A Preview from Jake Jones & The Puppy Master

And that's how I found myself on a Greyhound headed west.

It was such a relief to get out of the City. Layers of wrapped up frustrations I never knew I had peeled away via the rumble of the wheels and the browns and beiges of the fields rolling by. I’d forgotten what the horizon looked like. 

My phone buzzed. It was Freda, the social worker in charge of Grizzy’s case; a precocious young black male I’d kinda taken under my wing since our misadventure with The Coffee Cup Killer. 

But that’s another story (available on Amazon).

“Freda,” I said.

“Jake.”

“What’s up?”

“Grizzy’s in trouble again.”

“What’s happened?”

“Another fight. Group of whites in the gym hall. Not sure how it started.”

“Is he okay?”

“Few lumps and bruises. Cut above the eye.”

“Sounds like a bit o’ healthy rough and tumble.”

“‘Cept he put two of the other kids in the hospital wing. He’d filed down a sharp piece of metal he got from somewhere. Used it as a knife.”

Dusty, abandoned office down at the docks. Grizzy and Latte tower over me. The shine in Latte’s eyes matches the gleam on his blade. “I’m gonna cut you up.” 

Hell of a role model. 

“Self defence?” I hazarded.

“End of the day it doesn’t matter who started it. You know the house rules. He’s getting his privileges taken away.”

“Shit, Freda, I gotta get him outta there.”

“No time soon. Not with this going on.”

“What’s he supposed to do, let himself get beat up?”

“Jake, one of those kids is in a critical condition.”

“Putain branlette!” I said, punching the headrest in front of me. Then I took a breath, got hold of myself. “Pardon my French.”

“It’s okay. Just thought you ought to know.”

“Thanks Freda, I appreciate it.”

I hung up and watched a combine harvesting a field of corn spit it down a chute into a trailer being pulled alongside.

I’d barely hung up before my phone rang again. The screen announced, ‘Roger Dingwall’.

“Jesus Christ, Jones!”

“Nice to hear from you too, Roger.”

“What the hell just happened?”

“A combine harvester spat a bunch of corn down a chute into a trailer being pulled alongside.”

“I been getting calls, emails, texts up the wazoo!”

“Sounds uncomfortable.”

“Yeah, it was. Who the hell are The Luminari?”

“Don’t know yet. That’s what I’m on my way to find out.”

“Listen Jake, I’m all for helping you but I’d appreciate a little warning next time you promise my firm’s gonna invest in some shady religious cult.”

“A million bucks.”

“A million what now!?”

“Come on Roger, it’s a nice round number. Or rather one short thin number followed by six nice round numbers.”

“Are you out of my tiny mind!?”

“Look, calm down Roger before you pop a valve. I didn’t make any promises. I’m just danglin’ ‘em in front like a carrot. A gold carrot. A million gold carrots.”

“Well make sure it stays that way. For God’s sake don’t sign anything!”

“Come on Roger, gimme some credit, I’m not a total moron.”

“You’re not? When did that happen?”

“Putain de connard ingrat!” I shouted, punching the headrest in front of me.

“Huh?”

“Pardon my French,” I said, taking a breath to calm down. “Look Roger, are we forgetting I saved your life during ‘Nam?”

“Yeah you saved my life once. Once! And you’ve called in about a hundred damn favours!”

“Would you rather I’d just left you lying there with your toe stuck in the tap?”

“It woulda come out eventually! It was just swollen!”

“Said the priest to the hooker.”

“This is the last time, Jake, the last time, got it!?”

Click.

Things were moving along nicely.

Then the guy in front of me stood up, spitting vitriol at me in French, quickly followed by his female partner, a tour guide and most of the other passengers.

Suddenly the coach screeched to a halt throwing up a plume of dust. Peering out the dirt-smattered windows it was clear that we were far from civilisation. The empty road stretched for miles towards each horizon.

But it was hard to appreciate the view with a bus load of Frenchies hot under the collar, berating me unforgivingly for my bad French.

I glanced up to see the driver — a grey-skinned, lithe, wiry chap in a uniform three sizes too big for him — stomping speedily down the aisle towards me.

“Allez!” he barked, gesturing abruptly with his thumb towards the coach door.

And that’s how I found myself stranded in the middle of nowhere at the side of a long deserted road.

Excerpt from The Puppy Master © Chris R Young 2020. All rights reserved.

Blob Of Mud

 Blobs of mud

shouldn't thud.

They squash and squish

and squirm and squelch

like blood or cud

but shouldn't thud.

Blobs of mud

rise from sludge!

Two arms and legs

dripping, dull

torso, skull,

with groans and moans

it pulls from mire

each limb higher

free from earth

and of it;

mud.

Sensing lights

and life of town,

it lifts a foot and

puts it down -

makes its way

due west with haste;

cruising, oozing, losing

paste.

