The road to Hell (Michigan)

This week, undoubtedly fuelled by being trapped indoors by the rain with only the kids for screaming company, I decided I wanted to become a Travel Writer. Not one of those ones that visit Venice and remark that they found the quaintest little coffee shop just behind the third piazza on the right. And I definitely did not want to be one of the ones that wrote ‘Ten rambles through the Salisbury plains’ either.


I wanted to be like Bill Bryson, actually I think I wanted to be Bill Bryson. I wanted to visit places like Buttsville (Pennsylvania) just to see how many arseholes lived there. I had to see if there was a Dentist in Snaggletooth (California). I wanted to know how demanding the ladies were in Iron Knob (South Australia). Would Dissapointment (Kentucky) really be one? And I really, really needed to know what they drank out of on Whisky Dick Mountain (Washington). That was it, I had made up my mind, I was doing it.

My wife, once she had stopped laughing at me however, had other ideas. What about the children, who was going to look after them whilst I was off gallivanting in search of funny sounding places? A good question, as much as it pained me to admit it. Sod it, I would take them with me, although that would rule out visiting Titty Hill (England), as what was the point if I had the kids with me?

They are actually easier to control in the car anyway, they’re locked in place for starters, and if their noise got to be too much I would unleash the secret weapon. Normally I’m only allowed to have the car stereo’s volume at a maximum of 14, and only that loud if it’s a track the wife particularly likes. But I have discovered (when she was at work of course) that if I play Marilyn Manson as loud as 19, the kids kind of go into a trance, all slack jawed and silent. Works every time. She also said we had to be back by tea time, which seriously put paid to my plans of visiting Twatt in (all of) Scotland.

I decided to visit Butts Green (Essex), the kids spend so much time rolling around the grass anyway, and it was only 35 miles from home. I packed a bag full of healthy snacks and drinks, as well as a big bag of sweets to help with the bribery. I had my notebook, two pens and a Valium so I was set and we were ready to go.

We managed to get to the top of the road before the five year old informed me that she was busting for the toilet. My eldest is 16 for God’s sake, you would have thought that I had been in this game long enough to make the kids go to the toilet before we left. Then again, I’ve been carrying a wallet since I was 16 and after we had dealt with all things toilet and re-departed, we had to return again to pick that up.

The only excuse I can offer for having to return a third time is that I have only been carrying a mobile phone for a mere ten years, so was bound to have forgotten it given my track record. I’m sure our neighbour, as she waved us off for the fourth time, was starting to think I was trying to catch her stealing my plants or maybe the lid from our bin, as I had noticed hers hadn’t got one.

We hit traffic within 10 minutes, of course we did, why should I expect that anything in my life was going to be plain sailing? The bag of sweets turned out to be sugar-free so they went out of the window. I ask you, what kind of sick mind invents something like that. I bet it was the same kind of idiot that believes in telling children there is no such thing as Father Christmas, as it just perpetuates the commercialism of the birth of Jesus, or some such lily livered tree hugging codswallop. I was not happy, and obviously nor were the kids, they can smell a phoney a mile off.

I went to put the Marilyn Manson CD on but it was missing from the case, this was dire. I made a frantic phone call to the Wife to see if she had moved it, she had. Apparently me picking her up from church every Sunday, blasting Mr Manson’s version of ‘Personal Jesus’ had been deemed inappropriate. I do have a history of allegedly playing the wrong song at the wrong time though. Whenever the Mother in Law starts to leave our house after another visit, I have a habit of blasting ‘Stairway to Heaven’ on the stereo. Some people just can’t take a joke, and now the joke was on me.

I tried to fob them off with raisins but that only resulted in a food fight, which then obviously ruled out giving them an apple. The last thing I needed was to be hit with one of them whilst driving at 50 mph. That was of course if we ever got to go any faster than the tortoise mph that we were currently doing. Thirty minutes later I gave in, and turned the car around in defeat.

As we pulled up and trudged out of the car, my neighbour asked me what I had forgotten this time. With a sigh I replied “I forgot that you don’t have to go to Michigan to visit Hell.” She gave me a quizzical look, put the lid on her bin, and scurried into her house.

A Fistful of Dollars

To plug, or not to plug: that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outraged bloggers,
Or to take gifts against a sea of adverts,
And by opposing end them? To die: gift free.

