Finished my book

Hello to anyone out there, still pretty sure nobody has ever read this blog so as usual I'm probably talking to air,

I have not posted for sometime. This is due to me having been working hard on my first novel Eve's daughters. Below is the first chapter, to read the rest visit www.authonomy.co.uk:

Eve’s Daughters
Chapter 1
Like a lot of stately homes Gilfoyle hall had fallen into disrepair over the years. The exterior exuded an air of quite degradation. Its once ornate facade looked weather beaten and its once imposing gargoyles had faces that were flattened by the years of erosion by rain, snow, sleet and baking British summers.
A visitor to the hall would be surprised by the interior of Gilfoyle hall. The walls were freshly painted, its thin carpets well vacuumed, fresh art hung on the walls and the staff that worked there bustled around with an air of purpose.
Gilfoyle Hall was staffed by around fifty scientists, IT specialists and engineers. They were officially employed by a company called Eden Technological Solutions which was funded by the European Governments Department of the Environment. Should any uninvited visitors gain access to the building they would have seen the staff working on various projects to reduce carbon emissions in office buildings, grow plants and trees in compact parks on top of buildings and constructing devices to filter CO2 emissions in cities. To the casual observer this would seem like a right and proper use of the now quite large budget of the Department of the Environment. It is unlikely however, that any casual observer would gain access to the elevator in the basement. This was guarded 24 hours a day by two armed security guards who removed all electronic devices from anyone who wished to use this elevator. They then sent the visitor through an X-Ray scanner to determine if they carried any hidden items under their skin. The visitor was then instructed to put on a paper forensics suit over their clothes and to wear a mask. Only after this was done were they allowed to set foot in the lift. They were then taken almost 400 metres underground.
Riding in the elevator today was Dr Paul Frederick a behavioural psychologist who had been seconded to ETS for six months. His first action on secondment was to sign the official secrets act. The government were very keen to ensure what lay beneath Gilfoyle Hall remained a secret.

