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The light at the end of the tunnel is depressingly dim.

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all words and art are copyright © of Russell 'C.J' Duffy. For another side of CJ go here: sOMeThiNg For tHE wEeKeND, SiR?

I watched, as I wrote, last night a programme introduced by Andrew Marr on David Hockney. I seldom think of Hockney when considering the great artists which is very remiss of me as I think his work is exceptional. I am very impressed by his current spate of landscapes. The idea of which suddenly strikes me as being almost ‘new wave’ in that it has for so long been a forgotten form. I so wish his nibs would take up landscape as I think his take would be hugely marketable. The thing I like about Hockney is his work ethic. He is not one of those limp wristed pontificators who are only able to create when the roses are in bloom or when the moon is new or when their mild headache has gone. David Hockney rises early to catch the light and in all manner of weather conditions. He works hard and long and although very wealthy has not lost his working class ethic. The art he is currently producing is fantastic. Wish I could afford to buy some. I would need a bloody big wall to hang it on though!!


As I watched TV I wrote nearly 1,000 words on chapter 10 of ‘Hand in Glove. I described it yesterday as being a mutant cross between Mills and Boon and Midsomer Murders. I think the Mills and Boon bit needs to be revised as the book is now running free down a path carved out by Woody Allen’s ‘Vicky Christina Barcelona. It has really taken on a life of its own this novel of mine. Nothing like the previous stories even though it is still very much of that world. I think the romance element works well and is not strictly something only females will like. I am not sure if the erotic part is suited though. It is very much a part of the story but it is very graphic.

Today has been far busier with several quotes to produce. Modern working life gets more Dickensian. Instead of clerks working their inky quills of the pages of leather bound ledgers we now work with an electronic system that incorporates Excel spread sheets along with Adobe and Quark, PDF’s and FTP sites. It really is the same old stuff even if it is far more sophisticated. Then again, is it? The only advantage with PC’s is that the store everything in one easy to access area. It saves space but it doesn’t necessarily improve service. I tend to think we have lost out rather than gained anything. Service needs a smile not a keystroke.

Here is one of David Hockney's Landscapes...

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all words and art are copyright © of Russell 'C.J' Duffy. For another side of CJ go here: sOMeThiNg For tHE wEeKeND, SiR?

Today has been overcast. I should have gone for a walk at lunch time but didn’t. Lee on the other hand did. He is doing the Marsden March on 11th March and is in some form of training. Good luck to him too. It is a walk of fourteen miles so very achievable even if it will leave him slightly footsore.


I finished ‘The Hitch Hikers Guide to the Galaxy’ and have started ‘The Restaurant at the End of the Universe’ which, much like the previous novel in the series, is jam packed with humour. It surprises me now that I never read them before.

Grace tells me she has got a neat surprise for my birthday. Being Grace she told me what it was laughing as she did…she is taking me to see ‘The Hobbit’ which I am looking forward to seeing. I hope it fares as well as the ‘Lord of the Rings’ films. It should even if it is far more juvenile.

Still playing the latest Bruce Springsteen single over and over. It really hits the spot as far as I am concerned. Filled with passion and fuelled by old time Rock ‘n Roll.

Liverpool won the Carling Cup. No big deal some say but I think all trophies are worth winning otherwise what is the point of playing? Arsenal beat Spurs which was a bit of a shock and another dragon flew over Big Ben. Wowsers!

Still struggling with lack of money and have taken to eating meat rather than going without. I really have no principles against eating meat. All the family do. What I don’t like, and maybe it is after forty years of not touching beef, I find it indigestible. I must have gone to the loo three times last night and then had indigestion all night. And the taste after having finished the meal is so cloying that I have to get up and clean my teeth. It really is unpleasant. I thought I would be able to eat meat again as I did when I was eighteen but so much time has elapsed that maybe I shouldn’t.

Tonight Jasmine took Squid to Lakeside. Squid has another prom shortly, this time with the Sally Army training centre. We simply cannot afford to buy another ball gown for her which breaks my heart. I love all my kids but something tugs at my heart strings with her. She is mad as can be but so loving with it. Jasmine purchased a lovely frock last year which she doesn’t think particularly suits her. She asked Squid if she liked it emphasizing that it had only been worn once. I don’t think Squidy could care if the Southend Football club had all worn the frock as she loved it. Being shades of purple it is her favourite colour too. Jasmine is fortunate to have a fantastic figure but Squid, with her darker hair looks Ab-Fab in it, really the Queen of the ball. Tonight’s trip is to see if they can find some flat shoes for her to wear as heels make her clomp about like Boris Karloff. Shoes for Squid means toast for me. She’s worth it.

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all words and art are copyright © of Russell 'C.J' Duffy. For another side of CJ go here: sOMeThiNg For tHE wEeKeND, SiR?

Saturday didn’t amount to much. I did some housework then in the afternoon went with Squid and Tweezil to Mum’s were again we cleaned. Mum still is having difficulty with her legs which remain swollen. She should have taken the water tablets before but had reservations and wanted to await the coming of the special chair. The chair still has not arrived but Mum is taking the tablets. She now is able to get from her bed to the bathroom and from her living room chair to the commode. All very undignified and I am positive something she doesn’t like.


After the cleaning we went shopping for her. Grace and Brett came for dinner. Brett was cock-a-hoop as Chelsea won their game 3-0. Grace just looks skyward at the mention of football and the older I get the more I understand that feeling.

Sunday I shot over to Mum just for a flying visit. I think it best now that we start to get back to a more normal routine. When I returned home Jasmine was in the garden so I joined her there where I started to cut up the twenty foot or so of evergreen that had snapped of during the windy spell we had. I love doing that stuff and it was good to be working with Jasmine again even if little was said. By the time I finished, about 1pm, the garden looked a lot better than it had but there is still a massive amount to do.