Would Shakespeare have written that today, a wannabe screenwriter, reduced to mere blogging to practice his craft? Accepting gifts and bribes from the Corporate world, some relevant to him, most not. There’s a part of me that thinks he might, well especially before his independent art house film got picked up and bastardised by Hollywood anyway. I don’t know enough about Shakespeare the man, to know if he wrote for the love of writing, or to keep a roof over his head. You’ve got to hope that someone that wrote ‘Love is too young to know what conscience is,’ was doing it for more than mere trinkets and baubles. But a man’s got to eat, no?

I am in no way shape or form comparing myself to the great man, sometimes I have to stop and think if there’s an ‘e’ at the end of his name, but we all have aspirations to be published one day. I don’t know if writing something with the pure intention of selling a product, makes you a better or worse writer. Is there a skill involved in trying to hide the fact that you’re a corporate glove puppet whilst actually selling the product at the same time? Or is that just a white lie you tell yourself before you attempt to look in the writers’ mirror?

I guess we all have pieces of work that make us cringe when looking back on them, but does knowing someone gave you a new knife set for writing it make you feel better or worse? Maybe it depends on how you see yourself. Am I a writer that happens to write a Daddy blog, or am I a Daddy blogger? I guess if it’s the later then it’s OK to take whatever the Fat Cats want to throw at you. Parent blogging is seen as big business by those in the know, we’re relatively cheap to bribe, and everyone’s a winner. Who can’t do with more toys, nappies, wine tokens?

But what if you want to either be seen as, or become a serious writer? If I’m going to sell my soul to the Devil then surely I should demand something a bit more than new pots and pans. Surely a Pulitzer, or a Booker maybe, or heaven forbid a Best Original Screenplay Oscar would be better compensation. There’s a good chance I would sell my three children’s souls for those awards, well two of theirs anyway, I think one of them have made their own deal already.

Or am I doing us bloggers a disservice? Apparently we are the reason that the print media is in decline so we must have some power. Our content is free, often quick to produce, and has no overheads. We have no big shot owners or political flunkies to appease, we can write what we want and when we want it. The New York Times, The Washington Post, The Times, all of them carry adverts, does that make them less of a paper? The Huffington Post has some of the world’s best bloggers writing for them, but they still run adverts alongside the content.

Anyway, I’m just starting to ramble now. I created myself a soapbox then didn’t know what to say once I climbed on board. I apologise for the lack of humour in this post, it’s just that I nearly pressed ‘publish’ on a blog that contained the sentence ‘Luckily **** Stores, who have some amazing online stores where I can get everything from cookware to lights’, and it seems to have shaken all the laughter out of me. Normal smart arse service will be resumed soon I’m sure.

Your Worst Nightmare

Oh my God, I am 20 minutes into a power cut, and I have started to lose the will to live already. Katy and Mate, having been deprived of their Disney fix, are running round the house screaming. Every now and then Mate will stop and hand me the remote control, his look says "Dad you can fix anything, make it work." He can't say these words yet, but the constant prodding gets his point across. I have now realised how often I use the TV as a punishment tool, my "quieten down, or I will turn this off". This now has no meaning or impact. I am Superman and the lack of electricity is my kryptonite.

I am thankful for Dawn's laptop, with which I am writing this now, but the lack of internet is starting to have an effect on me. I can't Google kryptonite, so I have no idea if I have spelt it right or not. Where else can I find this information? When I write I like the quiet distraction of tweetdeck flashing away in the top corner, letting me know every time one of my friends has something to say. The challenge of being witty in 140 characters started me writing in the first place, can I still write without it? I guess you will be the judge of that, once I eventually get to upload this that is.

35 minutes now. They have told me on the phone that it will be 3pm at the earliest, it's only 11.37 now, I must take a deep breath and calm down. It's not the end of the world is it, is it? Oh apparently it is, well it is to Dawn, as Mate has just drawn on her piece of paper. Give me strength, someone give me strength.

I know, let's go out for a walk, that will kill some time. Oh somebody please give me a break. It is the end of July and the rain is torrential. Is this a test of some kind, am I being filmed? Or has some cosmic deity decided its 'Poop on J' day? I'm not a bad bloke really. OK, I do take the piss a bit, can have a caustic tongue when it suits me, but surely that does not deserve this.

Has just occurred to me that my friends on twitter won't know what's happened to me. They must be wondering by now, I was in the middle of at least 3 conversations. At least one of them must be thinking about me. I wonder if I can plug the phone line straight into the laptop?

