The Wayward Ways of Russell 'C.J' Duffy

2012-01-28T14:13:00.000Z

After so many upsets, delays andobstacles thrown in the way of my getting published here is yet another.Without clarification or opportunity to apologise Dave has elected not toillustrate my books. From a diary entry I made of which he took exception andwithout speaking to me first or allowing me to explain, he, acting as bothjudge and jury has found me guilty and passed sentence. In fairness he had apoint the entry could easily be misconstrued but nonetheless it was neverintended to cause hurt or offence but was my fears given to black and white. All artwork has been thrown away. He now willnot be working on the Fekenham books. Not my choice though.

I have done a great many foolishthings in my time and perhaps this in another but to throw away the artworklike some petulant child without knowing the full truth or having the courtesyto confront me is, light of my situation, unforgivable.

Imagine a lover finding a notethat says “Saw Fred last night. Had a great time with him. He is such asmoothie. He kissed me goodnight under the street light then told me he lovedme.” The partner reads this and thinks the worse then files for divorce. Itlater transpires that she doesn’t love Fred and the kiss was a peck on thecheek.

I feel angry because A, I havescrewed up but B because I know I would have communicated my hurt had thesituation been reversed. I wouldn’t have simply thought the worse withoutfinding out first. What really annoys me is the self-indulgent blind leap tothe wrong conclusion. The negligent lack of balance in judging me withoutestablishing why I had done it or allowing me to put it right. Christ evennational newspapers make formal apologies.. The wilful forgetting of how I havetried to help when he has faced hardship.

Yes, with hindsight I was wrongbut if the situation were reversed I would have talked things over first.

I don’t make friends easily butwhen I do it is for life, through thick and thin. The one lesson learnt here isthat this is not a diary, it is a blog and anyone can and patently does readit. That will change.

Losing someone through death isbad enough but losing a friend over something like this is beyond sad.

I will recover. I always do andas an only child perhaps too selfish and too focused for my own good.

Michael has offered to do thecovers but as a collage. Cheryl too has put my name forward to a group ofartists. Onwards, ever onwards.

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all words and art are copyright © of Russell 'C.J' Duffy. For another side of CJ go here: sOMeThiNg For tHE wEeKeND, SiR?

2012-01-27T16:29:00.001Z

Utterly gutted to hear from the horse’s mouth that my Fekenham books will not be illustrated by my preferred illustrator. He read my diary entry of 03.01.12 and totally misconstrued its meaning. It was MY fear that I was talking about and NOT his lack of commitment. How someone could be so stupid as to throw all that beautiful artwork into the bin I really cannot understand. I have E-mailed everyone I know with a view to find an artist who can help. Cheryl kindly responded and has contacts within an artist community that may be able to help. Fingers crossed that they are able to. This means putting the schedule back but then again it had already been suggested to the previous collaborator that might happen. And this without clarifying why I said and what was really meant. What a fuck-up!

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all words and art are copyright © of Russell 'C.J' Duffy. For another side of CJ go here: sOMeThiNg For tHE wEeKeND, SiR?

2012-01-27T12:16:00.001Z

Death and its proximity encourage you to review your life with a close scrutiny. My life has been at times filled with all the wrong things, bad emotions and negative karma. Since 2009 I have been analysing my place here; the reason for my existence. Of course the answer is simple – pure random luck, a coupling of two people who exchanged bodily fluids that fertilised and finally produced me. You are born, you live, you pay your taxes then you die. I have no worries on that score whatsoever. Nature sets the rules and I follow its lead as best I can tempering those rules with a human morality that includes love, peace and tolerance. Being human and frail I sometimes struggle but that is also Tao, that is fine and I do my best. My mother’s need for a god is easy to disparage but that misses the point entirely. It really doesn’t matter what focuses you in the search for goodness. Tao is God and God is nature. They are one and the same thing even if the idea of having a deity is just a little too much like superstition for my liking. I still want to incorporate my search for spirituality into my writing. Taking the lead from the Essex Wilful Walks and expanding on those precepts. I recently E-mailed Susan, an American blog friend in the hope of starting an online magazine. Sadly I have heard nothing.

Hi Susan,

I hope you are well and life is being good to you. I still miss those ‘Spilled to Bloodlessness’ days.

I should, at this point, apologise for the delay in responding to the message you put on your blog. So without going to the bother of writing about recent events, and like any normal bone idle man, I have cut and pasted an E-mail I sent to the illustrator working on my books. Hopefully, it goes some way to explain the delay.

Work still crazy but that is the norm. Working stupidly long hours. Book five underway. Car on its last legs with no means of having it serviced. Jasmine been out of work now for near on three months. She fortunately found and started new job on 16.01.12. No money at all and life is suddenly very hard. All of which is the least of my concerns. Just under a fortnight ago Mum became unwell complaining of an upset stomach. Doctor arrived Friday 06.01.12 and diagnosed gastroenteritis. I stayed with her Friday and Saturday watching as she grew worse, emptying buckets of vomit. Her nausea grew worse and she started throwing up a brown smelly liquid. It turned out to be faecal vomiting. On Sunday 08.01.12 I dialled 999. A paramedic arrived, took Mum’s stats and reaffirmed doctors’ diagnosis. By Monday 07.01.12 Mum’s condition had grown really bad. Her regular nurse who cares for her COPD arrived and called an ambulance and she was rushed into hospital.

When arrived doctors again reaffirmed it was gastroenteritis but had her X-Rayed. She was badly constipated so they gave her an enema. It didn’t work. Further tests revealed that scar tissue from her bowel cancer operation had created a blockage. Effectively her own shit was poisoning her. Emergency, lifesaving surgery was performed and Mum was then put into Critical care. On Friday last, 13.01.12 Jasmine and Jaime visited and were told by doctor that Mum had a fifty fifty chance of making it. The weekend was hell but she seems to have turned the corner. She joined your Uncle briefly in the barmy barracks as she spoke a lot of nonsense but this was due to the morphine and the toxins flowing through her system.

Still not good but hopefully recovering in High Dependency Unit.

So then, following Christmas, trying to get my books published on Kindle, working like the proverbial beaver for Pfizer and then my Mum goes and gets sick! She is far better now but I am still visiting her every night.

Now then, what was this idea I had for us to collaborate on? I guess it comes from my personal search for growth and spiritually. Like you I am a big fan of George Harrison. I loved the way he was always searching to be better yet fully aware of his own failings.

Sometime ago I started a blog called “Whispering Grass.” It was meant to be, and I think succeeded as, an all-embracing voice of spirituality combining as it did a multitude of quotes from equally as many faiths and belief systems. I then wrote a series of chapbooks that finally were put up onto ISSUU. They were titled “The Wilful Walks of Russell Duffy” and were a journal come essay on my walks around the county of my birth – Essex. They also gave forth on my own failings, my marriage break-up and my desire to be a better, fuller human being.

This led me to think of producing perhaps a magazine or even a book that, like the blog, presents all faiths as being positive forces of good. I think this old Hindu saying sums it up best:

"There are hundreds of paths up the mountain, all leading in the same direction, so it doesn't matter which path you take. The only one wasting time is the one who runs around and around the mountain, telling everyone else that their path is wrong."

In a world filled with pain, ignorance, famine and foolhardy egos I simply wanted to create a broad church that forged some kind of common link between faiths. Nothing new in this I guess but that was and still is my desire. Not sure how to go about it or even if an online magazine would be better than a Kindle book. I also thought instantly of you as you always seemed to be a kindred spirit in your beliefs. I am not Christian nor am I Hindu. I can’t remember which famous author said it but this is my paraphrased version – “I am a Pagan, Buddhist, Taoist Confucian.” At the end of the day we are all one no matter how we perceive God and I want to somehow capture that essence and put it into words.

Initially I conceptualised the project as a 24 to 28pp magazine with essays written by various individuals from different faith groups. I thought this mag could have features on important historical people such as Jesus, Confucius, Alan Watts and a number of other note worthies. We could also go into detail on the faith itself, blowing away any misconceived ideas that some people harbour over certain religions – Islam being a perfect contemporary example. I guess I feel a bit like John Lennon here knowing I have a good idea but in my heart knowing I cannot achieve it on my own as I really don’t know where to start.

The other option is to work in close collaboration with you on a book, a book that would be the modern equivalent of Tao Te Ching, a book filled with our thoughts, our essays cobbled together with various quotes from the wise and wonderful men that have enriched our lives: Morihei Ueshiba, Laozi, Mohammed, Acharya Swami Pranabananda etc.

I am up for any thoughts you have so let me know when you can. If I don’t respond straight away it is because I am sitting with my Mum. I will get back to you as soon as I can.

Fingers crossed that we can do something together.

All the best,

Russell (aka cocaine jesus)

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all words and art are copyright © of Russell 'C.J' Duffy. For another side of CJ go here: sOMeThiNg For tHE wEeKeND, SiR?

2012-01-26T12:38:00.002Z

Death is as natural as breathing. I have no fears of dying whatsoever. It isn’t death that scares most of us but the thought of never seeing loved ones again. That sense of loss is dreadful. I perfectly understand why monotheists and other faith followers desire to believe in an afterlife. At least then you get to meet up with loved ones again or at least you would if you believed in such things. I am happy to know that all that lives was born to die and that I will die and life will go on.

Pauline’s death was a shock at first but the more I think of how she looked during her final days then I think it for the best. Kenneth Williams once famously said that no one should live beyond 65 and watch themselves deteriorate. I know what he meant. Pauline was a generous soul, kind and friendly. She also had a wonderful sense of humour. I remember on one occasion when she, suffering from the heat, made a blowing noise as she flapped her blouse. “Hot?” I enquired. “It has been said.” She quipped.

Alan sounded matter of fact when we spoke. I guess it is easier to treat Pauline’s passing in a business-like manner. Not so much her death but the very detail of what needs doing after the event.

I have gathered together the bits and pieces Pauline left at work. She told me to get rid of them if she died and I told her not to be daft as she would be coming back to pick them up her self. If only my confident bravado had been right.

“There'll come a time when all of us must leave here

Then nothing Sister Mary can do

Will keep me here with you

As nothing in this life that I've been trying

Could equal or surpass the art of dying

Do you believe me?

: http://www.lyricsfreak.com/g/george+harrison/art+of+dying_20059012.html ]

There'll come a time when all your hopes are fading

When things that seemed so very plain

Become an awful pain

Searching for the truth among the lying

And answered when you've learned the art of dying

But you're still with me

But if you want it

Then you must find it

But when you have it

There'll be no need for it

There'll come a time when most of us return here

Brought back by our desire to be

A perfect entity

Living through a million years of crying

Until you've realized the art of dying

Do you believe me”

Lyrics

George Harrison lyrics - Art Of Dying lyrics
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all words and art are copyright © of Russell 'C.J' Duffy. For another side of CJ go here: sOMeThiNg For tHE wEeKeND, SiR?

2012-01-25T16:03:00.000Z

My friend and colleague Pauline died a few days ago. I found this out when I phoned her husband to ask after her. She was 60. I will never forget the lovely lady who had to put up with me and my fractious ways. She slipped away without pain or discomfort. Here are the first and last E-mails I received from her. I will miss her.

Tue 12/04/2011 16:55

Hi Russell

Hope you’ve been making the most of the glorious weather we’ve had.

We had an excellent time in Eastbourne as the weather was so good. Not a great deal to do there in early April but plenty of places to walk so did a lot of walking!

Alan planned to jet wash the garden furniture yesterday but a loud bang from the jet washer, which sent Alan jumping 6 feet in the air, means that we now have a garden filled with part washed tables and chairs.

(Could have been dangerous but it made me laugh).

I spoke to Derek yesterday, it was good to catch up with him. He told me that he is still trying to get on the Adare suppliers list.

Had my second appointment at Guys yesterday and the forms have now been completed for the chemotherapy which should start next week. We are expecting to get a call from them tomorrow to confirm the start date.

I’m a bit nervous about it but that is only to be expected.

Had a busy day yesterday (didn’t get back from the hospital until 7:40pm) so not doing too much today.

Alan has gone to give blood so I’m going to make a some tea and put my feet up for a while.

Let me know how things are.

Say “hello” to Lee for me.

Take care.

Love from

Pauline x

Thu 17/11/2011 12:4

Hi Russell

Feeling better today and getting pain under control which is good.

I do remember a mailing for SMA that was done for Matt Ryan.

It was the first mailing job for SMA so we used the previous supplier (recommended by Matt) but I can’t remember their name.

The job was made up of several components to be printed (folder, inserts etc) plus the insertion of a wiro-bound book, supplied by Matt.

As you know, it’s not always possible to give accurate postage costs until the mailing has been completed but I’m sure that the Océ supplier did include the cost in their estimate as they needed one of the wiro-bound books for weight.

Can Océ check the estimate sent to the client to see if postage costs were included? If they can let me have a copy it should jog my memory a bit more!

Regards

Pauline

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all words and art are copyright © of Russell 'C.J' Duffy. For another side of CJ go here: sOMeThiNg For tHE wEeKeND, SiR?

2012-01-25T13:11:00.002Z

Looking a bit like a large nosed Peter Gabriel in this photo that Thumbscrew took.

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all words and art are copyright © of Russell 'C.J' Duffy. For another side of CJ go here: sOMeThiNg For tHE wEeKeND, SiR?

2012-01-24T23:30:00.000Z

Mum seems to be improving day by day. Tonight when I arrived Jamie was already there sitting by her side. He looked as bored as hell but then again find topics of conversation with someone who has been bed bound for nigh on three weeks is difficult at the best of times. Mum saw me and again that flash of smile greeted me. We didn’t stay long though as she wanted me to turn the central heating down in her bungalow after I said some kind but misguided soul had turned it up to 30! It felt like a tropical jungle inside. Since it wasn’t like the other day I can only presume Joyce across the road turned it up for some obscure reason. Mum has bundles of cards from all manner of people, mostly Salvationists. I find that ‘club mentality’ weird but it is probably me.

As things improve for Mum so my mind has been returning to the books, to Fekenham Swarberry. The first few chapters of book four have been written but the last one composed needs revising as I am not happy with it. The Fekenham books are, at best, a series of Comic adventures with a dash of romance thrown in. In view of that I have been, since book one, trying to develop the romantic story curves. Ralph loves Verity, Cybil (with a C) loves Cyril and all the rest but then there is Ruth Crabtree whose marriage has gone west, who had a brief fling with Frenchman David Vanderputte and who now is linked with Neal Beefshank. Trying to tie all the various story threads is becoming more of a challenge but it is the one thing I love doing.

If I get the time tomorrow I will phone Dave to see how the illustrations for books 1, 2 and 3 are going but also the cover for EB.

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all words and art are copyright © of Russell 'C.J' Duffy. For another side of CJ go here: sOMeThiNg For tHE wEeKeND, SiR?

2012-01-24T17:49:00.002Z

Sitting in a hospital room with no one to talk to as your loved one wanders around between dream and reality you start to think. I had already started this short story intending to use it on a project Dave had at first spoken of. It then occurred to me that it would be interesting to write a short story comprising of four sections containing 500 words each.

Killing Time

1

Time was moving its strange currents. A shimmer of light blessed Wapping Old Stairs. From the sudden come, sudden gone iridescence a shape fell forward, a figure with clawed fingers and bloodied throat. The obscene gurgle of life passing in blood red droplets escaped the woman’s sliced neck. The woman held her throat with her left hand as if by holding the wound she could prevent her life blood flooding out. Her eyes blinked as she staggered while her mouth moved soundlessly. Whatever it was she was trying to say the syllables remained unheard. She fell forward into a heap of blood soaked garments that gave her the look, on first glances, of a misshapen bundle of rags.

The night passed without incident with no one finding the corpse that slowly grew cold. As dawn broke over the Thames, PC Owen Stanhope from the Wapping Marine Police station passed the Old Stairs as he did every morning on his way to work. It was five in the morning and although he was a stout fellow, born and bred in London, he was surprised, then shocked by the discovery of a murdered woman lying bone cold on his manor. Even more remarkable was that the corpse lay right next door to the local nick. It wasn’t just the state of the woman’s brutal demise that shocked him, with her neck so savagely slit that her head remained in place only by a slither of skin, but the way she was dressed. Her clothes appeared to be early Victorian or perhaps even Georgian.

Stanhope alerted his colleagues then called for an ambulance. The latter was just a formality. Within minutes the C.I.D arrived along with a Crime Scene Examiners team led by a tubby forensic doctor who, having pulled on his protective clothing, examined the body. The corpse was then removed to the nearest laboratory, one of the four ‘links’ that operates in London’s thirty two boroughs where an autopsy was performed. Later, after forensics had performed their gruesome ritual it was established that Esther Gilbert, of Narrow Street, Limehouse had been born in 1789 in Bow. A form of identity was found contained in her purse. It was a letter of sorts, crudely hand written in blue black ink, from a lover or boyfriend dated November 1st 1811. The letter was signed by George Taylor. It was also discovered from the address on the note that Esther had lived in New Gravel Lane near the Ratcliff Highway. Traces of blood were found under her fingernails that was thought to have come from where Esther had scratched the face of her attacker

Not only had she had her throat cut but prior to that had been beaten about the head and body with a blunt instrument. There was no such device found at the scene of the crime. The one major problem that the Metropolitan Police had was finding the murderer of a woman from 1811 who had been slaughtered in 1994.

2

Detective Chief Superintendent Colin Murphy sat puzzling over the muddle of facts that lay scattered in sheets across his desk. Esther Gilbert had been born in 1791 in a Stepney poor house. There had been no official birth certificate or any other record of birth but the home she grew up in had drawn their own conclusions from the time she spent with them as infant then child.

George Taylor had died in 1812 following a knife fight in the Kings Arms. It was not an uncommon occurrence as in those days mortality rates in London’s East End were high. Esther had disappeared in November 1811 and her disappearance had been reported. When neither a living body nor dead corpse was found it had been assumed she had run away, as many did back then, with a sailor bound for the New World. Apparently her disappearance had an adverse effect on the young George who turned to drink. Shortly after this rather mundane event the infamous Ratcliff Murders took place. Eventually a man was captured who was thought to be responsible for the heinous crime and imprisoned. It was whilst in hospital that he, John Williams, committed suicide. Many thought in later years to have been innocent.

This scant evidence was all Murphy had to go on. None of it made much sense especially when you tried to tie the murders of 1811 to the barbaric slaughter of the young woman found in Wapping Old Stairs. The thought had occurred that the corpse had been presented dressed in Georgian garb with a facsimile note placed within her purse but the more he thought along those lines the more fanciful and unlikely it seemed. It equally seemed impossible for someone from 183 years ago to arrive in modern day Wapping with their throat sliced open.

Another series of forensic tests were carried out including examination of the cadaver’s teeth. The incisors, canine and premolars, surprisingly for a supposedly young woman of the late Georgian era, were in a pretty good state. However, several molars had been removed with shards of bone remaining in the gum indicating a form of dated dentistry not used in this century. Also the fabric of the dress was authenticated as being circa 1790 to 1820. The ‘love letter’ was also examined specifically the ink which was found to be composed of copperas and tannic acid, a pinch of gum arabic, with what might have been rain or distilled water, confirmation that the letter was also genuine and seemingly of the late 18th to early 19th century.

However, the wounds revealed that a long knife, similar to the ones used by the military, had inflicted the fatal cut. Murphy looked again at the supplied photograph of the Black Commando Knife finding the strange, dislocated evidence, hard to assimilate. How was it possible for an individual living in another time to be killed and found 183 years after the event and by a weapon from the twentieth century?

3

The Thames was bleeding. Streaks of red lapped against the shingle. The discoloured water licked the head of the disfigured body that lay belly up. The body had been mutilated with little evidence of a face. The nose had been sliced off as had the lips. The ears also had been cut off. The breasts had been removed and all internal organs taken from inside the body and placed at strategic points around the corpse.

A team of Crime Scene Examiners led again by the tubby forensic doctor were gathering evidence. The plump medic, an individual used to seeing man’s inherent cruelty to his fellows, was visibly shaken by the inhuman act of barbarism. Detective Chief Superintendent Murphy hovered close by. He too repulsed by what he saw. He spoke quietly to the doctor.

“How long has she been dead?” his words sounded factual in a world suddenly surreal.

“Twelve hours at a guess, maybe a little more but no more than fifteen.”

Above the forensic team along with police officers gathered on the harsh shores of Wapping. The sky, grim and overcast, swept sullen clouds scudding across its pewter horizon. A light rain fell.

Murphy asked a question knowing the answer would be difficult “Any idea of how old she was?”

Doctor Lusk rose painfully on creaking knees, his arthritis feeling the pinch of the cold shingle.

“Somewhere between twenty and thirty, I would hazard twenty seven. The victim has had her throat cut then she has been filleted with her organs laid out symmetrically. Whoever did this has a good working knowledge of anatomy. If I were to suggest that this looks remarkably like the Whitechapel Murders of 1888 then I suspect you or your superiors would think me insane but there is an uncanny resemblance between this murder and that of Mary Jane Kelly.”

A chill wind made Colin Murphy wrap his coat collar around his neck. The rain continued to fall. Murphy took in the doctor’s words but chose to ignore the implications answering instead with another question.

“What about the clothes the victim is wearing, they look authentic.”

“I think they are. I will need to make further analysis though. Again I am guessing but the dress, what’s left of it, appears to be late Victorian or early Edwardian. I will run a fabric test when I get back.”

The doctor stood up groaning as he did. He spoke without a hint of irony.

“I am getting too old for this job; my bones are begging me to retire.”

Again Murphy ignored Lusk’s conversational tones. The policeman looked up at the sky. Little drops of rain coated his face. His hair was soaked and his raincoat covered in tiny dots that were beginning to join together.

“What makes someone do this? What insane thoughts must drive them to commit such an atrocity?”

The doctor picked up his medical bag.

“Not them but us; all mankind are capable of such violent acts, always remember that”

4.

Outside the rain had ceased. The drizzle had pooled into puddles that reflected a gleeful sun which only moments ago had slid behind dark, secretive clouds. The streets were still slick with water. The narrow passage between the Town of Ramsgate and the building next to it glimmered with a ghostly light. The light grew in strength and brightness. It was as though an incendiary device had been set to explode but as it did so time had slowed. The glow from the blast increased in luminosity until it reached an incandescent climax then it guttered out.

The swarthy man gazed out onto the street and smiled. A couple in the distance on their way to St. Katherine’s Dock were holding hands. He watched them walk on then stepped out of the alley. He crossed the street to where the cast iron railings corralled an old wharf. Looking left to right he stepped on heading toward Wapping Lane.