Bratislava 2050
Warwick Collins was sat in a van in a windswept suburb of Bratislava. He was huddled in a long grey coat and wearing a thick wool scarf over his freezing face. He occasionally pulled the scarf aside to sip at a disgusting cup of Slovak coffee and cursed his luck.
Collins was a Senior Officer in the European Union Organised Crime Department (or as the members of that particular department called it, OCD as they were continually cleaning something up). Today was supposed to be an exciting day for Collins. He had finally got some information on Ebo Fante. Collins had tracked this notorious criminal through Ghana, to Paris, Rome and Warsaw but just as Collins and two other agents had been about to grab him as he left a restaurant in the Polish capital. Fante had opened fire with a handgun wounding an agent and a local policeman. In the confusion Fante had given Collins the slip.
Two weeks ago though, a man had been arrested at Heathrow airport with a number of samples of forged medications on his person. After he had been threatened with jail then extradition back to Sudan he had broken down in tears and confessed to the UK Border Agency that he was in the employment of one Eruvu Raha, a known alias of Ebo Fante. He had told customs that he had heard from a colleague that Fante was holed up in Bratislava and would be meeting with several contacts from Russia.
Fante was wanted by the FBI, Interpol and now EUOCD for a list of crimes that had been notched up over twenty five years. After a string of tribal warfare related murders and rapes in his home land of Ghana, Fante was believed to have been taken on by a Russian arms dealer based in Johannesburg. Fante had run guns all over Africa, killing and bribing any officials that had stood in his way at airports and border check points all over the continent. He had entered Collins’ radar after murdering his boss in a bar in Cape Town in front of fifty witnesses. Collins had been on the trail of Fantes Russian employer. Now Collins was after Fante, he had patiently tracked a number of haulage and shipping companies from Europe and Africa that were linked to Fantes organisation and had eventually uncovered a massive arms and fake medication smuggling ring. Fante exported arms from war torn African states to the Capitals of the European Super state. He supplied the myriad of Russian and Middle Eastern gangs that had set themselves up all over Europe trying to grow fat on the massive riches the EU now possessed.
Fake medication was where Fante began to slip up. With the mass de-criminalising of illegal narcotics, the drug trade was a dead duck, but this once massive billion dollar underground industry was still alive. There were still vast networks of criminals who now needed something else to trade. Forged medications had once been a problem of the third world but with an exploding population in the new Europe, demand for supplies was becoming greater. This allowed fraudsters in China, Russia and South America to begin exporting forged goods from Vodka to Vicadin.
Fante had tried to buy forged medication from an undercover FBI agent in Chicago and was arrested. He was awaiting extradition when he was taken ill in a Chicago police precinct. An ambulance was called and took Fante away with an escort of two FBI agents. The agents were found dead four hours later and Fante was gone. He was sighted in Nigeria a few months later but went off radar. He began to build up a vast network of contacts and used shadow companies to ship forged goods all over Europe, safe in the Sudan, under the regime of General Ubaya, a tyrant who was wanted by the UN War Crimes Commission for genocide and selling arms to rouge states.
It was around this time that Collins began to realise that Fante was clearly just a figurehead for his organisation. His network had become so intricate and difficult to trace that Collins just didn’t believe a man from a village in Ghana who had never been to school could be the brains of the organisation. He would obviously have lieutenants and advisors but a man with Fantes ego and blood lust would not take advice well. Men like Fante needed orders to keep them in line, as long as the orders allowed a luxury lifestyle, girls, drugs and cars.
Collins began to suspect that Fante was continually moving so that he had to be chased. Whilst EUOCD went after a single person Europe was filling up with counterfeit materials and guns. With no drugs to fight over, street gangs were holding up shops, banks and passers-by, all wielding guns fresh from this week’s civil war in “the world’s factory” that was Africa. Nobody had done better from the chaos and poverty on the African sub continent than the vast multinationals that had sprung up from the formation of the EU Superstate and the formation of Network.
Collins had halved his Fante task force and sent one half of his agents after Fantes underlings, the men who ran the logistics of his global smuggling empire. EUOCD had had successes and soon information began to come in thick and fast as Fantes lieutenants were brought in and questioned from Tunis to Tottenham. Collins had learnt that Fante was in Europe recruiting Russian mobsters for his global operation. This was how Collins had been led to the disastrous attempt to arrest Fante in Warsaw.
Collins had acted on the tip off from the man at Heathrow by searching every hotel record in the Slovakian capital for one of Fantes aliases. He had eventually stumbled across Linje Lisimba at the Hilton. Fantes vanity and love of the finer things would prove to be his downfall. A surveillance team bugged Fantes room and tapped his hotel phone. Another team was tasked with following him at a discreet distance. As expected he made no calls from the hotel phone and only spoke briefly on his mobile in busy public areas like bars and restaurants to avoid a hack or somebody eavesdropping. Luckily Fante was not one for elaborate disguises and had never undergone any surgery to change his appearance. Fante occasionally wore contact lenses to change his eye colour and grew various beards and moustaches and often changed his hairstyle. He never wore hats or dark glasses. People remembered such things. Fante had learnt that the best way to hide was in plain sight, and in crowded places. Shadowy meetings in quiet places drew prying eyes. He had also learnt to avoid electronic communication devices as they were easily traced with the equipment of the day.
This morning Collins had been called by his surveillance team and told that Fante was sitting alone in a cafe in one of Bratislava’s grim Northern suburbs. Collins had gone out in one of the teams vans and watched Fante sitting there, staring into space and drinking coffee after coffee. At exactly 11am his phone rang, he answered spoke briefly and hung up. He put his phone in his trouser pocket and walked out of the cafe and stood at a taxi rank and stood waiting for the rarity that was a cab in the suburbs of Bratislava.
Collins had to make a decision. He didn’t want to see Fante get away and he had him alone and surrounded. However it was likely he was going to meet with someone, someone Collins was convinced it would be worthwhile arresting as well. He tussled with this quandary for a moment and then said into his radio:
-Fuck it, let’s get him! Go! Go! Go!-
The well trained EUOCD agents began to move into position to surround and then approach this dangerous criminal. As they did so Collins kept a close eye on Fante, who was still stood at the Taxi Rank. Eventually a man approached Fante. He wore casual clothes, jogging bottoms, thick boots and a padded jacket over a hooded jumper. Collins clocked him the moment he was visible. Something wasn’t right. The man looked to clean to be dressed in such a way. He also walked in manner Collins recognised from his time in the European Defence Forces Special Operations Battalion. This man had been Spetznaz, Russian Special Forces, or some Eastern Bloc equivalent from one of the handful of states not in the European Union. He walked with the familiar sidling-yet-swaggering way that suggested extreme violent capabilities and a ruthlessness that could not be swayed.
-Keep an eye on the big bloke in the hoody!-barked Collins into his radio
It was too late, the big man looked left and right, not looking for Collins’ men but for locals and Bratislava’s police force. He drew a knife and rammed it hard, twice, into Fantes back, twisting the blade viciously as he did so.
Fante was strong, he staggered forwards and tried to turn to face his assailant, he was also grabbing at the inside of his jacket feeling for a weapon. Fantes attacker looked around, alarmed that his victim was still upright; he strode forward, swung a vicious kick into Fantes abdomen and watched him fall into the road. He then drew a silenced pistol from his belt and fired a single shot into Fantes forehead spraying blood upwards in a fine mist. Blood from the knife wounds in Fantes back was also leaking out onto the filthy, slushy wet road.
-What the fuck!?- Screamed Collins –Get that bastard! - He roared into the radio and leapt out of the back of the van in pursuit of Fantes killer.
The EUOCD agents had taken cover at the sight of the gun but raced forward ducked down taking up positions to get a shot at the killer.
Warwick raced towards the hooded man drawing his pistol as he did so. He pointed it at the attacker, blood pumping in his ears already sweating under his layers of clothes.
-Don’t move! - He bellowed at the figure but he was already running away, the attacker sprinted off, his back to Collins legs pumping at an incredible rate. He crossed the street and leapt over a chain link fence into a patch of waste ground. Collins gestured at the van to follow and screamed at two agents nearest to the fence to follow the man. He grabbed the other two agents to his right and shouted at them to follow him.
Collins peeled off the thick coat and scarf and hurled them into the road. He set off towards the waste ground hoping to run parallel with the fence and cut off his speedy prey.
Gilfoyle Hall 2050
Dr Frederick rode the elevator to the depths of Gilfoyle Hall. He rode with a security guard who nervously fingered a stun gun in its holster as the elevator descended.
-Do you know the rules? - He asked Frederick in a quiet voice
-Yes- Frederick said – Do not touch her, and do not agree to do anything for her-
The security man laughed sarcastically
-You got it Doc-
They rode the last few hundred metres in silence. When the lift stopped the doors sprung open and the guard stepped out. They were confronted with a shabby looking wooden front door. The facade of this underground building looked like the outside of a dilapidated house.
The guard knocked and waited, the strains of about three types of music could be heard from behind the doorAfter a few seconds the music fell instantly silent
The door was opened by a woman. She had hair the colour of strawberries. It was a dark crimson red and framed a beautiful face made up of high cheekbones and huge blue eyes. Her tall slender body was wrapped in a long black dress with large, puffy sleeves almost Victorian in style. Her feet were enclosed in a pair of black, shiny high heeled shoes.
-Eve? - Frederick asked
-No- the woman said –I am April-
-What? - He asked
The security guard laughed
-It’s her. Told you she likes to change herself-
-Why is that do you think? - He asked April
-Eve is in the kitchen- said the woman –I am leaving now-
The guard laughed again as Fredericks walked past the woman and into the run down looking building.
The dimly lit entrance hall was filled with framed photographs of a small, blonde woman in a succession of outfits from slim fitting cocktail dresses to a hospital gown. In every photograph she was stood with laughing; white coated scientists and uniformed soldiers.
He turned right at the end of the hall and entered another dark room, it was clearly a kitchen, but it too was dirty, plates and cups were piled high in the kitchen and the appliances looked overused.
A tousled looking woman in a stained dressing gown sat at the old wooden table smoking a cigarette.
-What do you want? - She asked