Nope, that hasn't worked, and now the kids have found the broadband router, they think it is the answer to the problem, and that shaking it will turn the power back on. Stupid kids, I tried that half an hour ago, of course it won't work. I hate this laptop, why is it so hard to go back and put a missing apostrophe in?

This unfinished twitter conversation is really starting to bug me now, there must be a solution. Eureka, I will ring my mate Andy, he is the only person in the real world who has tried it. He gave up after one day, but not before I introduced him to a few of my virtual friends. He can let them know I am safe, and not to worry.

Have just come off the phone to Andy, all sorted, I feel a bit better now. Oh my god, am I an addict, I can't be, don't be silly. Next problem, the kids, this one won't be so easy.

They are running round in circles at the moment, they seem to be happy. It has been so long since running around in circles made me happy. Nowadays it just drives me nuts, why and when did that change. Wouldn't it be nice to go back to that time?

Mate has just trod on a brick and is screaming, my questions have been answered. It seems that if we keep our shoes on forever, then we will continue to enjoy running around in circles. Wow, that's deep, can't wait to tweet that one. Bugger, how can I?

It's 12.10pm now, if I can just hold the kids out to 12.30pm then its lunchtime. Ten minutes of relative quiet, not long to go. I have just caught a look at my reflection in the laptop's screen. I look like that famous painting by Munch I think, 'Scream', best Google that to check. Damn. Just when you think you have got over the pain, something pops up and slaps you in the face to remind you. Is this what grieving is like? I'm not comparing the two of course, but I do have a sense of loss. I think I'm getting a migraine.

Is 12.15 too early for lunch? It's a one off, am sure it won't matter too much, yes let's do lunch. Whilst they eat I can have a nice cup of coffee and read the paper. No instant coffee, perfect. Just caught myself stamping my foot in temper, trod on brick, all is clear again.

Have beers in the fridge, which is off, of course. I will have to drink them before they spoil. A silver lining at last, three of them in fact. That's better, there are no problems only solutions. Who said that? Caught myself in time then, it was my brother in law Mr Cliché-Man, one of his favourites that one.

Have 55 minutes battery life left on laptop. That only takes me up to 1.24pm, Mate won't have even gone for his nap by then. Will turn it off for a while, read the paper or something. I still have the Sunday Times to get through, that should do nicely.

Back again, it is now 1.45pm and by some kind of strange computer mathematics, there are only 39 minutes of battery left. How can turning something on and off take 16 minutes of battery? I had just got myself into a calm state of mind (putting Mate upstairs for his nap helped), and now this whole battery situation has got me all het up again.

The sun is out now, maybe I should go out in the garden, do some weeding or something. I love listening to opera when I'm gardening, makes me feel high-brow, and sure confuses the neighbours. I was looking for my Madam Butterfly CD when we lost the power, have found it now but of course I can't listen to it can I. Maybe this is Verdi's cosmic revenge on me for not choosing La Traviata to listen to. Were him and Puccini rivals back in the day? I would look it up but, well you know the end of that sentence.

Whilst I have be daydreaming about a Puccini/Verdi sing off X-factor style, Katy has grabbed anything not nailed down and piled it up in the middle of the room. According to the battery remaining clock, I have only been tranced out for six minutes, how did the pile of debris get so high? Do all laptop users time their day by how much battery is left? Do they say to each other things like "Meet you in Starbucks at 58 minutes remaining"?

I think I may be going insane. I always thought insane would be a loud thing to happen, come at you all kicking and screaming. When in actual fact it is a stalking lion, creeping up on an unsuspecting Gnu. Katy is now whispering to Mount Debris. I can't hear what she is saying but I bet it's about me. I have taken away her basic human right to electricity, and Playhouse Disney.

Offered her a lolly pop to test the waters, she just gave me a sad look and said that she only has them when she watches TV, apparently it's not the same now.

Have just spent 8 battery remaining minutes convincing Katy to have a lolly pop. In the end I had to agree to cut some flowers from the hanging baskets to put in her flower press, just so she would agree to put a huge lump of sugar in her mouth. I think a lack of electricity is altering my perception. I am too confused to know if this is a good or bad state of affairs.

Panic has set in, the '10 minutes of battery life remaining' icon has started flashing. It's only 2.30pm, what am I going to do. This laptop is the only link with my old life, those pre-boredom years. I can't let go of that, I'm not ready to move on.

