I noticed that I’ve picked up a few more friends following the Danny Breslin blog and I just wanted to say hello and welcome to you all. As a welcoming gift I’m giving you the kindle version of my book “Me & Gus on the Roof of the World” for free. Get it in the next five days or otherwise you’ll miss out. If you don’t know what all the fuss is about then check out the outline. To see what others are saying about it have a look at some of the testimonials.
For readers in the UK here’s a link to the book’s page on Amazon.co.uk
For the rest of the world go to Amazon.com or pop along your local Amazon site and type in Danny Breslin.
Oh, and by the way, just because I’m spoiling you today don’t expect me to be this nice all the time!
I’m on the hunt. I caught the scent of an Idea a while back and I’m following its trail, chasing it down. I spy the Idea grazing in a clearing in my mind, I’m downwind of it and it doesn’t know I’m here. The slightest sound will startle it and it will run. My muscles bunch, tense, quivering – I’m about to pounce…
The phone rings and the Idea is gone, skittering off into the tangled undergrowth of my brain.
Me: Who is this?
Him: Hello, is that Mr Breserling?
Me: Close enough, who are you?
Him: Mr Daniel Breserling?
Me: Yes, and you are?
Him: Hello Mr Daniel Breserling how are you today?
Me: Fair to middling pal, now what do you want?
Him: Hello, my name is Martin and I am calling you today in relation to the accident you had within the last two years…
Me: Can I just interrupt you there Martin?
Me: Let me spell this out for you son, and I want you to pass this on to Dennis, Christopher, Daphne, Elaine and the two dozen other people you work with who have rung me recently; now are you listening Martin, because this is very important and I wouldn’t want you to be confused.
Me: Martin, I HAVE NOT had an accident within the last two years, are you taking this down? Now, if you phone me again I’m going to come looking for you and trust me, you DO NOT want that to happen – are we perfectly clear to this point Martin?
Me: I’m so pleased. Now, off you f***
That was yesterday. This morning the phone rang:
Hello, is that Mr Breserling?
You might wonder if my true identity as the real Santa Claus is revealed by the free stuff I give away – and don’t you dare pretend you don’t believe in Santa! You might also wonder what this author has on me that I would keep advertising her work: ah it’s family, what can you do? I help out with the editing so any mistakes are down to me.
Shoden: The definitive guide to first degree Reiki, is a how-to manual for her students taking the first step into Reiki, but she has added a lot more for anyone who is interested in the subject. There is the obvious information about empowerments, self-treatment and how to treat others – all with photos so you can learn the hand positions – but there are also meditation exercises and a section on mindfulness too. Check it out, it’s fascinating.
So here’s the deal: I’ve included links to it on Amazon.com and Amazon.co.uk, anyone else around the world just go to your local Amazon site and search for Marion McGeough in the Kindle store. In return all she asks is a review/link/mention…you know the score.
Download it soon because the free offer ends in a few days.
If you don’t have an ereader don’t worry because the paperback should be published in the next few weeks.
Another stolen generation: how Australia still wrecks Aboriginal families | John Pilger
It appears that there is no point in our proud neighbours the Scots going to the polls on 18th September to vote in the referendum on their independence. They will not be allowed to break away from the union as it will be declared illegal and ignored, but only if they vote the wrong way. It is possible that Alex Salmond, leader of the Scottish Nationalist Party, will become an international pariah and may have to face criminal charges, along with Scotland which will be battered by economic sanctions.
Now that self-determination and democracy has been declared officially illegal in the Crimea what hope is there for Scotland?
Of course none of this mayhem would have occurred if the Ukrainian government – the democratically elected Ukrainian government – hadn’t decided against taking up the generous offer of economic slavery and crushing debt kindly offered by the EU. Aligning itself with Russia, not everyone’s idea of the perfect dance partner, served their economy better; a loan just big enough but not too big and 30% off gas prices. What I wouldn’t give for cheaper gas
Well Ukraine, you ungrateful fellows, you’ve done it now. You DO NOT say no to the west and get away with it. You WILL be asset stripped and what’s more you will smile and thank us for doing it! The US set aside funds for the destabilisation of the democratically elected government in Kiev and we all know the result.
“The neoconservative Assistant Secretary of State Victoria Nuland told the National Press Club in Washington on December 13, 2013, that the US has “invested” $5 billion in agitation in Ukraine.”
Now the ethnic Russian majority in the Crimea, who were perfectly happy with the former democratically elected government doesn’t want to be part of this new western enslaved Ukraine glove puppet and so have held a referendum on whether they want to stick around or go back to being Russians again. 97% said no to the west; that is quite a sizeable majority, quite a bit larger than David Cameron’s conservatives who couldn’t even get a majority so had to seduce the gimp Clegg and his Liberal Democrats in order to form a government.