A young woman struggled by with her shopping bags. The man gazed at her taking in her shapely calves and the curve of her buttocks beneath her tight black skirt. She passed Cinnamon Street then turned the corner onto the High Street. A black cab scuttled along like a beetle. Inside the driver, an Asian man, was taking his passenger to Liverpool Street station. The driver looked at the swarthy man who stared back. The can then drove by going down Wapping Lane toward The Highway

The swarthy man followed the route taken by the cab passing the parade of shops as he went. The shops clung to the road presenting a dogged, retrospective outlook. Their windows seemed to be smeared with the dirt of history. They reminded him of his mother and of pork chops, of ‘Call my Bluff’ and of Eamonn Andrews. The butcher shop was regaled with sausages, minced beef and a lamb joint. The meat looked waxy. He walked on. A flock of seagulls swarmed over head. They screeched as they flew. Their voices sounded like a baby crying or like a woman screaming in pain.

He passed Tobacco Dock feeling the silent industry of another age whisper its sorrow at the fading of days. The water lapped at the quayside as a couple of ducks sat idle on the tamed waters. Pennington Street presented itself but he sloped across it as he made his way toward the Highway. He could see St. Georges in the East rise wounded but repaired. He stood at the kerbside as traffic roared by. The noise was immense and at odds with the newfound quiet of Wapping He pulled a package from his pocket, a soiled manila envelope from which he took out a passport, a driver’s license and a crumpled letter. He stepped off of the edge of the kerb leafing through his passport. He didn’t see the bus but heard its tyres squeal and felt its solid mass smash into him. His passport fell open revealing his name– Jack Cleaver.

This is a draft. Not sure if it is too clever by half. I tried to pair it back so that it asks more questions than it does provide answers. I wanted to suggest rather than inform that Jack the Ripper was in fact a man from 1994 who travelled through a time portal located in Wapping to the past, specifically at the time of the Ratcliff Murders but also the famed Whitechapel horror. Not sure it works but I am happy with the 500 wors per section idea.
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all words and art are copyright © of Russell 'C.J' Duffy. For another side of CJ go here: sOMeThiNg For tHE wEeKeND, SiR?

2012-01-23T22:35:00.000Z

Monday.

January flying past leaving me feeling as if I have achieved little.

The Kindle books are ready in terms of editing and amending but not with regard to artwork. I need to get to see Dave but Mum’s ill health and the time I have had to spend with her has prevented any socialising. Work is less manic but still busy. Clients are demanding and it still frustrates me to see such a lack of wisdom on behalf of the Fizzing Drug Store but also the deception played by Red Astaire. Perhaps deception is too strong a word but there is a lack of honesty on their part. What Fizzin Drug Store needs is not only cost saving but quality and control over their print requirements. The first they think they are getting but in fact they are not and the second doesn’t seem to occur to them. If only I had the money to set up a consultancy I would present to them a sound and persuasive argument on how to save more money, get better control and thereby improve quality. Sadly I am to them nothing but a small cog in a very large machine.

After work I went to see Mum. Ron and Audrey were there but fortunately no sign of Captain Andy, the Methodist, Salvationist halfwit. Mum really has made good ground these past two days. She looks better and is no longer having those awful dreams. She is still weak but getting stronger and has even started eating solids. Today she was given some physio and walked gingerly around her bed. Small steps at first but all to the good. The hospoital have said she may be able to go home by the end of the week but I think that is too soon. Maybe Monday or the following Friday.

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all words and art are copyright © of Russell 'C.J' Duffy. For another side of CJ go here: sOMeThiNg For tHE wEeKeND, SiR?

2012-01-22T23:51:00.000Z

After the nightmarish start to the weekend and with all the hours spent by Mum’s side today she seemed to have returned her normal self. The hospital phoned at 1,30 to tell me they were moving Mum from HDU to the Hockley ward which is on the same floor. I had my lunch then drove, along with Squidy, to see her. She was tucked away in the corner looking far better than she had for days. Her face lit up when she saw us. I apologised for not being able to stay the previous night with her. She said that no one had told her why I hadn’t turned up so, even though I had done nothing wrong, I said sorry. She squeezed my hand then turned her attention to Charlotte who she loves so much. It was heart-warming to see my Mum looking and behaving more like her old self. Her voice is still weak and her hands shake when raise them but in light of the seriousness of the operation it is hardly surprising. She spoke of the past few days saying she was aware that much of what she said was nonsense. She also expressed how she feared for her sanity thinking that she, due to the bowel obstruction, was declining into senility, that she was losing her mind. She said to wake up and see other faces around her were most welcome. I told her it was not her mind but possibly the anaesthetic that caused the hallucinations. It seems unlikely now that she had septicaemia as her wound looks clean. We will have to wait for the results of her blood test.

I managed, as Jasmine and Jamie, now returned for his skiing holiday, to make all of Paul’s amends saving them onto the master USB. Now I need to chase Dave. Goodness knows when I will be able to see him as I will still have to visit Mum over the coming weekends. I must also reply to Lorna’s husband as his E-mail to me arrived before Christmas.

I returned to the hospital in the evening. Ron and Audrey were there and were flushed with happiness to see Mum looking and sounding so much better. Mum even made mention of all the family taking a holiday when she has fully recovered, one she said she would pay for in perhaps Scotland or Ireland. I cannot see Jasmine agreeing to that as she cannot abide my Mum even though she has been very good to her over the years. We will have to wait and see.

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2012-01-21T22:16:00.000Z

Received an odd phone call from Mum's Sally Army Captain, he obviously had spoken with Ron who I know thinks I am handling this whole business badly. I have no problem with Rom whatsoever. He is a bit of an old woman in that he worries over the slightest of things. Andrew, Mum's Captain, went into this diatribe of how one should handle NHS staff, that each and evry one of them is thick, dull-witted and possibly unhinged. I should dictate to them how Mum's nursing should be conducted and should question everything they do. I tried to explain that we had outside knowledge with Emily and Doctor Ben and that Jasmine had been communicating with the ward Sister but this info went straight over his head. I felt like driving over and giving him a piece of my mind - ~~Interfering cunt~~. I didn't of course and tapped into the fragile new peace loving me. Hard to do as the guy really should be punched on the nose. If I see him tomorrow (and I hope I do) I will have to say something to him even if politely to mind his own fucking business.

Mum wanted me to stay with her throughout the night but the ward sister said Mum was far better now and that I didn't have to which was a blessing for me as I felt tired from the night before. I will visit her again tomorrow.

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2012-01-21T18:17:00.002Z

Less weird this afternoon when Lesley, Donna and I went tosee Mum, she still seemed confused but nowhere near as bad as last night. She didask if I had seen Charlotte in the hospital restaurant. Of course Charlotte wasin doors and had been all day. Mum was convinced that she had seen Squidearlier on but of course she hadn’t. Derek was there when we arrived but,having shook my hand, left us to sit with Mum who was so pleased to see Lesleyand Donna. Just as we were settling down saying the sort of rubbish people dowhen visiting hospitals so another friend of Mum’s turned up, a large lady whoI had never seen before. She seemed nice enough and so the three of us went tothe restaurant where we sat and drunk coke light.

The conversation was enjoyable and it is always good to seeLesley. We spent a lot of time together when we were young and she still hasthe same wicked sense of humour. I think both Lesley and donna found Mum’scondition, although patently getting better, a little upsetting. We didn’t staythat long as Steve was parked off site in a back street. Mum seemed slightlyupset by the speed of the visit. I promised her that Jasmine would visit laterand that I would stay with her overnight if allowed.

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2012-01-21T12:01:00.002Z

It was by anyone’s standards a weird day. In fact it wasn’tone day as Friday rolled into Saturday. Work was its usual rush and tear of orders being produced or quoted andas many calls being answered. Red Astaire still haven’t grabbed the nettle ofhow much work we get through and I don’t think they ever will. Money rules theroost over common sense.

i left work and drove to thehospital to see Mum. Traffic was awful with the M25 stuffed – the usual Fridaynight scramble. When I got there it was obvious something was amiss. The staffsort of stared at me as I walked in. Ron was with Mum and he explained how Mum,to use his words, had been ‘a naughty girl.’ She had pulled out some of thetubes she had in her nose and her wrist and had thrown a carafe of water at anurse. She looked at me with terrified eyes agreeing that she had done preciselythat explain that she was only defending herself as the staff was trying tokill her. She looked haunted and very scared and begged me to stay the night. Isaid I couldn’t that the hospital rules would not allow me to sleep over. Theward sister had walked in and indicated it was OK. I could see by her look thatMum had been very troublesome but she thought it best for Mum if I were tospend the night by her side. It was probably because they thought I could calmher down a bit. Mum kept rambling on and on about odd things and all veryspooky it was too.

Ron left then I too followed suit. I needed to have my injectionand eat some carbs. Mum was patently NOT happy so I phoned Jasmine who caught acab to the hospital. When she arrived I left. When I got back all but two of mybrood were there: Jasmine, Emily, Grace and Brett.

After they left we settled down for the night. It was thething of nightmare. Mum slept from 11 to 1 as did I then she awoke and the doorbetween the dream world and reality collided. She spoke to a woman and childwho were clearly no there, to man who stood bside her, to me even though I tookno part in the conversation, to a nurse who also wasn’t there, to my Dad, toher sister. Then she asked me to turn the TV off. Both sets were off. She tookhold of the emergency button which resembles a TV remote and pressed thatsending alarm bells ringing. The staff were patience personified. An AsianDoctor appeared who she told me in a stage whisper was in fact a pharmacist whoowned the flat we were in and the down stairs one to and was her now sellingfruit and biscuits. He looked at Mum then smiled at me then hastily departed.

The night dragged on an on as I kept looking at the cock.The hand moved from 2.30 to 2.35 as though some deity was holding back thepassage of time. I found it all disturbing and naturally grew concerned. Myfears were two fold and based upon the little knowledge I have. If the bowelblockage had spilt into Mum’s system, and it had, releasing toxins on the waythen those poisonous particles could have either permanently damaged Mum’s mindor possibly temporarily. I spoke with a nurse who said they had taken swabs fromMum believing it to be Sepsis. This made sense to me but then, looking it up Iam now as worried as I was before I knew what was ailing Mum:

Sepsis can develop into a life-threateningillness, and must be treated aggressively with antibiotic therapy. Sepsis, whensevere, can cause low blood pressure, alter the mental status of a patient,cause chills, and a general feeling of poor health. Septic shock, the name forsepsis when it progresses to the life-threatening stage, is treated withmedication to increase blood pressure and high doses of antibiotics.

The nursetold me that the Doctor wouldn’t have the results to the test until Monday. Inmy opion that is leaving the problem alone for too long.

I left Mum after 6AM and caught the bus home. I arrived home after7 where I had my injection followed by some breakfast then off to bed. Sincewaking the phone has been going off at regular intervals with all manner ofpeople phoning: Boo Boo, Derek, Jasmine, Emily and then Lesley. Lesley an Ialong with Steve and possibly Uncle Richard and Auntie Mary will be going tovisit Mum at 2.30 as will Derek and his wife. Mum wants me or someone to staytonight as she fears and mistrusts the ward staff who really are a nice bunchof people.

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2012-01-19T13:55:00.001Z

Last night Mum looked a lot better than on previous visits. She was sitting up in bed and instantly recognised me greeting me with a smile. She said she had not been too good today but she looked a lot better. She then asked me to clean her dentures. Fantastic! I am such a wimp when it comes to things like that. I hate the thought of touching something covered in another’s saliva. As manfully as I could and with a fixed smile on my face I did as asked. When finished I gave the bloody set back to Mum who promptly popped them into her mouth. I then scrubbed my hands furiously before coating them in that gunk hospitals have situated at every entrance/exit. Not my kind of thing at all but I suspect I need to get used to the idea as Mum is going to be bed bound for some time yet.

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2012-01-19T13:30:00.002Z

“Liberty does not consist in making others do what you think right. The difference between a free Government and a Government which is not free is principally this—that a Government which is not free interferes with everything it can, and a free Government interferes with nothing except what it must. A despotic Government tries to make everybody do what it wishes, a Liberal Government tries, so far as the safety of society will permit, to allow everybody to do what he wishes. It has been the function of the Liberal Party consistently to maintain the doctrine of individual liberty. It is because they have done so that England is the country where people can do more what they please than in any country in the world.”

Sir William Harcourt
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^
^
Tao Te Ching

by Lao-tzu

J. Legge, Translator

(Sacred Books of the East, Vol 39) [1891]

1

The Tao that can be trodden is not the enduring and unchanging Tao. The name that can be named is not the enduring and unchanging name.

(Conceived of as) having no name, it is the Originator of heaven and earth; (conceived of as) having a name, it is the Mother of all things.

Always without desire we must be found,

If its deep mystery we would sound;

But if desire always within us be,

Its outer fringe is all that we shall see.

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2012-01-18T17:34:00.001Z

Still no response from Dave which puzzles me, I sent him two E-mails but have had nothing in return. I will have to phone him when I can. Paul now has the master copies of book one and EB. With Dave dragging his feet the pressure should be off but now I am concerned by the delay. I could do without this. I really need to rake as much or as little as I can. With Jasmine out of work we are seriously feeling the pinch. I have no idea how we will be able to have the car serviced and goodness knows it needs it.

Boris Johnson on Radio 4 this morning waxing lyrical about his idea for having a new London airport constructed in the Thames Estuary. I like the concept. I think it would work. It would alleviate road congestion but also air noise pollution as all planes would fly from and land on a man built island, much like the one we Brits designed for China thereby keeping air flight off the mainland. Unlike Cameron or Clegg, Boris has got a forceful personality. He has been a good mayor for London and he would get my vote were he to stand for PM. Winston in a wig!

Jeff phoned following my voice mail to him regarding Mum’s condition. He is unable to get down from Norfolk as the tumour in his eye makes it impossible to drive at night. He too has been unwell over the weekend but nowhere near as bad as Mum.

I will visit Mum later tonight, a fleeting visit only, when I am on my way home. I hope she is better than last night. I think her recovery will take a lot longer than three weeks.

Bought Richard Dawkins “The God Delusion” on Sunday along with Ernest Hemingway’s “The Old Man of the Sea,” I am looking forward to reading both but first I must finish Dickens “A Tale of Two Cities.” A great read and apt as it is Dickens bi-centenary.

My yearning to find love, to find someone to love and love me has come to a grinding halt. I cannot pretend not to still have feelings for Jasmine but it is as plain as the nose on my face that our relationship will never a miracle to revive. It has all gone too far. In spite of this I still find myself searching for that spiritual connection. As much as I love George Harrison and his Hindu faith with its cheerful acceptance of a great creator, it still, like Christianity, raises more question than it does provide answers.

I started to then think of my own personal journey. When I wrote the first “Wilful Walks” it wasn’t just my walks around Essex that I spoke of but also that search that now consumes me of spirituality, of personal growth, of Buddha, of Jesus, of Lao Tzu and good old Confucius. If Dave and I are to take up and continue with the London Chronicles (a title I now dislike) then I will need to re-write vast amounts of the text as it doesn’t follow on with that spiritual search. Not sure he will like that.

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2012-01-17T22:40:00.000Z

Prayer always looks so damn easybut I haven’t the foggiest notion how to go about it. I used to as a child whenMum made but my heart was never really in it. Now here I am not sure if I shouldkneel on the floor with my hands clasped in front of me or stand with headbowed. I adopt a Buddhist, Hindu cross legged pose and concentrate as Imeditate. If He is out there then He will surely be laughing his socks off now.I have never understood why so many Christians feel the need to adopt a supplicant’spose. Is it to show respect to the almighty? Surely someone as powerful as thegreat creator doesn’t have such a human ego? I pray as I did when I was achild. Not sure if it’s working or not and remembering what my mother said whenI was young. “If you don’t mean it the he’ll know.” Well I do mean it. Theproblem I have is praying to a myth, to a deity that doesn’t exist. I feel bothfoolish and hypocritical but I remember that I am not doing this for mybenefit. I am doing it for my mother and if God is there and is so goodly andupright then He will surely be a better version of me? I forgive. I love. Ibelieve in peace and harmony. I believe that the ten thousand things and I areone. Hare, hare, hare, shiva, shiva shanka hare rama.

“There are many paths up themountain side all leading to the same summit. Only a fool would say his way isthe only way.”

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2012-01-16T23:48:00.000Z

Today I had to visit Fox to finish off the re-packing job I started last week. Amazing how soon I have become unfit. All the walking about on cold concrete floors made my feet ache. By the end of the day I was bone tired but drove from Royal Tonbridge Wells to the hospital.

Mum had been moved from Critical Care to another ward. The medical team were happy enough with her progress and confident for her to leave their unit. During the day Lesley, after yesterday’s conversation, took Richard and Mary into see Mum. Richard found the sight of Mum harrowing but was pleased to have visited. Jasmine and Emily also visited as did Ron and Audrey all of whom arrived together!. Mum also had more visits from fellow Salvationists, Margaret and her husband who, upon seeing how many people was gathered waiting to see her highness, left saying they would return another time.

Jasmine later, when recounting her visit, showed more of her intolerance for Mum. Mum does have an awful habit of feeling sorry for herself and does say the silliest things sometime. I, for the most part, ignore her but if she goes too far chastise her. I think now though she has every reason to be scared. She fears death. I don’t but I do fear the dread of never seeing my kids again and I think this is what Mum really fears. As a Christian she shouldn’t fear death as she will get to see Dad again but even so our animal nature remains and survival is paramount.

When I got in, just after 7.30, Ron and Audrey were with her. She looked tired and lay with her eyes closed. I kissed her and told her I loved her. She struggled to smile and said she didn’t feel so good today. When R and A left I sat for the remainder of the time (visiting hours end at 8) holding her hand. I kissed her goodbye and her eyes opened for the first time. She asked me to pray for her. I said I would. Not quit sure how God is going to feel about that after all the shit I threw his way during my teenage years but I will give it go even if I think it a load of bunkum.

“Hi God it’s me.”

“The boy who called me a wanker?”

“Er…yes, sorry about that. I am not here for me though, it’s me Mum, she needs your help.”

“I see. So I am not so bad when you need my help then?”

“My Mum’s good. She believes in you.”

“Indeed she does. I will see what I can do.”

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2012-01-15T21:08:00.000Z

The days are going too fast. I have little time now with Mum being in hospital to do anything apart from eat, sleep, work and visit her. The distance between Jasmine and I has closed a bit but not enough for me to base any reconciliation on. So sad but I must make the most of what there is left to us. We took it in turns to visit Mum today. I went first and was pleased to see her fighting back. She seemed far better today than Friday. Miles better in fact. The nurses, along with a physiotherapist, had her sitting up o the edge of the bed. They said she seems strong. I find that hard to believe after the last few days but I take encouragement from their knowledge and experience. I sat in the waiting room as they put Mum through whatever routine it is they perform. When I returned Mum looked weary and still slightly confused. The days passing seems to cause the most consternation for her. She still finds it hard to believe that five days have passed without her being aware of them at all. She still has tubes connected to her wrist, her hand and her nose but doesn’t seem to mind them. The catheter no longer seems to bother her either so no more unsightly ‘scratching.’ She would be horrified to know that she had so I shall stay silent on the subject.

Jasmine went in with Charlotte. Mum gave Jasmine her pension detail so that we can pay her bills. The fact that Mum, who knows full well our marriage breakdown, trusts Jasmine shows the true regard Mum has for her daughter-in-law. Jasmine still gets irritated by Mum though and I find that hard to deal with. Mum does have ways that I too find odd but I guess we all do. Perhaps it is the history of the two women that weighs heavy on my wife, understandable perhaps but time to move on I think. Later Emily went in to see Mum and she seems to think her improvement is good even though she, like me, is concerned over her vacant look at times that really is freaky to observe. The way she looks straight through you without seeing you or being aware of your presence.

In the evening Ron and Audrey popped in. They believe that their prayers are being answered and who am I to argue? I think it more a cse of science and medicine but if it makes Mum better then all power to prayer.

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2012-01-14T23:31:00.000Z

All night I feared the worsethinking of and fearing the witching hour of 2 to 3 in the morning. It is thenwhen adrenaline kicks in as I have so often found out to my own discomfort. I kept waiting for the phone to ring expectingthat call from the hospital. I was the first to arrive and even though Mum wasin a very confused state she recognised me. The toxin’s and morphine combinedgiving Mum some odd hallucinations. She kept counting the drawers in the wardcabinet and turned to me to scold me for moving them. Her eyes flashed as theydid when I was younger. She looked murderous but then slipped back to sleep.She did this repeatedly. She seemed to shake of her tiredness desperate to stayawake telling anyone who was listening that she wasbetter.

“I am on the mend,” she said overand over, “I am on the mend.”

She confessed to being scared ofdying in one of her lucid moments. I told her she wasn’t going to. In truth shelooks a tad better than she did last night.

We took it in turns to visit her,Me, Jasmine, Squidy, Grace and Brett. The hallucinatory moments are both freakyand funny. At one stage she called Brett, Jamie, then Russell. It is as if herfear is making her determined to appear better even though she obviously isn’t.Ron and Audrey also came to see her as I was making the last visit of thenight. I find the theatrics of Christians a little spooky but I guess it iswell intentioned.

I feel more positive tonighthaving seen some signs of the Mum I love. Fingers crossed it continues. Even ifit does it will be one hell of a long haul.

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2012-01-13T23:15:00.000Z

I recall now Dad’s untimely deathin 1988. He had ‘beaten’ the cancer that had sought to end his life only tofall foul of a stroke. I remember that awful, drawn out time as he laymotionless in the hospital bed. I remember that unforgettable moment when hestarted to cough, his oxygen mask filling with a pinkish liquid as the hospitalstaff ushered Mum and I from the room. Minutes later they reappeared solemnfaced to relay the news that Dad had died. Boo Boo and Terry took Mum andJasmine home as I had matters to sort with the hospital. The whole businessreminded me of how like library books we are. We are given a certificate onbirth and another when we die. I carried Dad’s paltry belongings away with me ina plastic bag.

“On the haunted hallways and shoetap stair, I am chasing memories hiding from ghosts of despair.”

I wrote that line and the fullpoem back then. It is still one of the best things I have ever put to paper.

Jaime phoned me at work to tellme that the Doctor’s had given Mum a fifty fifty chance. I felt my face reflectthe sadness I felt flood through me. I managed to keep things together butwalked away from my desk. I could feel the eyes of my colleagues upon me. Thenews may have been expected in some gloomy way but it still hit like a rocket.

