Driving Big Davie by Colin Bateman (CB Creative Books 2004)

Everyone worth knowing knows exactly where they were when they heard Joe Strummer was dead. I know exactly where I was. I was sitting in a private room in a private hospital, trying to wank into a cup.

This probably needs some explaining.

Not everyone knows who Joe Strummer is. Or was. Joe was rock'n'roll.

He was The Clash.

For my generation, he was the man.

He sang 'White Riot' and 'Garageland' and 'London  Calling' and 'Know Your Rights'. He ran the tightest, wildest, most exciting beat combo in history.

He made music important. He changed lives in a way that Spandau Ballet or The Hollies never could. 

He was my Elvis, my Beatles, and he never got fat, or bland, or shot.

The world is indeed cruel. I know that more than most people. And I take refuge from that cruelty in the music of my youth.

The Horse with My Name by Colin Bateman (Headline 2002)

It was cold and dark outside. I went up the plank. It wasn’t a plank, of course. It was like boarding an aircraft. I did a quick tour. I bought a McDonald’s strawberry milkshake and then went to the newsagent and asked for a packet of Opal Fruits. The girl looked at me and I groaned and said, ‘Starburst.’ She nodded and lifted them off the shelf. ‘They used to be called Opal Fruits,’ I said. ‘They changed the name because the Americans call their Opal Fruits “Starburst”.’

‘Oh,’ she said.

‘And do you know why they call them Starburst?’

‘No.’

‘Because the astronauts took them into space. Existed on them. They’re packed with fruit juice. There’s a dozen square meals in this packet, and all for just thirty-two pence.’

‘Thirty-five.’

I handed her the money. ‘You’re okay. You’re young. You don’t remember. The glory days of Marathons and Pacers and Toblerones.’

‘We still have Toblerones.’

‘Yes, but they’re the size of fuck all. Used to be you’d break your teeth on them. Like Wagon Wheels.”

'You couldn’t break your teeth on a Wagon Wheel. They’re soft.’

Behind me a man in a blue tracksuit said, ‘No, I know what he means, Wagon Wheels used to be huge.’

I looked from him to the shop assistant and sighed. ‘Maybe they still are. Maybe we just got bigger.’

We all nodded sagely for several moments .  .  .

Shooting Sean by Colin Bateman (CB Creative Books 2001)

'Who the hell are you?' he cried.

'Security,' I said. 'I thought you were an intruder.'

'You stupid fuck! You broke my nose! It's my best feature!'

'Jesus,' I said, 'you're in trouble.'

He began to pull himself up. 'I'm going to speak to the goddamn manager about this . . .'

Before he could raise himself any further I thumped him on the jaw and he sagged back onto his knees.

'What the hell was that for?' he cried.

'Nothing,' I said, and thumped him again. 'But that was for "I Write the Songs That Make the Whole World Sing".'

Top Darts Tips . . . an ongoing series.

I threw for 9 180s today. This was the only one I got. With the previous 8, I knew I was throwing for a 180. This one I didn't. I thought my first two darts were a S20 and a S5. Thank you for bad lighting and bad eyesight. It calms the nerves.

32/50

Turbulent Priests by Colin Bateman (Headline 1999)

By noon a rag-bag of some sixty agitated islanders had congregated in the churchyard. They were all men, and they all had guns. Most were shotguns, but there were a few weapons of an altogether more sophisticated hue, which was, frankly, surprising. I’d expected slings and arrows, cudgels, rolling pins, Moses crooks and fish hooks. Not AK-47 assault rifles.

Father White addressed them from the steps of the church. Father Flynn stood by the church gates. He intended to bless them as they went a-hunting. Not the gates, the hunters. He had delegated the actual mechanics of the search to Father White, although I wasn’t altogether convinced that he had much choice about it. 

He’s neither younger nor fitter,’ he explained, ‘but he could have planned the invasion of Normandy in half the time.’

It was said with grudging respect. He looked worried. His voice was dry, his eyes were pinched up pensive. The mob was excited, baying to be off, and though they didn’t need it, Father White was whipping the frenzy up further. It was a simpleton’s version of a fox hunt, chasing a big girl around half a dozen square miles of bramble, scrub and wind-bent tree.

‘That’s an awful lot of hardware for an island this size, Father. What’s this, the forgotten wing of the IRA?’

He laughed. ‘No . . . of course not . . . we get a lot of ships call by, and they’re usually keen to trade. Particularly the Russians. God love their impoverished wee souls. There’s a fair bit of bartering goes on.’

