Well readers, it’s been a while, so I decided I better give you a quick update.  So I’m now over 20,000 words into my novel “The Irish Ripper”.  I would have liked to be a bit more into it but such is life.  Still pretty sure it will be over 50,000 words by the time its finished, such a long way to go..

Still haven’t completed my application form for the job opening.  There are just so much more interesting things to do in the world.

The weather is lovely here at the moment and it’s only April, this global warming thing is great altogether.  I might finally get that Meditteranean climate I was promised all those years ago.  So remember everyone, keep burning that coal, go on unnecessary drives and chop down those trees!

Love them or hate them, interviews are now part and parcel of modern life despite all the studies that have shown they are a waste of time and just promote narcissists.  Just like The Kardashians.

Nowadays because their flaws have become so widely known, they’ve become an even bigger pain in the ass.  There was a time when you could do up a CV and send it in to different jobs.  But that just doesn’t cut it anymore.  Now the application form is intrinsic to your future, still hypothetical interview.

Yes you might have guessed it readers (depending on your intelligence level), I’m going to apply for a new position.  So, I won’t get fired or whatever, I’m not saying where (see I’m so smart, sort of).  This necessitates me filling in the application form.  No, a CV is not acceptable – it says so.

The first part is fairly bog standard.  Like where you say you have this degree or that one.  Whatever comes to mind really.  Just buy the diploma for whatever they want over the internet.  Why do they even bother?

But then they want you to write essay type answers about how you managed people bla bla bla and other such things.  At least my creative writing skills will come in handy.  Only 200 words each though so kind of like writing flash fiction except much more boring.

My real problem is after all this effort, you’re not even guaranteed the job!  I should know, this has happened me a few times.

Like what a waste of time.  Maybe they just like my stories too much.

Till next time readers.

I was watching a very interesting youtube video the other day.  Something to cheer me up on an otherwise dreary and depressing day.

There are an estimated 15,000 nuclear warheads in the world.  That’s three nuclear warheads or bombs for every city with a population of one hundred thousand people or more.  Roughly half of the worlds population would be immediately obliterated.

I know what your thinking readers – so, not too bad then.  I do feel sorry for all the people with disabilities that would die.  That would be a tragedy.

But Mullingar would be just fine.  In fact, the sky would be filled with pretty colours.  I used to worry about a nuclear winter but apparently the world would only get one or two degrees cooler for a few decades.  Global warming would be solved!

There would of course be dead zones for a few thousand years but I could take or leave Dublin anyway, no real loss.

But then during my pleasant daydream I felt something uncomfortable.  Would my PAs still show up for work in the apocalypse (worrying times indeed)?  It dawned on me that I may be the first ever person to think of this problem.

Like, who would get the charred bodies out of my way?

Fortunately, I have a solution.

We could insert something into their brains that will cause them immense pain if they don’t show up.  I’m such a genius, I will immediately write to the Taoiseach.

Till next time

Well readers, I do hope you are all having a good weekend.  I’ve spent it watching the very successful Irish rugby teams and working on my novel.

On a high note my blog has now almost reached five hundred views, which isn’t too bad I suppose.  Be great if it was five hundred every week lol

For those with Netflix I strongly recommend watching “The Highwaymen”.  It was the best film I’ve seen in quite some time and tells the story of former and now quite old Texas Rangers that are sent on the hunt for Bonnie and Clyde.

I love crime dramas and films set in the 1920s and 30s.  There is something so romantic about that time period just before technology really took off.

Now for the end of the short story.  Remember to look at previous posts if you wish to read from the start.

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The last thing Garda Niall Griffith had expected first thing in the morning was a call from Detective O’Callaghan.  Once he heard his voice, a small shudder went through his body.

“Meet me at the house in a half hour to carry out out an arrest.”

He tried to interject but the line went dead.  He thought to himself that this was to be another wasted morning.  There was just no way it was the husband that did it and he hated the thought of bothering him once more.  But O’Callaghan was the Detective and he had little choice but to do as he was told.

So into the Garda car and off he went.  He was surprised to find O’Callaghan waiting outside for him in his wheelchair.

“Is he here?” asked Niall.

“He who? What are you on about?” said O’Callaghan before reaching up from the chair to reach the buzzer.

After a minute, the Filipina nanny opened the door looking somewhat shocked.

“He’s not here.  It’s just me and the baby, whose asleep.

“Probably best you ring him straightaway.  I have some questions for you,” O’Callaghan replied tersely.

She immediately phoned him to tell him to come back from work before they all went into the sitting room, closing the door so as not to waken the baby.

O’Callaghan got straight to the point.