People peer and leer

and glare and stare!

They know not what

to make of mud-like

creature,

schmoozing there.

They poke with sticks.

throw bricks.

One kicks

and loses shoe

in blob of mud.

It sticks -

the schmuck!

It's stuck,

and off he hops

with leg-like limb

held high and dry.

Amorphous blob!

They gape

at shapeless formless

unformed shape.

Semisolid viscous lava,

facial java,

balaclava.

Then rises sun.

The warmth of day

heats the clay.

With every ray,

weapons of the angry mob,

each sobbing yob

and stone they lob

no longer throbs.

The outer crust

of muddy blob's

now hard like rust!

Rebounds the blow

of each foe's toe.

Each crack and whack

just bounces back!

One sharp rock 

cuts a cow -

a harmless sow -

in pastures new

lays dead now too.

But newfound stony shield

hinders motion -

doesn't yield!

Epidermis,

thicker more,

inch by inch

pervades the core

until at last

the blob of mud

a statue stone!

One last push

by boorish mob

and effigy upends

with thud

in midst

of squashy cud 

and squishy blood.

© Chris R Young 2020 All rights reserved.

25 Tips On How To Survive A Difficult Christmas

As with many cultures around the world, Christmas is not really celebrated in Japan the way it is in the western world. It's more of a romantic time for young couples in love, or for kids. It's not even a public holiday as everything is open as normal. The traditional Christmas dinner in Japan is KFC, with a special Christmas rub if you're lucky.

I loved my time in Japan but I did spend a few lonely Christmas Days there while making a living as an English teacher between 2000 and 2012. My afternoon class students often very kindly invited me over to theirs for Christmas dinner but I recall my first Christmas Day abroad, as a young single gaijin* male, was very difficult. I walked around. I ate fried chicken by myself. I probably had a beer, called home, played Gundam, watched a movie. I don't remember. The point is, I got through it. It wasn't the end of the world.

So here's my guide on how to survive a difficult Christmas.

1. Wish all your friends and family a Merry Christmas on Christmas Eve on social media, and then switch it off. Social media is not a perfect medium of communication and has been shown to cause depression. Take 36 hours off - take a break on Christmas Day. The bulk of waiting notifications will give you something nice to look forward to on Boxing Day.

2. Don't read the news on Christmas Day. If anything critically important happens someone will probably call to let you know. Take the day off. And don't feel guilty doing it.

3. Do some exercise on Christmas Eve. Give your body a chance to prepare for the onslaught of snacks and alcohol you are about to punish it with.

4. Don't drink alcohol two days in a row. Give your body a night to deal with the toxins in your bloodstream before punishing it again. 

5. Replace the social media with books, movies, music, videos games. Spoil yourself with entertainment. You deserve it.

6. Nurture your inner child with creativity. Write a diary, pen a poem, play an instrument, draw, write a funny story, sing a song.

7. Drink water. I interspersed each beer with a glass of water one Christmas and I didn't really get drunk at all. My body thanked me for it. Kind of.

8. Count your blessings. Literally. Go through everything you have in your life that you might not necessarily have should circumstances be different. Count them on one hand, or if you're lucky, two. I once read that "People are not grateful because they're happy - they're happy because they're grateful." Ergo being grateful brings happiness.

9. Send an email, letter or call to someone you appreciate. Tell them, without any expectation of reciprocation. But not via Facebook or Twitter - you're taking the day off, remember?

10. Go out for a walk, in nature preferably. Cleaner air, greener view, happier you. Take photos.

11. Listen to music. Search up a playlist on Youtube, put on some decent headphones, lie down and really listen to that music.

12. Watch comedies. Watch stand up on Youtube. Watch your favourite TV shows. Laugh. Laughter releases all sorts of good shit in your brain. Just do something to make yourself laugh. Make someone else laugh. Laugh for no reason. In Japan they have something called 'Laughing Yoga.' You go there (presumably in sweatpants) and sit around and just laugh for no reason. Ridiculous, isn't it! Makes you laugh, right? Then pretty soon you're laughing for real. Hello endorphins.

13. There's no point eating a lot of unhealthy food if it makes you feel like a stuffed turkey afterwards. Mix in some healthy stuff just for the hell of it. Fruit, vegetables, your body will thank you. Remember it's not a case of Body + Mind, it's a case of Body = Mind. Healthy Body = Healthy Mind.

14. Talk to your Creator.

15. Cry. Watch a sad film. No idea why this helps, but it does.

16. Organise your shelves.

17. Do something nice for someone.

18. Christmas can be hard. Consider it a challenge.

19. Treat yourself to a warm bath.

20. Do some exercise on Boxing Day to give your body a fighting chance to break down all the crap you've stuffed it with and redistribute the paunch to build muscle in other parts such as the arms and legs. Or go for a run.