After lunch I settled down to write. I decided not to do anything on Book Four but worked instead on ‘Hand In Glove.’ Some stories just flow. It was like that with ‘Charabanc to Cherbourg’ which really wrote itself. It is the same with ‘Hand In Glove’ which seems to be rolling out of me. When the hard work element disappears with the steady flow of words the fun becomes all the more evident. The story is not typical of my other Fekenham stuff even though it has one or two mad moments. By and large it is a cross between the original six books of ‘Midsomer Murders’ with a sprinkling of a romance novel with one or two erotic bits thrown in for good measure. I think all my Fekenham stuff, including this and the other spin offs may prove to be a marketers nightmare. I have no idea how you would categorise the tales? Comic, romance with a spot of adventure? Mills and Boon meets Withnail and I? Goodness alone knows but I guess that is the beauty of going kindle. I can ‘sell’ the novels as I think best. Still not sure how I will do that but do it I will.

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all words and art are copyright © of Russell 'C.J' Duffy. For another side of CJ go here: sOMeThiNg For tHE wEeKeND, SiR?

The trouble with his nibs is he is talented, very talented. Few people in my industry are capable of doing the same things he can. Look at this art for goodness sake. It is incredible…

Sadly, having such talent is, in the capitalist society we live in next to worthless. Of course the art isn’t nor the talent but we all have to eat, pay bills run a car and, when gifted, the only way it has value in such a context is if you get paid enough for it to make a living. I am scratching around trying, and working very hard, to achieve my personal dream of making my living by writing. I was born with no special gift. I have a love, a passion even, for writing, for creating fictions from my head but I have no natural gift. His nibs does. It’s a bit like being born George best when compared to Johan Cryuff: one was created in heaven the other on earth. His nibs is not Best and I am not the Dutch legend but the similarities are there.

My dream continues. I am still working hard at it ‘cos there is no other way. No one is going to knock at my door asking me to write their biography and why would they? I will be published and so will all the books I have either written or started to write including ‘London.’ The only sad, and bloody difficult but not insurmountable, problem I have is that the man (THE man) who I wanted to work with is not part of that process. Not my choice.

Of course life goes on. It must. The news is filled with larger events than my own.

The world is increasingly hypocritical but then again we always knew that. It is fine for the West to attack and make war with Iraq or Serbia or anyone that is small enough for them to beat but when it comes to Iran, Korea or, and far more pertinently, Syria, we shift uneasily in our seats handing out platitudes along with excuses. I for one do not want us to go to war with anyone. I believe if having a strong, robust defence but at this moment in time President Al-Assad is committing atrocious war crimes on women and children. Something should be done even if that something is only convincing the Russian and Chinese governments of their error in judgement. We kicked the hell out of Gadhafi when it suited us. Do we lack courage now when a similar situation faces us? It would seem so.

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all words and art are copyright © of Russell 'C.J' Duffy. For another side of CJ go here: sOMeThiNg For tHE wEeKeND, SiR?

I had hoped, with Mark Scammell’s help, and possibly Michael Leigh’s, that I could have taken the discharge art blog to another level. It already exists on the internet on Facebook, Myspace and ISSUU (where the chapbooks have been published) but I wanted to produce a monthly, or bi-monthly or even a quarterly magazine, perhaps using the same ISSUU site. As with so many grand plans of mine this has come to nothing. It reminds me of the tragic events that overtook The London Chronicles, a great idea which started with my earlier Wilful Walks but then declined as each chapter/chapbook was published. Two years on and unbelievably the whole project remains in limbo. I have written so much for that project, thousands of words but now they are outdated and in need of amendment. Not that I mind that but the whole idea, and boy what an idea it was, was to get published. Not to faff about as previously but to really go for it. Oh, but I did. The trouble is that my expectations are not shared by others. I see no point in whinging and moaning about a situation; much better to make that change yourself but to do that you need drive.


I no longer feel so certain that partnerships work that well. It is so much easier to work alone and produce stuff at your own speed. This is by no means a reflection on Jase who is beavering away like a little madman and of course my novels will always require cover art or Mark or even, God forbid, his nibs. What I do not like is when two people agree to do something but then one lets the whole thing slip into cobwebbed obscurity and all for the want of effort.

I will never give up with Fekenham nor will I leave the London Chronicles to rot. The first is still on the refined schedule as agreed with Jase and the latter is something I will return to as and when I can.and who knows his nibs may find his muse again. Discharge though is another matter. I started the blog seven years ago and enjoyed it for much of that time. There is more to be done on that score but the magazine is another side project I would like to initiate ASAP. Trouble is the people are like and want to work with are either temperamental old codgers or busy little bees with lives and real work to consider.

I think the concept of combining both discharge and my other blog, “Something For The Weekend, Sir?” is the most practical way of doing it. Discharge on ISSUU, my first chapbook for sure, has had more than 17,000 hits. The other chapbooks have fared nearly as well. This strikes me as being the best platform to start from. Utilise that ISSUU site and combine the articles, some already posted, onto a magazine about creativity so that we would have both articles and images about or profiling artists, poets, painters, cartoonist, writers etc, etc, etc. The fact that so many people visit the discharge ISSUU site also strikes as having obvious commercial value.

Sounds good to me but how do I get anyone interested?


Below is another fine example of Jason Daniels art....

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 all words and art are copyright © of Russell 'C.J' Duffy. For another side of CJ go here: sOMeThiNg For tHE wEeKeND, SiR?

Although the panic attacks have stopped it only takes something that used to seem inconsequential to me to make me lose sleep. I awoke at 4 am, laid in bed for a minute or too then got up. Work was playing on my mind as was the dread of getting yet another red letter.


There was crockery in the sink so I washed up. Not my ideal past time but at that time in the morning it helped me relax a bit. I then read from Douglas Adam’s classic Hitch Hiker’s trilogy in four parts – what a collection of fantastic novels. I have finished The Hitch Hikers Guide to the Galaxy and am half way through The Restaurant at the End of the Universe which is equally funny. It had never occurred to me before but Adam’s preceded Terry Pratchett by a couple of years. The stories are very different with Adam’s writing comedy Sci-Fi and Pratchett sword and sorcery/fantasy. I wonder why neither ever collaborated? Pratchett has with Neil Gaiman. It is one of life’s mysteries.