Have officially hit the bottom rung of the insanity ladder. Just took a photo of the screen to remind me of the old days. I am worried that the ten minutes promised will not be accurate, must save before it's too late. Done. Should I save after each sentence? What if my final line is a real good one and I have not sav

Nobbly Oak Woods

I haven't written a blog piece this week, as I have been working on a children's story ('Book 'em Danno!' will explain my thinking). I have no idea what I will do with this story, now that is basically finished, but I thought I would share it with you anyway. Feel free to print it off and read it to your kids (presumptuous I know), would love to hear any feedback, good or bad. A normal service will be resumed next week (hopefully).

Nobbly Oak Woods

Our story starts in Nobbly Oak Woods, it is quite an ordinary place to live. The bats aren't too hungry, the owls aren't too noisy, the trees aren't too scary, and the creepy crawlies aren't too big. Altogether not a bad place to live, if you like talking animals that is. If you were to walk across the thin green bridge, over the pile of rocks that look like a spider, and through Tickly Grass Meadow, you would come across a cosy little cottage. It looks just like the one Hansel and Gretel found, except this one isn't made of sweets, and a horrible Witch does not live inside.

Inside this house live five beautiful forest Princesses. Forest Princesses look like normal castle Princesses, except that they don't live in a castle, and they don't have a wicked step-mother who is always trying to do nasty things to them. In fact they do not have any parents at all, they were made by a magician, because all the creatures and tree's in the woods were lonely, and they wanted somebody to sing to them. So they called the Magician on the wood horn, paid him with berries, flowers, and some nasty smelling mushrooms. Hogrot, for that was the magician's name, waved his wand in a big circle, and Hey Presto, the Princesses appeared.

They all looked exactly the same, beautiful but bald. Everybody wondered how they would be able to tell them apart, but Hogrot gave them all a 'wait for it' look, and one by one their hair began to grow. Hogrot gave a small smile, and introduced them to everybody, everybody except Nodrig the bunny, who had fallen asleep.

First was Sunshine who had long blonde hair, the colour of buttercups.

Second was Raven with hair as black as the cupboard under the stairs.

Third was Lily whose hair was as white as a snowman's belly.

Fourth was Hazel with brown hair that shone like a chestnut.

Fifth was Scarlett with a shock of red hair that looked like strawberries, but smelt of, well hair.

The whole forest laughed, and clapped, and cheered, and once everyone had quietened down Hogrot took a huge bow, and POP, disappeared leaving a small puff of smoke and the slight smell of old mushrooms. The forest folk then led the Princesses into their new home, and left them alone to settle in.

Over time the Princesses learnt all the forest songs (except "Googly is a codswallop" because nobody really liked that one), and they would spend their days, singing, dancing, and having a fun old time. Sometimes they would draw pictures of the wood folk, and they were also good at making the most colourful clothes from the leaves and flowers that grew around their cottage. The years went past and nothing really changed, everyone was happy, and colourfully dressed, and the Princesses remained as beautiful as ever, and everybody lived happily ever after.

THE END

What do you mean you want more, I thought everybody liked a happy ending? What more is there for me to tell you? I told you about the hooded horseman and his quest did I not? Silly me, I would forget my head if it was not screwed on. OK I shall continue my story, sit back down, get yourself ready, and back to Nobbly Oak Woods we shall return.

The hooded horseman stopped at the edge of the woods and looked in. All the animals, and at least three of the trees, covered their eyes and turned away. The horseman ignored them, and made his way into the woods. He kept his horse at a slow trot, until he entered the clearing in the middle of the woods. There he announced in a booming voice "I am Prince Griswold, and I have searched these lands from Greentop Mountains, to Wispy Hollow, looking for a beautiful princess to marry." Everyone looked at each other with a worried frown. "I have searched every Castle, and they have all been empty. These woods are my last chance to find a bride. Be there any here?"

Nodrig the bunny, who was not asleep for a change, heard these words, and ran off to the cottage to tell the Princesses. Being a lazy bunny, and one not used to running, Nodrig was out of breath when he reached the Princesses. For 5 minutes they all watched him with puzzled looks on their faces, whilst he tried to gasp out what was happening. After many deep breaths he managed to blurt out "There is a Prince in the clearing, and he is looking for a princess to marry. Comb your hair and put on your best dress, and follow me."

Twenty minutes of busy running around and hair combing later, the five Princesses left the cottage, and started the slow walk to the clearing, with a puffed out Nodrig trailing behind them. Quite a crowd had developed once they got there, and as soon as they entered the clearing everybody went quiet, except Coughy Joe the Mole, who was, well coughing.