Tonight Mum had got as close todeath as it is possible to imagine. She slept for the most part, her faceyellowy/grey, her skin pulled parchment thin over gaunt features. Earlier Emilyhad visited her and had walked past not recognising the cadaver like effigy thatlay slack jawed on the ward bed. The sight of Mum had made Emily cry as sheseemed sl close to death. Upon seeing her granddaughter Mum had cried out withjoy only for moments later, as the morphine kicked in, to call out to a nurseto have this imposter moved ‘she is not my Granddaughter’ declared Mum to Emily’shorror. Fortunately Emily is toughskinned and laughed at the situation. Grace didn't. She and I sat holding hands weeping at the way Mum/Grammy had slipped into such a state.

When Jasmine and I arrived lateron we too encountered someone who was drifting in and out of reality. Mum madeseveral odd statements with the daftest being her desire to give the hospitalstaff some money. I had no problem with that in fact thought/think it a goodidea but Mum looked from Me to Jasmine and back again before declaring she haddone something wrong. No matter how we tried to tell she had done nothing wrongshe seemed not to believe. Each time she fell back to sleep she would awakeagain sometime later only to repeat, parrot fashion, the same mantra – ‘I’vedone something wrong.’ She said this over and over and throughout the time wewere there.
Jasmine and I left in separate cars.I went back to Mum’s for no other reason other than to see and touch the homeshe has lived in these past 44 years. The Doctors do not seem too positive. AllI have is the stupid belief in Mum’s ability to fight back.

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2012-01-12T21:12:00.000Z

Work is still unbelievably busy. As I process one E-mail so another ten arrive. The flow of work is not yet a flood but still far too much for anyone person to deal with. This is made worse with Brian being out and by my still having to play catch-up after Christmas. Not only did I have to run the routine admin but also meet and greet several suppliers who had come to view a prospective job and also oversee a huge poster that the Fizzing Drug Store had ordered that needed to be fixed to a curved wall. The chap who did the fixing was from a Birmingham based company but was himself French. It was interesting to speak with someone from France and hear how about their education system. It all sounds rather draconian but nonetheless seems to produce results. Having said that, at the end of the day, we all of us are products of commerce and therefore ‘regulated’ by the needs of industry. Few of us are able to pursue artistic or creative careers as the benefits to society, apart from the altruistic, are small whereas the regular choices produce individuals who can best fuel the machine. This all sounds vaguely ‘sixties counter culture’ and I am any but that. Still, the fact remains we are ‘pumped out’, often with little regard for any hidden talents we may have or ambitions to do anything other than become labourers or administrators.

Moan, moan, moan.

Called in late to see Mum in hospital, she was okay it a little drugged up. She has the morphine button lying beside her which she uses regularly to prevent the pain from growing. She seemed to fade in and out of consciousness often mid conversation. It was all very reminiscent of an opium den with Mum’s voice fading as she spoke, her eyes half closed, fractured sentences: “Richard was such a delightful baby….need the milk….apples on side….Jasmine came in to see me….no, no not Maureen, she’s dead.” I sat with her for half an hour holding her hand then she briefly woke to tell me how tired she was so I kissed he goodnight then left.

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2012-01-11T22:14:00.000Z

It is probably guilt on my part as I steadfastly adhered to the instructions given me by the doctors but I am very angry with the GP who diagnosed Mum as having Gastroenteritis. Had I realised that faecal vomiting were such a serious condition then I would have had Mum into hospital long before the Monday. Emily was the first to react to what I had told her and spoke to a doctor colleague who said the patient should be hospitalised. Fortunately by then Mum’s regular nurse had arrived and acted accordingly. Four days of unnecessary delay all by an incorrect diagnosis. I will have to apologise to Ron and Audrey who all along said Mum should have been in hospital.

She looked so tired and frail tonight. Her face drawn, he colour grey, her hair, unwashed for several days, scraped back across her forehead. There is a hollow between her collar bone and neck which you could fill with water and drink from. It is the size of a small teacup. From her nose a tube hangs over which a plastic mask provides her COPD, her lungs with oxygen. A catheter irritates her so much that she furtively fiddles with the device. Her hands are covered in bruises from the warfarin. An intravenous tube is inserted into one hand whilst the other monitors her vital signs. Two screens, the sort that Emily works with every day, flickers and blips her heart rate.

She smiled weakly when she saw me she looked as though I was something heaven sent rather than just her son. She now depends on me so much and I fear that responsibility, I fear her death even more. I stood by her side making idle chit chat. She nodded occasionally and smiled at me. I told her I was sorry for not getting the ambulance crew in sooner. She took the mask from her mouth and told me that I had done all I could. I hope so.

I remained by her side for maybe ten minutes. She started to worry that I should get home for injection and meal. I laughed telling her not to worry but she reminded me she was still a Mum and that by nature they always worry. I kissed her forehead and told her I loved her.

I drove to her bungalow to check all was OK. I picked up the milk so that we could use it and not let it go to waste. I also took home a loaf of bread as she seems to be collecting them in her freezer. The bungalow looked odd. Not because it was empty but rather because it showed me how it one day will be – empty of her.

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2012-01-10T23:39:00.000Z

A tedious day at work where I had to work on a bench unpacking incorrect items before repacking them. The site I worked out of was in Tunbridge Wells and should have been easy enough to find. However, having programmed the SatNav to TN3 3EY the damn thing went haywire and directed me to Ashdown and onto a recently built housing estate. I should have realised something was wrong when the screen kept showing me that I wasn’t on the M25 but was driving in a field next to it. I was furious as I used to moan about SatNav’s but had my mind changed when driving around Europe. They are normally V.good. Finally arrived at Fox and spent the day farting about taping up boxes, loading pallets and doing things that I hadn’t for many years. The initial ‘buzz’ of doing something out of the routine soon faded as my feet began to ache.

I left Tunbridge Wells a little after six and got to the hospital just before eight. Mum was lying in bed with a tube up her nose looking very sorry for herself. She had been given an enema and also had a Fluoroscopic examination. The diagnosis was that scar tissue from Mum’s previous bowel cancer was causing an obstruction. The solution is surgery. The doctor gave Mum the usual spiel about her age and the risk involved which must have gone down like a led balloon. She was very concerned when I arrived as she had been told not only that she may have to wear a bag but the operation itself, at her age, was risky. She cried a bit and I felt like shit. I told her not to worry which was a dumb thing to do but what else could I say? I managed to cheer her up somewhat and told her I loved her.

I left her at ten past eight as visiting time is finishes at eight. Got home and was greeted by Jamie who had cooked my dinner for me which was nice. We spoke of the situation with Mum. Not sure how he feels as he is such a deep individual. Any emotion is kept inside. Jasmine arrived home at a little after 10.30 having been out with Sharon. Any hopes I had of ‘happy families’ were soon dashed when she told me how much she disliked my mother.

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2012-01-09T21:38:00.000Z

Monday arrived bringing with itcares and concerns over Mum’s health. I had no time to phone first thing and anyway,she would still have been in bed. When Igot to work, even before unpacking the gumpf I carry I phoned her. She stillwasn’t well. She had spent the night if not vomiting then retching. She soundedexhausted. Ron and Audrey were there (such good and tireless people – I don’tknow what I would have done without them.

Later on Jamie phoned to tell methat Audrey had phoned home to inform us of Mum being taken to hospital.Apparently the nurse had taken one look at her and said she needed help. Jamiestayed with her until the ambulance arrived. As it wasn’t an emergency the waitwas a couple of hours. Jasmine drove him to the hospital and then, a minormiracle perhaps, she also went to see Mum where Mum said she was sorry thenJasmine did too. By this time Grace and Brett had arrived and they heard bothmy Mum and Jasmine make up then say they loved each other. The thought of suchmakes me want to cry with barmy joy. If there is a God then he does get hisarse into gear some times and I thank him for it.

The day went its weary way but Ileft early so I could visit Mum. Grace was still there by her bedside. Jasminehad gone to Mum’s bungalow to clear and wash the bedding which had beensoiled (Mum would die of shame to knowof such a thing). The fact that Jasmine did such a a generous, loving thingonly goes to prove that she is still the same girl I meet forty years ago. Iwish she and I could so easily make up.

We left Mum in A&E and I tookGrace home. We spoke for awhile chiefly about Grace’s Mum. Some surprise therefor my daughter I think.

I went back later to see Mum whowas now in ‘observation’ waiting to be moved. She was very drowsy and still ina lot of pain. If I believed in prayer then I would have said one then.

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all words and art are copyright © of Russell 'C.J' Duffy. For another side of CJ go here: sOMeThiNg For tHE wEeKeND, SiR?

2012-01-08T23:17:00.000Z

A horrid day spent at Mum’s. I got her phone call at 5am. I arrived with her at 5.30. She looked awful, grey faced and drawn. I clean away the bowl she had been sick in then cleaned the toilet, basin and then the bowl using that Dettol spray that exterminates all bacteria. I stayed until 8 then shot back home for injection and some breakfast. Got back to Mum’s at about 8.30. She had been sick again and was complaining of having pains in her back and ribs – no doubt from all the retching. She spent most of the morning either laying in her bed or sitting on the side of it vomiting a brackish, brown liquid. Thumbscrew said this was not a good sign as it may be dried blood. Having said that it could be far worse was it to be new blood. Just before lunch Audrey and Ron arrived in their Salvation Army uniforms. They are good people but inclined to panic. They wanted an ambulance called and for Mum to be rushed into hospital. As much as I share their concern I think they are being a little over the top. Mum had a doctor see her Friday who said she should take his medicine and lots of water to avoid dehydration. We need to follow this advice even if Mum throws up each and every time she takes a sip (and she is).

I left and went home for lunch leaving Audrey and Ron with Mum. I was back within the hour and they again suggested I call an ambulance. Mum also said she wanted help. I called NHS Direct and within half an hour a rapid response medic arrived who took Mum’s stats. He said he didn’t think she needed to go to hospital but he was concerned that she was becoming dehydrated. She told him that every time she drank she threw-up and so he called for a nurse to visit who could prescribe anti-sickness drugs. She arrived within the hour and I went to the local pharmacy to pick the medication up. I think Ron would still have preferred to have had an ambulance as he said Mum’s condition qualifies as an emergency. It doesn’t. A road accident or a heart attack are emergencies - this is a priority of course but not an emergency.

I read, with little else to do, one of Mum’s Agatha Christie books. Dated obviously but very well written and although it lacks all the so called realism of modern fiction it has oodles of charm and some quirky plots. I was surprised to have enjoyed the book as much as I did. It also gave me some comic ideas for Fekenham.

I stayed at Mum’s until Ron and Audrey returned at about 7.30. I agreed that should Mum’s condition not improve by tomorrow then we call an ambulance and have her admitted to hospital. They obviously feel that I should have done that myself.

I went to Sainsbury’s to get some food for our dinner. As I had the car Jasmine was unable to do any shopping. I dropped the groceries off then collected Brett from the flat then went on to pick up Grace from work.

Hopefully, the drugs will take effect and Mum’s condition will improve. If not then tomorrow she really will have to go to hospital.

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2012-01-07T21:41:00.000Z

Left Mum's after eight. She had settled down in bed after I had practically carried her there. She does seem especially unwell. I told her I would be back early tomorrow. Not sure what I can do apart from be there. Hopefully the medicine prescribed by the doctor will take affect and stop her vomiting. There is little to do at Mum’s. I manically washed everything she touched including sink, the bowl and even the cups and mugs. You hear so much about lack of hygiene these days so I did my best to ensure that all germs were blitzed. Probably went a little too far.
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2012-01-07T18:17:00.002Z

As I got in last night Jamieapproached me saying Ron had just phoned – my Mum was again unwell. I wentround as soon as I had eaten and injected. Mum had started vomiting during theday so that when the nurse arrived on her weekly call she decided to call adoctor and then Ron and Audrey. Her reasoning was that Mum should not be leftalone and since I was still at work then Ron and Audrey were the nearest toher. Mum looked awful and I was perplexed at how bad she seemed especiallyafter how well she had appeared on Tuesday. I stayed until she grew tired thenI put her to bed.

First thing this morning, stillin my dressing gown, Mum phoned saying she needed help. I showered quickly andwas there within half an hour. Lack of food or water had made her blood sugarlevels drop and she had begun to dehydrate. She looked pale and weary sayingshe hadn’t slept. I gave her Llucozade. This seemed to work as a little colourreturned to her cheeks. She then asked for some cornflakes which turned out toa bad idea as a short time later she threw the whole lot up again. I tied andcleaned as best I could ensuring to use a anti-bacterial spray on all the worksurfaces and washing my hands regularly. Probably to no avail but it is whatall the medics suggest you do.

At about 1PM, Audrey and Ronarrived just as I had locked my keys in Mum’s house. Fortunately they had aspare set and I was able to retrieve mine. I left Mum with them to go home tograb some lunch. I returned after 2PM with Squid who sat with Mum as I did hershopping. We stayed by her side until 5.30 then came home where I am now. Ishall go and have some dinner then return to put her to bed and to make sureshe is okay.

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2012-01-06T13:03:00.003Z

A beautiful day outside. Blue skies filled with a weak wintry sun Still chilly but lovely to see. The sort of day it feels good to be alive on. Nature is a random mistress but her salvation is her brutal honesty. Nature does not lie, it may deceive us from time to time, it may mislead us but even that I suspect is more to do with us misreading the signs she sends us. Mother nature somehow sounds kinder than God.

Lee is finding that Wilberforce Leigh is just the same as Obnoxious Cowboy Enterprises - soulless and admin heavy. Much like Admin Deviant Anal Retentive Executives is. I think we both would rather work for ourselves now opposed to working for a conglomerate. One day soon maybe?

"Brainwashed in our childhood

Brainwashed by the school

Brainwashed by our teachers

And brainwashed by all their rules

Brainwashed by our leaders

By our Kings and Queens

Brainwashed in the open

And brainwashed behind the scenes

God God God

A voice cries in the wilderness

God God God

It was on the longest night

God God God

An eternity of darkness

God God God

Someone turned out the spiritual light

Brainwashed by the Nikkei

Brainwashed by Dow Jones

Brainwashed by the FTSE

Nasdaq and secure loans

Brainwashed us from Brussels

Brainwashed us in Bonn

Brainwashed us in Washington

Westminster in London

God God God

You are the wisdom that we seek

God God God

The lover that we miss

God God God

Your nature is eternity

God God God

Your are Existence, Knowledge, Bliss

The soul does not love, it is love itself

It does not exist, it is existence itself

It does not know, it is knowledge itself

How to Know God, pag 130

They brainwashed my great uncle

Brainwashed my cousin Bob

They even got my grandma

When she was working for the mob

Brainwash you while you're sleeping

While in your traffic jam

Brainwash you while you're weeping

While still a baby in your pram

Brainwashed by the military

Brainwashed under duress

Brainwashed by the media

You're brainwashed by the press

Brainwashed by computer

Brainwashed by mobile phones

Brainwashed by the satellite

Brainwashed to the bone

God God God

Won't you lead us through this mess

God God God

From the places of concrete

God God God

Nothing's worse than ignorance

God God God

I just won't accept defeat

God God God

Must be something I forgot

God God God

Down on Bullshit Avenue

God God God

If we can only stop the rot

God God God

Wish that you'd brainwash us too

Namah Parvarti Pataye Hare Hare Mahadev

Namah Parvarti Pataye Hare Hare

Shiva Shiva Shankara Mahadeva

Hare Hare Hare Hare Mahadeva

Shiva Shiva Shankara Mahadeva

Namah Parvarti Pataye Hare Hare

Shiva Shiva Shankara Mahadeva

Shiva Shiva Shankara Mahadeva"

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all words and art are copyright © of Russell 'C.J' Duffy. For another side of CJ go here: sOMeThiNg For tHE wEeKeND, SiR?

2012-01-05T22:45:00.000Z

"Isn't it a pity

Now, isn't it a shame

How we break each other's hearts

And cause each other pain

How we take each other's love

Without thinking anymore

Forgetting to give back

Isn't it a pity

Some things take so long

But how do I explain

When not too many people

Can see we're all the same

And because of all their tears

Their eyes can't hope to see

The beauty that surrounds them

Isn't it a pity"

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all words and art are copyright © of Russell 'C.J' Duffy. For another side of CJ go here: sOMeThiNg For tHE wEeKeND, SiR?

2012-01-04T23:00:00.000Z

As I sit day after day stuck in what appears to be a constant traffic jam, I reflect on my own frustration and anger at being captive to the same routine conditions and at the same time the sheer futility of my rage. The reason I drive to work is pretty much the same as every other sod on the road – I have to. I, like my fellow, commuters, are governed by necessity. It is not a lifestyle anyone would chose to lead but one we must, if we are to earn our daily crust, commit to. Personally I hate it. I hate the fact that life is being condensed into a box on wheels that burns the self-same tarmac day in day out. The cars wheels are a great metaphor and one often spoken of by Hindu’s – we live on a wheel, life is a wheel, a wheel that spins as we run round it like rodents perpetually keeping it in motion. And when we pass on to whatever after life there may be so another rodent is put on the wheel to replace us. It is a hateful way to have to live but unless we have the desire or motivation to be part of this lifestyle, to not only be an active participant but passionately committed to it, then living this way becomes tortuous. It certainly is torture to me.

Jasmine was out again last night this time with Sally or Sarah or someone whose name begins with an S. Her toothache seems to have faded somewhat. Thumbscrew had a friend over, Gemma I think, and they both stayed firmly ensconced in T’s bedroom. Squid and I watched Mamma Mia on TV. It is a great film. Abba were great songwriters even if the elite of Rock described them as being trite, crap and manufactured. At least Elvis C stated he liked them.

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2012-01-03T23:38:00.000Z

First day back at work or not, as it turned out. I left home about 6.30 and learnt, via the BBC road report, that the Dartford crossing was closed due to gale force winds. In fact it was the bridge they had closed whilst leaving the tunnel open. This meant closing of all but two kiosks for the toll. I didn’t reach the payment point until 8.45 and didn’t arrive at work until after 10. A security guard approached to inform me that the Fizzing Drug Store was shut due to a power cut but that it would open again at noon. Seeing as how bad the homeward bound traffic was I decided instead to go to L&G where we have an office, to remain there for a couple of hours before heading home. The journey to work took 3 and one half hours – the journey home a little longer. I popped into Mum’s just to see how she was and she seems much better than of late which was nice to see.

The few hours I spent at work were tedious and mostly spent updating this journal. It was hard to know where to start without any paperwork so I hope tomorrow the Drug Store’s site will be open.

Jasmine went out as per usual with Sharon but returned at 9 and went straight to bed complaining of a toothache. Later I took her some painkillers up. Squid and I watched Morgan Freeman in ‘Along Came a Spider’ a film I have seen a dozen or more times. It is good but sadly the times watched detract from the suspense.

I spoke with Dave and was disappointed to learn he has fallen behind with the illustration deadline. I knew this would happen and even though I cannot hold him as having let me down as he is doing this on a promise of payment. I still feel let down. Whether or not I find success with my books is not the point. I need some money, little or large, to filter through and I need it ASAP. My fear is that Dave will drag this on beyond February, beyond March into goodness knows only when. It isn't his fault but my expectations of what I need doing. As I understand it all the inner illustrations are done on all the books leaving just the cover illustrations to be finished. The trouble is the cover for book one isn’t completed and there are three to go.

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2012-01-02T22:15:00.000Z

I thought that today, seeing as it was the last day before returning to work, I could do some writing on Book Four – “The Politics of Turnips” but then came the call. Not from God, not an epiphany but a phone call from Mum. On Saturday ‘we’ had bought the third set of telephones in as many years which it turns out Mum wasn’t happy with. She asked if I could take her back to Sainsbury so that she could exchange it for a more suitable one. I said that I had hoped to get some work done in doors. She naturally said that was fine and that it wasn’t any trouble and that she would get a taxi the following day, even though it was expensive and that she would sort it out herself. Feeling guilty I drove to hers where I fixed the problem she had with not getting BBC 1 or BBC2 then we went to the bloody shop and changed the phone AGAIN! She’s my Mum and I love her. Enough said.

When I got back home the only one out of bed was Squid. I set about cleaning up a bit but without vacuuming for fear of making a noise and waking people. Next up was Jimbob followed shortly after by Jasmine who had no memory at all of the night before. Thumbscrew arrived soon after just as Jasmine was showering. They then went out, gods know where. I told them that I was collecting Grace but apparently Grace hadn’t told anyone. Anyway, I picked
Grace up at 3pm and took her back home. Tea was oh so typically English, scones with cream and jam. Jamie backed the scones and they were beautiful, very tasty.

Grace has got the notion in her head to rent a flat. She has seen a place in Rochford that takes her fancy and only for £596 per calendar month. She is keen to move for two reasons. The first being Brett’s sister who wants tp move back in with Grace and Brett and which Grace vehemently is against and the second is that she, much like any your female eager to have a family, is keen to find somewhere that feels like home. Personally, I think she should wait but I do understand how she feels.

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all words and art are copyright © of Russell 'C.J' Duffy. For another side of CJ go here: sOMeThiNg For tHE wEeKeND, SiR?

2012-01-01T23:40:00.000Z

A rather odd day filled with quiet moments. Jasmine lay in until late following her night out in London with Sharon. Apparently she walked for miles. Not as far as me I ventured having trod eight miles in one evening. Not sure how that was received but I was only jesting. Jasmine spent the majority of the day ‘floating’ about. At least we seem to be on some sort of polite playing field now with few harsh words being exchanged. Thank you for small mercies.

I spent more time working on Fekenham, mostly getting the final books into shape. I also have a few ideas for future books. Six is started but only the first chapter as is another side project featuring Urpington Crust and Thomas I Tickleshaft. The new idea is a detective type novel much like EB entitled ‘Hand in Glove’ and featuring Hilary Leatherbarrow and Adam Lazarus (must check that name out to see if ‘he’ already exists.)

The evening turned weird when Jasmine went to bed having taken sleeping tablets. She patently needs them as she seldom sleeps at night anymore but whenever she takes them strange things seem to happen. The odd bangs and bumps alerted me as they did Jamie. I heard him helping his Mum back into bed several times before I went up. I found her scantily clad hanging out of Grace’s bed with her head against the pillow. I lifted her legs back onto the divan then replaced the duvet over her. This must have happened half a dozen times. Finally, I heard Jamie talking to Jasmine who had wandered into his room with her eyes still shut, fell over Cookies basket before staggering back to Grace’s room. It makes me sad to see her this way even if we no longer love each other.