21. Think of happiness as an investment. you have to put work in to get happiness out. Investing in a short-time low like going for a 15 minute walk/run, can bring returns of a long-term high, making you feel good for the rest of the day. And if you're going to feel like crap anyway you might as well feel it doing some exercise...

22. The reverse is also true. Avoid short-term highs which will bring on long-term lows, such as starting smoking again for example. It's a bad emotional investment. And financial one.

23. Cook or bake something from scratch.

24. If someone special is missing this Christmas, talk about them, enjoy the memory of the good times with them with the rest of the family. Avoid survivor guilt. I doubt they'd want you to feel that way. If you feel comfortable doing it, talk to them aloud. In many cultures they believe they are still out there, or in our hearts, or both. Anyway, the point is, grief is one half of a severed emotional relationship. You miss that person. Heal your end by talking to them. I'm sure they wouldn't mind.

25. Worst comes to the worst, talk to someone. Call the Samaritans (UK) on 116 123 any time of day or night, or whichever group is there to lend an ear in your country. A problem shared is a problem halved, so they say.

That's it. That's all I can think of. Hope it helps, and have a safe, kind, mindful, happy Christmas.

* foreigner

Harmless Lollygagging

I saw this on the Federation of Writers (Scotland) Facebook page and made the unwise joke that it would be clever if someone were to use all of these words in one sentence, and it backfired on me. So I did! Below is the result. Kerfuffle and rigamarole are repeated in the list. Did I get them all?

Well officer, I was gallivanting around in my new banger wearing my bright yellow britches – yes these are the ones – when I witnessed something which made me veritably gobsmacked – completely confuzzled I was – and I pulled up cattywumpus and skewiff to this decrepid old codger’s jalopy to find him lollygagging, doing his usual rigmarole, that’s right, his milarky of trying to hoodwink ragamuffins with his customary fiddle-faddle and humbug-like skullduggery, flogging his ‘home-baked authentic pumpernickle’, which I decided right then and there to put the kibosh on, just to scare the bejeebers out of him, the old flibberty-jibbit, and oh, what a hullabaloo it was, after I shouted, “Thunderation, skedaddle you old Numb-skull, you old nucklehead, you, or I’ll be forced to inform the whosemegadget, you know, the old fuddyduddy (no offence officer) that works at the watchamcallit and inform him of your bogus ‘authentic pumpernickle’ poppycock, when you clearly got it at M&S,” and as soon as I said it the whole thingamebob escalated into a full-blown kerfuffle, because not only was he entirely bamboozled, and flabbergasted by the brouhaha with which I had lambasted him, but it was also clear he had had enough of my ‘wishywashy caterwauling’ (which to be fair I had considered rather bodacious camaraderie) but what else could I do, I was so flummoxed and halfway berserk with his shenanigans, his flim-flam, his baloney, that I kicked him right in the thingamijig, his whatsit, you know, right in the periwinkle, and he was not happy the old nincompoop, in fact I would go so far as to say he was most discombobulated, not only by my audacity that I had deigned to kick him willy-nilly right in the doohicky, but also that I would be persnickety enough to come up with such a ‘balderdash concoction’ (his words) as to accuse him of peddling pukka pumpernickle, and I should not have been goggle-eyed when I heard him retort, “Egads, Mr Tiddly-Smythe, I am fed up to the back teeth with your fiddle-dee-dee, your tomfoolery and your fiddlesticks and I wish you would just accept that you are not the only one in this village who knows how to make delicious, home-made authentic pumpernickle!”

Fall Garden

"If you have a garden and a library, you have everything you need." - Cicero

Our apple tree had a great load of full, sweet, zesty apples this year.

This morning I decided to spend a leisurely forty minutes tidying up the garden. I just wanted to de-clutter the place in preparation for the winter months when everything gets blown about. 

The chicken-wire cane triangles were useful for bean support and apple-catching but just for show now

Last night I built a makeshift fire pit with the mono-blocks we got from the next-door neighbour. I just went ahead and did it, placing the blocks in the time honoured tradition of ‘This looks about right,’ as I could not be bothered getting out a tape measure, digging up turf and putting sand down to make it level. But now I can see the dimensions I know what size it should be and can go ahead and do it properly the next time (if there is a next time).

By sheer coincidence (or just because it 'looks about right') the lid is the exact size of the fire pit. Reminds me a bit of the tunnel entrances of the Morlocks in HG Wells' Time Machine

My son came home and helped me fill it with old cut-offs of wood and he seemed to like the idea of having an autumn and winter fire pit where we can roast marshmallows and sit around telling ghost stories and drinking hot chocolate. Well, that’s the plan. Alternatively we might burn down the shed and the fence erected by ‘the neighbour who shall not be named’ and that would be bad. 