Both are, or in Adam’s case sadly was, such gifted writers. Fortunately, my work is nothing like theirs but the shadows cast by their now legendary books are something that worries me. It shouldn’t, I do not compete in either genre but still their greatness makes my efforts look pretty useless by comparison. Of course I am nothing but a ‘pulp fiction’ hack. My influences are more Gilberto and Jaime Hernandez, Dave Sim and Will Eisner. Fekenham fails to deliver when set against such talent.

Not a word from Jase. I will not repeat the last mistake as I did with Dave. I do not want, no matter how innocently, to upset another artist. The wait is killing me though. Not the wait but the stupid fixation I have that the books may alleiviate in some small way my lack of money.

I was really chuffed to see the viewers I got on my Something For The Weekend, Sir? Blog. The most I have ever had was 192 but that was over a period. Yesterday’s post on Bruce Springsteen received 62 in very short time indeed, must be the Bruce name that attracted so many ‘readers.’

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all words and art are copyright © of Russell 'C.J' Duffy. For another side of CJ go here: sOMeThiNg For tHE wEeKeND, SiR?

Having first popped into see Mum who, up until today, had been nicely mending, she was sick last night, I got home to a splendid meal of pasta followed by two pancakes covered in lemon juice and sugar. Of course I shouldn’t have sugar but hey, one night only. They were delicious and I could have so easily eaten more. TV was a deformed dog’s leg so I turned to writing instead, Chapter five of ‘Hand In Glove’ to be exact. First time ever during the short period of my writing novels, all of them pulp fiction type things filled with comic, romantic adventures that I have had to do any real research. As the hand in question is a dismembered one that was kept frozen for twenty years, I need to have a rough, and by that I mean very rough, idea of how the body decays after death. The process is irritating especially for someone like me who wants instant results. Having to plough through 36 pages of dry material to find half a teaspoon’s worth of info was not my thing at all, having said that the results pay for themselves so it was worth.


I love the new Bruce Springsteen song, “We Take Care of Our Own.” It has all the classic trademarks you expect from the man: passion, power, pop sensibilities tuned to a Rock ‘n Roll song - Quite incredible. I look at Bruce and see a man of similar vintage to myself. I know precisely what he is saying and where he is coming from. This song is another “Born in the USA.” It is not what you think it is about. I think I might ask one of my kids to get it for me for my birthday.

Here is a rough synopsis:


A severed gloved hand is found by two boys when out fishing in Birchtickle pond. They ‘catch’ the hand quite by accident. When they realise what it is the have hooked they, in a moment of panic, throw it back. The hand falls among some reeds and is later discovered by a local retired man, Harry Hertlasp who delivers the item to Fekenham police station.


Forensic doctor, Hilary Leatherbarrow is called in to examine the hand. She discovers that the core of the hand is still frozen and after running further tests finds the hand to have been amputated several years ago.


Adam Lazarus, from Winchester CID takes on the case and then interviews the residents of the tiny hamlet of Birchtickle all of whom seem to have dark secrets.

I am also 10,000 words into Book Four: The Politics of Turnips which is shaping up nicely. I am trying to develop the characters whilst introducing more odd story lines. Hey Ho!

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 . all words and art are copyright © of Russell 'C.J' Duffy. For another side of CJ go here: sOMeThiNg For tHE wEeKeND, SiR?

Whispered words in gathered corners have my paranoia running overtime. The (first) recent recession went like a tide that never quite leaves the shore. The threat of its return remains ominously present. I recall the last time we suffered these financial straits. It was back in the 80’s. Under Thatcher we suffered three although some may suggest it was only two. I lost my job at News International during that hateful decade remaining out of work for eighteen months. It was a horrendous time. Thumbscrew and Jimbob were young infants. It was a struggle to remain solvent which we managed only with the help of our parents. I have felt forever guilty over that period especially in view of my being part the print union at the time. I felt some sympathy with my colleagues but many of them played a seriously stupid game believing they could take on both Maggie and Murdoch. They couldn’t. They lost and so did we all.


My fear now is that economies of scale may play a part, in fact will play a part in my companies’ strategy. Redundancies will be made. All I can do is keep my head down and pray. I also fear for Brian. He is a welcome addition to my working day and very good at his job. The problem will be though when the company reviews staffing levels here at the Fizzing Drug Store they may ‘rationalise’ Brian out of the equation. I hope not. I like the fellow. He is a good laugh even if he does support Liverpool.

Tomorrow is my disciplinary meeting. I am ambivalent about it. It isn’t that I don’t care or that I am acting with bravado, I simply do not think such things really count for much. The only way such BS can actually have an impact is if you leave one like-minded company then join a similar organisation who inherit your work record. Should you leave the company you work for who religiously monitor such apparently necessary disciplines and join a business who do not subscribe to this way of doing things you effectively go off the radar. Your records are not carried forward. It sounds as if I am filled with middle aged attitude but I am not. I simply think modern corporates focus on all the wrong things in an attempt to appear professional, transparent and any other number of pointless clichéd terms.

I had already warned Mum after yesterday morning spent cleaning her lounge, kitchen and hall that I might not be able to get to see her today. I will make sure I do tomorrow. She seems to be getting it together with regard to her walking even though she still has difficulty getting out of her living room chair.

Brett’s birthday arrived on Saturday. He is now 20. He phoned to say thanks for the cake and stuff we got him Tweezil is lucky to have a boyfriend like Brett.

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all words and art are copyright © of Russell 'C.J' Duffy. For another side of CJ go here: sOMeThiNg For tHE wEeKeND, SiR?

Like all animal instincts hate has a place, it has a purpose. It is born of fear or of hurt, a reaction to a primal impulse meant to make the recipient flee in terror or turn and fight. As the offspring of fear and rage, hate could be said to be illegitimate. Once the threat has passed both fear and anger dissipate. Hate often outstays its welcome if ever one was received in the first place. If hate is allowed no exit it turns, like a ravenous cancer, upon its host either vanquishing or subjugating all other emotions smothering them with its dark burden.


