Novelist (writing as LJ Denholm) - Under Rand Farm - available in paperback via Amazon and *FREE* via Kindle Unlimited!
Short story writer - Mr. Threadbare, Farmer Young et al
Humour writer - NewsThump, BBC Comedy.
Kids' writer - TBC!
12 signs that your neighbourhood Facebook group has invaded your thinking way too much . . .
Your local Facebook page can tell you a lot about your part of town, village, or neighbourhood - great local walks. Reminders as to when the bins should be put out. Which streets to avoid at night. But for all the delights that your neck of the woods has to offer its great and good, there are always a few keyboard warriors who seem to have nothing more to do but fill your timeline with their endless local vendettas . . .
Before Mr Threadbare was named as such, he was a fastidious, one-time rather renown tailor with the given name of Ira Burrand. In tandem with his fellow tailor and on-off lover Jasper Munet, Ira ran the upmarket tailoring and altering shop Bespoke Bostonian in a side road off Newbury Street - the shopping area of choice for the wealthy and dapper citizens of Boston, Massachusetts.
I am sitting at my scarred, candlelit drum table. I have an eye on the door and an eye on Raul - a Spaniard among Italians - who hangs about by the coat rail wearing his hideous crushed-velvet jacket that doubtless reeks of cheap tobacco, tasked as ever with nothing more taxing than taking diners’ coats and sending them on to their waiter. Moving shapes appear in the frosted door and Raul huffs and grumbles, then lets a young couple in and frets about them, demanding their coats, making a meal of finding space on the coat rail for the young couple’s garments.
H E A R T F I S H “Greg Potts” says his ID, Sarge’, said PC Ben Clement to his commanding officer, Sergeant Barry Dyke. A murky dawn was breaking over the two policemen, who were standing over a fallen, murmuring, human form on the bank of a small duckpond in Rowbridge Millenium Park. Clement shone his pen torch onto a laminated pass spooled around the prone form’s neck on a mid-blue lanyard.
Wolves in the Wind
WOLVES IN THE WIND Summer 2017. A LONE KIT FOX PANTS AS IT TROTS DETERMINEDLY along a parched stretch of farmland, as Jo, my wife, noses our rental Chevy along a dusty road laid along the San Joaquin Valley. We are a little parched ourselves, but it is the land around us whose need for quenching is greater– a state-wide drought is into its sixth year, and everything we see is thirsty.
Farmer Young had a medium-sized farm, on which his piggery was his pride and joy. He had owned his farm, he would tell people, for many, many years but, he would add with a twinkle in his eye, the piggery only for many years. And over the course of these many years, Farmer Young’s joy of his piggery meant that it became his first farming port of call each morning, once Ronald, his cockerel, had proudly announced the new day with his quite tremendous crowing.