The Russians have recognised Crimea, they ought to, they were acquainted for years – “Oh hello again, Crimea isn’t it?” Western politicians and media have demonised it as a land grab. Nowhere has Iraq been mentioned, a criminal corporate takeover; nobody has mentioned the list of countries a certain western power is bombing as I write this, killing women and children in the name of freedom and democracy.
When our beloved leaders spout on about the rights of everyone to self determination, when they bandy about terms like freedom and democracy…how do they say it and keep a straight face?
Britain’s five richest families worth more than poorest 20%
I’ve mentioned some of my friends in previous posts and before I begin this story I just want to clear up any confusion. Down my local there is a Bri, who features in my book Me & Gus on the Roof of the World, a Baggy Bri and a Baggy – three totally separate people, you follow me so far? This story is about one of them: young Baggy.
Now, for reasons that I won’t go into, Baggy calls me Dad. You can whine, whinge and beg but I won’t tell you the history behind that sordid little tale. The following is a story that Gus told me and Baggy admitted to under later intense interrogation.
Last weekend Baggy woke up on a Saturday morning, after a heavy drinking session with his mates. Not for the first time he couldn’t find his phone. He’s always losing his phone/keys/wallet etc. He has another phone that he uses for work so, after spending the morning looking for it, he used the Where’s My Phone app to find out where he’d left it this time. The map came up with a location in Atherstone, about 10 miles from Tamworth. Even his befuddled brain told him that he hadn’t been to Atherstone the night before, so he reasoned: “Some little chav from there has nicked it.”
Bent on revenge and filled with righteous fury he jumped in his van and headed over to Atherstone to get it back, and possibly inflict a modicum of harm on the perp. Upon arrival in the middle of the town he checked the app again for a more precise reading. He was a bit surprised to find that it was now in Lichfield, the thief was on the move but he wasn’t going to escape!
Baggy was by now in a rage as he drove the 15 or so miles to Lichfield. Whoever it was would pay dearly for this. Upon arrival in the centre of Lichfield, Baggy again checked the app for a precise location. It was now in Tamworth again! “What the…?”
It might have been on the 5 mile drive back to Tamworth that he realised that maybe his phone might be wedged down the back of the seat in the taxi he went home in the night before…
I’m putting him up for adoption!
I’ve always wanted to be an inventor. A wild-haired, wild-eyed genius who could revel in his “EUREKA” moment. Inventing a machine that would change the world and make me massively famous. Inventing a labour saving device that would bear my name. I’d like to invent something like self-buttering toast – now that’s genius! I haven’t quite worked out how that could be achieved yet but it sounds grand: The Breslin Butterer.
How about a wife mute button for the remote control? You’re trying to watch the game but she chooses that moment to discuss…I don’t know, whatever earth shattering nonsense she feels needs to be discussed – although its just an excuse to prevent you from being happy of course. Fret no more my fellow sports fans. Hit the wife mute button and no sound will escape that yawning maw! Unfortunately, I’m not entirely sure that this doesn’t constitute spousal abuse so I don’t see it even reaching the design phase.
In the end I won’t invent, design and build the greatest thing ever because of two small problems:
1) I am not an engineer
2) I’m thicker than a slice of elephant pie
There was one great idea I once had though, and I’m positive that if I had followed through with it at the time it would have made me millions. It was this:
If you have ever passed a building site you will have realised that builders only know the first line to songs, eg: “Take that ribbon from your hair, dum de dum de dumdumdoo…” or “I’ll have the last waltz with you, doo dum de dumdum da doodoo.”
Right, so I was going to bring out a compilation album of all the favourites from the building sites, and supply it along with a laminated song sheet so they can sing along with them. Now there is a type of footwear that is favoured by builders called Rigger Boots, and at the time I was formulating this idea there was a player at Liverpool FC from Cameroon called Rigobert Song. (You know where this is going don’t you?) The album would be called “Rigobert Song’s Rigger Boot Songs”.
I pictured the TV advert for it as having Rigobert in his football kit holding the laminated song sheet and accompanied by dancing girls in toolbelts and hard hats, singing along with “We had joy we had fun we had seasons in the sun…” “And now the end is near…” and many many more!
I’m telling you, it would have worked!!!!
Popeye couldn’t remember when he had become invisible. He remembered a time when he wasn’t, but the moment between being visible and becoming invisible was lost to him.
Perhaps it had been a gradual process: the colour slowing fading from him like an old photograph until he became transparent; his particles no longer wishing to stay solid turned him into a fine mist before disappearing altogether. Perhaps he had merely gone out as if a switch had been flicked – there one second and gone the next. He looked down, confused as to how an invisible man still cast a shadow.
Popeye had stood on this corner every day for more days than he could count. He had nowhere else to go. He had a home just up the way a little, a place where he slept, but he couldn’t bear to be in there during the day. Not without Irene.