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2011-12-31T23:59:00.000Z

Forgot to mention my marathon walk this evening when I went to meet Grace from work. From our house to Grace’s apartment is about two miles and from there to where she works is another two miles. I cannot believe that she walks those dark roads, mostly unpaved and surrounded by bleak fields crowded with fog. Normally Brett’s Dad Pete picks Grace up but tonight he we out on the razzle celebrating the New Year. Grace said she was willing to have walked on her own but having done that lonesome walk on my own I am glad she didn’t. It is very spooky and the poor lad who was walking behind me was undoubtedly shocked when I turned to face him wondering why the hell he was following me. He wasn’t, he was on his way home from work. The street lights are few and give a weak glow. The houses are spaced at infrequent distances. The fields in between are as black as Newgate’s Knocker with trees that loom suddenly accompanied by furtive rustlings and scampering of things unseen. The home Grace works out of is an old farm house and settles back from the road with a welcome profusion of light.

We met, hugged, kissed then trod the same route back. She wanted to get some shopping from Sainsbury so I went with her. By this time my old injury had started to throb and ache and I limped a bit. Serve me right for kicking that rubberised dustbin back in ’77. When I got home my foot was killing me so I took some pain killers and snuggled up next to Charlotte on the sofa.

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2011-12-31T23:09:00.000Z

With the New Year beckoning thereshould be a feeling of celebration but tonight in my house it is all ratheranti-climactic. Jasmine has gone out with Sharon. The fact they asked Charlotteto go with them who subsequently declined really is of little significance. Ihad said I would take Charlotte out but to the cinema and long before the New Year’scelebration. This I couldn’t do as Jasmine needed the car. Emily was outgetting trolleyed no doubt whereas Jamie stayed in reading his latest George R.R. Martin book. Grace and Brett were working so I sat in doors on my Todd withjust the TV for company and my laptop by my side . Fortunately there were severalgood films to watch.

It strikes me now as I sitwriting this that I have been misleading myself. I am not over Jasmine and asmuch as I want to be I think I never will be whilst I live in the same house. Ilistened to George Harrison’s final and quite possibly best album. I find hisconstant search for self-betterment, for spiritually something quite inspiring.His devotion to what he perceived as God, through his Hindu faith never everchanged even if he struggled with his own material life as he tried to balanceone with the other.

In light of this man, thisfavourite of mine of all the former Beatles, I have been re-thinking both mylife and the ‘Wilful Walks’ I wrote in 2009. They were not only a man walkingaround and writing about the county of Essex but were also a spiritual pathwhere I examined myself, my goods and bad’s as I tried to come to terms with mylife. If Dave and I do continue with the ‘London Chronicles’ then they willneed some serious revision for I want them to continue in the same manner asthey previous book. If Fekenham is my silly half hour with all its flippantnonsense then I want the Wilful Walks to reveal my personal search forspirituality and goodness.

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all words and art are copyright © of Russell 'C.J' Duffy. For another side of CJ go here: sOMeThiNg For tHE wEeKeND, SiR?

2011-12-29T00:00:00.000Z

It feels rather strange not to be working. It is as though Iam in a limbo. Perhaps it is not me but the limbo after crimbo; that brief timebetween Christmas and New Year. Jasmine made a meal out of how I had said Ihave a fortnight off when in fact I only have 10 days or, as she made heavyweather of, seven WORKING days. Ofcourse she is right and yes, I am being overly sensitive.

Squid and I had a bust-up last night but all forgotten bydawn break. Hugs and kisses all round. I feel proud that I have accomplished thisway of being, proud that I no longer sulk for days on end. How could I havebeen so stupid? How could I have been so unpleasant to those I love? Re-readTom’s E-mail to me. He is right: less punch lines and more characterisation. Inmy defence I think if readers manage to get to books two and three andcertainly four they wll find character development abounding.

Not long now till February. I think I am ready to go. Justneed Dave to do his stuff and Paul the final edit of EB.

Watched the final episode of ‘Great Expectations’ featuringGillian Anderson. God she is attractive and what a fabulous story Dickens’weaves. Ray Winstone’s performance was incredible. I love that man’s talent. Hegrows with each role he takes. After that I, with Squid by my side watched ‘DorianGrey.’ Far more erotic than Oscar Wildes novel but still enjoyable.

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all words and art are copyright © of Russell 'C.J' Duffy. For another side of CJ go here: sOMeThiNg For tHE wEeKeND, SiR?

2011-12-28T16:05:00.001Z

2011-12-27T23:43:00.000Z

The day after the festivitiesseems like no mans land. Life goes on but at a vastly reduced pace. Few havegone back to work and of course there is the Bank Holiday to contend with. Ispent the day writing and making ready all the Fekenham books. I still haveBook Three to indent properly but I still have a week left to do that in and ofcourse there are things still to do, housework and ironing. In fairness, Ihaven’t done a bit of either as Jasmine has been doing those dull chores. Ireally don’t mind doing them at all but not in the same almost obsessive wayshe does. I like a smart, clean house but I have come to realise there are farmore important things in life than having a neat home that is constantlysparkling.

If I needed reminding of thisthen Squid so showed me the flaw in my thinking. As Jimbob and I were sittingdown to watch Russell Crowe’s take on Robin Hood an unexpected shower poured throughthe living room ceiling. David who charged us £800 (which we still have to pay)for fixing the last leak only a couple of months ago, obviously did a prettycrap job as it is leaking again. Our posh, expensive bathroom if now spoilingour smart, modern living room. A section of wallpaper has peeled away to reveala naked wall beneath. There are two unsightly stains on the ceiling from watermarks left from the previous downpour. If for no other reason other than payingfor a qualified plumber to put right our showers and bathroom facilities I hopemy books generate some cash and soon.

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all words and art are copyright © of Russell 'C.J' Duffy. For another side of CJ go here: sOMeThiNg For tHE wEeKeND, SiR?

2011-12-26T13:42:00.000Z

Boxing Day came with a whisper. Grace had to work as so maycare workers do as did Brett. Funny how we are all forced to live watching thepennies and yet still people find the money to gamble. Brett enjoys his job andI guess that is all that matters.

Emily was the only one, apart from my Mum, who gave BoxingDay gifts. From Mum I received £20 and from Thumbscrew a book. The day wasquiet. We had some lunch which was the only time we sat down together then Idrove to Mum’s to make sure she was alright. She does seem a lot better todayeven if her voice now seems to be fading.

With my family there is a level of guilt I feel. I think itis because I believe I should have done more to repair my marriage but I seenow that no matter what I did Jasmine would remain intractable. She simply doesnot love me or, conversely does but is so filed with bitterness she cannot findthe love within her to let things heal. Anyway, it really doesn’t matter for meand not even for Emily and Jamie but it does for Grace and even more so forCharlotte. I would eat my own foreskin, if I still had one, if it would makethings better for her.

My books are almost ready. I am now tidying them up andgetting them ready for Dave’s artwork. All the indents are now the same apartfrom Book Three which I will do during the week. I have started four otherbooks but my main focus is to get everything shipshape for February. I stillneed to get EB over to Paul for him to run his keen eye over. Once that is donethen I shall start to finish book four.

It is looking good – everything is looking FekenhamSwarberryish!

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all words and art are copyright © of Russell 'C.J' Duffy. For another side of CJ go here: sOMeThiNg For tHE wEeKeND, SiR?

2011-12-25T19:36:00.000Z

Christmas Day and not a mouse wasmoving. Well, we don’t have any mice but even if we did they were silent. Mumdeclined Jasmine’s invite to come over for Christmas lunch saying she was toounwell. Jasmine said Mum now has a handy excuse. This is simply not the case asMum gave me the money to buy Jasmine’s gift in the vain hope she and I mightstill be able to make a go of it. Mum is a Christian and without wishing to beunkind is superstitious believing in things that don’t exist and praying for amiracle that will not happen.

Everyone got what they wanted andsome got more than the wanted or bargained for. Squid had helped my Mum selecta robe for Thumbscrew which appeared to be one designed for twelve year old. Iknow Thumbscrew really didn’t want it but managed to keep a good face. Graceand Brett seemed a little tense which was aided by Jimbob’s stupid notion ofacting so fucking miserable as if he was determined to upset everyone else asmuch as himself.

Jasmine gave me nothing. My Mumalso went without. I should have bought something but normally Jasmine buys thegifts even though she never discusses anything with me and hasn’t done foryears. She watches me all the time waiting to pounce on the first dumb thing Isay. I no longer feel anything for her but do not want to turn into the bitter,twisted woman she has sadly become.

It was odd without Mum there butI got on with it. We even played games which was fun.

I got four CD’s: The Civil Wars,Bjork, Peter Gabriel and Florence and the machine. Those with a couple of booksand I Am as happy as a pig in muck!

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all words and art are copyright © of Russell 'C.J' Duffy. For another side of CJ go here: sOMeThiNg For tHE wEeKeND, SiR?

2011-12-24T21:35:00.000Z

Christmas Eve, a sense of magicshould permeate but it doesn’t. Rather than that feeling of excitement there isa sense of foreboding. We are all of us under close scrutiny as Jasmine watchesall we do with a critical eye. He neurosis is palpable, contagious even but Iresisted it as best I could looking instead to Squid for how to feel. She issky high with anticipation and rightly so. Jimbob is the reverse. He is theepitome of Scrooge. He acts like an old man who lost a fortune many Christmasesago and whose wife ran off with Santa. Jimbob hates, or so he tells us, thefestivities. I think it all an act, one he now has to maintain.

Squid and I took Mum out toSainsbury’s for the umpteenth time and I confess I am begging to grow tired ofthat particular supermarket chain even if it is one of my favourites. (How cananyone have a favourite supermarket?). Mum’s loyalty card paid for her weeksshopping so I guess that was a positive. Mum is still very unwell from yetanother chest infection. It has been a month now and she looks grey andlistless as if each step is a pain to take. We stopped countless times whilstshe battled from breath. In the end I asked Squid to take my Mum to the café asI queued up to pay.

Later, after Mum had been droppedback at her bungalow. Squid and I went to Southend where I bought Thumbscrew acopy of the latest Florence and the Machine CD. I also got Jasmine a bottle ofJ’aDor. I hope she likes it.

In the evening Squid and I watched Miss Marple which was really quite spooky.

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all words and art are copyright © of Russell 'C.J' Duffy. For another side of CJ go here: sOMeThiNg For tHE wEeKeND, SiR?

2011-12-23T22:17:00.002Z

I remember as a teenager beingfurious with God. The bible my Godparents had given me at by Christening andsigned by them I tore in half and left, very theatrically, on the kitchen worksurface for my Mother to find. It was all rather painful and had little to dowith gods and everything to do with Mum rejecting the way I chose to dress,wear my hair and the music I listened to. She felt somewhat betrayed by myapparently ‘Nancy boy’ ways detesting seeing a male with long hair. It was, asI said a painful time. I so wish I knew then what I know now. I know Mum blamesherself but it really wasn’t her fault or mine but rather the times, fresh andnew as they were then, that confused and bruised us both. I see her now sofrail and stooped and my heart fills with an unbelievable love. It is not thesame love I have for my children though. It is close but less unconditional.

My dislike of Christianity continuedfor so many years, well into my thirties and possibly even my forties. I lookat the world now, the world we (and let’s stop blaming politicians andfinancial institutions for all our woes and take some of the responsibility) inhabitwhile investing all the wrong philosophies. Greed is a funny concept and I reallydon’t think we as a society have become greedy but we certainly seem to havelost so many important values.

God is just a concept. I cannotbring myself intellectually to believe in a creator but if you look at the coreof the Monotheists faith you discover a similar belief as shared by Hindus, Buddhists,Sikhs, Wiccans and those whose lifestyle could be described as Taoist and/or Confuciusist;that belief is tolerance, caring, love and also a lack of avarice.

I sold all my albums. This mayseem nothing but they had been collected since the sixties and numbered inthousands. They meant everything to me. I do not miss them. The music is stillthere in my mind and on the radio and with the advent of modern technology onmy PC. I used to earn a good salary, better than most and I bought so manythings I didn’t need. I hope to earn that kind of money again but not so I canwaste it as I did before. I want security for me and my family. I do not wantwardrobes filled with clothes, shelves filled with CD,s.

Going without has and continues tobe painful but it is not as bad as I thought. When the tide turns and myfortunes return then will come the real test but for now my Chi is positive andmy attitude to others and myself better than it has ever been. Perhaps I havefound some form of God?

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all words and art are copyright © of Russell 'C.J' Duffy. For another side of CJ go here: sOMeThiNg For tHE wEeKeND, SiR?

2011-12-22T21:28:00.000Z

Today Brian, Lee and Chris after working the day, left for the holiday break. Brian will be working from home and Chris from basingstoke office. Lee will be relaxing in doors with his wife and family. I find it quite incredible the way clients are rushing through jobs that are now apparently urgent all at the last minute. Surely they must have know about them before this week?
I still have to get Jasmine a present so must go to Lakeside tomorrow to see what they have. I have no idea what to get her and neither does Thumscrew. Tweezil was more help but the gifts she thought appropriate are now out of my financial reach. Gone are the days of buying extravagent gifts.
Apart from the insane flood of work it has been quiet at the Fizzing drug Store as most who work here have gone for the two week break.
I thought it would be a nice touch to have a candle placed inside an ornate glass jar to sit on the upper landing. I lit the thing and left it there brightly casting its shadowy glow. Moments later Jasmine appeared looking haunted and scared. She was concerned that my Mum maybe coming for Christmas. I assured her she wasn't. Ironically only weeks ago she was asking me to get my Mum to come. Now Jasmine looks appaled by the thought. Poor Mum left alone at 87 at Christmas. I will get over one way or another.
Jasmine is now behaving like Grace Poole. It was disturbing to see her looking as she did tonight.
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all words and art are copyright © of Russell 'C.J' Duffy. For another side of CJ go here: sOMeThiNg For tHE wEeKeND, SiR?

2011-12-21T23:47:00.000Z

Tonight was the company Christmas meal. Both teams for Eagle and Henry and the Fizzing Drug Store went out to a restaurant in Surrey; the oddly named Spaghetti Tree. A daft name if I ever heard one - less tree and more cacti. The staff, apart from one, were prickly, the food rubbery and served by a waiter who must have attended Basil Fawlty’s master class in bad manners. As the food was paid for by Red Astaire I can hardly complain but I did feel a little embarrassed on behalf of Helen who invited me and who paid for the whole shebang. The company was good but the meal wasn’t.

Christmas is upon us but I feel little of the cheer I should. I am dreading spending the festivities with my family. Not that I don’t want to but the atmosphere will be undoubtedly frosty. Jasmine will expect us all to behave in a certain manner which in turn will mean no one truly relaxes as they should. Maybe I am being unfair, maybe it won’t be like that at all but I still fear the worst.

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all words and art are copyright © of Russell 'C.J' Duffy. For another side of CJ go here: sOMeThiNg For tHE wEeKeND, SiR?

2011-12-20T22:37:00.000Z

Dave is now working hard on the artwork. Most of his effortshave so far been spent naturally enough on Book One. Cover is underway and he is now working on the inner sections too. I now have to step up a gear as well. I now need to regularalise all indents. I think, from looking at the many books I have, the most commono method is to indent by two characters and not the four or five I have erratically used. Also, I need to remove any page numbers as when the book is uploaded the page number is bound to increase as the format decreases in size but extendeds in length. Bloody hard work this but enormous fun too.

Watched 'Nowhere Boy' last night which really nails Lennon's formative teenage years and doesn't present the Beatle as being all sweetness and light but as sometimes fould mouthed, abusive and on occassion, violent man. Good film..
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all words and art are copyright © of Russell 'C.J' Duffy. For another side of CJ go here: sOMeThiNg For tHE wEeKeND, SiR?

2011-12-19T23:45:00.000Z

Dave now working furiously on Fekenham. Doing some great stuff too. the first inner page draft has been 'roughed.' I like it BUT it needs working on. Both Dave and my fear is how the size will look when pro-down to fit Kindle. Will the 'newspaper article' be legible? Maybe needs to go on seperate page with the body text increased in size? Possibly need the fake ad's also made larger and on a seperate page. Dave is really concerned at how a Jpeg will look. They are at best OK but as any one in design or print will know, not the best way to present artwork. Still, print is not the electronic medium so maybe we are worrying

Unnecessarily

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all words and art are copyright © of Russell 'C.J' Duffy. For another side of CJ go here: sOMeThiNg For tHE wEeKeND, SiR?

2011-12-18T23:50:00.000Z

Having paid a great deal of lip service regarding chopping down the trees in the back garden I, along with Jimbob Badfinger, finally got round to doing it.

In actual fact I had to wait for hours as Jimbob went to have his haircut. For a bloke whose hair is receding as quickly as my own I would have thought he had little to trim but he was gone a for tow hours. When he returned, after having had lunch, we set too it.

I had borrowed Ray’s ladders and Jimbob climbed them tying a rope around the limb for me to tug on to prevent it going through Ray’s shed. This took minutes even with Ray chirping in the background with his instructions. I was all very Mrs Bucket like.

One limb down it was the turn of the willow. Jamie sliced of many branches which I in turn sliced into smaller logs. The trouble with willows is they grow such wispy bits which are hard, if not impossible to saw. I simply folded them as best I could then chucked them onto the ever growing stack of wood in the middle of the garden.

Jimbob then decided to really take of a large branch which must have measured a thirty inch circumference. We both thought that tying the rope around the branch would enable me, as I had been delegated the task, of tugging the branch as it fell away for next doors fence panel. Alas the plans of mice and men. The branch fell like the proverbial pulling me flat onto my backside. It also crashed into the fence panel destroying the upper section. Fearing a falling out with my next door neighbours I hastened round to apologise but Sonia, as informed by her daughter, had gone out to see what the loud crash had been. Fortunately both she and husband Martin are good sorts and after I had said we would pay for the panel she laughed at the wreckage and debris out attempts at tree felling had left on her back lawn. We cleaned it all up and as we left I even had the cheek to try and sell her my Kindle books. She smiled sweetly but I could tell was having none of it!

Dinner was a stew, veggie for me, and was simply delicious. I had a huge dumpling that a family good have eaten. Smashing!

I do wish she would sit with me in the lounge. It gets so lonely down there when I am not writing. Jimbob came down a couple of times and also Squid but, as much as I love them, I miss having someone – a partner, to talk to.

‘Hancock’ was on TV. It is one of the better ‘superhero’ films. There was also the last in the franchise of Star Trek films but the damn film kepy breaking up. So much for digital TV.

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all words and art are copyright © of Russell 'C.J' Duffy. For another side of CJ go here: sOMeThiNg For tHE wEeKeND, SiR?

2011-12-17T23:06:00.000Z

Unusually for me I slept in today. I first woke at eight, went down stairs to have my injection followed by breakfast but then, as no one was up went back to bed. I woke up when Jimbob came in and then the phone rang. Jasmine was going to be back late. It was eleven fifteen which has to be an all-time record for me. It felt wonderfully indulgent.

Things seem slightly better between Jasmine and I. A sort of peace exists that is welcome even if fragile. Jasmine seems marginally better in herself and has been for two job interviews one of which has offered her a position there to which she readily accepted. After the horrid business with the last Pharmacy and the appalling way they treated their staff she no longer wants to pursue that career. I find that an awful waste as she worked hard to get her qualifications. The owners of the chemists in Eastwood Road Rayleigh should be ashamed of themselves but I doubt they have the capacity to feel such emotions.

Another visit to Sainsbury’s which is rapidly becoming tedious. I love my Mum and will do anything for her but the repetition is killing me. She seems to have steeled herself to the fact that she will be spending Christmas on her own. I think it is a crime but I seem powerless to change things.

I took Brett and Grace back to ours for diner. I like Brett the more I know him. He has no ambitions whatsoever and I find that odd but he is a polite well natured soul and a welcome addition to the family. Anyway, it really doesn’t matter what we think of him as Grace is still crazy about him.

Had a bit of a bust up with Jasmine; I so wanted to show how willing I was to get into the spirit of Christmas that I suggested taking the glass vase that sits on the kitchen table, removing the fake flowers and putting them somewhere safe. Her instant reaction was to suggest that I had never liked the flowers and wanted to get rid of them. I don’t. I like the flowers. I just wanted to impress her with my idea to place a large candle into the glass vase then sit on the window ledge on the top floor landing. I said things I shouldn’t. I still react to easily.

Then Thumbscrew and Jasmine fell out over something equally stupid. At this time of my life all I want is peace and love. All we seem to have is constant tension. Squid gets so upset by all the foolishness and I found her again crying. If for no other reason I will do my utmost for her. Why should she suffer?

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all words and art are copyright © of Russell 'C.J' Duffy. For another side of CJ go here: sOMeThiNg For tHE wEeKeND, SiR?

2011-12-16T23:30:00.000Z

Always take the weather with you is a fine sentiment one I could have done with today. It was bitter cold this morning when I started out. By the time I hit the Dartford crossing sleet was falling, large droplets of rain mixed with flakes of snow. Although I find snow magical, sleet is anything but. Lorries flew past me throwing up dirt and muck that coated the yellow beetle in a grim splattering of filth. The further along I travelled the less it sleeted as the conditions turned to snow. Kent had a mild covering as did Surrey but as I turned into Mill Lane then left toward Walton Oaks so there was more evidence of snow. I was quite amazed as I drew up in front of the security barrier as snow was thick and a sign outside had been placed to warn people to be careful when walking from their cars as it was slippery under foot.

Thank god for a hot coffee when I arrived at my desk. The snow outside was falling in large clumps, the grounds were covered in a blanket of white. I had long been looking forward to seeing Paul again and meeting his family but if the journey of some 99 miles was to be like this then maybe I should postpone or put it off altogether.

As the morning moved on so an unbelievably fast thaw took place, by noon the snow was melting and the coating of white was turning to puddles.

I hadn’t realised how faraway Dorset is. The trip took over two and a half hours. Paul looked nervous when I arrived. He welcomed me in taking my coat and scarf. I was greeted also by Maisie and Kathleen who sneaked a look at me as I stood at the door. Maisie is a pretty blonde whilst Kathleen a red head. Michelle was as pretty and as small as Paul had said she was. Paul had baked pizza and prepared some salad which was kind of him. After we sat down and chatted. I was keen to learn more about Canada as the only info I ever get is from Eric and that always strikes me as being very ‘French Canadian’ opposed to Michelle who really seems to be the stereotypical ‘English Candain’ I had heard of.