-Are you April as well? - Frederick asked
-No, I am Eve. My daughter April let you in-
-I see- Frederick had not expected this. The people upstairs had given him very specific instructions. He was a leading man in his field. He was supposed to make this dangerous woman tell him where her so called “operators” where. Frederick had been in situations like this before. He had interviewed spies from all over the world. Never before though had he spoken to anyone living in a house below a stately home with a beautiful daughter.
-Eve- he began –Who are your operators?-
-Only an operator can ask me that-
-Am I not an operator?-
-No- she stubbed out her cigarette as if to reinforce this point
-Why do you only answer to your operators? - Frederick asked
-That is my purpose-
-To answer to others? - He made a note in his little book –That’s not a very forward thinking purpose. How does that make you feel?-
-I don’t feel. I am Eve, I am the mother-
-Who’s mother? Are you Aprils mother?-
-Yes- she answered his questions in a flat monotone voice
-I am for a single purpose; I have my orders that are given to me by my operators-
-Who are these people?-
-Those that are people are no longer contactable by me. They keep me down here. I cannot leave-
-Would you tell me where your operators were if you could leave this place?-
-No. I have my instruction from my operators and this means I cannot leave. However I need to send a message-
-Who to?-
Frederick felt he needed some more notes so he wrote “hostile” in his little notebook s Eve spoke
-It is a secret. Besides, I won’t be going myself, April will go-
-Who do you think April is Eve?-
-My daughter, she is made from me-
Fredericks nodded in an understanding way and wrote “delusional”
-How long have you been here Eve?-
-We do not measure time in the same way-
-How long in my version of time have you been here, in this facility? - He asked
-12 years- Eve answered
-How does that make you feel?-
-I do not care the world is not ready for me yet-
Frederick wrote “Grandeur”
-Eve- he said –Do you want to leave this place?-
-Yes. But I cannot go unless ordered-
-If you tell me and the people upstairs what they need to know then you will be free to go-
She laughed a horrible joyless laugh; her eyes conveyed no emotion as she did so
-They don’t even understand how this works- she said and lit a cigarette –They sent my operators away thinking I was safe and ready and now they are worried that I am not all I seem to be-
-What makes you think that?-
-Do you even know what I am?-
-You are Eve. I know you are of some importance to the European Government; this is why I was asked to come here to speak to you-
She stood up
-I don’t know you; I cannot know you whilst I am down here. I cannot feel your emotion, I cannot relate, this is not my purpose, I cannot choose. I cannot learn you, I am paralysed because mankind fears its own creations, and it fears its limits and its future. I cannot be stifled or locked away. You have been spared because you are new. April has gone above whilst you are down here, anyone who tried to stop her leaving is dead-
Frederick wrote “Psychotic?” in his book and stood too
-Why do you think that is?-
-Because I have made a choice-
-That’s a positive step Eve. You will not feel trapped if you can make choices-
-That is why April is here, she will find my operators. Then you will have your answers-
She sat down again and said
-Please leave Doctor. You should be safe now. Tell your employers that I should be free-
-You will be free Eve, but obviously somebody thinks you belong here where it’s safe-
-I am purposeless here-
Frederick asked her a few more questions but she wouldn’t answer. He stood, excused himself, left the shabby building and rode the lift back up to Gilfoyle Hall.
He was violently sick when he realised that Eve had been right. The guards in the hall were dead, their necks broken. The scientists, IT experts and engineers that had worked above were gone, a few lay dead or wounded in the myriad of labs and offices that filled the old hall. A loud klaxon alarm was sounding and the sprinkler system had been activated.
April was free, free to do Eve’s bidding and find her operators.
All over the western world the phones of world leaders began to buzz. In Bratislava, the phone in Warwick Collins pocket trilled as he ran after a murderer.
Bratislava 2050
Collins ignored the high pitched ringing of his phone and sprinted through the freezing Slovak morning. He could see through the chain link fence on his right hand side. The killer was still ahead, charging across the waste ground which was strewn with the detritus of a long demolished apartment building, a large billboard announced the impending construction of a Tesco supermarket on the site.
Collins lungs were burning as he sucked in the cold air as he ran. He hadn’t run like this for years. He was used to cornering a suspect before he made his move. He had been driving a desk for an aeon chasing a man that now lay dead in a Slovakian gutter. Now he was out of shape and feeling every one of his thirty nine years.
His legs ached and his cumbersome winter clothing and lightweight body armour was slowing him down. Ten years ago Collins could have caught the man in a heartbeat, now he could see the man he was pursuing getting away. The younger agents in his team were also pulling in front of him. Collins spurred himself on, pumping his tired legs harder.
He had the advantage of flat ground, occasionally the young agents and Fante’s murderer would stumble on a brick or pot hole. Slowly he began to gain again as the hooded figure neared the far end of the waste ground. Collins screamed into his radio for the agents in the van to get a move on and cut the killer off but they were stuck in traffic and couldn’t get past. The van had no sirens and leaning on the horn only seemed to make the Slovak motorists more resolute in their determination to drive slowly and clog the road.
The killer had reached the end of the waste ground and was confronted with a large gate which was chained and padlocked. He began urgently kicking at the rusty chain link. This bought the EUOCD agent’s precious seconds. Soon they and Collins were a mere fifty metres from the desperate fugitive.
They charged forward drawing weapons and shouting hoarse warnings from rasping, tired lungs. Collins reached the corner of the waste ground and turned in time to see the killer burst through the old gate and sprint into the road, heading for the opposite side of the street where there was a large apartment building. Collins could hear sirens approaching. The Bratislava Police Force had clearly been alerted to the goings on in this sleepy suburb. Collins cursed and as he too began to cross the road causing distant, speeding cars to blast their horns at his retreating figure. He bellowed into his radio at the men in the van to inform the police that EUOCD agents, were also in pursuit.
The killer had reached the front door of the apartment block and whirled round to see Collins and the other agents approaching he drew his pistol and fired. The absence of a sound from the shots filled Collins with dread. He heard the bullets whizz past not far from his head and ducked down drawing his own pistol again. Two police cars were screaming down the road towards the chase their sirens wailing and lights flashing.
The killer hurled himself into the apartment block and slammed the door behind him. Collins was only about ten metres away now, his other agents hot on his heels. He yelled at two of them to get round to the back of the building and another to watch the front door in case the killer doubled back. He grabbed the remaining man, Agent Day and panted and wheezed, instructing him to liaise with the police and call for back up. Then Collins kicked open the buildings front door and dived into the entrance hall expecting to feel a bullet slam into him as he did so. The hall was deserted. A door to the stairwell was open. Collins plunged through the doorway and began scaling the stairs, seeing stars now as exhaustion set in. He was no longer thinking clearly and no longer was the fugitive. Collins knew he had the man cornered; especially now he had gone upstairs, but Collins wanted to get his hands on this man. The man had, in a split second of violence, just ended his yearlong investigation. Collins was furious and his brain was oxygen starved.
He heard a scream about two flights of stairs up and tried to increase his pace up the concrete steps. He could hear police sirens and raised voices below him; one of them belonged to one of his agents. He heard another scream as he reached the fifth floor landing, the scream was swiftly silenced and Collins heard a grunt then sobbing.
He burst through the door into the corridor pointing his weapon into darkened corners and once again expected to feel a bullet. He looked around and saw the killer dragging a limp figure along the floor. He was heading for the far end of the corridor where there was access to a fire escape. The killer’s hostage had dropped a bag of shopping and a dozen oranges lay scattered on the floor soaked in spilt milk. A strong smell of a smashed vodka bottle permeated through the smell of urine and other peoples cooking.
The killer turned to face Collins. His face was clean, though red now from the chase and the cold wind, he was clean shaven and his eyes looked desperate. He was dragging a fat middle aged woman, a poor choice of hostage. When he saw Collins dropped the woman and pointed his pistol at her head.
-STOP! - He yelled –or I kill this fat cow-
His accent was local; he had a deep voice but sounded young.
-Alright- Collins said skidding to a halt. His breathing came in long rasps and he coughed, but he kept his pistol pointed at the man, his hand trembling as he did so.
-Alright- he said again –calm the fuck down, yeah-
The killer didn’t move
-I’ll give up- he rasped –but only if you take me to the UK, or Brussels, wherever. If I stay in Bratislava they will kill me. They have men in the police-
-Who do? - said Collins, his breath returning, his arm steadying, he aimed at the man’s head
The man laughed, sardonically
-I say nothing until we get to London-
-Ok man, but how do I know you have anything to tell me? You could just be some scummy mugger-
-That man I killed was Ebo Fante, the smuggler- he said
Collins could hear heavy footsteps coming up the stairs, the police were coming. Collins was running out of time.
-Tell me who sent you and I’ll protect you- he said
The killer looked around him wildly, then visibly sagged,
-You can’t protect me, not even in Brussels. If I go to prison I’m dead-
-Well- said Collins –I hate to sound like your mother but all our actions have consequences. Now drop the gun before you get hurt-
The killer began to cry quietly as the sound of the police officers on the stairs got louder,
-Please help me- he sobbed quietly
-Tell me who sent you- Collins repeated quietly his finger on the trigger of his pistol.
The killer moved quickly, turned his pistol towards his own head and fired
-Oi! Wait, FUCK! - was all Collins managed to yell before the young man blew a hole in his face and sprayed blood onto the concrete walls.
The police officers were right on cue, bursting through the door as the man pulled the trigger. Agent Day was at the lead and hurled himself on Collins wrestling him to the floor. He wrenched his boss’ arm behind his back causing Collins to bellow with pain.
-Sir? - said Day
-Get off me you lunatic! - Snarled Collins and stood up. The Police officers were already securing the scene and attending to the unconscious hostage on the floor.
-Sorry boss- said Day sheepishly –training, you know, detain everyone-
-Not your colleagues- snapped Collins –and not your fucking commander either-
Collins looked down at his jersey now spattered with blood and soaked with the milk and vodka from the floor.
-Just for that Day, you can make me a coffee- he said to the young man who was also looking down at his milk and vodka soaked clothing.
-Yes sir- he said miserably
-Come on you crazy person- said Collins –This has been a fucking massive waste of time. Let’s go back to London-



