The Cleansing 6 – Chapter 1 Continued

This Sci-fi novel is set in the present day. I wanted to represent the current Farage Reform Party right-wing populists and their opportunistic psuedo-patriotic anti-immigrant stance. I thought that I could mutate this into an anti-alien faction as the novel progresses. Which is what I did. For that reason I invented this bunch of characters one of whom has a central role in the novel. Can you see which one from this introductory section?

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‘See, I was working on this place at St George’s Hill, all cash in hand. A bloody mansion! This guy’s worth a bomb!’ Billy was his usual lively self.

The gang were assembled in their nook at the Ashley Arms, the men with pints of bitter, the girls on white wine spritzes.

‘Anyway, he’s built this huge extension, turning it into a glorified snooker room with a full‑size slate. Massive. And he wanted me to sort out the wiring. No prob. Glad to do it. He’s paying well over the odds.’ He paused to take a big swig, wiping froth off his lips with the back of his hand. ‘Cash is king. Know what I mean.’ He looked around, catching each of their eyes to ensure engagement. ‘So anyway, his missus comes downstairs, a whole entourage of them, all kitted out in black robes, head to foot. You could just see their eyes. What did Boris call them — letter boxes. ’Cept letter boxes aren’t black.’ Billy looked round, aghast. ‘I couldn’t tell who was his missus and who was the grandmother. Know what I mean? In their own bloody home.’

‘That’s ’cos you were there,’ Debbie remarked, swirling her wine. ‘These Muslims have to cover up if there’s strange men around — and they don’t get any stranger than you, Billy.’

Everyone chuckled.

‘There were all sorts,’ Billy protested. ‘Servants everywhere — cooks, gardeners, cleaners, butlers. Wasn’t just me.’

‘So what’s he do?’ Foxy asked.

‘Finance,’ Billy frowned. ‘Came prancing back from the city in his fancy orange Lamborghini. Only drives it to the station.’

‘Bloody robbers,’ Denby growled. ‘Financers, bankers. Fucking leeches. Never done a day’s work in their lives.’

‘Like you then,’ Foxy grinned, raising his glass.

More chuckles.

‘All they do is bet on markets,’ Denby persisted. ‘A bunch of gambling conmen. They engineer it, control it, and walk away with millions.’

‘You’re sounding glum today, Denby. What’s up?’ Foxy leaned over and punched him playfully on the arm.

‘He’s only been up half the night painting friggin’ roundabouts,’ Cheryl remarked. ‘You should see the state of his trackie. Spent forty quid on red and white paint.’

Denby grasped his pint with both hands and scowled. Everyone eyed the paint stains on his hands that hadn’t scrubbed off.

‘What roundabouts?’ Billy chuckled.

‘Not content with spending our money on stupid flags,’ Cheryl exclaimed. ‘Half the flags down High Street are ours. He’s only gone and done the roundabout at the Halfway.’

They roared with laughter as Denby’s scowl deepened.

‘I’ve seen that! That was you, Denby? You’re a dark horse,’ Foxy chuckled, poking him with a finger.

‘Right mess you made of it,’ John remarked. ‘All the paint’s run together.’

‘I could hardly wait for the red to dry before I put on the white, could I?’ Denby snapped.

‘Should’ve painted it all white one day, then gone back the next for the red stripes.’

‘Somebody has to make a stand,’ Billy said seriously, halting the mockery. ‘Someone has to stand up for our English values. At least Denby’s doing something.’

The group subsided into pensive silence, sipping their drinks.

‘They’ll have a room upstairs,’ Debbie reflected, returning to the burqa‑clad women. ‘Somewhere they can relax and take it all off.’

‘Yeah,’ Billy conceded. ‘They do.’ He lowered his brow and pouted. ‘But Lord Mohamed doesn’t have to wear all that medieval shit. He comes back with his silk Armani and flashy Rolex, putting on some accent like he’s an English baron.’

‘This is England,’ Foxy stated bluntly. ‘They should behave like we do if they want to live here. None of this letter box shit.’

‘You mean like we do if we go over there?’ Charlene asked, raising her eyebrows.

‘I run a market stall,’ Foxy reminded her. ‘I see all sorts. It’s daft. We’ve got Asian guys down from the Midlands wearing robes and wellies. Looks stupid. They get soaked in the rain. Those robes were designed for tropical climates, not soggy England.’

‘Yeah,’ Denby agreed. ‘If they want to live here they should fit in.’ He peered round challengingly.

‘I agree,’ Billy said, downing his pint. ‘It’s about British values. And those ain’t British values.’

‘I’m ready for a top‑up,’ Cheryl smiled, holding up her empty glass.

‘My round,’ John said, gathering empties.