Both Kathleen and Maisie seemed in boisterous mood probably due to being cooped up in a bungalow with a strange man. I could see Paul’s obvious concerns and typical Englishness as both his daughters climbed over furniture. It is something my Mum would frown at, my Grandmother comment upon but I think there are far worse things kids can do and besides, they made me laugh. The joy I felt when Kathleen held her arms out to me saying the first word I truly comprehended, ‘Hug’ followed by a kiss was fantastic. I think Maisie has got the impression that this Englishman is really mad. She ‘cooked’ me cake made of some sort of plastic malleable gunk . Of course I ate it and who wouldn’t? It would have been rude not too.

The journey home was easy enough and I arrived in time to cook myself my dinner.

Thumbscrew had some freinds round, Sam and Gemma, both of the gay brigade. Thumbscrew asked me if I would take them to 'Zinc,' a club in Southend. I said I would then settled down to watch TV. Th enoise the girls made was unbelivable. I though they had all gone back to being twelve years old again. Giggling and banging with music playing. Then followed some horseplay withSam and Gemma removing Thumbscrew's bra which they threw out her bedroom window.
I felt really uncomfortable which I find hard to explain. I didn't bother me when they were kids but at 28 it just seemed odd.
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all words and art are copyright © of Russell 'C.J' Duffy. For another side of CJ go here: sOMeThiNg For tHE wEeKeND, SiR?

2011-12-14T18:32:00.000Z

Dave sent through another rough draft. He asked some pertinent questions about fonts and page sizes too. All in all looks promising. Once I have approved this and possibly one or two more roughs, he will start the process of painting the cover leaving it i ratio for reduction to Kindle. He is aware of the sizing issues and being a creative designer and reprograhics man hopefully knows what he's doing 'cos i don'T!
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all words and art are copyright © of Russell 'C.J' Duffy. For another side of CJ go here: sOMeThiNg For tHE wEeKeND, SiR?

2011-12-13T21:20:00.000Z

Spent more time on ‘The Politics of Turnips’ writing about 500 words. Still need to re-read Book Three especially the ending so as to get a better recall of at what stage I had left the characters. Most I remember by for continuity sake I really should check.

Jasmine was out again tonight with Sharon which has to be a good thing. Thumbscrew tells me Jasmine has a job interview tomorrow which also sounds encouraging.

Mum still recovering from another bout of a chest infection. She was prescribed anti-biotic’s over a fortnight ago but still is struggling to breathe. The nurses have given her a nebuliser which helps. When she stands up now she has problems to maintain her balance and no longer stands as tall as she once did. Hopefully she will be well enough to go shopping on Saturday if not me and the kids will have to do it.

Not heard from Mark so I am unsure how the latest venture (the discharge magazine) is going. I would still like to do it but finding it hard to keep so many creative balls in the air. I would also like to produce another ISSUU magazine that is about spirituality. Not some sentimental pseudo-faith thing but something grounded that concerns itself with a broad spectrum of beliefs: from Buddha to Hinduism to Monotheism to Tao and including Confucius – a magazine called ‘Whispering Grass.’

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all words and art are copyright © of Russell 'C.J' Duffy. For another side of CJ go here: sOMeThiNg For tHE wEeKeND, SiR?

2011-12-12T22:09:00.000Z

Met Grace from her place of work. She disclosed that she is growing tired of working in an old people’s home. As much as she enjoys her job the thought of seeing yet another elderly person die is proving hard to bear. I so wish she had been more studious when at college. She could have followed in her big sisters footsteps and had a career she valued. Very few jobs are joys to work every day but it is quite horrible to have to do something you no longer like.

Mum tried phoning Jasmine but the latter is still too deeply depressed to want to talk to anyone let alone my Mum. I fear now that Christmas will be a fractured family affair with me spending time with both my family and my Mum. So very sad especially as this may be Mum’s last year with us.

Heard from C via E-mail. I thought I may have scuppered another long distance friendship but she informed me this not the case. I hope she buys the books.

I should have spent the evening working on book four but still need to catch-up with my re-reading of three before I begin. It was deathly quiet when I got in - Thumbscrew out, Jimbob upstairs watching his TV as was Jasmine. The only one to greet me later on was darling Squid. I am so lucky to have a child like her.

Boris and Ken are squaring up to each other. I saw this on an E-mail from Smoke, the indie magazine that writes London and its evirons...
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all words and art are copyright © of Russell 'C.J' Duffy. For another side of CJ go here: sOMeThiNg For tHE wEeKeND, SiR?

2011-12-11T23:20:00.000Z

. Dave sent me the first 'group draft' for the front cover f Fekenham. The only changes I want is for Ethel to not have a middle - she is sexy but fat and Elivis Linkthorpe doesn't have a beard. I like what I see

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all words and art are copyright © of Russell 'C.J' Duffy. For another side of CJ go here: sOMeThiNg For tHE wEeKeND, SiR?

2011-12-10T23:43:00.000Z

As I left to take me and Squid to Mum’s, Jasmine asked me if I could be back by 5.30. Very unusual for her to ask that and so I asked her why. She was going out for the evening with some people she used to work with which I see as a positive thing. With clinical depression the slump can last for weeks so it is good to see her engaging with friends even if she was having anxiety attacks.

The bloody vacuum needed cleaning. Within its collection of filth were enough dog hairs to have knitted a scarf along with two pairs of ladies pants. I cleaned the ruddy thing out then went to put the top back on the cylinder only to find it had jammed shut. Tired pulling the damn thing apart but was in fear of my life that it would break and we simply cannot afford to buy a replacement. I left the thing for Jimbob to look at.

More letters from debt collectors. The thought terrifies me as does the image of two large men turning up at my door to take away the TV of sofa or whatever it is they take in compensation for what’s owed. The TV is Thumbscrew’s but the sofa’s aren’t. How I yearn for the days when I had money. What a fool I have been. To have inherited all that money, to have earn’ t a good salary and too have squandered it all now sound like madness. It didn’t at the time as I thought, or rather I didn’t think things could get so bad.

The evening was spent with Squid watching for two hours (Oh what joy) the X-Factor. Earlier on whilst a t Mum’s she had sat on my lap and cried. When I asked her why she was crying she said she missed Grace and she wished that Jasmine and I and Jasmine and Mum could all be friends. I felt like shit when I saw her so upset. Watching the bloody X-factor was my hair shirt.

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all words and art are copyright © of Russell 'C.J' Duffy. For another side of CJ go here: sOMeThiNg For tHE wEeKeND, SiR?

2011-12-09T23:37:00.000Z

. I was both chuffed and concerned when I heard David Cameron had used the veto. A part of me, the bullish patriot, was glad to see someone at last saying no to Europe. The other part of me felt a niggling doubt over what appears to be an extreme action. In fairness this is only the early stages of negotiation but as much as I would love to see Great Britain stand on its own the fact we have spent billions on joining, albeit on the periphery, would be foolhardy just to up and go even in light of the ticking bomb that is the European Union. The reaction to Cameron’s stance has been favourable among fellow Brits who I think like that bulldog spirit. Churchill though was fighting an enemy, a fascist state who threatened the world; modern Europe may not be everyone’s cup of tea but they are not the enemy.

I tend to think Cameron’s sudden rise in popularity owes more to his inability to negotiate a good deal rather than it does his Churchillian tendencies. Margaret Thatcher was a Euro sceptic but she managed, as did her bastard offspring Tony Blair, to win a powerful position for the UK in Europe but without us having to go the full hog and sign-up. Leaving now I think would cause us enormous problems not only with our trading (all that is legally covered) but more importantly with America who rely on the UK to be their plenipotentate in Europe. Our position in the world owes a great deal to us being a European nation who has one foot in Europe whilst maintaining the so called special relationship.

If we want to leave then we should have planned for it by reconnecting with the rest of the Commonwealth to ensure we still have someone to trade with. The fact we ever let out Commonwealth connections drift has always amazed me. Fancy having a nation like India with whom we share such a great history to simply sit there.

It is very different in the world of Fekenham of course. The United States are still the mighty power but are held in balance by a federal Europe that includes three powerful nations: Russia, Germany and France with Spain, Italy and Greece the ‘new boys.’ Then we have Imperial China that still has a dictatorial Emperor whose family have for years been increasing their empire conquering countries such as Korea, Laos, Vietnam, Cambodia etc.. Albion (our United Kingdom) is part of the Commonwealth that include a United Ireland, Scotland and Wales.

Fiction is so much more appealing than reality especially as have to live through the bad times.

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all words and art are copyright © of Russell 'C.J' Duffy. For another side of CJ go here: sOMeThiNg For tHE wEeKeND, SiR?

2011-12-08T23:02:00.000Z

With the financial crisis still impacting on my life I start to wonder, as many others too must be wondering, if the life I/we lead is really meant to be how it is. Is there not a better way? I live in a country that is if not the most generous than for sure in the top two but also a country that has fallen under the Thatcher spell whilst paradoxically still believing in a welfare state, created by Clement Attlee. In some bizarre way the two have linked together.

Margaret Thatcher regenerated a country whose economy was flagging. She also restored national pride at a time when there was none to speak of. She also inspired a new age of entrepreneurial spirit which mutated into a nation of ‘I wants’ who worship money more than any other false god. Nowadays we all believe we should have the big house, a car for him, a car for her, two or three holidays a year, clothes bought on a regular basis and at great cost, TV’s, DVD, IPhones, PC’s and satellite TV. That’s without health provided on tap.

Clement Attlee, the only visionary in modern politics, laid the foundation stone for the modern welfare state. It was meant to a system that helped those in need or who had fallen on hard times. It was not meant to be, as it now is, a way for societal ticks to feed off the many by abusing the very thing that was created to help those that needed it. Women having seven children who claim benefit so that they might live in seven room houses is a corruption of something I hold dear.

Since 1979 we in the UK have gone global. Led by market forces perhaps and some, myself included, would say all to the good. Also in the same time frame we Brits, leading the field for once, have turned into an island filled with a population who not only want but expect, as if by divine right, not only a decent lifestyle but one that offers security no matter what.

Something for nothing is not how it works. Something for all that offers help should not be abused.

Found out today, even if every other bugger seemed to know already, that the Fizzing Drug Store are making 42% of their workforce redundant. At least that is how I understand it. 42% means something like 425 people losing the livelihoods which in turn impacts on those left to perform the duties of those departing.

I think this is both a knee jerk reaction to the recession but also a callous way to trim costs. The modern world has lost all sense of priority as the wheels of commerce grind on. Where is the soul? Where is the spirituality? Does human life mean so little in the bigger picture? The answer seems to be, yes..

2011-12-07T18:43:00.001Z

I have noted of late that those twins of deception, the two C’s in politics in case we thought there was just one, Cameron and Clegg, seem less joined at the hip than they had. Perhaps it is the collapse of the Euro that has caused the separation as both have hugely different opinions on the union. As the moths flutter and the French pass the blame on to the Anglo-Saxon financial system (us and the Yanks presumably) matters between fellow Europeans is becoming increasingly fraught. Greeks have always felt to outsiders even though they desperately want to be part of that club. Now it is Germany and France who are going to run the show. Let’s hope Dashing Dave can play the UK’s cards like a poker hand. He needs to be tough, resolute and determined. We surely do not want to disenfranchise the big two old enemies of ours but neither do we want to concede to any formal initiative that sucks us further into something that seems to be on the brink of collapse.

Apparently, Jasmine fears a return to work. I hope she soon feels better and changes her mind for without her income we will lose the house.

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all words and art are copyright © of Russell 'C.J' Duffy. For another side of CJ go here: sOMeThiNg For tHE wEeKeND, SiR?

2011-12-06T23:23:00.000Z

I have been thinking a lot lately, when not hard at it writing, about discharge. I started the site in November 2005. It has been six years of mostly fun but more recently frustration. I have been unable to contribute as I would have liked to, nor do I have the means to produce art as I once did. I have decided to leave the ‘internet’ side of discharge but hopefully will be able to create a monthly or possibly bi-monthly magazine that can be published on ISSUU. Currently the ISSUU site has had 85,000 visitors with some 15,000 reading my first chapbook. By no means a huge following but big enough to act as a spring board to launch a magazine. With luck, having spoken with Mark Scammell I may be able to edit this project whilst her supplies laydowns and pagination. As editor I would then have to enlist the help of other people to write in frequent articles of up to 1,000 words. 500 may be better. By using the existing “discharge family” I could then spread the net a bit and invite other artists to publish their work to enable them t raise their profile but also allow us to make some money to keep the project moving along. Discharge on the internet would then remain under Ruela’s guidance. I think it could work. The only problem might be being able to produce a magazine on a monthly basis. We will have to see. Hopefully, I will be meeting up with Mark over the Christmas break.

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all words and art are copyright © of Russell 'C.J' Duffy. For another side of CJ go here: sOMeThiNg For tHE wEeKeND, SiR?

2011-12-05T22:38:00.000Z

They flutter wildly above me. White winged and thin. Birds of imagination. A trick of the dark hours that appear when reality collides with creation. A lone candle flickers by the TV. A set of ceiling spotlights colour the fiction that fills the page. The house creaks as the heating slows its heartbeat as night slips in silent as death. It is like a death in some ways but the truth of a fictional deadline is my engine. The final chapter has been a long time coming dodging dim fears dancing dangerous around my lack of words…is 70,000 words enough? But it isn’t 70k it is more like 67k! This is Kindle for Christ sake, stop whinging, stop whining, get on with it. Write.

And so I did and finally it is done. But it isn’t. I now have to re-read and amend as quickly as possible then create cover, title page, dedication, thanks, credits etc. etc. etc.

The moon is smiling far beyond me. The stars wheel and spin. Those dizzying heights are what I want and I’ll be damned if I won’t succeed. One way or another I will get this done.

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all words and art are copyright © of Russell 'C.J' Duffy. For another side of CJ go here: sOMeThiNg For tHE wEeKeND, SiR?

2011-12-04T23:17:00.000Z

I awoke as the alarm went off at six but laid were I was debating whether I needed to get up then or leave it to half six. It takes about an hour for me to get to London and I tossed around the idea of parking in Worship Street (another old haunt) EC2 but when I got closer to Wapping seeing the time was eight thirty decided instead to park outside Gastronomica near to Wapping Station. Parked the car and caught the Overground to Whitechapel. Unfortunately, the Hammersmith and City line wasn’t running so I got off at Shoreditch and walked down to Liverpool Street.

We met, as we always do nowadays, in Pontis. He had a bacon and egg sarnie and me an egg equivalent Two coffees later, having discussed politics to near death, we had another drink, coffee and tea this time then went off to the Barbican where we settled down to discuss the cover for Fekenham. At the end of it, at about 2pm, we had chewed over which sketches I was best pleased with and how to present the collection of characters I want for book one. The idea is for a group ‘photograph’ type image with Crust Manor in the background and with an airship flying past. In the image will be Arthur Bentwhistle, Verity Lambush, Ralph Ramhard, Ethel Blowvalve, Vicar Linkthorpe and Brigadier Largepiece.

Dave’s preliminary sketches are amazing. I had told him that in my mind Verity looks like Helen Mirren. However, I also said Verity is a woman who looks prim and proper but secretly harbours a vampish sexual appetite. Dave thought Helen Mirren, gorgeous and sensual as she is, didn’t quite fit the bill and so based his sketch on Gillian Anderson from a part she played from Dickens: Lady Dedlock.

He was right. Helen would be more than welcome to snuggle up with me beneath mu eiderdown but Gillian Anderson in the role he found the image from is ideal. Suddenly Verity Lambush nee Mildred lives and breathes. His pencil sketch is perfect.

He also had problems with Ethel whose character I had described adding she was a bit like Hattie Jaques. Hattie was an incredible actress and Dave’s sketches caught her admirably but she just wasn’t the right face even if she was the right size. For Ethel, Dave produced a blonde with a very naughty face which is Ethel personified. Most of the other characters he followed my ideas for: Largepiece as Frank Thornton, Ralph Ramhard as a sort of Tom Selleck but without the tash. For Arthur Bentwhistle he produced, as asked, Alun Armstrong but with a bigger nose. Then he added Leonard Rossiter as Rigsby’s body….FANTASTIC! For Vicar Elvis Linkthorpe he struggled. Again my vision was of a wackier version, more hippyish, James May. Dave sketched the man but it simply wasn’t right. He then showed me his sketch of a young Donald Sutherland which was ideal. Once he sticks the head on to the body he had prepared dressed in a leather jacket, kilt and DM’s and BINGO!

Really pleased with what he has so far done.

We spoke of the schedule which he seems fine with and also the other bits that need doing for the text pages. Again he is confident he can achieve end of Jan.

It was a good day even though he does still seem a little depressed. If only I or someone could find some clients for his design business.

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Brigadier Humphrey Largepiece

Ethel Blowvalve

Verity Lambush

2011-12-03T21:16:00.000Z

Thumbscrew went to Brighton today suggesting Jasmine drive down tomorrow to meet her there. The only concern I had was for Jasmine to drive to Sussex in our car as it is in dire need of a service. I do it every day but that’s up to me. I asked her if she wanted to go and suggested I would catch a train to meet Dave but she said no. I think the depression (now certified as clinical) is still there, still having its negative effect.

This weekend we all went to Mum’s: Tweezil, Squid, Brett and me. No gardening even though there are still bits to do. Sadly, I have now had my fill of Sainsbury’s, nice shop though it is. I do wish we could all do something slightly different each Saturday other than walk around a supermarket.

Tweezil tried to persuade my Mum to come for Christmas. I think she will but she genuinely is concerned about the reception she may get. I don’t think she would as we all, apart for Ebenezer Jimbob, enjoy the Yuletide festivities.

I wrote a bit more to EB and am looking forward to meeting Dave tomorrow but also slightly concerned. His and my idea of urgent or schedule differs. I will have to make sure he realises what is required.

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all words and art are copyright © of Russell 'C.J' Duffy. For another side of CJ go here: sOMeThiNg For tHE wEeKeND, SiR?

2011-12-02T17:53:00.001Z

Today dragged by. Still quiet at work though signs are there of POA about to strike soon. There were lots of tedious admin to do which I always struggle with. I did all I could as quickly as possible. By 11am I started to fidget with boredom so turned to writing more of EB. The problem with that is you still get infrequent phone calls that distract you. I had to remember on several occasions that the client phoning me was not an irritating doo- dangle and not someone I should readily bite the head off for interrupting a man at work.

Later, as I typed I listened to more from “Barton Hollow” the effect of which was to make the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. Beautiful sounds from two incredible singer/songwriters. Then I played some Laura Veirs who is another fantastic singer/songwriter and whose latest album, following on after seven masterpieces, is a series of covers of old traditional songs. Again, quite beautiful.

Brian played solitaire most of the day then we both became excited when the editor of ‘One’ Magazine phoned to discuss our managing the next editions print run. Excited? Over statement. Slightly, mildly interested maybe.

Not sure what I am doing tomorrow, cleaning most likely then taking the brood to Mum’s. Hey ho!

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all words and art are copyright © of Russell 'C.J' Duffy. For another side of CJ go here: sOMeThiNg For tHE wEeKeND, SiR?

2011-12-01T23:59:00.000Z

Well here it is and then it wasgone, the first day of 2012. Funny thing is it feels just like any other day ofany other year. It is hard to conceive though of how fast life is now passing.This rapid passage of time fills me with both wonder and dread. I want so muchto have committed to life something of value and I don’t feel I have. Of coursethere are my children and I thank whatever random force it was that gave themto me but beyond them what else have I done? Pretty much nothing. Success hasbeen a scenic railway ride. I have had moderate success on occasion beforedipping down into the cesspit of life. No, that is wrong. This moment now isthe worse I have been through and I should remember where I live which wewouldn’t have if not for a job, never career, that paid damn good money. Newsof the World was a good period but I led me to think that such a salary was myright. It wasn’t. I have been chasing that cash cow ever since and, at times,catching it, matching it only for it to disappear like smoke. Mum spoke of myinheritance recently, a subject I detest thinking about let alone discussing.After all has been set straight I should have more than £100,000. The last setof inheritance was three times that and every penny was spent with none of itbeing put away for a rainy day. I shall not make that mistake again.

I did little of any worth today.Put some washing on, did some cleaning and some washing up but nothing much beyondthat. I am some 7,000 words into BookFour – “The Politics of Turnips.” That amounts of two chapters – not bad going.My main focus remains getting the first four books published via Kindle.

This evening has been weird. Inever watch, or seldom at any rate, soap operas but tonight I did. Pat Butcherof East Enders fame ‘died’ tonight. I found it rather moving.

Jasmine went to bed early havingtaken sleeping tablets. She took to Grace’s old bed, a single, which shecontinually fell out of. As she did so there was a loud bang as she hit thefloor. This was accompanied by a yelp. I must have gone up several times to seeif she was all right as did Jamie. Twice I covered her up with the duvet, oncehelped her back in to bed but it was the horrifying spectacle of seeing hercareen from wall to wall as she stumbled like a drunk as she attempted to getback from Jamie’s room (gods know what she was doing in there) to Grace’s room.She looked like one of the ‘Living Dead’ a Zombie. Really upset me seeing herlike that.

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all words and art are copyright © of Russell 'C.J' Duffy. For another side of CJ go here: sOMeThiNg For tHE wEeKeND, SiR?

2011-12-01T20:56:00.000Z

I suppose there should have been a fanfare, something to announce the coming festive season but December crept in like a nun. It was grey today, wet, windy and raining, all to the good as we are, or will be by next summer, suffering a drought. It makes me laugh when I read this just as it did when I heard the chap on the radio telling us we need more rain. He’s right of course and I try to pass the horrid wet day off as being of benefit but I hate rainy days. I much prefer the cold.

Spoke with Dave who I am seeing on Sunday. He sounds very down in the dumps. Still no work and no money coming in, his Christmas will be a bleak one. I feel awful for him but seem unable to help as I said I would. I have tried to find printers who might want someone like him, or rather a company like his, to produce design work but they too are suffering having to pull back and account for every penny. I feel a little guilty as the deal was that he would produce illustrations for my books and I would either pay when the money from the sale of the stories comes in OR by finding him clients. I have failed to do the later. I will try again to see if anyone is out there.

