King.
Hanny decided it was time for a parse into the narrative. Was it ok to make fun of dyslexics? She decided it was ko and let the story continue; it would still be a knockout.
“Ok what is the list of the tasks?” asked Hanny.
Brian, the oldest son of Turenn, stood with his hands behind his back, as though he was about to recite a poem about Father William.
He looked toward the ceiling, which was a wonderful counterpart to the walls.
“We have to collect three apples, the skin of a pig, a magical spear, a chariot with two horses, seven swine, a hound, a cooking spit, and then give three shouts on a hill,” he explained.
“It sounds straightforward enough,” said Hanny.
“Really?”
“Yes!”
“Well, every single one is magic and none are in Faery!” said Dennis.
“Feckity feck! More travel!” shouted Hanny.
“Lots more travail,” said Wayne.
This is the third book featuring Fairy Hanny. For this one I am reaching into a story from my Celtic heritage to place Hanny into an old myth. I will put some extracts from work in progress here.
Across the Universe.
” I take it you’re bored Hanny,” suggested Mad Tom with a face like an Alsatian licking piss from a nettle.
“Too firkin right Tommy boy! I have hunted Witches, Trolls and Ogres, and aided a Pixy in his quest to defeat the Ceramics! I watched the beheading of a beautiful Witch and the trepidations of a winking wan King! And now I am attempting to help a dilettante Monarch come to terms with his overeating and personal hygiene issues! Give me a sword and a quest and I will be a hero!” said the rousing Fairy.
“Maybe you need a Heroine Quest,” asked Magdalene.
“Is that the same as a Hero Quest?” asked Hanny.
“Similar but it comes in a different box,” explained Tom, proving once and for all that he is totally Mad.
Hanny continued to sit up in her chair at the table near the bar.
“Do you crave another adventure?” enquired Tom.
Adventure!
Curing Piles!
Closing down a RING!
Watching Gremlins paint the town red!
Aiding a Pixy overdosing on magic underpants!
Now that was an adventure!!
“Is there some other crazy Witch or Warlock or Wizard or Warden wanting to disturb the flow of Time across the Universe?” asked Hanny.
“There always is some eejit plotting such a ruse, but that’s not what we need you for this Time,” said Tom. “This Time we need you to transfer to another Time and another place and another land. To a Time out of Time to lend a hand to a band of brothers,” continued Tom. “We need you to go to the Land of Faery, to the days before days, to fight evil ways and prevent the malaise that lays over the sons of Turenn. To a place where magic fills the air and it’s hard to find a chair when you go to the pub on Friday.”
“What?”
“To days of old where Knights are bold and beds are cold and slaves are sold and put in a hold!”
“What?”
“We need you in days gone by, where eyes will cry and the Autumn moon will light your way!”
“What?”
Mad Magdalene began her shimmering dance, her translucent skirts flowing and blowing and growing.
“Still I sing; Bonny boys, Bedlam boys are bonny!” she sang.
Hanny had survived fire and ice and things not nice. She had danced topless to stir some life into a dead Kings todger. She wanted chapter and verse if she was to cross the universe. What is it they wanted her to actually do?
Tom asked Magdalene to pause her dancing as it was a fabulous narrative effect, a potential Dickensian cliff-hanger.
Sadly, it didn’t work.
And so the two danced very closely together, without music. On observation Hanny could tell they danced the tango as they slapped each other’s faces. Magdalene rose with a smile across her rosy red cheeks.
“Hanny! Hanny! Hanny!” she said.
“There is only one of me!” said Hanny.
“Of course, you’re unique,” agreed Magdalene. “But Hanny; we friends on the Isle of Faery that need your help. They are the Sons of Turenn. Lugh has set them a series of tasks to complete and they could do with someone with a bit of intelligence to join them to achieve success and not get killed. Please say you will help us again Hanny.”
“The sons of who? Is that one of the big Fairy families in Setebos?”
“No, it is in Eiran and the Isles of Faery.”
“Here, put this on,” said Tom as he handed her a Donkey Jacket, which matched perfectly with her boots.
“Why have you given me this?” asked Hanny.
“It’s what they wear where we’re going,” said Tom.
Human beings thrive on routine. If you are a parent, you know how true this is. And while most of us will do a good job setting and sticking to a routine for our kids, we don’t do as well for ourselves. It’s time to change that. Let’s talk about what you can do to establish a nightly routine and how you can stick to it until it becomes a habit.
It all starts with the decision to get a better night’s sleep. And you do it with a daily routine that includes getting into bed at the same time each day – including weekends. It also helps to get up roughly at the same time each morning. Sleeping in a little when you get the chance is fine, but don’t make it more than an hour or two so you can still fall asleep at the appropriate time. That might sound hard at first, but the more you stick to your routine, the easier it will become. After a few weeks it will become a habit. You’ll know you’re close when you start to wake up a few minutes before your alarm.
Going to bed and waking up at the same time are the cornerstones of your routine, but you don’t want to stop there. What you do in the hour or so before bed can make a big difference in how easy it is to fall asleep and how soundly you’ll sleep through the night. There is a lot you can do to set yourself up for a good night’s rest. A warm bath, reading a book, leaving your phone in the living room …
Take a moment to sketch out your ideal night time routine. Keep it simple and start small. What are two or three things you can do consistently before you go to bed at night? This could be brushing your teeth and washing your face. It could also be lighting a candle and reading or journaling for a few minutes right before bed. Or how about sipping a cup of herbal tea?
Write down our first take at a bedtime routine and try it out. How did it feel? What works for you, what does not? It’s okay to make changes over time and tweak it as needed. The only rules are to stick to your bedtime and to eventually land on a routine you can stick with until it becomes an automatic habit.
Once you’ve found your routine you should stick to it for a few months. After that you can make the occasional exception. You’ll be surprised how much easier it will be to fall asleep with a good bedtime routine in place.
Fairy Hanny 