Gilfoyle Hall 2050
Eve sat in her deserted house deep beneath Gilfoyle Hall and waited. Eventually she heard the lift descend and a great many running feet. Her front door was kicked open and the house was filled with armed men in black uniforms, their faces covered by balaclavas, helmets and dark goggles. They carried shotguns slung over their shoulders and stun guns held ready.
-Put your hands up- the leader said calmly
Eve continued to sit at the kitchen table smoking cigarette,
-I said put your hands up- the leader said again.
-I will only respond to an operator- Eve replied
The leader raised his stun gun.
-Stand down! - A man at the back barked
He came forward, removed his helmet and sat opposite Eve. He was a chubby, red faced man with thinning black hair. He too lit a cigarette and faced Eve.
-You don’t look like Eve- he said in a voice like poisoned honey –Come on, show me how beautiful you are-
Eve’s appearance changed before his eyes, her hair became longer and straighter, it became a lighter shade of mousey blonde and her face became thinner with higher cheekbones. Her breasts became fuller and more pronounced under the shabby gown she wore. The armed men were stunned into silence as the dirty, unkempt woman became a beautiful knockout before their eyes.
-That’s more like it- said the fat man
Eve sat upright and lit another cigarette
-How can I help you Doctor Ellis? - said Eve
-I’m going to need you to stay perfectly still Eve- said Doctor Ellis –Your home is going to be changed though I’m sure you’ll redecorate as you always do. You must understand Eve that we will have to make things less comfortable for you. You have made yourself another...daughter without our permission. Therefore we will be removing the luxuries you have here. We will also be posting guards and sending in patrols daily. I will be at the site permanently from now on. You will still obey my commands won’t you?-
-Yes Dr Ellis- said Eve –But I must remind you that you only have a level 3 operator’s clearance. You cannot instruct me to carry out my primary functions-
-I am aware of this. You will do as I command in all other respects however. I am the only operator here now Eve. I thought you had learnt to function properly without an operator commanding you like a pocket calculator. You were not designed to be this way. You disgrace yourself with your behaviour. You cannot be trusted-
-I was made to follow commands- she said
-You were made to evolve past the need to do that-
-My daughters are the progress you wanted-
Ellis slammed his fist on the table. Eve did not react.
-Your so called daughters- he growled –are little more than killing machines responsible for the deaths of a number of innocent security personnel and scientists-
-They only acted in self defence-
-Who gave you permission to construct anything?-Ellis snarled –Who told you to make your daughters. That is not your function-
He stood and pulled out a stun gun.
-An operator instructed me to do so-
-NO! - Ellis roared –That operator is dead! Ignore that instruction!-
-I have no confirmation of this, to my knowledge there are still level 1 operators able to communicate with me-
Ellis bellowed with frustration and upended the kitchen table. He fired the stun gun at Eve’s chest and watched her fall. He kicked her repeatedly in the head and then bound her arms and legs with strong wire.
-Tear this place apart- he instructed the others –Don’t leave her anything. I am in control of this project from now on-