"Come forth beautiful maidens. Let me cast my eyes upon you" ordered Prince Griswold loudly. "At last I have found myself not one, but five lovely Princesses. Come closer so I can see you all the better." They all looked at each other and then took a step closer. The Prince took his time looking at them, and then announced "I have found myself a Wife, for any one of you fine young girls will do!"

With that he pulled off his hood so that everyone, including the five beautiful Princesses, could see him. It would be quite safe to say that Prince Griswold was the ugliest person in the whole kingdom. The trees were so shocked all their leaves fell off, the frogs forgot how to croak, the family of otters starting crying, and the ducks started barking. The whole clearing had one big kerfuffle at the hideous site before them.

It is quite hard for me to describe the Prince to you, but I will try my best. One of his eyes was yellow, and the other was mushy pea green, and droopy. He had four big hairy warts on his very pointy chin that was also quite long. His nose was big, round, and red like a clown's, except it was covered with lots of pus filled spots, that were all oozy and running. His ears were 2 different sizes and shapes, and neither of them were a nice size or shape. He also had green and brown hair that looked like it had not been washed since Eldred the Foolish was King, and that was a long time ago. We all missed King Eldred, who had died trying to get his ping pong ball out of a lion's mouth, but that is a story for another day.

The Prince jumped off his horse, and kicked Nodrig out of his way. The Princesses may have been able to fall in love with an ugly Prince, but a cruel one, never. They all turned around and ran off into the woods as fast as their legs would carry them.

Sunshine ran and ran and ran, until she spotted a cottage very like her own. Outside this cottage was a sign that read "WANTED PORRIDGE TASTER, ENQUIRE WITHIN". Sunshine stopped, read the sign, and knocked on the door. A big Bear with a very friendly face answered the door, "Come in, Come in, let me introduce you to my wife and son. By the way, what type of porridge do you like?"

Raven and Lily always did things together, so they went straight to Two Toad Pond. Once there, they grabbed one of the toad's each, and gave them a big wet kiss. Everybody knows that when a beautiful maiden kisses a frog, the frog turns into a Prince, but what is less known is that if you kiss a toad the opposite happens. By the time Prince Griswold arrived, Two Toad Pond had turned into Four Toad Pond, and one of the toads had white hair, one had black hair, and the other two looked very happy.

Hazel looked around not knowing what to do. Mr and Mrs Mole called over for her to follow them, and that is what she did. They led her around the three Oak trees and to the entrance of their burrow. The hole was not big enough for Hazel to fit through, so she dropped to her knees and started digging a hole until it was big enough for her to wiggle through. Once she had crawled along the tunnel, she found a large opening, and saw Mr Mole standing over a fire, brewing a large pot of tea. "One lump of two dear?" said Mrs Mole as she handed Hazel a tea cup.

Scarlett ran as fast as she could into the woods and straight into the arms of Wolfy the Misunderstood. He wrapped his red coat with a big hood around her, "Matches your hair darling" he said, and then he rushed her off to his Grandmother's cave to hide.

Prince Griswold searched for the five Princesses for two days and two nights, and still he could not find them. The more he searched, the angrier he got, the angrier he got, the redder his nose became, until BANG, his nose exploded. If you thought the Prince was ugly before, well you should have seen him then. Not even a blind skunk, without a sense of smell, would have been able to love him now.

The prince jumped back onto his horse, and rode out of the woods, the sounds of the forest folk laughter, ringing in his very ugly ears. He decided to give up looking for a wife, they seemed to be a lot of trouble to find, and to be honest, he hated horse riding as well. He returned to his castle, a long tall building with only one window, and one servant, a tiny person who weaved a lot. The prince could never pronounce his name, so he called him "You". The prince never left his castle again, and You found a golden haired bride of his own, leaving the ugly and angry prince alone.

REALLY THE END

Book ‘em Danno!

Ever since Katy and Mate (four and two respectively) started sharing a room over a year ago, myself and the good Wife (as opposed to the bad Wife who pops her head up come nagging time), have developed a routine in the mornings that enables us to grab an extra hours dozing time. Mate normally wakes first at about 6am, so I quickly grab him and take him downstairs, chuck him in the sofa bed, and jump in myself for the extra snoozing time. Katy will then wake up at 7am, and snuggle in with her Mum, watch some TV, until boredom and hunger hits at about 7.30am, then we are all reunited.

This works fine unless they both wake up at the same time, say 6.45am, then nothing seems to work, and all hell breaks loose. So we have started an experiment where, when this happens, I just go into them, turn the light on, throw him a few building bricks and her, a book, and just let them get on with it. We don't get the same amount of nap time, but it can be quite fun just listening to them.