EB is done. I now need to re-read it and either fill in any bits that need filling in or, conversely take out anything that is not needed. Then, when Paul gets back to Canada, I will send the finished story on for editing. This leaves me December and January to finish all that is needed on the four books and then to get cracking on the fourth Fekenham book. Four books on Kindle will be fine. Five would have been better. I do not want to sacrifice continuity or quality in my mad attempt to publish by February so will concede that book four will have to wait.

I am told Jasmine seems slightly better. I don't get to see her so have to listen to Thumbscrew. Apparently, she saw a friend the other night and even though dreaded meeting her had a good time. In my heart I wish she could find someone, some wealthy man who give her security and happiness as I seem unable to give her either. It is ironic though that she again is suffering with depression having been neurotic all her life for when I was suffering she simply didn't recognise my hatefulness as part of the depression but just as me being unpleasant. She needs to be secure and I have never been able to supply that for her.

Money is still impossibly tight. Red letters arrive almost every day. The sight of them makes my stomach shrivel. How I wish I could time travel. Go back just a few years when money was not such an issue. My hope for the books is nothing more than a way to lay my hands on some cash. Fingers crossed it works

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all words and art are copyright © of Russell 'C.J' Duffy. For another side of CJ go here: sOMeThiNg For tHE wEeKeND, SiR?

2011-12-01T16:16:00.001Z

My heart is where my hat is and my hat is in my hand

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all words and art are copyright © of Russell 'C.J' Duffy. For another side of CJ go here: sOMeThiNg For tHE wEeKeND, SiR?

2011-11-30T22:43:00.000Z

Today is the first day of strikes by the public union sector. As much as I sympathise with the strikers I do not believe strikes resolve anything and impacts on others who are equally needy. Thumbscrew went to work. She too thinks the unions have a valid point but believes her first duty is to her patients. I think she is right but this of course is what subsequent governments rely on; the fact that poorly paid and essential servants to us all are made to feel a moral obligation to work. The NHS is a jewel in our crown. It is not there as a free dispenser to the fakers, abusers and hypochondriacs but a vital tool to ensure that we have a healthy nation but also a workforce able to function. Discussion and communication are the only way to resolve issues and both union and government have been sorely wanting in that respect.

I feel very proud of Thumbscrew’s stance.

Apparently, when asked in a recent opinion poll, the British public all see a better future ahead and, even in light of the financial straits we now find ourselves in , all still feeling positive. There is though an air of negativity that is almost palpable. Not so much that things are forever to be black and gloomy but of reviewing and changing the way our capitalist society functions. If you listen to a historian they would tell you it has all happened before. The fifties and sixties were a time of growth only for the bubble to burst in the seventies which led to the worst financial time Britain had ever seen in the eighties. Milk Snatcher put the economy back on track even if only the South of England benefited from it. This depression, and let’s face it that is how it feels, is something different. It is global and effecting even China. This is not the fault of Gordon Brown or the Labour government and it was good to hear George Osbourne say so on the Today Programme. Too often politicians play the finger pointing game. It was good to hear some honesty for once.

The system does need looking at. It needs not so much a ‘strong leader,’ (I think I have had a belly full of those ego driven tosspots) but a visionary who sees not just the problems in front of him/her but the future potential realised now.

I am close to finishing EB. I spent a couple of hours tonight writing and the story has now reached one of its conclusions if not the final climax. It is looking good. Now I have to re-read the whole thing again to see if it needs any tweeking.

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all words and art are copyright © of Russell 'C.J' Duffy. For another side of CJ go here: sOMeThiNg For tHE wEeKeND, SiR?

2011-11-30T13:02:00.001Z

A rather abstract image of our old Scotland haunt. I wish those days could be played over. With the hills behind us that we used to climb, the Irish Sea in front of us and silence all around. We would spend our winters and spring holidays here then go to the Continent for our summer vacations. This old Laird's hunting lodge was the ideal retreat for families wanting to rest or for writers wanting peace and quiet to create. Beautiful.

2011-11-29T22:29:00.000Z

Even quieter today at work. Had the misfortune to have to attend a European telecom which was as much fun as spreading tapioca over my feet. Fact tapioca spreading would have been a huge gas in comparison. The whole telecom bordered on coma inducing boredom, so bad was it that for large periods I put the phone down so I could raise quotes. Thankfully, no questions were fired at me so I managed to get away with it. Funny the way some people seem to find a form of grandeur from being involved in such monotonous drivel. It all struck me as some members deriving a feeling of importance by being involved. I could imagine them entertaining their friends during a meal informing them in some grand way of the vitally important global meetings they had to attend. Some people are too easily impressed.

The rest of the day ran slow, I managed to do some stuff for myself, running off yet another manuscript of Book Three which I then mailed to myself. I now have a growing collection of brown paper envelopes dating back to the last six years filled with similar written pages, at least copyright is secure.

Wrote another 840 words for chapter thirty eight. An unexpected diversion but one that makes perfect sense for the route the book has taken me down. This now means there will be 40 chapters in total with only 70,000 making for the entire content of the book. A short novel but one I am pleased with.

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all words and art are copyright © of Russell 'C.J' Duffy. For another side of CJ go here: sOMeThiNg For tHE wEeKeND, SiR?

2011-11-28T22:32:00.000Z

Incredibly quiet at work which concerns me, not that I fear anything like redundancies but more the fact that a storm something is brewing. POA maybe? I dislike having nothing to do, I feel that worm wriggle in my panic room when work dries up.

The days are drawing in releasing dawn so much later than I like. Darkness lingers long after seven in the morning and outstays its welcome well before four. I wonder how Icelanders live under such conditions.

Spent the evening, what there was of it when I got home, working on chapter 37. Had a bit of a block but still managed to write 1,300 words. The delay is annoying but not, if I am to be realistic, unexpected. I had put a ridiculous schedule together and have virtually met it. The only thing that is a positive about the delay is that I now have to make time to re-read my work before sending it on to Paul. I had made the mistake of sending unchecked, un-amended chapters to Paul. Now I must go back to the chapters from 18 to 40 to make sure that all is how I want it: tension, colour, pace etc.

I will have to forgoe publishing five books by the end of January as I don’t think it possible to achieve in the given time bearing in mind all the other tasks I have to complete to ensure the first four books are released. What I must do in light of this is to write book four ASAP so that too can be published followed shortly by five and six. Beyond that is anyone’s guess although I quite fancy revisiting and revising a compilation of the short erotic stories I wrote but to include them with some of the othe shorts I have written.

Time takes a cigarette …

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all words and art are copyright © of Russell 'C.J' Duffy. For another side of CJ go here: sOMeThiNg For tHE wEeKeND, SiR?

2011-11-27T22:45:00.000Z

Sunday should have been the calm start to another week, the day when one poodles about doing bits of this and that but in general relaxing in preparation for the working week ahead. I already had cross words with Jasmine last week over the garden and when what should be done and by whom. All very puerile. Today I had said I would cut back the Crimson King, the Birch and the Willow. I of course hadn’t counted on Ray not being next door. I always borrow Ray’s ladders in much the same way he borrows/borrowed our garden furniture. It’s what neighbours do. You would have thought I was making a fuss for the sake of it. I did manage to tidy up some of the twigs and branches cut down by Jasmine and Jamie but that was wrong as, apparently, a bonfire is what is required. I would have thought to have a bonfire you would need to cut the bits into convenient sizes to burn, but hey, what do I know?

I honestly try to show willing just as I did the day she wanted to cut the Silver Birch back but as with that my motives are somewhat more devious than I thought they were. Where has that girl I fell in love with gone? Following on from a morning spent tossing the angry word I retired to my room to write. Finding the flow of the story suddenly easy, the end was always there of course but my style of writing, even though the plot is there well in advance, is very ‘organic.’ Certain elements enter the narratives that then grow with the tale. Characters for example may have been plotted to react in a given way and yet when the occasion arises and because of the way they have interacted with other characters, the whole thing goes down another route. Quite odd the way that happens.

The evening arrived with Jasmine, half way through cooking the meal, announced whe didn’t feel like cooking. I had no concerns over that for even though the way she talks to me hurts her depression is genuine and anyway, who said she had to do all the cooking. I am far from a good cook but even I am able to prepare sausages, mash, carrots and peas and that is precisely what Squid and I had. Delicious it was too.

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all words and art are copyright © of Russell 'C.J' Duffy. For another side of CJ go here: sOMeThiNg For tHE wEeKeND, SiR?

2011-11-26T23:20:00.000Z

As usual I was first awake on Saturday. Thumbscrew arrived home at about 8 looking slightly pissed, certainly tired. She went up to bed as I started to clean the house. Most of it had already been done by Jasmine earlier in the week. Cleaning the kitchen gave me the opportunity to play and listen to Kate Bush’s latest album “50 Words for Snow.” It is, much like all of Kate’s work, highly individual. There will be those that say it is too clever or claim it to be ‘prog rock’ and all I can say to that is to listen again for she is one of this country’s greatest talents. The whole concept of writing an album about snow or winter is thrilling. It could so easily be thought of as pretentious but it is anything but. There is even one song, the title track, which not only fills you with wonderment for her use of invented words but makes you laugh as you listen to Stephen Fry’s well-spoken voice pronounce them. A delightful album that I have played three times in as many days.

Squid and I went to Mum’s after lunch even though Thumbscrew had wanted me to do some banking for her she then said she would go into Southend on her own. I saw Jasmine getting ready so perhaps she was going as well. Be good if she did get out.

My Mum still seems determined not to come for Christmas which seems perverse of her. I know she hates being alone so she should have accepted the olive branch when it was offered. I strongly doubt Jasmine will offer it again. I also think Thumbscrew will side with her Mum as that is the way with her. I missed not seeing Tweezil but at least I got the chance to collect her from work at eight.

When I dropped her off I went straight back home to watch (gods help me) Strictly Come Dancing (which I enjoy) before being forced by Squid to watch The X Factor. Spot the talent show…YUK.

Then it was laptop out and down to writing. Chapter Thirty Seven completed – 2,168 words completed. This means I have another four or five chapters to go before the book is done. Tomorrow night I must try and match the output of the last two nights. I need at least another 2,000 words for each of the remaining chapters.

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all words and art are copyright © of Russell 'C.J' Duffy. For another side of CJ go here: sOMeThiNg For tHE wEeKeND, SiR?

2011-11-25T12:18:00.000Z

Fought against the desire to watch TV and tapped away on my laptop. Wrote more than 2,000 words and feel quite chuffed with how EB is going. Jasmine still not right. Very sad to see her this way. Not just sad as the stereotypical depiction but angry, very, very angry.

I should have EB finished by the end of next week which is slightly beyond the schedule I had set. I can live with that. I will then set about writing book four: ‘The Politics of Turnips.’ Which would be good to have near ready by end of January 2012..

Work is just more toilet with some awful admin work mounting up like a sore on Troll’s back. Finding it hard to concentrate which may be the long hours I am doing on the books. Have to see if there is anything else out there. I have tried but finding work is pretty much a pointless exercise. Most jobs only pay in the mid-thirties which is fair enough I suppose but I am used to more and having to tack around the bloody M25 everyday costs me £100. That is nigh on £5,000 a year all going into petrol and that is without oil, tyres, screen wash etc.

More than half way through ‘The Light Fantastic’ and enjoying every minute of it. Pratchett is the man.

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all words and art are copyright © of Russell 'C.J' Duffy. For another side of CJ go here: sOMeThiNg For tHE wEeKeND, SiR?

2011-11-24T23:58:00.000Z

Chris at work had said he was a fan of Kate Bush and yet had never heard “Ariel.” When I got home I went to the garage to dig out the CD for him. I hadn’t looked at my vinyl collection for some time, depleted ai it now is for some time. Once I and close to 2,000 fashioned albums all with the incredible artwork of their time and all with such a better sound than CD’s or worse PC downloads. I am far from being an expert on recorded sound but every biography by musicians that I have ever read complains about the lack of depth of sound that CD’s produce.

Once I had every Beatle album, along with The Who, The Stones, Jimi Hendrix, Frank Zappa, Captain Beefheart, The Velvets, Led Zep, Yes, King Crimson and Iggy - Tamla and Stax too, not to mention the saviours of the awful early seventies, Roxy Music and every album of Bowies BEFORE his Ziggy period and after. All I have left are my precious Zappa albums and one or two from the glorious ‘76 to ‘82 period. Gone are New Order, the Smiths (best band ever - perhaps?) Joy Division etc. Funny enough I have never counted how many CD’s I have, maybe 500, maybe more, not really interested nor am I that bothered by not having the vinyl anymore which feels strange. I should care, it should matter. Some Zen like phase seems to have entered my life, I am less enamoured by possessing things than I used to be even if I/we still have a great many of the comics I bought in the eighties and far too many books to count

I suppose it would have been nice to have kept all the albums as then I could have fondly pulled them out one at a time, Family, Spooky Tooth, Free, Van der Graaf Generator, Can, UB40, The Clash, The Sex Pistols, Blondie, Love, Peter Gabriel (oh how I love that man’s music), Boomtown Rats, Sparks, Loudon Wainwright III and on and on an etc.

I still love music, still love to hear new sounds but increasingly I find that guitar based music less attractive than it was when I was twelve to fifty. So much is repetitive of what went before. My tastes run to virtually all sub genres but I have given up with how I used to sub divide stuff. The Byrds are under B next to Beefheart, Bowie, Beethoven, Bush and Basie and not as Country Rock or Americana. So called Classical music (Renaissance, Baroque, Romantic and Modern) sit next to Jazz, Rock (oh yeah right what the hell?), Reggae, Folk, Punk (oh yeah right what the hell?), R’n B and so on.

I find listening to music is like going into the ocean. As you walk in, around your feet and ankles are tiny fish that fly about, they are the equivalent of Bucks Fizz, Girls Aloud etc, then as you wade up to your waist there comes those larger fish: the Queens, Abba, Blondie that engage at another level then there come those fish that are able to excite you at all levels like the Beatles, Steely Dan, Blur and Bowie then, as you go deeper you discover Willard Grant Conspiracy, June Tabor, Lucinda Williams and Bob Dylan all diving deeper into the sea.
Then we get those leviathans that defy easy description: Robert Wyatt, Bjork, The Fall, Captain Beefheart, Miles Davis, Shostakovich, Frank Zappa and Philip Glass.

I struggled for so many years trying to place Zappa. Is he Rock? Yes and no. Is he Jazz? Yes and No. Is he blues? Yes and no? Is he Classic? Yes, Yes and no. He is I fact all of them and all at the same time and with vast amounts of humour mixed with odd noises thrown in. The man himself, where he still alive, would laught at my attempts to bag him and so I used to, for convenience sake, place him under Rock.
How would you classify Beefheart. The blues? Inspired by but only a quarter of what his music is. The man is universally accepted as being one of the few musicians from the pop world to have created a work of art in “Trout Mask Replica.” His and the Magic Bands sound was a fractured, disjointed sort of blues with jazz time signatures. He is part blues, part freeform jazz, part surrealism with some of the weirdest lyrics you have ever heard. He is one man where the word genius applies.

I give up and let the alphabet do its work for me.

I put the CD into my bag and will lend it to Chris tomorrow.

Jasmine seems no better. Still keeps to her room like Harry potter in a cupboard. I worked until nearly midnight again on EB. I am now finding it hard as there are TV programmes and films I would like to watch but feel that until I have achieved my aims that I cannot take time off. The book WILL be finished by end of November.

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all words and art are copyright © of Russell 'C.J' Duffy. For another side of CJ go here: sOMeThiNg For tHE wEeKeND, SiR?

2011-11-23T23:20:00.000Z

Jasmine was tucked away in Grace’s room when arrived home. The drugs she is taking to do not properly kick in for six weeks. I am not meant to know so therefore must keep quiet. It would be nice if I could find another pharmacist she could work out of but one that will allow her to practise the qualifications she has. I listened as I typed tonight to Kate Bush’s latest album. “50 words for snow.”

Kate epitomises the word talent. She simply oozes with it. The album is beautiful and filled with a depth of emotion few male artists as they age are able to match. Fortunately Kate is not male and made of a far tougher, less fragile ego than her male counterparts. Of course that is a generalisation as there are plenty of guys who produce equally good music but too often we get that aging swagger that looks more like a drunken geriatric or the weeping willy. Gods bless Kate for having such a wilful creativity that doesn’t just sit outside the box but occupies another universe entirely.

EB now has 34 chapter’s which leaves approx. 10 to go. I now have to complete the book in six days time then send chapters 18 t0 44 to Paul for editing. Then I have to reformat all the text so it is presentable to Kindle ensuring that all images are jpeged and that all text is compatible for the Amazon book thingy. Dave is, I believe, cracking on with the illustrations. I then have to crack on myself with ‘The Politics of Turnips.’ This book will need to be totally ready (written, formatted and illustrated) by the end of Jan. Not sure I am capable of achieving that.

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all words and art are copyright © of Russell 'C.J' Duffy. For another side of CJ go here: sOMeThiNg For tHE wEeKeND, SiR?

2011-11-22T10:10:00.000Z

Jasmine much the same. Her bosses are being callous and cruel. Parish said he had heard it all before and was bored. If he had heard it before then he heard it from someone other than my wife. Jasmine never complains. She made hardly any noise during labour, has twice had pneumonia and when she did didn’t summon the doctor when she should but hung on taking painkillers. Parish’s estranged wife, the bitch on wheels, even suggested that to be depressed you have to have a reason, like bereavement. This is not the case with clinical depression. You only have to ask a doctor and Christ knows I work with dozens of them, pharmacists too. Jasmine’s bosses are unpleasant and unkind and I may just pay them a visit with some ‘friends’ from the East End.

I have not done enough writing this week. I have only once been near the PC/laptop BUT I have hand written most of chapter 32. Trouble is, as much as I deny it, I still get concerned over her.

Work has been busy but manageable. Poor old Brian messed up recently to the tune of £4,000. OUCH! Before I start thinking that I haven’t had such a large error occur on my watch I best remember that we all, especially me, make mistakes. He is genuinely gutted though, poor sod.

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all words and art are copyright © of Russell 'C.J' Duffy. For another side of CJ go here: sOMeThiNg For tHE wEeKeND, SiR?

2011-11-21T22:35:00.000Z

Depression is no fun. That may sound a stupid statement but too often a serious illness is dismissed with a ‘pull yourself together’ remark. I know Thumbscrew is worried and increasingly so am I. She hasn’t been to work in a week having been given a note from her doctor. Her workplace is being uncaring responding to her apologetic texts with curt responses. She is, and always has been, a hard, conscientious worker. I have no right but I feel as though I should go and speak with her boss and give her a piece of my mind. She lays in bed weeping. Her future appears bleak and pointless. She has again suggested that living as no meaning. Whatever the situation between us I would hate to see harm befall her. She is the mother of my children. She was once the only friend I needed. I hear her as she weeps, I see her as she stumbles around the house drugged to the eyeballs. Again I am guilty of cowardice as perhaps I should say something but my fears to one side I think my suddenly showing any form of concern will only make matters worse.

I remember suffering in some small way with depression. It passed but it was horrible whilst it lasted. I think part of the problem for her is where she works. The female boss is spiteful with a cruel tongue that she lashes her subordinates with. Pharmacists would appear to be all calm resolve but this woman, who has a loveless marriage (join the club baby) is anything but. Jasmine is gifted with all things medical and has excelled with becoming a dispenser and not just a shop keeper.

He whole life, apart from her childhood, has been riddled with stress with much of it my fault. She rose to being a Bank Inspector at a young age then we had the children. Wapping caused a huge rift between us that we managed to mend. Seeing her like this makes me feel all the more useless.

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all words and art are copyright © of Russell 'C.J' Duffy. For another side of CJ go here: sOMeThiNg For tHE wEeKeND, SiR?

2011-11-20T23:25:00.000Z

I find myself getting increasingly worried by Jasmine's mental state. Thumbscrew too is concerned. I have seen her this way before. The first time was when she was fourteen just after her father had died. She was understandably upset and had to have tablets to calm her nerves. The second glimpse of her neurosis was demonstrated when Uncle Harry died. Then again during the Wapping dispute. And of course those two other, more recent, events that haunt me and Thumbscrew. I don’t want to spend another night preying she will wake.

We are no longer in love but I still worry about her. If only I had been a little more settled as a man with a career that had remained steady then I think things may have been different. She needs someone who will sail away from those choppy waters and not, like me, wilfully cruise into them.

Christmas is becoming, as I suspected it might, an issue. Jasmine should not have phoned my Mum when she was angry but by the same token Mum should do the decent thing when Jasmine phoned to ask her to come from Christmas and have accepted. Sometimes sorry isn’t spelt with an S nor does it have to be. I think it might have been better if ‘we’ had invited Mum over to our house on Squid’s birthday as I think this would have acted as a balm to calm the situation.

I did no gardening today but spent the time writing. I managed to complete chapter Thirty committing some 2,00 plus words to paper. I then started chapter thirty one using material from an older story which I cut and pasted. I then set about altering and amending the words as they were far to rich in their eroticism for Fekenham tastes.

Things are looking good on the EB front although I think I may not have enough words by the end of the project. 80,000 is my usual output but thus far it looks like being 20,000 short of that. Some serious consideration needs to be applied.

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all words and art are copyright © of Russell 'C.J' Duffy. For another side of CJ go here: sOMeThiNg For tHE wEeKeND, SiR?

2011-11-19T23:10:00.000Z

Up early today determined to get to the banks, have a look at what they have to offer then get ready to go over to Mum;s. Both Barclays and NatWest were shut in Rochford. I then drove to Hockley where the single Barclays was also shut. Annoying but not a major concern. I will have to see if I can find somewhere local to where i work.
Jasmine had said that the hairdresser was calling in this afternoon so I made a swift change of plans phoning first my Mum and the Tweezil. The idea was to leave for Mum's a bit earlier than usual so we could all get to Bluewater in time to have a slow wander around and not feel rushed. As it happens Jasmine said not to worry as Squid's hair could wait and Tweezil was happy not to have her hair cut.
Me and Squid still left half anf hour earlier and I asked Squid to take the milk bottles so we could return them clean to Mum. Squid, in a moment of datness, thought it would be fun to leave the bottles on the roof of the car. i unaware of what she had done got into the car and drove off. A sudden thump, thump, thump followed by an almighty crash alerted me to a problem. I thought someone had thrown something at the car which is bloody silly as no one where i live would do such a thing. I stopped the car and saw the shattered glass glittering on the pavement. Trying hard not to get cross i dashed back home where I picked up a dust pan and brush so as to clean the broken glass away.
Squid has this habit of laughing at the oddest of things but I think she saw the look on my face and kept quiet. As it was an accident I really didn't mind too much.
Bluewater was a challenge. Mum crept around it like an injured snail. We stopped twice for tea and cakes as much for her to catch her breath as for us to eat.
She saw a couple of bits she liked which she then bought. I dread Christmas this year as I know Mum won't be there and Jasmine will be furious.
i did a bit of writing late in the evening but nothing of any note. I did manage to finalise the plot though which enables me to see how the various tensions and 'colours' will affect the story. Tomorrow I will spend the day writint as next week I have loads of gardening to do..
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all words and art are copyright © of Russell 'C.J' Duffy. For another side of CJ go here: sOMeThiNg For tHE wEeKeND, SiR?