In giving herself to hate she committed to an emotion more powerful than she thought conceivable, more consuming than either love or despair and in so doing she effectively became the tool of the thing she unleashed, not its master but its slave.

Time is passing. It is a constant cascade of seconds tumbling into minutes that free fall into hours. Days pass dragging months behind them as seasons follow in their wake. Life is for the living, an exercise in the present as the future takes care of itself. Life is a gift and in the giving comes responsibility to those we share existence with. When hate spills into the river of life it poisons the environment around it. It may be a cliché but nonetheless remains true: love is the only antidote for hate for without love all is waste.

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all words and art are copyright © of Russell 'C.J' Duffy. For another side of CJ go here: sOMeThiNg For tHE wEeKeND, SiR?

Without petrol in the car and in need to renew my prescription I decided a walk to Rochford would be, if not the order of the day, certainly of the morning. It isn’t that far a stretch being just short of two miles. It was bright and sunny so seemed like a good idea. My sugar levels were at 8.6, a little high by modern medical standards, but fine for a four mile round walk. I ate a slice of toast which added another 20gms of carbo’s. With enough energy inside me to fuel Stevenson’s rocket I hurtled out of the door and down the Ashingdon Road. It was a little after nine. The rest of my family were asleep.


The Ashingdon Road once was a rural route where farmers and villagers would drive their goods to market. All the surrounding area, including Canewdon, Paglesham, Hockley, Hawkwell, Barling and Wakering were farm lands with Rochford the nearest market town. Trade was concentrated here. Nowadays the Ashingdon Road is still the same old road it always has been but gathered around it and along it are the marks of change. Houses and bungalows follow its arrow like route. The consequence of this being same old historical road meets twenty first century traffic equals congestion. Not today though, just a few cars poodling along on their way to wherever it is they were going.

I managed to pick up quite a pace with my arms beating a fast rhythm. Dressed in Jimbob’s old Royal Marine boots (German Walking boots in fact) and wrapped in my blue overcoat with a fawn scarf around my neck I looked like some poshed-up costermonger as I strode along. A couple came towards me looking like a comedy routine, maybe the Chuckle Brothers or perhaps Eric Sykes and Tommy Cooper. The man in front was struggling with a set of planks. His wife behind him, several inches shorter than her husband, was gamely trying to hold her end up but the wood kept slipping. He in his baseball cap and her in her heels - very fetching.

I didn’t time the walk and frankly couldn’t care less how fast or slow I walked. I enjoyed it and that is all that matters. Rochford still has the ghosts of the past haunting its shops and narrow alleys. It needs a good lick of paint but it still has charm. When Dave visited it he seemed to like its aging appeal. If you go from Rochford along Hall Lane you are in fact travelling the way Henry VIII would have gone when he came courting Anne Boleyn. She lived here briefly. The milestone still sits informing us that it is 39 miles to London.

The woman in the doctors’ surgery is an uncommonly rude person. She ignored me for simply ages, pulled a face that seemed to suggest she was about to morph into a toad which is a gross insult to toads especially as toads are more attractive. She then deigned to look my way giving me what I assumed to be a winning smile, either that or her piles were playing up, and asked me how she could help. I resisted the thought to suggest she try euthanasia and simply asked for my prescription instead.

The pharmacist is a proper gent and spotted a mistake with my blood testing strips. I thanked him then waited the fifteen minutes while the order was fulfilled. It’s Boots chemist but all the girls in there are friendly and always helpful.

The walk back lacked any event worth noting. I slipped off my boots then dared to go inside my home. The greeting I got was pretty much what I expected but I ignored it all the same. After my walk I felt good. My right foot ached a bit but then again it always does. The dumb acts of youth resonate in middle age. Yes, I enjoyed the walk and must do it more often.

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all words and art are copyright © of Russell 'C.J' Duffy. For another side of CJ go here: sOMeThiNg For tHE wEeKeND, SiR?

I have just realised what it says on this blog. It states, beneath all the gumph I have written in my profile that not only am I the author of The Village Tales of Fekenham Swarberry, a series of six books, but more that these very books are all to be published in 2012. Really? Three are complete with a spin off novel also finished but this means I have another three to write before years end. I guess I had better get my bottom into gear as that is one hell of a tall order. Even more now as I have started another two spins off but only have the first 8,000 words of book four written. Oh heck!


I feel less like an author of literary novels and more like a writer of comic books or perhaps pulp fiction. My work, (self-aggrandisement here) is largely pumped out. It is nothing like the art of Kiran Desai or Haruki Murakami whom I imagine work at a far slower pace and with a lot more consideration and talent. Jimbob was saying the other day how Agatha Christie used to ‘knock out’ several books a year. Not dismissing her ability by suggesting she factory produced them but in a manner of speaking she was much like the great Will Eisner who literally did work a production line when producing comics like The Spirit. I understand that method; perhaps because of the working class way my parents looked upon life. You work hard and you produce. The product then pays the bills. It sounds less worthy than art but its ethic is just as pure if not so altruistic.

I really enjoy doing what I am. Writing can be a chore at times especially when the blank page stares back but those moments of page or window gazing are compensated by the enormous sense of fun and joy at being able to create fantastic worlds that spin, once complete, out of your control into other readers orbits. The characters too take on a life of their own which seems odd but rewarding. I take on board al that Don and others have said. My characters need to develop and that is something I am doing. I hope it all works out and that I can clamber off of this corporate wheel.

The modern world has gone one stage too far in its desire for wealth and for making profit. The system now forgets the reason it was created in the first place. Paramount has to be keeping people in work. The criteria should be the people and not the system created to support them. We contribute with our efforts for which we are rewarded. We then pay taxes which in turn should be invested into educating and protecting us. Currently industry grinds on oblivious to human need as it now supports and engineers it search for ever greater profit. We need profit, we need that entrepreneurial spirit but not when the machine we have created gets bigger than the people it was designed to support.

I will keep my dream. It is not just a dream of being published. It is far greater and hopefully more noble than my desire to be an author. We will have to wait and see what happens but the writing is still integral to all my foolish dreams.