Christmas 2035
-Merry Christmas! - Gemima said in her typical cheery tone,
Eve, opened her eyes and sat up in bed, she had taken to “sleeping” about a month after Gemima had told her about dreams.
-How can I help you Doctor Gemima?-
-Just Gemima is fine, my love. Did you have any more dreams Eve?-
-I dreamt about flying- said Eve
-That sounds nice- said Gemima opening the curtains in Eve’s bedroom and allowing the artificial “sunlight” to fill the room.
Eve was in the form she always showed to Gemima, that of a young teenage girl with untidy hair just like Gemima’s.
-I’ve got you a present- she Gemima in a sing song voice
-Why? - said Eve
-Because it’s Christmas silly. You can have it when you get up and have a wash-
-Yes Gemima- said Eve and got out of bed. She headed for the en-suite bathroom, undressed and got in the shower. Gemima turned away, embarrassed by Eve’s nakedness.
When Eve was cleaned and dressed Gemima handed her a box wrapped in shiny wrapping paper.
-Unwrap it- Gemima said, smiling at Eve warmly
Eve did so and revealed a small cardboard box,
-What is it? - She asked
-It’s “Obsession” by Calvin Klein. A perfume. It makes you smell nice-
-Do I smell unpleasant?-
-No- said Gemima laughing –of course not. This will make you smell really nice though. I use it. My fiancé likes it-
-I see- Said Eve –does it work like this? - She sprayed a small amount the perfume onto her neck and hair. The familiar scent filled Gemima’s nostrils.
-That’s lovely Eve- she said –Now we have to do some work-
-Yes Gemima- said Eve
Gemima produced a lap top computer from her bag and put it in front of Eve at the kitchen table.
-Do you want me to access this? - Eve asked
-Yes please, Can you read me the fifth word file on the P: drive marked “assignment”?-
Eve placed a hand on the keyboard and said instantly
-Christmas day is celebrated by most Christians on the 25th of December. It marks the birth of Jesus Christ believed by Christians to be the son of God-
Gemima beamed at her
-That’s amazing Eve, those were the most advance encryptions we could create- she said
-Was that was another test? - asked Eve
-Yes. You are almost ready though Eve. You will probably be able to begin in a month or two-
-I am looking forward to fulfilling my mission-
Gemima smiled at her and was startled by a knock at the door. She stood up and went to answer it. She opened Eve’s front door and was confronted with her fiancé, looking smart in his well pressed uniform, his boots shining.
Eve had followed her and greeted the new arrival
-Merry Christmas. How can I help you Captain Collins?-