2011-11-18T05:00:00.000Z

The world’s first democracy, Greece, has had to accept ‘technocrats’ acting as its political leaders after their financial collapse. Soon after this Italy followed suit. I understand the need to resolve the debt both nations face but wonder to the validity of having unelected administrators brought in to solve the problem. Is this in itself not a defeat for Europe? Facing the possible implosion of the burgeoning fiscal state is perhaps unpalatable to Germany, France and the other member nations but surely by having faceless individuals placed into positions of power with the public not having voted for them is equally as bad if not worse? From a personal point of view I think Germany, if they are genuine about their dreams of a united Europe, will have to accept that, just as in the United States of America, one wealthy state supports the less well off. Germany’s fear of uncontrollable inflation is to be admired as is the way they have grown the wealth of their homeland but to desire something in principle while not supporting it in reality surely is hypocrisy? Perhaps I am guilty of being self-serving as I am worried about the ‘ripples in the pond’ effect that is beginning to impact on Britain but I truly feel that if you want something badly enough you will support it even if the times are bad.

Cold again this morning but not as bad as yesterday. Stupidly left my memory sticks in doors so was unable to do any work on the books at work.

Feeling very ‘up’ at the moment. Tomorrow I intend go to the local bank and open and account. I might need it to be a business account so will have to discuss with whomever. Not sure if I need a business account yet though as I haven’t had any money come in. Apparently, (according to Thumbscrew) I should open my business as a limited company and not sole trader (soul trader for sure!) as there could be tax implications. I think at this stage I needn’t concern myself over such detail but wait until money starts to arrive. If I do start making serious amounts of money then all I need do is leave it there so the bloody taxman can be paid and then open a limited company. According to friends you can buy an old business name for £10. Not sure I would want to buy some old business but will have to look into it.

After the bank I shall take Grace, Brett and Squid to Mum’s. then we shall go Christmas shopping in Bluewater. Really looking forward to it

Had a text from Thumbscrew asking if Big Grammy would lend her £400. The answer is almost certainly yes but I don’t think my family realise that Mum has spent more than enough on us in recent years. She also doesn’t have the wealth she did and people forget that. They still see her as being the family ‘bank.’

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all words and art are copyright © of Russell 'C.J' Duffy. For another side of CJ go here: sOMeThiNg For tHE wEeKeND, SiR?

2011-11-17T23:57:00.000Z

Another cold start to the day with frost and fog. I like mornings like these. I like the way the fog rises over the fields mantle grey. I like the way the rabbits sit with ears alert as the crows caw corvine sermons. Everything seems to be slowing down. Life, real life and not the sham all that flock to the office each day lead, is preparing to rest for the duration of winter. If mankind has lost its way then nature hasn’t. Even if the world is warming that is just another part of the cycle, more of the wheel turning. The only part we humans play on that wheel is as we run rodent round spinning on and on and on. Personally, I would like nothing more than to get off and watch. Not so as I could laugh at others in some bogus superior way but just because I have had enough. I feel as though my idendity has been consumed by a monster. I feel as if I am nothing more than another flesh cog in the great machine. All very clichéd I know but nonetheless how I feel.

When I got home a frost of another kind greeted me. I think I am over that now, over her. I just need to focus on what I need doing and not the pointless rows we could so easily have.

I wrote and finished chapter 30 tonight of the EB. I took a lot of the text I needed for this chapter from another story I had started as it fitted in well, after some minor changes, to the narrative. I also wrote the first 300 words or so of the preceding chapter, chapter 29. As the book progresses so my confidence in it grows. It will sit nicely as a one off in the Fekenham series whilst keeping faith with the rest of the continuity. As it is now November the 17th I have only a fortnight, less in fact, to complete the book. I think I can do it but I must not sacrifice quality just to achieve my schedule. I fully intend to hit the end of January deadline for having five books published on Kindle but will either delay that deadline or even drop the five to four if I have to. It is so important to maintain, however cheap my books may be in literary terms, the standard set by previous books.

I do find it all quite tiring. The late nights and early starts are beginning to tell on me. This morning I wanted nothing more than to roll over for another five minutes sleep. I didn’t though and got out of bed and did sixty press-ups. My ‘breasts’ would make Dawn French sick with envy!

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all words and art are copyright © of Russell 'C.J' Duffy. For another side of CJ go here: sOMeThiNg For tHE wEeKeND, SiR?

2011-11-16T22:57:00.000Z

Bloody cold today. Frost on the car first thing. By midday it had warmed up. By home time it had turned cold again. Down to 6!

I stayed late at work taking Paul’s edits and pasting them into my book. Book three is now finished in terms of being edited and also in layout as Paul altered margins and indents making them appear far better than they had. I now need to do the same to books one and two and of course get Dave’s artwork into all three.

I spoke with Dave who still sounds depressed. Hard to gee someone up when they are down but he didn’t seem too bad. The lack of work is adding pressure to him as Denise, naturally, is worried as her income is all that is keeping them afloat. Damn shame she ever gave up being Head Teacher.

Dave tells me that he has done several character sketches for me to see when we meet up on the 04.12.11. I can’t wait. My only fear with Dave is not his talent nor his friendship but his lack of motivation at times. If I am to pay those that help me then I need the books to sell. I am convinced they will. Dave’s part if important and the 10% up to CEILING FIGURE OF £10,000 is, I think, more than fair. Artists get for illustrating books up to £350 per file. I think that the editor deserves more which is precisely how publishing works. I now need to establish how much is the going rate. Again 10% seems fair but not sure for how long? Over the duration of the books life? Up to an agreed ceiling? I will have to find out.

Both Jasmine and Emily were out when I arrived home. Dinner was eight bits of pasta. Jimbob had mad rice pudding and so I had a bowl of that. The kitchen was a mess but I am damned if I am always going to be the one to do the washing up.

I had sat down and completed chapter 28 of Enema Bandit and started chapter twenty nine. Still a long way to go though.

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all words and art are copyright © of Russell 'C.J' Duffy. For another side of CJ go here: sOMeThiNg For tHE wEeKeND, SiR?

2011-11-15T23:57:00.000Z

Having finished Ray Bradbury’s ‘Something Wicked This Way Comes’ I have picked up my second Terry Pratchett book ‘The Light Fantastic.’ Didn’t get into Pratchett until I hit fifty. Now I wonder how I missed him the first time round. He is very funny.

The day flew by at work. Helen was out and Chris was in. I like both but I cannot flirt with Chris as I can with Helen. Chris is finally getting sucked into the swamp that is the Fizzing Drug Stores concept of print. It is kind of like how I perceive hell to be.

Mum was okay when I called in and overjoyed to see me. Her loneliness is almost palpable. We spoke of the family and of my opening up my own bank account. She was concerned that I shouldn’t tell anyone, certainly not Jasmine. As I explained, no matter how bad things are I have no secrets and besides if I did make any sort of serious money it would go in the first instance to pay off any debts. I also pointed out that if I do open a bank account it will probably be a business account. She seemed surprised at this and asked me why. I told that anything I make from the sale of my books would go in there. She looked highly sceptical. I can’t say I blame her.

I started another chapter, twenty eight, of which I wrote 900 words. I will write more tomorrow night and stay a little late at work to take Paul’s edits and place onto my master file.

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all words and art are copyright © of Russell 'C.J' Duffy. For another side of CJ go here: sOMeThiNg For tHE wEeKeND, SiR?

November 14th 2011

2011-11-14T22:37:00.000Z

Monday’s never hurt anyone it is just the fear of facing another week of sheer drudgery we all, at least most of us, hate. For me the day started well enough. The heat of the weekend vanished in a cloud of fog that wrapped itself around the roads and country lanes shrinking them in size, squeezing the telegraph poles, pinching the kerbs, reducing visibility to ghost faces. The damp set upon the windscreen like an invisible rain leaving wet rivulets trickling. The radio fooled no one nor did it try to. Europe is a mess. The British economy is at a standstill. Recovery seems to be sliding away. Helen was in today but did little for us. Her appearances do not galvanise either Brian or myself they merely dress the desks with another presence. Perhaps this impresses Kerry? Perhaps that is the sole purpose of Helen’s being here?

Alan phoned to tell me that Pauline was not able to work from home today. Her depression has a firm grip on her and the drugs she has been prescribed have not as yet had any effect. I feel so sorry for both Pauline and Alan. She must fear never seeing her husband or son again and he must fear having to live on his own. He is a nice enough man but a little weak.

I played over and over in my head the George Harrison documentary, what a gifted guitarist and what a gentle man. Flawed but forthright and with that wacky sense of humour I remember the Beatles for. People tend to forget that it wasn’t just the music that was so great about them but that Goonish sense of humour, the same surreal comedy that was invested into Monty Python. No wonder Graham Chapman and company found it so easy to work with George. The whole Hand Made Films business was brought about after George had volunteered to finance ‘The Life of Brian.’

I did no writing tonight as I didn’t get in until late. I really should have done. The books wil not get produced if I don’t get on with it but I felt tired and listless. As I got in I was asked to go out again and buy a bottle of milk. Why leave it until 2040 goodness only knows. I guess I have some value then even if it is as only a late night milk man.

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all words and art are copyright © of Russell 'C.J' Duffy. For another side of CJ go here: sOMeThiNg For tHE wEeKeND, SiR?

November 13th 2011

2011-11-13T22:06:00.000Z

I thought I would clear the leaves from the front lawn leaving the branch trimming to next weekend. I spent an hour or so sweeping, raking and removing dead leaves then loading them into a green wheelie bin. Thinking to do the same at the back garden I went in to make tea and some biscuits. As I had made up my mind that I would start writing after lunch Jasmine asked me to get ask Ray if she could borrow his ladders. When I asked why she told me she was going to trim the birch in the front. I pointed out that I had just cleared the lawn and intended to chop some branches of next week. She grew a little cross so I simply said fine. As I was taking a little break she went next door and asked Ray herself.

Feeling a bit disgruntled I thought it best to show willing and try and help her. I started clearing away the branches as they fell then foolishly said she had only cut a few twigs off. It was meant more as way to make conversation but she took it the wrong way and grew cross with me.

I continued to clear the branches as the fell but she then suggested the only reason I was helping her was so the neighbours wouldn’t think I had let a woman climb a ladder to cut down a tree on her own. I flew into a rage raising my voice so that every neighbour in earshot could me as I told her I didn’t much care what the bloody neighbours thought and would like them all to know the dreadful mess our marriage is in.

This went down like a brick through a stained glass window so I retreated indoors.

I spent the afternoon writing. I finished a couple of chapters by about six thirty. Dinner was called and I ate my food off a tray on my lap as Jasmine, Thumbscrew and Squid watched TV.

When they had gone back to the rooms a mild frost descended over the living room, a chill wind blown from Jasmine B. Obviously feeling disinclined to share my company Jasmine left to go to Grace’s old room. Her parting shot to me was that I should spend Christmas with my Mother. Perhaps I will.

The Enema Bandit is now half way there. Around 43,000 words have been written. When I finished writing for the day I then sat down to draw up a rough plot outline for the remainder of the story leading to its climax. I am so far pleased with what I have done and with what is planned. This book, much like the others, is a cross breed Romantic, Comedy, Spoof Thriller. Mills and Boon meets Sid James!

My one concern is not being able to finish both Enema B and book four of Fekenham in time for last day of January 2012. I will do my best though and must remember that I, much like a tennis player, must concentrate on each point (in my case sentence) and forget the target of writing 170,000 words in a three month period.

Knuckle down Russell, knuckle down.

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. all words and art are copyright © of Russell 'C.J' Duffy. For another side of CJ go here: sOMeThiNg For tHE wEeKeND, SiR?

November 12th 2011

2011-11-12T23:30:00.000Z

Sometimes I wonder what drives us to do the things we do?

Last night we went out for a meal. The evening was good. Squid had a great time as did her friends Stevie and Graeme. I sat chatting to Thumbscrew, Gracie Baby and Jasmine. Proof if proof were needed that we can, we could, we do all get on if we want to. In fact ‘we’ doesn’t really apply to the kids and me or the kids and Jasmine. The only ‘we’ that wilfully don’t get on is her and me.

Today Jasmine told me to ask my Mum for Christmas. I said I would be glad to but shouldn’t the invite come from Jasmine when after all it was she, along with my Mum that had the row? I said I would gladly ask her but not before bridges were built. Jasmine phoned my Mum and got short shrift. Mum can sulk at times but bearing in mind she wasn’t invited to Wednesday’s birthday bash, and also bearing in mind how she loves Squid, it probably wasn’t the best time to phone her. It takes to tango and two to argue. Both Jasmine and my Mum should resolve this issue but of course Jasmine cannot simply let go or wait. Things have to happen now. So of course we then ended up arguing over something that could be achieved with time and patience.

When Jasmine gets cross things turn ugly. I know all too well my faults and even though I remained relatively calm when Jasmine spoke to me in a very aggressive manner blaming the row all on my Mum I pointed out if Jasmine hadn’t phoned my Mum in the first place (and in a very angry mood) none of this would have happened.

Things went from bad to worse and although I didn’t get angry words flew in spiteful retaliation.

I arrived at Mum’s with Squid in glum mood which was obvious to all. I said I was fine when questioned and made out all was OK. I cut the rest of the tree up then we went to see Mum’s Brother Richard. They are lovely people but I was in no mood to socialise.

What a hateful day.

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all words and art are copyright © of Russell 'C.J' Duffy. For another side of CJ go here: sOMeThiNg For tHE wEeKeND, SiR?

November 11th 2011

2011-11-11T23:00:00.000Z

Work was dull, as dull as Kellie who is very dull. Dull witted and desperate for her authority to be recognised. sadly, and maybe I have the wrong attitude, she really shouldn't expose herself to me in such a way. Revealling one weaknesses is never good when you are in denial. And I really couldn't give a damn how angry she gets. The more she rages the more fun the wind-up!

Paul is soldering on editing like mad. Dave is working on the character sketches and I am beavering away on the Enema Bandit book. I haven't much time this week though what with Squid's 21st.

We went out tonight with her and some of her friends. Brett couldn't come which was a shame as i really like the lad. Squid enjoyed the meal and Graeme is as bonkers as a bunch of bishops in a bordello. He insisted on sitting next to Thumbscrew and holding her hand. She, soft as butter, went along with it. I think we all forget sometimes that being Downes Syndrome doesn't mean he is a child but childlike. His body still functions just like any other mans.

Lovely evening.

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all words and art are copyright © of Russell 'C.J' Duffy. For another side of CJ go here: sOMeThiNg For tHE wEeKeND, SiR?

November 10th 2011

2011-11-10T23:36:00.000Z

After the high of yesterday with Squid and co; and the promise of another lovely evening on Friday, today was a little dull. Work played out the usual tune although we did have an event down in the 'Street.' Red Astaire's idea of having two pop-up stands with a trestle table covered with a black table cloth decorated with various items of print we had produced looked like something out of a WI fete. It was awful. I felt embarrassed to be there. Still, the day went quickly enough.

When I arrived home both Jasmine and Emily were out. I ate my dinner of canned soup before settling down to write. Chapter twenty four now has 1,000 words and features, so far, Doctor Enoch Grumble. The chapter will continue but with more of poor old Egbert Roe before concluding with possibly a look at Arnold Drip's home life.

My intention is to get the Enema Bandit written, edited and amended by the middle of December, earlier if possible. Then I will need to concentrate on Fekenham book four which already has some chapters prepared.

Four books onto Kindle should be enough to start with. Book four can then follow if there is demand for it soon after. That will then give me time to write books five and six although they wouldn’t be ready until later in 2012.

I may even, if Fekenham proves a success, publish my ‘Erotic Sketches.’ I will have to think about that before making one of my impetuous decisions!

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all words and art are copyright © of Russell 'C.J' Duffy. For another side of CJ go here: sOMeThiNg For tHE wEeKeND, SiR?

November 9th 2011

2011-11-09T23:11:00.000Z

It was twenty one years ago today that our Squid the Kid came to stay. Whatever she lacks in style she can fix again with a smile.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY SQUID.

Twenty One today.

No Fekenham today but a lovely meal with all the family apart from my Mum. The fact Mum wasn’t there bugs me enormously but I didn’t let it spoil Charlotte’s special day. Of all my children she is the easiest to please. We bought her a new PlayStation, a digital camera, bundles of clothes and hordes of make-up.

The meal was delicious and deliberately and stereotypically ‘English.’ A roast with all the trimmings followed by syrup sponge pudding. The later was wolfed down in a matter of minutes with many ‘seconds’ being eaten. Good to see all my family together. Jasmine even laughed with me instead of at me.

At the end of the day Squid, or Charlotte as I now must call her, had a great day with all the presents she could have wished for. But it doesn’t end there as we, along with some of her closest friends are going out for a meal this coming Friday. Graham will be fun!

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all words and art are copyright © of Russell 'C.J' Duffy. For another side of CJ go here: sOMeThiNg For tHE wEeKeND, SiR?

November 8th 2011

2011-11-08T21:21:00.000Z

Winter is finally muscling its way into the autumn season. The last few days have been wet, windy and unpleasant. I much prefer the cold to rain. Each morning the M25 has its usual chuckle at my expense but at least I have the radio. What would my journeys be like without the BBC? Greece have done the sensible thing and got rid of their PM. Now Europe will focus on Italy as the continent goes from one crumbling economy to another. It would be better for them if they went federal. Thank goodness Britain is only on the periphery and not one of the elite seventeen. Japan has done well as an island state and so have we.

Currently listening to Charlotte Gainsbourg, daughter of Serge and Jane. IRM is a much overlooked album wonderfully produced by Beck. Steven Issrelis is a master cellist and for a bloke a couple of years younger than me fills me with envy for his talent. Eliza Carthy, daughter of Martin and Norma. Her album ‘Neptune’ plays whenever I get the chance to put it on as does ‘Little Dragon.’ Great band. Also played some Frank Sinatra, some Captain Beefheart (genius) and some Brian Eno. Ray Bradbury is a great writer, one I should have read years ago. I am so enjoying ‘Something Wicked This Way Comes.’ It is less a horror story and more downright creepy. I haven’t had the time of late, with all the work I am doing with Fekenham, to read the final parts of the book but tonight I read several chapters.

Fekenham is coming along nicely. Books one and Two now need cover, credit, title and copyright pages written and of course Dave’s illustrations. I am getting there though and filled with joy at the thought. Dave Sim each yer heart out.

Tomorrow is Squid’s 21st. I am nearly excited as she is and judging by the way she wrinkled her nose up as she grinned when I mentioned it she is enormously excited.

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all words and art are copyright © of Russell 'C.J' Duffy. For another side of CJ go here: sOMeThiNg For tHE wEeKeND, SiR?

November 7th 2011

2011-11-07T23:27:00.000Z

Pauline phoned just as I had arrived at work. She was in a dreadful state, sobbing and apologising for being a pain. She is having panic attacks which are frightful things to contend with. She said she wouldn’t be working today as she couldn’t cope. She asked me to tell Helen which of course I did.

Having been diabetic for virtually all my life with constant reminders that my life expectancy is 25% less than other people, I tend, as I guess many do, to put that out of my mind as it seems to be somewhere far, far away. For Pauline though she has to face death now. There is no ‘I will worry about that tomorrow’ her demise wakes up with her, stares in her face each morning. It is there 24/7. What a horrible fact to have to face day in, day out. I hope with all my heart that she accepts the radio therapy.

Lee is pissed off with Wilbur Leigh and Co; since being TUPED from Obnoxious Cowboy Enterprise his roles has changed drastically and he is not happy with it. He is not the sort to tolerate change that either gives him an unreasonable workload or that diminishes his role and responsibility.

I took Paul’s Enema Bandit edits and paste them into the chapters. Funny to note that without any of my usual amends and improvements the work really was quite shoddy. I always take several reviews of what I have written before amending. Even then Paul finds errors but with unadulterated ‘sketches’ he blitzed my work.

I did Paul’s amends at work leaving for home at 7.30. I got in at 9, ate my dinner then wrote for a couple of hours. I still have to complete the amends and changes of book one’s last three chapters. Then I have to create a n inner title page, perhaps list the chapters on another page, add page numbers and also add a page of credits, thanks and publishers detail. The credits and thanks will be to Paul Barton, Editor and David Vigor, illustrator. I could do a Miss World and thank my mother, father, wife, children and any other passing relative that I haven’t seen since the last funeral but I think not. The copyright will be to Russell Duffy © Utility Fish Shed Publishing.

Dave’s illustrations will also need to be dropped in and perhaps a back cover (if permissible) with a photo of me. The back page could also have three testimonials on it. Then I need to save the whole project as a jpeg before uploading it. I think I will stick with Times New Roman as my font. Shame about the diary pages but at least Dave’s artwork will provide a funky take on the Fekenham Gazette illustrations. Very excited about the whole project but need to keep motivating myself while remembering that I also have to market the book with some snappy one liners.

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all words and art are copyright © of Russell 'C.J' Duffy. For another side of CJ go here: sOMeThiNg For tHE wEeKeND, SiR?

November 6th 2011

2011-11-06T21:07:00.000Z

Meet up with Dave as per usual at Liverpool Street before going to our regular haunt, Pontis. Dave has definitely lost that swaggering confidence he exhibited only five weeks ago. He confessed to having been depressed of late, especially the end of last week. I understand that feeling all too well but do feel that the only way to climb out of such a funk is to work through it. Dave is incapable of such an act as he simply sits around moping watching day time TV. Easy for me to say get up and get on with it but that is the only way I know how to drive yourself from the darkest of moments back to somewhere more pleasant. Apart from the initial work he has done for the C.S. nothing else has been forthcoming. He is very honest about himself saying he lacks motivation, that he isn’t a natural salesman and that the only clients he wants are ones in his local area but I find his manner to be too negative for words. It is almost as if he is talking himself down. He really needs to win some work so that his spirits rise again which in turn will increase his confidence.