With the lid on it means I can store damp wood in here to dry out ready for burning.

I guess the fire would heat up the monobocks beneath, dry out the grass, possibly scorch the ground, but I can’t see it setting it on fire. This is Scotland, not the Australian bush. I’ll keep a bucket of water handy just in case. Maybe should move it a couple of feet away from said wooden structures just to reduce concerns. Ideally I should dig up the turf beneath and fill it with sand, an area a block’s width all around. Then make sure it's level. It might also help to have one of the BBQ trays inside to catch the ash in order to ferry it to the veg plots afterwards. Because ash is good for the soil, or so I heard …

Drying the wood. Maybe marshmallows tonight

This autumn my son and I planted 12 tree seeds, compared with the 23 last year, of which only one grew into a sapling (4.3% success rate) - this horse chestnut, looking a little ragged today but has shot up to 30cm in since the spring!

1 of the 23 seeds we planted last year grew into a strapping horse chestnut sapling

I once read it takes seven trees to produce enough oxygen for one human being. If you don't have a garden or space to grow trees there are lots of other ways of giving back to the planet. I recommend using Ecosia search engine, which uses profits to plant trees around the world, or even better, as I know them personally, contact Simon & Tracey West of WordForest.org. For a donation of just £2.50 a tree can be panted in Kenya which will not only remove a quarter of a tonne of CO2 from the air in a handful of years, but will also provide food and building materials for the locals. For four trees or more you also receive a certificate.

Ten tree seeds, comprising acorn, chestnut and sycamore

I travelled a lot in my younger years, especially to and from Japan, so I want to do something to pay back that carbon debt to the planet. Trees are solar-powered, self replicating, carbon capture-storage devices. And we find the blueprints just scattered around at our feet.

Two fir cones in moist soil. Fingers crossed!

Doing something as simple as putting fallen tree seeds in soil is one of the best things we can do for the planet. Just give them a chance, that's all they ask. Think of them as plants with potential. Grow them in pots for a few years and then plant them in a forest, give them to a friend as a present, sell them online or to a local council for £50. There are a lot of options. Apparently horse chestnut seeds need to feel the cold before germinating, so best to keep them outside.

My second vegetable plot (right) to double yield next year

I added more cardboard to the soil to discourage weeds from sucking up all the nutrients from the recently added compost. According to "How To Garden" a great book by Alan Titchmarsh.

The back hedge I planted a few years ago doing well

I think the back hedge, if I remember rightly, is 'Golden Crest'. It should grow pretty high. The top of the far left one was broken off by a falling child when he climbed over the fence to retrieve a football. I tried to help it re-root next to its body, but my efforts were in vain. Hopefully the rest of the tree will continue to grow without it. Could have been worse. It could have been the boy who got decapitated.

The front hedge I planted this summer starting to fill out

The 'bee tree' near our front door kept producing saplings of its own which my wife replanted in different parts of the garden. So I thought we could move them all to the front and make a hedge out of them to discourage pets from doing their business on our front lawn.

Red berries on green

I really believe in the health benefits of gardening. As well as being able to consume your own organic vegetables, the muscular effort involved in digging the earth, combined with the fresh air and feel-good aspect of nurturing living things, must have a beneficial effect on the soul. 

Now all I need is a library.

'Coffee Cup Killer' Launch Delayed

Unfortunately, due to last minute editing adjustments and unexpected printing times, the official launch of novella 2 of the Jake Jones Sleuth-Hound series 'The Coffee Cup Killer' will be pushed back to Monday 26th October. I'm very sorry about this.

But if you haven't already, now is the perfect time to read novella 1 'The Old Mice Killer', which has been updated as a new edition, to get into the zone. You can snap it up as a paperback (£3.99) or ebook (£1.77).

I'm hoping to go live on Facebook on Monday and answer your questions about the new chapter in Jake Jones' adventure, so if you have anything you'd like to ask, please leave them in the comments. 

Thanks, and see you then!

The Coffee Cup Killer

I’m very happy to announce that my new novella ‘The Coffee Cup Killer’, the next episode in the Jake Jones Sleuth-Hound saga since ‘The Old Mice Killer’(2017), will be published by Raptor Filmz on Friday 23rd October! It will be available as an ebook on Amazon and Kobo (£2.99/$3.99) and a paperback from Lulu.com and myself (£5.99/ $7.75).

Jake Jones is a sleuth-hound in a city full of femme fatales, drug cartels, corrupt cops, dirty politicians and dangerous power-lords. He has a nose for trouble and he follows it always. But what starts out as a simple stalker case spirals into something much worse, as Jake finds himself embroiled in the latest spate of bloody murders to plague the city - those of the Coffee Cup Killer...

Many thanks to everyone who has offered insight, advice and encouragement to help Jake Jones on his journey.