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all words and art are copyright © of Russell 'C.J' Duffy. For another side of CJ go here: sOMeThiNg For tHE wEeKeND, SiR?

Saw both my GP and the bank advisor today. My heart is fine which comes as good news. I asked to see the Diabetic specialist which was also arranged. The bank meeting went well and the advice given gratefully accepted. Business accounts are currently going free for the first twelve months. There is no need to open one yet as only one of the books is ready to publish but once Jase has completed his part of the process then I will make another appointment. Managed to get to and from work and pop into Mum’s with my petrol gauge sliding down to empty. By the time I got home it was beyond empty. Christ knows what I do tomorrow. Not sure if I will make it to a petrol station. At the weekend Jasmine bought two new tyres from a cheapo, cheapo place she found in a dingy part of Southchurch. Now we don’t eat as a consequence. Currently eating custard creams along with some pears Mum bought. Together most foul.  Work rises like a dragon. Fearful filled and brimstone horrid. No way out but must not give up. Something will turn-up. Something has to. I scare myself sometimes thinking of how I will have to shortly tell Squid we have lost the home. It is all very well and good for people to talk in platitudes about a house not being a home, about bricks and mortar  being just the place you live but you cannot erase twenty seven years so easily. All those Christmases, birthdays, anniversaries, parties, meals, friends over; the great weight of times most happy. You cannot forget those moments. I must crack on. Must get published. Must look for another job nearer to home, one that doesn’t cost £120 a week in petrol. If I could find a job locally I could walk to work or catch a bus for £3.50 rover a day. I looked at Southend Airport but nothing there, no vacancies that suit. My bold bullshit holds a good front but the façade is crumbling now. Counting down the days of my expected demise. If the figures are right and my life expectancy is 25% less than the average person, taking into count the lifespans of my immediate forebears then I only have seven years left of this fucking nightmare. Good job. At least Dad’s team are top of the Championship. He must be chuckling his claret and blue socks off now. How I miss him, miss his common sense. Why doesn’t all the good get passed on from father to son? I have enough bad bits for a whole friggin’ family. Must crack on. Mark sent me his addition to the EB cover. Looks good.

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all words and art are copyright © of Russell 'C.J' Duffy. For another side of CJ go here: sOMeThiNg For tHE wEeKeND, SiR?

Evenings Advent

Self-pity writhes in cobra confidence stealing thief like around my heart.


Each day fills the hours with a sense of foreboding,

Of dread and loathing for another evening spent TV captive.

Dickens was cold comfort wrapped in a history as grim as the London fogs.

At least Douglas Adams had the skill to be silly and witty and

So I read his Hitch Hikers Guide for the first time laughing like it was the last.

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all words and art are copyright © of Russell 'C.J' Duffy. For another side of CJ go here: sOMeThiNg For tHE wEeKeND, SiR?

Propaganda

Hatred flows like water across rusting tins.


A bitter wind blows a chilling breath.

What was all now turns to corrosion.

A broken doll cries a fractured song.



Propaganda

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all words and art are copyright © of Russell 'C.J' Duffy. For another side of CJ go here: sOMeThiNg For tHE wEeKeND, SiR?

I was saddened to hear of Whitney Houston’s death; never my kind of music but what an incredible talent she had, what a voice. So many have gone the same way but no lessons are learnt from these tragic deaths. It makes you wonder if the search for fame, that desire to be recognised the world over is nothing less than madness. I often dream of my books earning me a fortune but having loads of money is one thing I could cope with: fame is not. I cannot conceive of having people approach me whilst I am shopping in Waitrose. I couldn’t bear to be sitting in a restaurant and have someone ask for my autograph. I wouldn’t know how to handle such notoriety. I may even behave badly if I felt cornered. To die at 48 is awful enough but to wilfully waste such talent, especially when you think that so many people never have the security that wealth offers, is almost criminal. I guess she is at peace now.


I took a look at the football results and was amazed at how the Premiership is shaping up. In reality there are only two clubs in contention and really only one that seems reasonably consistent. Good to see Spurs in third place but even better to see Dad’s Hammers at the top of the Championship. Dad must be doing his bit wherever he now is.

The thought of the disciplinary meeting now re-scheduled for the 21st  seems less important than it did. Of the two errors, large mistakes both, one I am confident I can prove was not my fault alone. The other I can’t as it was my mistake and mine alone. I will fight the first one tooth and nail and have enough evidence to feel supremely confident. Not so with the other one. I also have one or two bombs of my own to drop that could, and will, greatly embarrass the company I work for. Not that I particulary want to do that. Nowadays both parties have the ability to hold each other to task when there is a breach in the contract and this time it is not me who has broken a confidence..

I have booked an appointment to see a bank advisor regarding my opening an account in my own name. Although I/we have a shared account neither of us have individual ones. Perhaps she has but not that I am aware. The only reason I want to keep things separate is so that any money, should I be so lucky to make some, will be kept safe away from the danger of being spent so that I can then pay off any and all debts. The thought alone makes me feel remarkably relaxed. I must crack on with my plan.

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all words and art are copyright © of Russell 'C.J' Duffy. For another side of CJ go here: sOMeThiNg For tHE wEeKeND, SiR?

I awoke early feeling far more positive than I have of late. I managed to get two loads of washing on and two into the tumble dryer before anyone woke. Jasmine came down and seemed happy enough then went out. I started work on ‘Hand In Glove.’ I am very pleased with it so far and have a mad enough plot to work from. It will be sort of like Woody Allen’s ‘Vicky Christina Barcelona’ meets ‘Poirot’ but with the usual ‘Carry On’ silliness. I may have to drop the latter as it may not work in this instance.

Again went to see Mum. Had to change her which is demeaning for her and unpleasant for me. She keeps apologising but doesn’t need to. Not sure who would do it for me when I get old. I passionately think Townsend was right certainly as far as I am concerned.

Here is Jimbob's dog Cookie showing how he has the worlds largest tongue...

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all words and art are copyright © of Russell 'C.J' Duffy. For another side of CJ go here: sOMeThiNg For tHE wEeKeND, SiR?