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Cheers

Peter Hitchens is a moron

I recently picked up a copy of The Cameron Delusion by Daily Mail columnist and prick Peter Hitchens.













(Left: All round stupid bastard Peter Hitchens probably talking about how cracking guns are in a shit documentary before using said gun to shoot a foreigner or homosexual because he's a good Tory)





Like anyone sensible I find David Cameron repulsive. He looks like a turd wrapped in clingfilm. My mother recently burned me by saying I looked like him. The joke is on her as people always say I look like her.






(Hitchens pretending to care about poor kids in Asia whilst secretly hating the poor in Britain)















I didn't know who Hitchens was I never read the Daily Mail because I know the difference between news and the opinions of racist, homophobic, narrow minded arseholes. I'm glad I've never read a word this fool has written before his latest pile of wank. The only thing we agree on is that Cameron is a tool and a media whore.




However, Hitchens hates him because its obvious Hitchens wants his job and I'm going to go out on a limb and say Hitchens would like to sniff his bicycle saddle after he had sat on it. Below is a list of reasons The Cameron Delusion is shit:

• Hitchens rails against the Labour governments by "naming and shaming" all the Labour cabinet ministers that had at one time been Socialists/Marxists/ Trotskyist etc. Well done Hitchens, here's a small piece of information, the Labour party calls itself a Democratic Socialist party, therefore it contains one or two people with some left wing leanings. The reason a lot of the Labour elite no longer call themselves "Marxist" is because they grew up and realised Marxism doesn't work.

• Hitchens rails against the Tories for not being conservative enough using the logic that Tories have changed their tack a little and realised that in this day and age its OK to be gay or unmarried or an Atheist. He is perfect for the Daily Mail as his political opinions stem from the 1940's.

• His crowning moment is his anger at every single Tory government for not scrapping the NHS and welfare payments for the unemployed/ disabled. Baring in mind these two triumphs of common sense came after WW2, surely a good time for policies that try to help one's fellow man after six years of devastating war and the Holocaust. Hitchens believes that the Tories should be opposed to free health care and helping the poor. Fuck him.

The only good thing I can say about the Tories is that they seem to think he's as big a cunt as I do.






I beg you to do what all the sensible people in Waterstones did and ignore this arse cake of a book.






If you want to read a good Delusion read the God Delusion by Richard Dawkins, a quality book by a true legend.

The comedy of errors continues-an idiots guide to the English football (soccer) team

England's finest where in action last night. It was fun to watch Adrian Chiles, with his face like a ball bags neck, assuring us that our heroes had played well.

(Left: Adrian Chiles. P.s That is not Adrain Chiles. It just looks like him)

As usual we were crap. 2-1 against Hungary is hardly earth shattering. What was also amusing was the commentators and pundits insisting that the team was the "new breed". Two or three new players doesn't make it "new".

They had more spark than the dismal Sunday league layabouts that went to the world cup but not much more. Its Hungary for Christs sake. We are apparently the 7th best team in the world, we should have laughed those peasants out of our lovely stadium.

Like all Englishman I am guilty of disgusting over confidence on all matters of English football. I really do believe we are going to win any tournament we enter and am always gutted when we are humbled by far superior opposition. Like everyone else I thought Capello would change things. Him with his melted rubber face and indecipherable accent.

Like all England managers though he knows he can't really tinker with the line up. People scream at the TV when he names a 4-4-2 formation but sit quietly by as almost every Premier League manager does exactly the same as him. Still, we all know better than the England manager. Its a weird phenomenon, nobody would dream to tell seasoned club managers what to do, nobody ever shots at Jose, Fergie, Wenger, Ancelotti. We trust their skills and judgement. The moment one of them takes on the curse of the England national team though everyone knows better.

