Monday, July 04, 2016


I been doing some thinkin' on this Brexit wossname. I hears the Prime Minister went over Froggy Land and gave em what for about how the true Brits voted, and they was mean to him and roughed him up and that, telling him he can take his Brexit and shove it up his fuckin' Shexit. We got a contract with em and we better carry on coughing up, they says, else they'm sending over the Euro top boys to jemmy it out of us. And we're talking vikings, nazis, wop footy hooligans, Ivan Drago and a bunch of vampires and zombies. Well, much as I'm up for a rumble (and if you been harkin' me you knows I can handle vampires and zombies and werewolfs and the like), I got a better plan. See, I been havin' a good old gander at a map. Of the world, like, not just the normal one of the Mangel area including Tuber, East Bloater and the Deblin Hills. And I made a bit of a discovery that changes the whole fuckin' game. A tyre-changer, I hear they calls it.

Britain ain't even in Europe.

See, there's this big river thing flowing between the arse end of Britain and the tit end of Europe. Says here it's sponsored by the English Channel, although I spent a good five minutes flicking and I can't for the life of us find that one on my telly. But what it means, right, is that we don't have to do all this begging shite. Prime Minister Farage or whatever don't have to go cap in arse and apologise and ask em to be nice to us even though we reckons em all cunts. No, all we gotta do is push ourselves out a bit.

I mean, fuckin' literal like.

Get a massive pole, ram it into the side of Paris or whatever and heave-ho, off to the deep water Britain goes. That's the beauty of being an island, see? And if anyone says we ain't got no poles long enough - have a look down the back of the hairy factory. There's some fucking massive ones there even if they'm rusted to fuck. Stingers growing all over em too so wear some gloves.

And why stop there? See, if we makes a couple of massive oars and all we can row ourselves all the way to America. Fuckin' imagine that - Britain becoming one of the United States, along with Texas and, erm... Hey, we could run up them Rocky steps and everything. We could track down Paulie and give him a good shoeing for the way he treated that watch Rocky gave him! I'm talkin' America, where you don't have to wear helmets on motorbikes... where the coppers have all got proper caps and not fuckin' tits on their swedes... where you can gun fuckers down and not spend eight years in Mangel jail for it, like Jason Roper from the dole centre when he shot that burglar in the arse with that shotgun he nicked from that farm out by Barkettle... where...

Hang on, can you get Embassy Regals in America? And what about kebabs?

Fuck it - I ain't riskin' it.

Your mate,


Saturday, May 14, 2016

Keith and Danny: "It ain't about the songs"

'You out tonight?'
'Why not? Nurses is having a do up the Tadpole. They'll all be in the Shed later.'
'I don't go in the Shed no more.'
'You does.'
'Ain't been in over a year.'
'Bollocks has you not.'
'I ain't. They banned me, remember?'
'What, when you fell on that bird?'
'I never fell on her. Graham Selby pushed me.'
'He was helping you tap off with her, I heard. Eggin' you on like.'
'Oh yeah? That why he tapped off with her himself soon as they kicked me out?'
'That's the way it goes sometimes. And they never banned you.'
'Look, I just ain't going in the Shed again. Plus I got stuff else to do.'
'Like what?'
'Don't matter.'
'Oh aye? You on a date?'
'Shut up, I ain't on a date. Ain't even going out.'
'It's fuckin' Saturday night! How come's you staying in?'
'You shittin' me?'
'No. Me and mam is watching Eurovision. Sarah might and all. Plus her Dave's coming if they loses in the footy. We're having a party.'
'What, four of you?'
'A Eurovision party. It ain't like a normal party. You watches the songs and the results and have a sweepstakes and that.'
'Yeah but Eurovision is shite.'
'That's your opinion.'
'You saying you actually like the songs?'
'Course I do.'
'So you listen to 'em when it ain't Eurovision? Bands from fuckin' Borat-land and that?'
'That ain't the point.'
'Ah, you so admits they'm shite!'
'It ain't about the songs. It's about the whole package, all the different countries and that. I likes all the weird stuff. They got a naked feller this year. With wolves.'
'You're an arse bandit.'
'I ain't. You should see some of the birds on it as well - they'm practically naked and all!'
'Not as naked as one of them nurses tonight, after I gets her in me pit.'
'You wanna know how to tap off with a bird? Talk to her about Eurovision. All birds loves it.'
'Bollocks does they.'
'I ain't lyin'. Tell 'em about the naked feller and the wolves.'
'Tell you what, I bet all the good ones is stayin' in tonight anyhow. Or going to Eurovision parties like mine.'
'Four people ain't a party!'
'Sarah said some of her mates might come.'
'Yeah? Like who? That Chloe?'
'You shittin' me? If she's coming, I'm comin'.'
'I ain't invited you.'
'You sayin' I can't come?'
'I'm sayin' you just spent five minutes slaggin' off Eurovision. You can't have it both ways.'
'Well fuck you then. Thought you was a mate.'
'I am a mate, but you ain't coming to my Eurovision. That's the way it goes sometimes.'
'Fuck you.'
'Fuck you and all.'