Saturday. Managed to clean most of the house and get a large lump of ironing done too. Very gratifying to see the results. Obviously not enough for some but good enough for me. With no money now whatsoever I am unable to go far so getting out to Town is simply a no go. Mum is improving but continues to want help. I think, as kindly as I can, that this is lack of confidence.

So many hours too waste and so little ways to spend them. I have to grit my teeth and get on with it. Recent events at work have me concerned. A possible written warning looms but I think I can win that battle even if another will follow. Silly mistakes that I should have known better not to make but I am forever the risk taker. Trouble is I no longer am the much sought after commodity I once was. Getting another job now is far harder than it was five years ago.

Determined to find some spiritual path, some way out of the darkness that seems to be enveloping me I tried meditating today. It has been years since I have but today I had a go. I fell asleep.

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all words and art are copyright © of Russell 'C.J' Duffy. For another side of CJ go here: sOMeThiNg For tHE wEeKeND, SiR?

The days form slowly but spin by all too soon. I get up; do 90 or so press-ups followed by 60 bar bell exercises. I am still nothing like Arnie. I shower but only shave each other day. I am the only 57 year old whose whiskers have not reached puberty – they grow grey and slow. Breakfast arrives each day in a cereal bowl accompanied by a cup of tea. I dress then wait for Thumbscrew who I drive to Hockley station. Why Hockley when it is further away than Rochford? Goodness knows and I haven’t asked.


The journey to work takes anything from 2 to 3 hours and each day I thank the gods for radio, especially Radio 3 and Radio 4 who I now listen to more and more. Today I listened, briefly, to Chris Evans on Radio 2. He has really pulled himself and the Breakfast Show into shape. I think it now attracts an even bigger audience than old Wogan used to get - . Amazing - All pretty ‘biubble gum for the ears’ type stuff but refreshingly all-encompassing in that it caters for old farts like me and even older but also for children.

It hadn’t snowed at home last night but obviously had at work. A fresh coverlet had fallen over the existing snow making the roads underneath treacherous. I crunched along the path sliding about like a giraffe on grease.

I spent last evening working on ‘Hand In Glove’ then did my first amends to London Chronicles. I always felt that Dave’s incredible images not only complimented my words on the first two chapbooks/chapters that they effectively outshone my words. I only altered two lines to include a nod to my ancestors from Wapping. Two years later the book is no nearer to being finished which I find both frustrating and sad. I love Fekenham but the ‘Wilful Walks’ had more to them than just a rom-com type feel. I had so wanted to get London Chronicles published before moving onto the Camelot concept. Ah, well.

Work is mundane, repetitive and dull. I try to put it to the back of my mind and plough on. It doesn’t always work though as work stuff simply won’t go away.

Mum seems, albeit slowly, to be recovering. She still finds it difficult to get out of bed or up from her living room chair but as I keep reminding her, slow steps, one at a time. She’ll get there. Jasmine goes into see her every morning and I do the same at night. Now she has two carers she should find mobility a lot easier. She does get down in the dumps sometimes but then again, so do I.

In my mind I see the future taking two possible roads. One is grim filled with loneliness and grief. The other is more positive but exists in the dream scape of my little mind. In truth I have little faith in my writing lasting for years, for my being able to create book after book after book. I do think they have commercial appeal but I am not sure that I am capable of repeating the success of Christie or Wodehouse. If they did make me money I would invest it in other businesses.

Dreading tomorrow - weekends are like the song by Morrissey, grey.

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all words and art are copyright © of Russell 'C.J' Duffy. For another side of CJ go here: sOMeThiNg For tHE wEeKeND, SiR?

Snow still covers the grounds at work. White and crisp it spreads across the fields and along the edges of the road piled into neat drifts by the works snow plough. The glass edifice sits up like a Winter Witches palace all brittle reflection. Kate Bush sums snow up best:


whiteout

blackbird braille

Wenceslasaire

avalanche

swans-a-melting

deamondi-pavlova

eiderfalls

Santanyeroofdikov

stellatundra

hunter's dream

faloop'njoompoola

zebranivem

spangladasha

albadune

hironocrashka

hooded-wept

phlegm de neige

mountainsob

anklebreaker

erase-o-dust

shnamistoflopp'n

terrablizza

whirlissimo

vanilla swarm

icyskidski

robber's veil

creaky-creaky

psychohail

whippoccino

shimmerglisten

Zhivagodamarbletash

sorbetdeluge

sleetspoot'n

melt-o-blast

slipperella

boomerangablanca

groundberry down

meringuerpeaks

crème-bouffant

peDtaH 'ej chIS qo'

deep'nhidden

bad for trains

shovelcrusted

anechoic

blown from polar fur

vanishing world

mistraldespair

She does have a way with words doesn’t she? Imaginative and amusing too much like the lady herself.

Last night I arrived at Mum’s to find she hadn’t had her third visit of the day and consequently nothing to eat for tea. I felt furious. I asked her is she wanted me to get her anything or cook anything but she declined the offer. She has been sleeping in her reclining chair but last night the thing broke and she had to call John Lee to help her get up. It must have been very embarrassing for her. I left after chatting for a while instructing her to phone me by 2100 if no one turned up for the final night time visit. When I got home I had a bit of dinner, pasta and sauce then sat down to watch a film. At 21.49 the phone rang. It was Mum. No one had turned up to put her to bed so I drove over and did the job myself. I felt both cross and hurt. I always defend the NHS but this was unforgivable. When I arrived back home the phone rang again. Apparently, there had been a ‘mix-up.’ For sure there had but now I want to know what kind and I want assurances it won’t happen again.

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all words and art are copyright © of Russell 'C.J' Duffy. For another side of CJ go here: sOMeThiNg For tHE wEeKeND, SiR?

Jason is cracking along nicely with the cover artwork. He sent this through last night. Next will be the colour version. Good to see Arthur Bentwhistle with a bald head!