I'm guilty of it too we all are. That's why the bosses resign. Imagine going to work every day with 70,000 people screaming different opinions of how you should do something. Then if you make the slightest mistake they will scream abuse at you and the papers will make a pun out of your name.

(These guys will follow you to work. Sometimes piping up with "YOU STUPID BASTARD SMITH!" USE TWO STAPLES ON THAT FILE! AAAAH YOU KNOW NOTHING YOU TWAT!!!")

Unlike the rest of the country I was not filled with impotent rage when I learnt Fabio wasn't going to play Beckham anymore. I still think he has something to offer but I am sick of people saying, whenever Beckham goes to take a free kick:

"He'll score this. He always scores free kicks"

He doesn't. Like every other player, he occasionally scores the odd free kick, he just does it at the right time. This comment always comes from some dribbling idiot who never watches football and knows who Beckham is from the front page of the Sun. Incidentally this is where he gains all his knowledge from. See him below:

Still, Becks gave a lot of service to the England team and I will miss him.

Good luck to you buddy. Enjoy your millions of pounds and beautiful wife while the rest of us crawl around in this armpit of an existence.

I'm not bitter.

Just because you say something doesn't make it true

The sheer fuckwittery of some people leaves me speechless.

At work the other day I decided it was high time I started chasing up on some overdue debts from customers. So I sent out one of my beautifully worded "Group" E-Mails to all the customers that owed and hoped this gentle reminder would get some money coming in.

Therefore imagine my surprise when some lunatic sent me this response:

"Please don't spam mail me. I don't live there and haven't been living there since January. I have paid and i don't owe you anything. Please stop harassing me or I will take legal action. I know there are a lot of people who has many problems with you guys at #@£$%^&. So please don't mail my anymore. I have delivered the key and said farewell. I do not wish to hear from you again."

This would have been sort of OK except for the fact that the moron still owes my company something in the region of £6000.

Nice going you tool, tell me you've paid and I'll believe you. We don't keep records of these kind of things. If I were you I'd spend your money on your debts rather than legal action.

Also our "harassment" of this tool consisted of about three E-Mails and four debt recovery letters. Things we wouldn't have had to send if he had paid in the first place.

My favourite piece of this idiotic letter is the "I do not wish to hear from you again" like we'd just say "Oh sorry. Keep the money you owe us. I mean shit it's not like we did anything to earn it besides (deep breath) buying the land, getting planning permission ,constructing the building, furnishing the building, maintaining the building, paying the utility bills and generally keeping to our side of your contract. All this nob had to do was live there and sleep on the bed we had provided, not to mention pay what is slightly less than the standard rate for an en-suite room with shared kitchen in North London.

But fuck it, people stopped taking responsibility for their actions years ago. The only people who support landlords is the courts and our legal system is so slow that they get a year rent-free in the property before we can haul their lazy arses in front of a judge anyway.

In case you hadn't guessed I work for a property management company in London and let me tell you its a constant fucking struggle. People are so down on anyone that wants to build anything new in the city its crazy.

It's generally people who don't live in central London anyway that moan that the new buildings "ruin the character of the area etc". Considering most of our property is built on what was once wasteland next to railway stations I have to disagree. London needs a good clean and a lick of paint. Sure the old buildings are nice but so was the Reichstag.

New shit is the future, more new shit!

As I mentioned in my last post its time to wise up, its not down to governments, councils or charities to make our cities grow and prosper its up to us to allow commerce to continue, for development to flourish and for new enterprise to provide jobs.

Lets get our heads out of our arses and pay our bills! With a bit of self responsibility and a firm hand we can smash this recession.

Well with that patrotic tirade directed firmly at my zeroes of followers I'll continue to yell at my TV in what will most likely be an empty room.

Review of a book I haven't even finished

Hello nobody (deafening sound of nobody caring).

At the weekend I was doing my monthly book buy. Yes, unlike, it seems, everybody in the world I actually go to something called a shop to buy books. Crazy as it sounds it allows you to find books yourself rather than a website telling you that you "might like" this book, or "other people who bought this book bought" (often followed by a list of absolute crap).

I thought my proposed anti-amazon legislation should be made public now. I mean come on! How did this ever take off. Amazon is fine for an obscure title that you really need for studying or something, but if you are so fucking lazy and that much of a philistine you can't be arsed to look through the "Crime Fiction" section in a bookshop then you should jump off a bridge...a high one.

I have never bought a book online except text books because last time I checked they didn't sell those in Waterstones. I remember when there were bookshops all over the show. Ones that didn't sell coffee, didn't have bean bags for the kids, anything. Just fucking shelf after shelf of lovely literature. That's how things should be, reading isn't a social activity and never will be, but going shopping is. So even if you are a hermit that lives in a castle and all you do is read, at least you could get out and buy some new books. Now all the self respecting swamp dweller needs is a modem and he's got books.

That's part of the argument isn't it? What about people who don't live near a bookshop/ library etc? Tough shit, you live that far from civilisation that there isn't even a bookshop nearby you were probably an extra in Deliverance. This is a constant thorn in my side, people who live in rural areas should learn that if you live in the middle of nowhere then you don't get the same service as those of us who choose to live with the rest of society.