Tuesday, February 09, 2016


I know how hard it is to believe, but I've put some new material out.

What? That guy who used to write? The dude who missed the entirety of 2015 on his blog after hitting every one of the prior ten years? And you're telling me... what are you telling me? That guy wrote something? And put it outWhat is this?

I don't blame you for reacting that way. But it doesn't change the facts... which are these:

It's called LAND OF HOPE AND GLORY AND MONSTERS. It's a novella. It's available for Kindle in all good countries and some shit ones too (as long as the tentacles of Amazon reach them). It's cheap - 99p, 99c or whatever the equivalent is in your preferred currency. It's kind of a new genre for me - alternative history (although you could argue that STAIRWAY TO HELL is also that). It features King Edward VII, A.C. Benson, Edward Elgar and The Old Ones.

Yes, I strayed down an unfamiliar alley when I wrote this one. But that's where my compass took me. Go ahead, Charlie, said the compass. Walk on down that alley. Breathe in the smells, soak up the knocks and spill it all on the page. 

Give it a go if you feel so inclined. UK, USA, Can.

(And if you dig it, please write a review.)

Saturday, January 30, 2016

Damn, I skipped the entire of 2015

It wasn't much of a year anyway so good riddance.

I wonder if anyone still reads this?

Perhaps you're a Mangel fan hoping to find news of a fresh Blakey adventure? Maybe a new fan, wondering what the hell kind of guy writes books like THAT? Either way, I consider myself privileged to have you here, seeing as how I've neglected things somewhat of late. So pull up your stool a while.

What's coming up on the Williams front? It's true - things have been quiet. Some writers keep hacking away relentlessly year after year without a break, keeping that muscle moving in case it stagnates and dies. Me, I'm too lazy for that. Unless there's something urgent to do on the writing front I'll sit on my arse and read the paper. For years on end if that's what it takes. But I haven't been sitting entirely on my arse.

Perched on one buttock is how I'd put it.

With the other I have completed LAND OF HOPE AND GLORY AND MONSTERS, a novella first-drafted a couple of years back and dangled in front of anyone who was looking... then snatched away and hid in a drawer. Truth was I knew something was lacking, so I've clipped it, buffed it and shot it up with testosterone. Then I sucked out the testosterone and pumped in some oestrogen. In other words, I gave the thing an edit. Expect it available for your e-reading device in a couple of weeks. (Announcement here.) I haven't even been arsed to show it to a publisher. Like I said, I'm firing on one buttock right now.

Other than that, I'm alive. I walk around and breathe air and occasionally glimpse beauty and grace amid the darkness. Other times I hear the voice of Royston Blake. I'll share with you when he gets loud enough.