Monday, 15 August 2011

US super-cop just Cameron's cop-out, claim cops

Following the unprecedented rioting witnessed across England last week, British Prime Minister David Cameron has announced plans for US police chief Bill Bratton to be a paid adviser to the UK government on 'gangs'.

British Police, quite rightly, are not impressed. Sir Hugh Orde, President of the Association of Chief Police Officers, said, 'I am not sure I want to learn about gangs from an area of America that has 400 of them. It seems to me, if you've got 400 gangs, then you're not being very effective.'
Perhaps Mr Bratton might learn something from us?
I'm sure there is more to add to the list, but I think you are beginning to get the point?

So, Mr Cameron, no doubt you will pay hundreds of thousands to Mr Big US cop who will no doubt finish his working holiday with the following expert advice:

'Guns man! Give the cops guns! Jeez, you can't deal with gangs without guns!!'

Wednesday, 3 August 2011

Child minding...

Sometimes pure magic escapes from the mouths of children and lucky is the writer who gets to hear it. As a writer, you need people around you who surprise you with their unique and special outlook on the world, and none is more unique than a child. For fantasy writers, children are a great source of inspiration. If you aren't lucky enough to be surrounded by such magic, then a child in an adult's body is sometimes just as good.

And that's where I'm the lucky one. My wife...

Wifelette, in search of Faeries, Galicia, 2010
I was in the back garden of our new house the other day, filling in holes and flattening high-points on the lawn. Our garden is about as big as a telephone box and always reminds me of the surface of the moon, only covered in grass. My eye was drawn to a slight rise in the far corner. Atop of this rise was a large stone I recognized. This was no ordinary stone, this was the stone I had found on a Galician beach and lovingly carried home to my wife. This stone was as big as my out-stretched hand. This stone had spent centuries being caressed into a beautiful, flat round gem and it had, until this moment, been acting as a doorstop inside the house. I had even glued rubber to its bottom so as not to scratch the floor.

So what is it doing in the corner of this green moonscape? Enter wife.

'Wifelette? What's that stone doing on yonder hill?' I nodded in its direction.
The reply was instantaneous, with no time to think of a clever answer or even recall a well-rehearsed one.
'It's so the Faeries have somewhere to shelter,' she said, so matter-of-factly.
'Oh,' I said, and carried on filling the holes in, occasionally stealing glances at the stone in the corner.

If I'm lucky, I get a glimpse of the child inside of my wife's head every couple of weeks. The last one was when she opened the window to allow a butterfly to escape.
'Good bye little butterfly!' she called after it, 'Thank you for coming to visit us!'
Now why would a butterfly feel the need to visit people?

Ah, inspiration. Here it comes again...

Where does your inspiration come from? Are you as lucky as I am?

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