“Mary,  I know your name from the files.  I do have to him admit this case had me flummoxed for quite some some time.  This was a brutal, impulsive crime of passion.  But when that which appears to be most obvious is ruled out, whatever is left no matter how improbable must be the truth.

That’s what turned my attention to you.  Unlike Garda Griffith here, I have all the time in the world to look into things, so I did.  I found your photo on a dating website, from at least a year or two ago.  You didn’t mind if it was a man or a woman.  Then I found out from your neighbour that you were not at home as claimed on the day in question.  You were lovers weren’t you.

But something went wrong and you couldn’t take it”

Mary sat down on the couch and began to cry.

“I loved her, I really did.  She promised to leave that fool but what you call reneged that day.  She turned her back and I just grabbed the closest object and began to hit.  She told me I was the love of her life, I couldn’t stop.”

With that Garda Griffith slowly walked over and put the cuffs on her before leading her away; leaving O’Callaghan to explain things to the husband when he arrived.

Well readers, just as well nobody read my previous post about Irish soccer.  It turned out to be quite a good match and I have to say I thoroughly enjoyed it.  Let us hope Mick McCarthy can keep it up.

So, I decided to take today off.  I guess you could call it “Mark’s Day Off”, but it might be just a tad too boring to get that title.  They definitely couldn’t make a film about playing chess (Lost – hate that) and writing all day.

Going to watch “Bohemian Rhapsody” later.  Apparently it’s quite good.  But I always wonder about these so called true or biographical stories.  Like for a start it’s made for a mainstream audience, so there is loads of things that are just not in it.

Bet your thinking when does Part III start, will this guy stop waffling.  I have loads of time.  So much better than having to rush everything.

I decided on a name for my story – The Iron.  I know, not exactly the greatest title but look it will do.  It obviously relates to the murder weapon.  Always open to suggestions though.  Remember to read Parts I and II first, if you haven’t already done so.

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“Where the fuck is he?”  That was what Niall thought as he anxiously waited outside the front door for Inspector O’Callaghan to show up.  He was already ten minutes late.

Then just as he was thinking about ringing his mobile, the inspector’s specially adapted car pulled in.  There was a torrential downpour occurring so he went back into the house to borrow an umbrella for the Inspector.

He shouldn’t have bothered for all the thanks he got.  By the time he had found one, O’Callaghan had already managed to get into his push wheelchair and looked indignant at the suggestion he might require assistance.  Niall wouldn’t bother next time.

They immediately went into the sitting room where the husband was waiting.  O’Callagan took center stage and started asking questions.

The husband was hesitant at first saying that he had already answered everything.  Niall now spoke up for the first time saying O’Callaghan was the best detective in the force, which brought about a quizzical look.

“It’s the clothes isn’t it.  This fine Garda here beside me in his immaculate uniform and here’s me in my wheelchair in shabby clothes looking like perhaps I should be out begging in the street.  Do you know why that is?” O’Callaghan said sincerely.

The man said nothing but shook his head perhaps instinctively.

“It’s because I’m prepared to get my hand dirty.  I used to dress like him but had to keep throwing stuff out from getting blood on them.”

That seemed to settle things down and he began to answer.

O’Callaghan spent a good half hour questioning him before he broke ashen faced into tears.  He had been happily married with two children, quintessentially upper middle class with a nanny to boot.

No sexual problems, perhaps even better than usual and no enemies.

O’Callaghan barely said goodbye on the way out.  Niall had heard he didn’t like a puzzle he couldn’t solve.

Till next time

It is with great excitement that I’m eagerly awaiting the forthcoming clash with Georgia after we defeated the mighty Gibraltar just a few days.  Such an exciting life.  I tried to watch that game but it proved too painful.  Hopefully the vodka will numb me this time.

To be honest I can see us losing to Georgia.  We just don’t have the talent that we used to like Roy Keane and Damien Duff.

Hopefully we’ll play well.  A 40,000 crowd is expected – poor sods.

Well readers for reasons I won’t explain here, I got up particularly early this Saturday morning.  That and the fact that someone is currently on the tv means that I’m already writing part 2, which you’ll find below but first a quick update for anyone out there that might care.  Oh how I can dream…

I wrote 700 words for the Ripper today already.  If I could keep this up, it would be finished in no time.  Maybe I should get up early every Saturday, no that’s just crazy talk.

I have a record number of views for this month, but I have written alot of posts so it’s a record that may last a while.

Remember to scroll down first to read Part 1 if you haven’t already.

Without further adieu

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“Bollocks!”

It wasn’t quite the reaction that Niall had expected after telling Detective O’Callaghan that the husband had a cast iron alibi.  He had been at a business meeting and four colleagues vouched that he was there at the time of the killing.