‘You mean like half a dozen cabbages for a Kalashnikov.’

‘Actually, you’re not that far off. They’ve no shortage of weapons but their rations leave a lot to be desired. Poor scrawny half-starved wee men. You could probably equip a small army in exchange for sixty-four of Mrs McKeown’s meat pies.’

‘It looks like you have.’ I shook my head. ‘That’s still an awful lot of weaponry to track down an eighteen-stone schizophrenic. She’s not Rambo, Father, she’s Dumbo.’

‘Dan, she’s with Constable Murtagh, and as far as we’re concerned he is Rambo. He has a gun and he knows how to use it.’

‘He’s also the law, Father.’

‘Not on this island.’

‘Father, you know that’s not right.’

Before he could respond Father White appeared at his elbow. He had a shotgun under his arm.

Cecile is Dead by Georges Simenon (Penguin Books 1942)

'Did you see her?’

Maigret looked surprised.

‘Who?’

‘Cécile! Now if I was Madame Maigret …’

Poor Cécile! And yet she was still young. Maigret had seen her papers: barely twenty-eight years old. But it would be difficult to look more like an old maid, to move less gracefully, no matter how hard she tried to be pleasing. Those black dresses that she must make for herself from bad paper patterns, that ridiculous green hat! It was impossible to perceive any feminine allure under all that. Her face was too pale, and she had a slight squint into the bargain.

The World's End (2013)

 

Bullets or Ballots (1936)

 

Back to basics . . .

Back to my One80 Rectifiers. Famous last words but I think they are  . . .  gulp . . . my forever darts.

31/50

Scully and Mooey by Alan Bleasdale (Corgi Books 1984)

 

'A little blasphemy won't send you packin' t'Hell, Mrs Scully.'

"If it does, there's a lot of people who've done us down I'd like t'meet there. We were brought up in the Depression, me an' his dad, an' then through the blitz an' bloody ration books, an' that joker with his 'y've never had it so good'; aye f'them what's always had it. An' then a few good years just t'trick yer into thinkin' things're goin' t'work out alright, before the world turns around an' hits y'kids in the face. It's never them at the top what suffer though, it's us down here what have t'go through it, as far as I can see. An' whatever the politicians say, it's always goin' t'be the same. It all comes back t'those that can least afford it.'

The Book Group (2002)

 

The Beiderbecke Affair (1985)

 

The Play on One: Misterioso (1991)

 

A Man’s Head by Georges Simenon (Penguin Books 1931)

'What was going on in Radek’s mind? He had pulled off his perfect crime. It had gone smoothly down to the very last detail. Nobody suspected him.

‘It was what he had wanted: he was the only person in the entire world who knew the truth! And when he saw the Crosbys sitting round their table in the bar, he thought that one word from him would be enough to put the fear of God into them!

'And yet he wasn’t satisfied. His life was still just as dull. Nothing had changed except that two women were dead, and a poor devil was about to have his head cut off.

‘I couldn’t swear to it, but I’d bet that what weighed most heavily on him was that he had no one to admire him. No one who’d murmur as he passed by:

‘“He’s not much to look at but he committed one of the most perfect crimes imaginable! He outsmarted the police, fooled the courts and changed the course of several lives.”

‘It’s something that’s happened to other murderers. Most of them have felt the need to confide in somebody, even if it was only some tart they’d picked up.

‘But Radek was above that. Anyway, he was never much interested in women.

‘Then one morning the papers reported that Heurtin had escaped. Wasn’t this the opportunity he’d been looking for? He decided to give the cards another shuffle and take an active part once more.

'He wrote to Le Sifflet. He took fright when he saw his erstwhile accomplice watching him and delivered himself up into the hands of the police … But what he wanted was admiration … He wanted to be known as a man who played a good hand.'

Top Darts Tip

If you're thinking of getting rid of a set of darts don't give them 'one last throw' 'cos it will only mess up your fucking head.

My first (and probably last) 180 with the Shot Zen Ki darts (26g):

30/50

The Man on the Eiffel Tower (1949)

Tales from Disney . . .

Picked up the @TheDartsReferee darts for the first time in a couple of months. Throwing for a 180 and my third dart decides to do this.

I think I killed Bambi's mother in a past life.

Rita, Sue And Bob Too (1987)

Rescue Me (2002)

 

Repo Man (1984)

 

The Castle (1997)

 

Climbing High (1938)