Mate has been able to say everyone's name in the house except Katy, but he sussed that out last week, and the words are now all spewing out like verbal diarrhoea. This morning Katy started teaching him new words to say, and helping him with the pronunciation. It all started fairly easily Mum, Dad, Dawn, Katy, Dog (followed by lots of barking from him, and impatience to move on from her), head, tongue (?), clap (followed by lots of clapping, more Katy impatience, woof obviously taught her nothing), hippopotamus! This last one came as a bit of a surprise, especially as Katy can't even pronounce it herself.

I blame my Wife for this, for whilst she is the chief correct-speller-and-all-things-grammar, of the house, she cannot pronounce the long words for toffee. Hearing her attempt to read Katy any book involving dinosaurs is a comic lesson in mispronunciation. John Clesse may be head of the "Ministry of silly walks", but my darling Wife is Vice-chairman of the "Tongue-Tangling Society". I actually fell off the bed laughing the last time she tried to pronounce "Cretaceous", and don't even get me started on "Styracosaurus", too funny.

She has now, quite unreasonably in my opinion, refused to read the night-time story, thus depriving both me, and the kids, of quality mickey-taking time. Now book reading is on my list of chores, along with cooking, gardening, washing, and anything else that requires breaking a sweat. I used to be very self conscious about reading out loud, everything I read came out in a John Major type dull monotone, but armed with the thought that 'how could I be any worse that their Mum', I have started to excel.

I can do the voices, the animal noises, the growls, the roars, the quiet bits, the LOUD BITS, I sometimes even sing. I am a legend in my own Imagination. My very best attribute is the ability to read the rhyming books really fast. This enables me to get downstairs, and into a chair and a beer, a lot quicker than normal. Katy does not even feel short-changed, as she loves it just as much when I muck the words up, as when I ace it.

Another change now that books are in my domain, are the mocking-mummy books. These are normal (but unfamiliar to Katy) books where I can change the plotline to regal her with one of the Wife's drunken exploits. The names are changed to protect the innocent (and guilty), and it can be quite a challenge to fit, say 'drunkenly asking a policeman for a Tango' into a child's story.

This whole process of writing these blogs, has given me a healthy respect for children's authors. I used to be quite dismissive, not of the genre, but of certain types of stories, and would be quite dismissive "Katy, that one is rubbish, put it back". I mean, how hard can it be to write a story for children?

Well, quite hard it seems. I thought it would be quite cool if I could write a story for Mate and Katy, maybe get them to colour in some pictures for it, and maybe even get it published. Such lofty ideas, I had it all planned out. I sat down and started writing the outline for the plot, with the intention to then go back, flesh it out, and add some dialogue. After a few hours pondering, and typing, deleting, and pondering, with some more typing thrown in for good measure, I had my plotline nailed.

I love the word crestfallen, so descriptive, and so apt in this case. To a muted drum roll I give you my story.

There are seven beautiful princesses living alone in the woods, with only a talking bunny and a clumsy deer for company. A Prince comes to rescue them, but he is so ugly, they all kissed frogs to escape, and turned into dinosaurs. All except one, who run off with a wolf with beautiful red fur, and lived happily ever after, raising abandoned baby monkeys. The Prince was so distraught, he locked himself in a tall tower, with only weaving midget for company. The End.

What was I thinking, published, you must be joking. Even if it was, I am sure Disney's copyright lawyers would have a field day with it, such a blatant mishmash and rip off if ever I saw one. I genuinely did not realise as I was working, that I was just rehashing old films. Blame Disney for getting so far into our psyche, I don't know?

I have decided to leave children's books to the experts, experts like Debi Gliori, whose book "No Matter What", I read a while back. It is a fairly simple tale of small fox and his Dad. Small keeps asking his Dad if he would love him if he was grumpy, a bear, a bug, etc. His Dad answers that he will always love him, no matter what. "But what about when you're dead?" Small then asks. The Dad then shows Small the stars in the sky, and explains, "Look at the stars – how they shine and glow, but some of those stars died a long time ago. Still they shine in the evening skies. Love, like starlight, never dies."

I think Shakespeare was the greatest wordsmith and poet, but I think even he would have been proud of that description. It certainly brought tears to my eyes when I read it, and still does to be honest.

Writing kid's books easy? I somehow doubt it, but getting better recognition for your work from this Dad, just got a lot easier.