Popeye was little more than a boy when he met Irene. He was at a dance in the town with his mates, the weekend before he shipped out. Excited at the adventures that lay ahead overseas, yet the moment he saw her across the room he knew he no longer wanted to go.
He’d never been scared of anything in his life before, but walking up to her that night and asking her to dance was the bravest thing he had ever done, or would ever do. They danced together all night until the band stopped playing. He walked her home, taking as small a step as he could, as they talked of everything they could think of, holding hands, happy. When they reached her door she stood on tiptoes and planted a little peck on his cheek and made him promise he’d come home safe.
Months of humping his rifle and pack in a stinking sweaty jungle, never knowing if they were waiting behind the next tree to ambush him, and every day all he could think of was getting home to Irene. Then one day he walked proudly back up her street in his uniform, topped off with his shiny medal, and claimed his prize. They married within a month and she gave him a precious daughter within a year.
He worked at the mill every day then came home to his wife and child a happy man. Eventually Elizabeth grew up and married to have a family of her own. He and Irene had the house to themselves and made plans for his retirement. They would travel the whole world.
It was the day he finished his very last shift and walked in the house newly retired when Irene first complained of feeling ill. They didn’t get to fulfil all those dreams because it didn’t take long for the cancer to see to her. He remembered clearly the day after the funeral, he left the house at first light and went and stood on the corner where his street met the main road. He didn’t return home until the sun went down. Without his Irene there was nothing there for him; the house was empty, dead. He stood on the corner and watched the world go by.
At first the locals stopped to talk to him. After a while it was reduced to nods and waves. Another generation and nobody knew him at all. People hurried by, the only recognition he got was from children who teased him because he vaguely resembled a cartoon character who like him had one eye larger than the other, smoked a pipe and shaved his head as he had been doing for years since his hair went thin on top. Somehow the name stuck and everyone started referring to him as Popeye. That was until he became invisible altogether.
Nobody spoke to him anymore; he hadn’t spoken to his daughter Elizabeth for a good while. The only reason he knew she was even alive was because she let herself in once a week to leave groceries for him and pick up the money he leaves for her. Popeye wasn’t even sure how old his grandchildren were by now.
The world kept turning and the seasons kept changing but one thing remained constant, Popeye would be stood on the corner. One day some local teenagers noticed he was there, how they could see him he didn’t know. They encircled him, taunting him, using language so foul that if their parents had anything about them they’d wash their mouths out with soap!
Popeye stood there, he did nothing. They’d get bored eventually and move along, leave an old man alone. A tear sprang up in his large eye and he tried to blink it back but they’d seen it. The taunting went to a new level:
“Look he’s crying!”
“Ahh, poor old bastard, want the nasty lads to leave you alone?”
“I think that might be advisable boys…” The voice behind them made them stop and spin around. The man behind them was in his late thirties at a guess, Popeye knew his dad and his granddad. Had seen him grow up from a scruffy little urchin but he’d never spoke to him. That was probably because Popeye was invisible.
The youngsters struggled to find courage amongst themselves; this was a live one, a much different prospect to a crazy old man. One of them stepped forward “Or what?”
He was grabbed by the lapels and dragged up onto his toes. “Or else I’ll give you the hiding of your life kid. This is Popeye’s corner and you’re not welcome on it. ”
The lad paled as he was let go, one last shout of bravado but they were already retreating: “I’ll have my dad on you.”
Popeye’s rescuer laughed, “I know your old man and he knows where to find me, I doubt he’ll turn up though.” He turned then to Popeye: “You need anything Popeye you know where to find me, yeah?” Then he walked away.
Dusk was gathering and it was time to head home. As he walked up his street Popeye smiled to himself for the first time in…who knows how long? He thought maybe he’d give Elizabeth a call.
At last, he was visible again.
I’m so sorry I haven’t been around recently – missed me?
I have been very busy recently doing stuff for others, so much that I haven’t had time for you and that’s not something I’m happy about. I hate abandoning my friends. Then, just as soon as I get it finished Mrs B turns up with yet another bug from that plague pit of an office she works in. They allow the bare minimum of sick leave so people come to work sick, honestly they once sacked someone in a coma – I kid you not! So this latest germ passes around the building like an unwanted gift gracing multiple weddings and then she brings it home to me. Bang – I’m in bed for a few days with sweats and shakes, feeling like I’ve got the world’s worst cold turkey.
We’re talking in-flu-en-za my friends. Not a bit of a sniffle, not man-flu as we’ve discussed before; this was a bad, nasty, evil, end of days, four horsemen of the apocalypse and their mom, extinction level event!
Today my temperature has dropped slightly below dangerous but I still feel crappy and have a cough that erupts from my lungs leaving pieces of my throat lining splattered across the screen every few seconds. But, damn it all, I will soldier on!