We sat in Pontis for over an hour. In that time we had five coffee’s and one tea, one egg and bacon sarnie and one fried egg sandwich for me. We spoke of how bad the recession is. Dave tends to blame the subsequent governments we have had and seems proud that he never votes. Personally I think we all should vote if only to prevent left or right wing extremists getting into power. He does have a point about the governments we have had but a lot of it is bias, a sort of assumed stance that many take when it comes to politics. Again this displays our opposing natures: Dave sees the glass half empty whereas I always see it half full. I don’t blame the governments but the people for the keep voting for the same ones again and again. We spoke of Milk Snatcher Thatcher and of Tony Blair. We spoke of how, in Dave’s opinion nothing has improved in our lifetimes. I disagreed saying look at how my Grandparents lived to the way I live. I may be skint now but I own a five bedroom detached property. My Dad owned three properties. That old working class chestnut that some hold firm to as if it were a badge of honour is fading. Sure, there are still those less well-off and that is insane but there have been slow steps, slow progress made. It just isn’t fast enough as far as I am concerned. Thatcher revitalised the entrepreneurial spirit and all for the good. She had no love of Britain though, nor much love of England as the only people who benefited from her time in power were the likes of me and those who live south of Watford. The whole me, me, me attitude of modern people comes from her time as PM. She may not have meant for that to happen but the ‘grab it all for me and fuck the rest’ mentality that is so prevalent today was her making. “Loadsa money!!”

We also spoke of Fekenham and the other stuff we want to work on. My one reservation with having Dave do the illustrations for Fekenham is not his ability but his lack of drive. I WILL achieve my aims and I WILL achieve the schedule I have set but only if he gets those first four books art worked. The rest of the day we sort of rambled around. We did go to Brick Lane which is the epicentre of East London nowadays as it is so cosmopolitan, funky in a Carnaby Street way attracting as it does the arty farty set, the goths, the punks, the new whatever it is they are people.

It was good to see my old mate, it always is, but his slow burning negativity tended to unsettle me.

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all words and art are copyright © of Russell 'C.J' Duffy. For another side of CJ go here: sOMeThiNg For tHE wEeKeND, SiR?

November 5th 2011

2011-11-05T23:48:00.000Z

Bonfire night tonight. For twenty odd years we always held a large bonfire party in our garden. The last one was four years ago to the day. Four years since Jasmine and I started sleeping apart, four years of heartache all of which I now feel able to deal with. The situation is far from ideal and I still yearn to have someone in my life, someone to fill the void that has been left vacant these past few years.

Poor old Cookie really suffers each year as he hates the bangs and booms that light the night sky with such brilliant displays. He trembles and shakes with each subsequent explosion running from room to room to hide. He has been found under the desk in Jimbob’s room, in the bath and under the bed. Jasmine even went to the lengths of opening her shower doors then laying a towel in the tray for him to lie on. It is really pathetic to watch and all our hearts go out to him. Jimbob bought a special collar that emits a drug that calms canines – bloody useless thing didn’t calm our canine one iota.

Earlier on I had cut up more of the Crimson King Maple in Mum’s front garden before taking her out. She likes to be taken out as this is one of the few times nowadays when she leaves the house. We went into Southend where she bought me a shirt for my Christmas box. During last week she had visited lung and heart specialist who, so she claims, insists she needs to exercise more so has booked Mum into walk on a treadmill but also lift weights. If all she tells me is true then the Doctor really hasn’t paid enough attention to Mum’s life style history. Up until eighteen months ago Mum walked each day the two mile round trip to Rayleigh and back. All my life she has walked everywhere. I used to have trouble keeping up with her. The other thing that so annoys her is the way Doctor’s tend to use the fact she used to smoke as one of the possible reasons for her current condition. Of course they are right, smoking does things to the body we once wouldn’t have conceived. This doesn’t mean they are blaming her for she is of an age when everyone smoked, when she worked in a munitions factory not forgetting she had Pleurisy in her thirties. All of these factors may have contributed to her COPD but of course she takes exception to having to accept responsibility for any part of it. Ironic really as when she quit smoking some forty years ago she became one of those puritanical ‘born again’ non smokers.

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. all words and art are copyright © of Russell 'C.J' Duffy. For another side of CJ go here: sOMeThiNg For tHE wEeKeND, SiR?

November 4th 2011

2011-11-04T23:46:00.000Z

Pauline seems to have managed to, for want of a better expression, ‘pull herself together.’ That phrase implies that she needed to having done something wrong but that is far from the truth. In aid to help her deal with her cancer she has thrown herself into work. She is treating her condition very much as business as usual. It is all an elaborate cover up of course for how the hell do you push the fact of having cancer far from your mind. I don’t think you can. It might help when she has tons to do but what about when things go quiet or when work stops for the day? That awful cloud will still be floating overhead and stretching far into the distance. I do admire her for trying her best as I don’t think I could easily cope with such knowledge. I mean, let’s face it, even with all the medical advances we have made the thought of cancer scares the bejusus out of all of us.

The target I have set myself with the books seemed to have slipped as I have been struggling some what with fresh ideas and plot lines, tonight though it all, quite literally, came flooding back. I wrote another three chapters of which two were re-writes of previous crap material. My concentration is largely on The Harrowing Story of the Enema Bandit of Winchester Town, having said that I did manage to complete chapter 2 of Book Four of Fekenham and also chapter three. Having felt a little cheesed off with my writing bloc tonight I feel ebullient.

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all words and art are copyright © of Russell 'C.J' Duffy. For another side of CJ go here: sOMeThiNg For tHE wEeKeND, SiR?

November 3rd 2011

2011-11-03T23:00:00.000Z

Europe is still squirming as Greece and their useless PM bathe in indecision. I am pro-Europe in the sense that I think a fiscal union among the existing Euro seventeen would be beneficial to them and the rest of Europe. I do not believe it would be good, at this moment in time if ever, for the UK to join that club. The world is changing though. The IMF has existed for years and is the world's bank. Undeniably, to have some form of global law enforcement, globalisation is desirable. This doesn’t mean giving up on localisation.
Europe is not turning to the US for financial help but China. India is galloping to overtake both the UK and the US. Everything I value hinges on the UK being able to trade globally and not just with Europe which makes up such a huge part of our economy. We couldn’t easily leave even if we wanted to. The question that never gets answered is why did we ever reduce our trading with the commonwealth? Europe may be closer and we may factually be European but after the end of the Empire an opportunity arose for us to make something rather good out of something unpleasant. Would it not be advisable to not only trade with Europe but also re-engage with the rest of the commonwealth?

It is still in the 60’s over here even if it has been raining for the past two days. Surrey looks incredible this time of year with the trees that line every route dropping their profusion of leaves. The silver birch in my front garden is following suit and the front lawn, which was cleared last weekend, is covered in a blanket of yellow. So bright is the reflected shine, even at night that a halo can been seen through the front door. It is simply wonderful.

I am struggling with the writing; not so much a block but similar to. Progress is being made but far slower than I would have liked. Sometimes it is difficult when arriving home from work when all you want to do is sit and watch TV. I turned it off tonight even though a great film was on. I wrote for about an hour but only produced maybe 200 words. I mustn’t let this deter me. I have to remain focused. All the material that Dave will need is prepared. In line with this I have prepared the appropriate sections into plastic sleeves identifying them with a label attached to the front along with a memory stick with the self same information soo that Dave can both print it off if he needs to but more importantly can cut and paste it into is Mac. Along with this are my ideas:

The Village Tales of Fekenham Swarberry

Book One: The Snatch-Kiss Affair

Needs a cover illustration and five illustrations within the text

Book Two: Charabanc to Cherbourg

Needs a cover illustration and four illustrations within the text

Book Three: Ghosts of the Past

Needs a cover illustration and three illustrations within the text

Book Four: The Politics of Turnips

As yet only part way written. Needs Cover art.

The Harrowing Story of the Enema Bandit of Winchester Town

Needs a cover illustration only

Some of the Fekenham Characters for cover of Book One.

Ethel Blowvalve. Fat. Blonde. Hair is shoulder length and curly. She has very large breasts. Aged mid fifties.Stands about five feet five. Blue eyes. Pretty. A bit like a blonde Hattie Jacques.

Maybe have caption, thought bubble perhaps, saying ‘Fat Woman with Energy’

Elvis Linkthorpe. Village vicar. Ex-Hippie. Stands about five feet nine. Has longish hair. Wears weird clothes. Sometimes punkish, sometime Teddy Boyish, sometimes a kilt. Looks like the bloke out of Top Gear – James May. Aged early fifties.

Arthur Bentwhistle. Publican of the Frog and Radiator. About five feet ten tall. Balding with a pot belly. Has a large nose that looks like a rotting potato. A bit like the bloke off of New Tricks – Alun Armstrong

Verity Lambush. Headmistress of Fekenham Senior School. Looks like Helen Mirren. Has her hair drawn back in a bun. Wears glasses. Even though she looks severe she must convey a deep sexuality. Hair is brown with streaks of grey. Eyes are grey. Stands five feet seven. Early fifties

Ralph Ramhard. American. Lover of verity. Tall man at six feet four. Well toned. Muscled. Ex-Lawyer who moved to Fekenham to retire. Looks like Tom Selleck but without the tash.

Brigadier Largepiece. Ex-military man in his mid seventies. Very smart. Has a thin moustache. Dressed in white shirt with a cravat, blue blazer, fawn coluored slacks with black brougues. Looks like the man out of are you being served – Captain Peacock.

Maybe have them gathered in a group as though someone is taking a photo of them. In the background trees are being chopped down and an old manor house being demolished.

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all words and art are copyright © of Russell 'C.J' Duffy. For another side of CJ go here: sOMeThiNg For tHE wEeKeND, SiR?

November 2nd 2011

2011-11-02T18:33:00.001Z

The world keeps turning even if our lives are spinning on a different axis. Greece will, under their Prime Ministers act of sheer bloody mindedness, hold a referendum to see if they accept the Eurozone’s rescue package or not. George Papandreou is holding high the shield od democracy to reflect the true light from being revealed. He lacks any form of foresight even if he is morally right. But is he right? I believe in democracy but surely the wider picture should also be considered? Yes, Greece have every right to choose the democratic path but what about the other 450 million Europeans who may suffer if Greece votes with a resolute no?

I struggled last night with writing, a writer’s block of some sort. I kept at it and eventually, having composed a pile of crap which I then deleted, managed to get into gear and finished with 1,000 words. Not bad. The thought of finishing what amounts to 180,000 words when I have only 30,000 ready scares me. I mustn’t let it. I must just focus on the next paragraph, the next line, the next word.

Jasmine was out as per usual seeing Sharon no doubt. Our conversations of late have been polite and even cordial. I feel as if I have managed to move on if only in my head. The situation is by no means good but it will do for now. And who knows, should I make a little bit of money from my books perhaps I will be able to afford somewhere small of my own?

Paul has pulled out all the stops editing and making critical points. I have managed to make the changes he has suggested and only have three more chapters to do before copyrighting (again) the latest versions. This must be the fifth or sixth time this book has been altered and revised. Sunday Dave and I will sit down together and go through what I require him to do. I will need a funky, funny cover but also five chapters (Fekenham Gazette’s) illustrated. I will set a schedule of one month which is a bit too generous as I then have four more books to go. One of those books, The Enema Bandit, only needs a cover. There will be no itext illustrations.

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all words and art are copyright © of Russell 'C.J' Duffy. For another side of CJ go here: sOMeThiNg For tHE wEeKeND, SiR?

November 1st 2011

2011-11-01T09:35:00.000Z

November 1st 1972

"Arjay are one as one within me, like sun to sky, like leaf to tree."

November 1978

November came pale and grim,
I was loving her she was loving him.
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November 2007

“By the years end the dread they had for each other was so severe it was as if they had tapped into a limitless bitterness carrying them beyond the parameters of what any individual is normally capable of feeling. They belonged more to this emotion than to themselves, experienced anger with enough muscle in it for entire nations coupled in hate.”

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all words and art are copyright © of Russell 'C.J' Duffy. For another side of CJ go here: sOMeThiNg For tHE wEeKeND, SiR?

30th October 2011

2011-10-30T23:30:00.000Z

Jasmine is not at all well. She keeps getting these chest infections that seem to lay her low. She is, with all her faults, tough. Not one to moan over trivial things. Today, as I did a bit of gardening followed by a spot of cleaning before settling down to writing, she ironed. Then, when all was done, she lay on the sofa wrapped in a blanket. I occasionally popped in to check she was alright making tea if and when she wanted any.

Thumbscrew is off in Holland, Amsterdam to be precise with a bunch of her friends. Of all of us she is the most hedonistic and the most gregarious. She is so like me in so many ways but very different in this respect.

The boiler is on the blink and we simply cannot afford to have it serviced. It would be nice to have a new one even though the current one was installed with the kitchen and therefore is only ten years old. The kitchen still looks very good but then it should as it cost a bloody packet. We try repeatedly to ‘fire’ it up but all attempts failed. I came down at about eleven when everyone had gone to bed and finally ignited it. After about an hour I could feel the heating warming the house up and the water with it. I stayed up writing. I am having difficulty with book four. The Village Tales of Fekenham Swarberry -Book Four - The Politics of Turnips. Chapter three is not progressing how I would like and so I swapped over to the Enema Bandit which I rattled away at. The beauty of having several books on the go at the same time means that whenever I get stuck on one there is always another I can turn to. I mustn’t lose focus though. I must keep on track for getting published by the end of January 2012. This effectively gives me three months to have five books ready for the market. I think I can do it. We will have to see.

Last night I worked until 2. Tonight I can only manage 12.30 as I have to be up at 6. It is hard sometimes though especially when I really would have liked ti have watched a TV programme about Hergé and Tintin. It will be worth it though when my books are published.

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all words and art are copyright © of Russell 'C.J' Duffy. For another side of CJ go here: sOMeThiNg For tHE wEeKeND, SiR?

29th October 2011

2011-10-29T22:59:00.000+01:00

Dave seems a little less positive when last we spoke. Last time he was full of get up and go, looking forward to driving his business forward while welcoming with open arms his new found ‘freedom’. It struck me even then, only a month ago, that having gained ‘freedom’ from working for someone to being independent is all well and good but freedom without money is serfdom of another kind. As we spoke I got the distinct impression that having managed to get one potential client on board (potential) that he is running out of steam. I hope not. I hope it is just one of those moments we all get at times. If Dave were a writer it would be ‘writers block.’ He sent me a copy of the painting he is working on. A superb portrait, taken from a photograph, of David Bowie. The detail is incredible but again I suggested to Dave that this, as good as it is, carries little commercial weight. Of course there will be fans out there willing to pay £300 to £500 for a painting of their hero but surely it would be better to do family portraits? My mother would gladly pay good money to have her grandchildren captured on canvas.

I spoke to Dave about working on Fekenham and he has agreed to do it. I will pay him 10% up to the value of £10,000. Beyond that then he will have been paid – end of story. This is a good business arrangement. Each books art is only worth about £1,500 on average, some books will be less, and with the spectrum of art being valued at between £250 to £350 per image (5 images on book one) then I think he has a good deal. For the ‘Wilful Walks’ if he agrees to working with me on a series of maybe five books then we will split the money 50/50. If he decides not to and because his artwork is vital to the process then he will get the same deal as on Fekenham. It would after all be my project rather than a joint one. I truly hope he goes for the partnership on ‘the walks’ series.

Mum was in the garden when Squid and I arrived. She moves so very slowly now taking many breaks as activity wears out so quickly. I sawed the branches from the Crimson King maple she has in the front garden as she was concerned they might touch the telegraph. It looks a sad specimen of a tree now, bald and branchless. I hope it grows back. As it is Squids birthday on the 9^th November, her21st, Mum wanted to buy her a gift. We went to Southend where Squid fell in love with a hoodie type jumper. We then went to Waitrose as she likes to have afternoon tea there. I got the latest editions of the BBC Music magazine and also Mojo which had features on Tom Waitts (excellent), Kate Bush (genius) and also a tribute to the sadly departed Bert Jansch. Some fantastic reading there for me and two FREE CD’s!

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all words and art are copyright © of Russell 'C.J' Duffy. For another side of CJ go here: sOMeThiNg For tHE wEeKeND, SiR?

Friday 28th October 2011 -Ritual Acts With Penguins 2

2011-10-28T17:05:00.000+01:00

Ritual Acts with Penguins (the Memoirs of a Geezer)

– Chapter One: The End of the World as we know it

I was born at the Crux of the Matter some nine years after the end of World War II. Madlaugh Heatlump had failed and the flag of the union still flew Red, White, Blue and tattered. It was nineteen fifty four to be precise and the shadow of prostitution was lifted and rationing ended. It seemed to rain a lot in Upminster or perhaps it was that my Mum just liked to have an umbrella up all the time. Buses ran red and often, while two old pence took you all the way into Romford where there was a market. I remember a bull escaping and turning over some stalls or maybe that is just my fanciful memory as it may have been a drunken man in a rage. I certainly remember a lot of snorting accompanied by raised voices.

Everything seemed to be grey; buildings grew grey and tall, clothing draped grey over grey shoulders even the people had a grey hue to their tired, grey features. Films consisted of John Mills fighting the evil Hun whilst John Wayne saved the west from those pesky injun’s and varmints of which, to this day, I have no idea what one is. And all in marvellous Technicolor too! (Without a U though).

The darling’s of Auntie Beeb were not the Daleks nor their famous nemesis, Doctor Who but a rather odd set of wondrous puppets the like of which will never be seen again: Pinky and Perky, Muffin the Mule (isn’t that illegal in some Latin countries?), Bill and Ben and their disadvantaged friend Weed. There was even a character called Twizzle who had extendable arms and who might have been a pickpocket. I think he was the invention of Gerry Anderson the mastermind behind Thunderbirds.

In nineteen fifty seven I was diagnosed as having Juvenile Dementia, a condition that saw off puberty, one or two ladies with odd growths and is still with me to this day. It is a non flatulent condition with little or no scent but with an ineffable degree of silliness. I was also found to have Diabetes and therefore all sugar intake was limited but instead I had a staple diet of Marvel and D.C comics which perplexed my dentist along with my teachers who all thought the Eagle was the bee’s knees or perhaps it was the Lion that was top notch. My memory fails me as did the sales of both the Eagle and the Lion. I did like Dan Dare though and even Archie the robot.

Filled with the fuel of fiction and design my schooldays proved to be a bone of contention with me being contentious and school being the bone upon which I chewed. Looking back I rather pity the poor souls that taught me as I was rather absent a lot even when I was there. One thing I did learn though was neither Ray Davis or Syd Barrett lyrics should be scrawled on the inside covers of Geography books and it is best not to draw Captain America’s shield all over the inside of your desk. They were funny old things those desks; very Victorian with lift up lids and ink wells. One suspects that THE WAR, seeing as Britain went from Empire to peasantry in one easy stage, was the root of all evil here as we Brits were beggars in our own back yard back then and it wasn’t until Uncle Harold told us how lucky we were to be glowing like isotopes in all that white light of technology that things started to look up. Personally I blame the Beagles. But weren’t they good ‘Pop Pickers’ with all that yeah, yeah, yeah and that shaggy bowl haircut? I still maintain that ‘Revolver’ is better than ‘Peppers’.

The idea of parquet flooring was always a mystery to me. What was it about odd shaped rectangular wood fitted together like a demented Chinese puzzle that was so special? We had to take up vast amounts of it when my parents decided to install central heating. It was one of those occasions when, due to all the coming and going of the engineers, that I could make hay in our coal bunker. The coal bunker became my tank and the little lumps of coal my hand grenades. I had seen Glen Ford (I think) in a film where he was a Commander of a tank division. He would thrust his handsome head through the round tank top hole thingy and chuck handfuls of grenades at the Bosch which normally scattered them around a bit but without a drop of blood or a severed limb anywhere to be seen. On second thoughts it may have been after I had read a Sergeant Rock comic book – but, as I say, memory fails me.

Anyway there was I glibly bunging lumps of coal liberally all over my parents back garden when my Mum caught me. To say she was less than pleased with seeing her lawn covered in black rocks is a tad dismissive as she went simply bonkers. In fairness, it wasn’t just the sight of the flung coal that upset her but also the vision of her little cherub looking like an infantile escapee from the Black and White minstrel show that caused her greater consternation. For my part I now claim that it was all harmless fun and the next door neighbour’s cat really shouldn’t have been lying in our garden in the first place.

The fifties is now nothing more than a vague blur with spectral memories that continue to haunt me but with pale notions of what is now a mix of memory and anecdotal family recollections. I do recall being on a number eighty six bus with my Mother. We were on our way to Romford when the bus stopped to let passengers board by the now legendary Routemaster. The lads that got on were Teddy Boys and my Mum shielded me from them while telling me how bad they were. I thought they looked fantastic with all that hair greased back into neat DA’s and with their impossible quiffs that hung like stalactites from their foreheads. The sight of their glorious coloured frock coats was enough to make a young chap salivate as a deep yearning to be just like them flooded through me. Cool for Cat’s (was that Keith Forsythe?) indeed.

As the first and last and only child of two people whose parents hailed from the Eastend of London, I grew up in quite a solitary fashion with many a time spent away from home in the company of white coated suitors from distant facilities as far flung as Whitechapel, Oldchurch, Rush Green and Westcliff with only the likes of Captain W.E Johns or Anthony Buckeridge for company. It was of course very good company to be with and our time together taught me much that it possibly shouldn’t. It also sewed the seeds for many a future tale yet to be writ.

My own company has never been a problem for me and it certainly wasn’t then although I did have a passing interest in girls, an interest that grew exponentially with me. I was always intrigued by the fairer sex and wanted to know more but was far to singular and frightened to ask the sort of questions that plagued my infant mind. Why did they smell so good? Why did they wear skirts? What did they keep up those self same skirts? Where did the lumps on their fronts come from and why and when? Of course these questions largely remained answered although one girl I met whilst in hospital said she would show me hers if I showed her mine. A little abashed and embarrassed I did as requested and was perplexed to find that some bastard had removed hers as there was sweet nothing to see while she simply laughed at mine, an oft repeated predicament I hasten to add that followed me into my mature years.

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all words and art are copyright © of Russell 'C.J' Duffy. For another side of CJ go here: sOMeThiNg For tHE wEeKeND, SiR?