Really pleased with the way "Something for the Weekend, Sir?" is going with lots of good stuff by both Michael and myself. I have disciplined myself on that blog to write 500 words for each article. It is hard to do but worth the effort as it keeps things concise and focused. It's a shame that Roger, the real writing pro, doesn't do more but life is for living I guess and not all of us want to be blogging all the time.

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all words and art are copyright © of Russell 'C.J' Duffy. For another side of CJ go here: sOMeThiNg For tHE wEeKeND, SiR?

This from Lee, my colleague at work...

Marsden March


Marsden March On Sunday 11th March, I will be taking part in the 14 mile walk from the Royal Marsden in Chelsea to the Royal Marsden in Sutton. My incentive for doing this is driven by the devastating death of my very loving mother-in-law, Valerie Barrett, in May 2011, who was suffering from Oesophagus Cancer and treated by the Sutton Royal Marsden. Sadly, since getting involved with the Marsden March and within the last month, my work colleague at Pfizer Walton Oaks, Pauline O’Callaghan, also passed away as a result of Liver Cancer. I know many people in Walton Oaks worked with Pauline and have very fond memories of this lovely lady, who always had time for others. Given these tragic events in the past year, I decided that it was time to get off of my fat back side and do something to help fight this disease, so on the 11th March I will be walking the 14 miles for the Royal Marsden Cancer Charity and I really hope that you will be able to help with a small donation towards the cause. You can donate easily through the link below: www.Justgiving.com/Samantha-martin4 ..
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all words and art are copyright © of Russell 'C.J' Duffy. For another side of CJ go here: sOMeThiNg For tHE wEeKeND, SiR?

The weekend went west before it even got started. Saturday morning at the 3 the phone beside my bed rang. It was Mum. All she said was she needed me. I got up, dressed and flew out the door. I was there within twenty minutes. She needed the loo but couldn’t get out of bed as her legs are still too weak. I had to lift and eight stone something woman up with one arm whilst the other struggled to get a portable toilet/receptacle beneath her. I was very undignified for her and not the sort of thing a son would want to do for his mother.


I got home at a little before four AM so not to long spent out of bed. Later, after lying in a bit, Squid and I went to see Mum. Ron and Audrey were there. They washed her hair which made her look a lot better even if she still seems depressed.

There had been the threat of snow as early as Friday but we Brits, forever fighting Armadas after they have sailed, tend to ignore such trifles and just get on with the battle when it arrives. The snow didn’t hit until late Saturday evening. It came down in large flakes that settled ominously as soon as it hit the ground. By the morning we had a foot of snow covering cars, roads and pavements. No big deal to countries that are used to having such inclement weather but as we seldom get such conditions it does come as a shock.

A woman from the carers who look after Mum rang to say they couldn’t get to Mum’s and that it would take one of them and hour to walk to where Mum lives. Together with Jasmine I cleared the drive removing the foot of snow from the car. The old Beetle struggled but finally made it onto the road. It took nearly an hour to get to Mum’s but get there I did. I stayed for the remainder of the day but without reading glasses or anything to occupy my time. I do not need TV for entertainment even though I do enjoy watching the telly. With Mum asleep for most of the day I went in search of a pad which I found in her writing desk. I then spent the rest of the day, when not cleaning up or fetching things for Mm in writing. I started a new novel. Another comic adventure romance featuring Hilary Leatherbarrow and a police detective called Adam Lazarus. I had previously thought about this project but did nothing much with it till now.

In my mind I had the rough notion for a plot so fleshed out all the detail writing down a synopsis for me to work from. I wrote two chapters, 3 and 4, which I no sounds daft but I wanted to get to the central characters first as I know, in my head, how the book starts. The book will be called ‘Hand in Glove’ and should be finished within a month or three given that I still have to complete book four in the Fekenham series.

Michael’s artwork for EB is completed and Jase is working on books one, two and three. I am getting there, albeit much slower that I first thought. I just hope I can get them published before they come for my house.

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all words and art are copyright © of Russell 'C.J' Duffy. For another side of CJ go here: sOMeThiNg For tHE wEeKeND, SiR?

Hindsight is a valuable gift even if it arrives belatedly. For 38 years I was the epitome of ;oyallty. In the last four less but in it is the last year where my credibility was ruined. The trouble is in not having the vision to be pro-active but in always reacting. I not only react, I over react. In the last year this blog has shown me to be reacting to situations and things discovered in a self absorbed, self pitying way. There is nothing I can do about it now. The cat, in part and with so much still unsaid, is out of the bag.

When you write an online journal, a blog, that claims to tell the truth, to be frank and honest then it should be done so that ALL truths are shown and not just a censored portion. My failing was to tell only a small part of the truth. There is so much more to reveal but I won’t be doing so, not now, not ever. Perhaps I should have said it all then but I am glad I didn’t. If I had maybe it would have made more sense, given some balance to what I revealed. Now I am left appearing as a ‘kiss and tell’ merchant.

Reaction is caused by hurt. The hurt caused in no small part by me. I am not going to bang on about my so called ‘breakdown as it was only ever self-diagnosed with a blunt refusal on my part to seek or listen to medical advice. Apparently diabetics suffer from mood swings but then again ‘they’ blame all that ails a diabetic on their condition.  Whatever it was it played a huge part in destroying my relationship but still that is not the whole picture.

The problem with hurt is that too often it is self-perceived. You think the worst and believe it to be more than what it really is. I will never know. The thing, the someone who gave vent for that side of things to be such a malignance has gone. Maybe I was guilty of accepting the hurt but not the responsibility for the action taken. Every action has an opposite reaction. If I had behaved differently maybe things wouldn’t have happened as they did.

My desire for forgiveness met with a flat, dull response. You can forgive anyone but not yourself. I, a little self-righteously, shuffled off all guilt and past it back whilst pointing the finger in accusation. I was wrong. There is so much unsaid in my bogus diary entries of last year. No one knows the real truth and no one ever will. Loyalty, and this goes both ways, once broken, is hard to repair. All I can do now is to make that change.

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all words and art are copyright © of Russell 'C.J' Duffy. For another side of CJ go here: sOMeThiNg For tHE wEeKeND, SiR?