“Maybe, he got someone else to do it?” he foolishly suggested over his mobile phone.

He was now to discover why O’Callaghan though brilliant, was not the most popular in the station.

“Man, you cannot be serious.  It was a crime with passion, hatred behind it.  You can’t just buy that sort of thing!  Not even on the internet”

Niall explained that there was just no way it was him as he wondered how he had managed to get this liaison job.

“We’ll go there Thursday morning, not too early.  Meet me outside the house round 11am.  Tell the husband to be there.”

With that the line went dead and Niall was left wondering how he would explain to the husband that there were yet more questions to answer.

Quick Update – 16,000 words done in relation to “The Irish Ripper”.  I will get there eventually.  Hopefully I will speed up over the summer when I have some holidays.

So here it is, my first short story.  Note that it will be written in parts as I’m just too busy with the novel and everything to write it in one go.  I haven’t thought of a title yet.  Note that ordinary posts may appear in between the different parts, depending on what’s on my mind.  Please comment with your thoughts and suggestions.

Niall knew there would be days like this when he was in the Garda Academy but no matter how much you believe you have steeled yourself, there is nothing quite like the reality.

A bloodied corpse of what was a quite beautiful forty year old woman lay in front of him.  Just him and the body as he waited on Detective Sean O’Callaghan to come.

Detective O’Callaghan was a living legend after his run in with “The Ripper” and he was now the go to person when a non gangland murder occurred in the Greater Dublin Region.  The fact he was a wheelchair user didn’t matter.  Fellow gardai would lift him up and over whatever stood in his way.  That wasn’t a problem this time.  This murder had occurred in a large bungalow in an affluent part of the city.

But Garda Niall Griffith had been warned .  O’Callaghan wasn’t exactly pleasant, whatever that was supposed to mean.

There was a loud knock on the door and Niall knew it must be him.   Once he opened the door, a scruffy disheveled man in civilian clothes wheeled himself in without saying a word heading straight to the body in the kitchen.  Niall quickly followed.

“This is a waste of time,” he finally said as he looked at the scene.

“What do you mean?” Niall said almost apologetically.

O’Callaghan then explained that his expertise was with serial killers, not this.  This murder was disorganized, probably a crime of passion.  Almost certainly the husband or someone like that.

“How do you know,” Niall replied, ferociously taking notes for his superior all the time.

Sean continued indignantly that that if you look at what is left of her face, she’s been hit repeatedly with the iron.  This was unplanned rage or else someone with a very low IQ.

After asking to be Niall to keep him updated, he wheeled himself out into the cold night as if he was just after having a cup of tea.

Well at least we won the argument about the roof.  It remained open and that was just about the best thing that could be said about the rugby match with Wales.  In fact maybe they should just have closed it.  We were poor, very poor as they calmly strutted to another Grand Slam.  It was all too easy for them.

Our half backs were woeful and should have been substituted earlier.  Maybe it’s a blessing that Joe Shmidt will be gone soon.

The biggest surpise of course was Scotland.  I really should have watched the whole match rather than switching over after England were 24 points up.  It was Twitter that much to my disbelief informed me they had come back to draw.  Never seen that one coming, at first I presumed Twitter had been hacked or something.

Of course none of this is good for Irish rugby, even though everyone likes England to do badly as Scotland are in our pool.  The least thing we need is the ignomy of getting knocked out in the first round.

So anyway readers, I’m still writing way.  Over 15,000 words done for the “Irish Ripper”.  Almost finished a particularity gruesome scene.  If I can manage it timewise, I’m going to start writing short stories about a paraplegic Irish detective who appears in the novel to whet peoples’ appetites.  Maybe an odd sci-fi one too.

I watched Deadpool 2 earlier.  Definitely strongly recommend that you watch it.  It’s almost as good as the original but not quite.  If you don’t know what I’m raving on about then lucky you, you get to see them for the first time.

Till next time..

So good news readers, the number of views on my blog for this year has already surpassed last year!  It stands at 218 views and I’m pretty sure it wasn’t just me looking at it 218 times although I do have so much free time on my hands these days.

Seemingly I need well over a thousand monthly views to actually make any dosh but still.  If I just multiply and multiply and .. you get the drift.

I could retire early and retire to anywhere but a beach (not wheelchair friendly) and live the good life looking at all you mere peasants.  It would be good.

Don’t worry, I’d make up some problems and pretend not to have the perfect life so people can still relate to me and my writing, up there for thinking as they say.

I could buy the perfect wheelchair with little nails sticking out of my footrest in case I get any hassle and maybe a yacht like all other rich people.

Ah well, back to reality, at least for now 🙂