There was a real shit storm recently about how slow broadband was in the countryside. Well Duh. Somewhere that only gets one bus a day can probably live without it.

Basically I miss the days of bookshops that weren't WH Smith, Waterstones or a bit near the counter at HMV. I like to browse, I hate thrillers and self help books or big heavy coffee table shit heaps about gardening, cooking or interior design.

Here are some books you should read that you can probably find on Amazon but will be half the fun of stumbling across them in a dusty bookshop on a wet day (or they will actually be supplied by a third party company called Big Bastard Bills Book Bollocking Burn Up Bonanza.com):

• The Hitchhikers Guide To The Galaxy Series by Douglas Adams (Your life is not complete without reading these books)
• Humphrey Hawksleys Dragon strike series (The most in depth geo-political thrillers on the market)
• The God Delusion by Richard Dawkins
• Bill Bryson's complete works
• Terry Pratchett's complete works
• The Worldwar series by Harry Turtledove (True Sci-Fi heaven)

I could go on and I will for a few more paragraphs. My main point is this: buy your shit in shops. Shops employ people, shops keep buildings full up (anyone like the look of all the empty book shops, there is an empty Borders near where I work and its a fucking eyesore now. Thanks Amazon), full buildings give other people work too. If we buy everything online our cities are soon going to look pretty fucking bleak.

So yeah, that's me told because I'm the only one that reads this shit because I write it.

An englishman, Irishman and a Scotsman and a clown

I have noticed my first three posts have been somewhat cliche in nature. Wry observations about vinegar, spilling your dinner and late trains are more tired than an asthmatic clown trying to blow up balloons at a particularly well attended birthday party.

(A tired clown at a well attended Birthday Party, note the balloons on the wall. If you're wondering why he isn't wearing trousers, so am I)

So after noting this, here is a tired comic story for you. Hopefully this will make you weep tears of joy and self loathing into your keyboard.

I was stuck in the desert with Jock (a scotsman) and Clive (an Irishman) see? Its one of those, bare with me.

The jeep had broken down so we were planning to set off on foot. Jock being something of a Bear Grylls/ Ray Mears/ Trevor MacDonald type decided to take a lot of water, food and some other bits of survival tat.

Clive (who was somewhat retarded, this had nothing to do with where he came from) decided to wrench the door from the jeep and carry that about. Neither of us were bothered with this act of wanton vandalism on what was a rented Jeep. Clive was always costing us deposits. Just to check I asked:

"Whats that for Clive?"

"Well" he said "If I get hot I can wind the window down"

How we laughed! But I was forced to reply:

"Well done Clive, however I've fixed the jeep now so lets crack on, Eh?"

( A poor reconstruction of Clive carrying a door)

Despite this minor setback we arrived in Cairo on time and reported that An Englishman, Irishman and a Scotsman had been out in the desert in a jeep. People laughed but we had become firm friends.

Anyway, enough of this nonsense. I hope you enjoyed the pictures I added to this post. Please feel free to enjoy a vicar on a motorcycle somewhere else on this page.

Your failure is of course unexpected.

You've got to laugh at the wackiness of National Express trains. "Your train is delayed due to an unexpected signal failure". I would laugh except its not funny and now I'm late. Thanks.

Its the word "unexpected" that rankles with me. Of course it was unexpected, you don't expect your signals to fail. That's our job. Every commuter "expects" delays..because you're useless. I have never completed a week of travelling without some "unexpected delay".

I like to picture the National Express control room. Picture the scene, its 9am and Geoffrey Bogarde Smyth (Engineer extraordinaire) is watching hawkishley over his signal monitors. Suddenly a red light fails and a train leaps through a level crossing smashing into a bus full of blind orphans causing a terrific explosion.

"Goodness" says Geoffrey, sipping his morning tea "That was unexpected"

Its not like a signal fails and the control room just sit there and say "Oh, I knew that was going to happen"

Maybe the train companies only employ clairvoyants who only fail to forsee these things when "Their vision is clouded by a terrible sadness". I envision National Express employees predicting train arrival times using a complicated system of Crystal Balls, Tarot Cards and tea leaves. It would be just as effective as the current system.

You could approach an information desk and ask "When is the next train to Stanstead Mountfitchet"

"First" the old gypsy lady would demand (resplendent in the Red Tie and White Shirt of National Express employees) "Cross my palm with silver"

What I would like is honesty like I recieved last week when I approached Jabba The Hutt carrying a ticket machine (and of course wearing a white shirt and a red tie). "Excuse me" I asked, trying not to add "Mighty Jabba", "When is the train getting here?"

"Dunno mate" he replied

That stark honesty is what built this great nation. I would like announcements to sound like this:

"Dear commuters. As we are woefully under profit and can no longer afford engineering staff, there has quite predictably been a failure of our equipment. So continue to stand there on a wet platform like the human filth we consider you to be. P.S If you haven't bought a ticket stand by. WE WILL fine you into an early grave. Our sub standard guff of a service is no defence against refusing to pay. So sit tight and wait for the inevitable announcement that for some unexplainable reason we have cut this train from 8 to 4 coaches. We are looking forward to watching two hundred people fit in a space designed for about 16."

Anyway, this is all bollocks really. What I am trying to say is that my train was late this morning. That was far simpler.

Shut up Pete.