High praise indeed from my Mum who has singled Jimbob Badfinger out for his kindness to her of late. That handsome son of mine, as pictured here, whilst on skiing holiday a couple of weeks ago. He and his friend took one week off to have some fun in the snow. Looks bloody freezing to me!

. . . all words and art are copyright © of Russell 'C.J' Duffy. For another side of CJ go here: sOMeThiNg For tHE wEeKeND, SiR?

Jason's first rough sketch. It gives Fekenham a splendid quirky feel. I am very pleased with it.

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all words and art are copyright © of Russell 'C.J' Duffy. For another side of CJ go here: sOMeThiNg For tHE wEeKeND, SiR?

It has been cold these past few days, cold but bright: such beauty in glittering tones and shades. The wonder of winter has accompanied me as I have listened to Kate Bush’s most recent album “50 Words for Snow.” The music is, as one would expect, invigorating, challenging, dark and wonderful much like the season it was written for.

Mum came home last night arriving to be greeted by Jimbob at a little after eight. I followed shortly after. We sat with her as she shivered in her armchair waiting for the arrival of the two careers who have been appointed to look after her. She is nervous about the prospect but mostly concerned as her legs still don’t seem to be working. I hope this move is the right one for her.

Modern times has led us to embrace an ethic that Muslims and Hindu’s have long carried out – family taking care of family. I think this is right. Too often we flee when faced with the onset of a loved one’s age as it means taking responsibility for those who supported us when we were young. We looked after my Aunt as she slipped into senility and also my Mother-in-law as cancer took her life. Fortunately, I have children, not lone wolves like their father, who take that responsibility seriously. Jimbob has been incredible as has Tweezil and Jasmine too even with the mutual dislike shared between daughter and mother-in-law. Of course this new way of encouraging to act morally and responsibly has a deeper raison d'être. It lessens the financial burden to the NHS. Nothing is altruistic in this world.

Thumbscrew has earned more money than I ever have - £80,000 in a year. The fact she has fills me with pride but I still question how the NHS can train people only for them to leave before returning as Locums. What on earth is that all about?

Recently, artist David Hockney turned his ingenious hand to painting landscapes. This may not seem a particularly innovative move but I find it rather exciting. Leaving aside all the wonderful art we have seen in recent decades the art world seems to remain faithful to producing modern art with a capital M. Not that I mind but landscape, with its reflective presentation of nature’s wonder has been largely overlooked. I was trying some while back to persuade a friend he should extend his business core from being a creative design agency to include his wonderful portrait paintings. It struck me that people pay, often for vanity purposes, a good deal of money to have their family captured on canvas. More recently still, whilst looking at John Keane’s work and mulling over Hockney’s dazzling move, I took a look at said friends flickr site and was struck by how imaginative his eye is but also how he should focus on producing (painting) more landscapes. Landscape painting has been much maligned. It needs to make a comeback; a return to favour and I think it will.

The Fekenham novels are delayed and people I had contacted are asking me why. I tell them the truth. Not my take on what I think the truth to be but the reality. It is a bloody inconvenience but nothing more than that. With luck, and by years end, I should have not only the first four published but a further two. It would be nice if I could complete the first series by Yuletide 2012 but I am not sure I am capable.

Michael sent me the first two drafts of the EB cover. Both were fantastic but this I like a lot...

Pauline's funeral is on the 17.02.12. She wants no flowers but instead a contribution to the charity of her choice. I will be going both as a friend as a representative of  Admin Deviant Anal Retentive Executives.

Todays album of choice is: "50 Words For Snow" by Kate Bush

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all words and art are copyright © of Russell 'C.J' Duffy. For another side of CJ go here: sOMeThiNg For tHE wEeKeND, SiR?

Mum came home today following a pantomime of NHS buffoonery. I love the NHS, I owe it my life and on more than one occasion too but their admin side couldn’t organise a piss-up in a brewery. No clothes for her to go home in so I had to take them in first thing this morning. The medical equipment meant to assist her (commode, walking frame, special shower seat) were delivered to her bungalow without notification and without anyone being there only for the whole shebang to be taken back again. A note was left stating no one was there when the delivery attempt was made. Of course no one was there…Mum lives alone and she was in hospital at the time. Jamie has fitted the secure key box outside Mum’s front door. Jasmine has bought enough food stuff to last Mum a week or more. Grace can’t get there at the moment as she still has a cold. Personally, as much as I hate sitting with other sick people in a ward full of moaning Monty’s, I think the boredom and loneliness will get to Mum. Last time I was in hospital I used to sneak out either to the restaurant or to the local Tesco which was about a mile from the hospital ground. Mum won’t be able to BUT it may just give her enough of an impetus to get out of her bedroom and walk to the kitchen or the living room.




I dropped the clothes off to the ward front desk this morning leaving them with a nurse. I then shot off down the A13 but at the arse end near Benfleet only to sit in traffic for one hour and ten minutes. To sit for that length of time over a distance of four miles is unbelievably frustrating. At one time an ambulance, lights flashing and siren screaming, came from behind me. I moved to one side. Cars in front didn’t. I really don’t have panic attacks as I used to anymore. No more stupid concerns over drinking a glass of water but today, as the dull witted imbeciles sat stony still in their cars I felt the same incredible sweats break out as if a furnace had been lit within me. I shouted out all manner of profanities and opened the car door to have a go at the lot of them but seeing the look on the driver to one side of me returned to my car weeping like a fool. I composed myself and then had the embarrassment of having to poodle along beside the same driver for miles. It has got better but moments like that, or even the death of someone of my parents’ generation makes me cry. Weird and scary how fragile the human mind is.

No longer part of my daily routine as it once was but today I was taken out to lunch by a supplier. When I say the ‘Royal I’ what I mean is Chris, Brian and me the peasant from Essex. We went to a local Surrey pub. I have eaten there before and have to say the cuisine is fantastic. We all had a laugh which makes such a pleasant change after all the crap we normally get.

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all words and art are copyright © of Russell 'C.J' Duffy. For another side of CJ go here: sOMeThiNg For tHE wEeKeND, SiR?