Featured book – Danny’s Story Pt. 1

Introduction

This is Danny’s story and how he stumbled upon a place to live and friendships that saved his life. This is the story of a house that became a home. It is the story of an assortment of desperate people who were all lost and some became found. It is a real story of how people who are worthless and have no respect for themselves came to form a community. It is a story that tells us that there is a reason for everything; that chance works in strange ways and that often salvation appears out of the strangest circumstance.

This is the story of Danny Champion.

Chapter 1 – How Danny Champion stumbled upon the House

Life was not going well for Danny Champion. Even given the vagaries of recent events you could say he was having a bad day. The final bust-up with Cheryl had left him bruised, deflated and defeated. His exasperated explosive fit of temper at work, culminating in his resignation, had been the final trigger that caused Cheryl to call it a day. She regarded him as a hopeless case who would amount to nothing. Then, following a blazing row, she had thrown him out.

Not that Danny felt aggrieved. He couldn’t blame her. She was right. He was a fool. The rules he wanted to live by did not fit with the world as it was. He’d thrown in his Master’s degree along with that job and now had no career prospects. Worst of all – he had not discussed it with Cheryl. He was truly a waste of space. She thought he had behaved like a spoilt child throwing his dummy out. The worst thing about it was that he had.

In one single moment of pent up frustration Danny had given up his job, his dreams, hopes and even the will to live, and had neither ideas, plans nor even a hint of where to stay tonight. He had been sucked into a void. His life had blown up in his face and he no longer cared. And the strange thing was that he did not regret it – not in the least. It just left him feeling lost and miserable. But even if he could go back he wouldn’t. He was fed up with living a lie. He knew he had to make a break with it. Except it had jettisoned him into nowhere.

Danny sat in the café morosely nursing a mug of tea, with a hold-all sitting at his feet containing all the possessions he could carry – mainly changes of clothes, a clutch of essential albums and a sleeping bag. Everything else was at Cheryl’s. Following their row he’d chucked everything into the bag and walked away. There was no way back; it had been brewing for a long time.  In his heart was an emptiness that was darker than the vacuum of space. He did not even know why he was here. He felt like an ephemeral ghost. He was no longer real. But at least he was free of it all.

Danny swirled the tea around in his mug and idly watched the creamy brown liquid as it formed its whirlpool, and the bubbles whirled round the sides, caught and skidded off the porcelain. His mind was utterly vacant.

He’d been here hours. He knew he would have to move soon, get up from this table, leave the warmth and go out into the elements, but had nowhere to go. He was putting it off. He let his mind contemplate the options, and morbidly observed the workings of his mind as if from afar. All the limpid grey matter could manage was a series of temporary floors or couches. None of the choices were at all appealing; none filled him with the slightest enthusiasm. But then going back to beg Cheryl for another chance was simply not an alternative. That was over. That was the one thing he was sure of. He’d sleep rough rather than do that. The only thing worse than going back to Cheryl’s was going home to his parents’ house. That was a nightmare not worth even considering. He could not stomach the prospect of all that gloating, wheedling and nagging. He’d rather face life on the streets. As far as his parents were concerned he was throwing his life away. He’d wasted his opportunities, gone off the rails and was now paying the price. They wanted him to straighten up, dress right, do right, and make his way in the world. They’d been full of warnings about his lifestyle and appearance. They were fond of telling him about the ‘real world’. He’d rather die than prove them right.

‘Are you alright Danny?’ Suzie asked with an uncertain smile. She slid into the seat opposite him. ‘You’re looking glum.’

Danny looked up at her dolefully. Suzie was petite, very slim, fair-haired and attractive and had always had the hots for Danny. Her mini-skirt always showed off her perfect legs and her blouse was open sufficiently to tantalise. Her hair was close cropped which suited her impish features and snub nose. She was immaculate in every way. It was a shame that she did not appeal to him. Danny thought she was too much of the little office girl. Everything about her was too trim, prim and proper. Not a hair out of place. Definitely not Danny’s type. They belonged to different worlds. But, none-the-less, they were friends.

‘That’s because I’m feeling glum,’ Danny replied grumpily.

Over the next two hours, and two cups of tea plus a full-blown English breakfast, courtesy of Suzie, the whole story came out.

Danny was destitute, without a home, no relationship and no future. The more it poured out of Danny the gloomier he became. There was no way forward. It looked hopeless.

The more depressed Danny became the more bubbly Suzie grew. By the time he had finished his tale of woe she was so effervescent that she could hardly contain herself. She had the answer to his problem. That put her in the driving seat.

‘You’re in luck, Danny,’ she exclaimed. ‘Charlotte and I have had enough of London. We’re moving out. I was just coming along to pack my last things up and settle up with the landlord. Just thought I’d pop in the café for a quick bite to eat first.’

Danny stared at her uncomprehendingly.

‘You can have our place,’ Suzie said cheerfully with a big grin and a shrug of the shoulders. ‘It’s perfect.’

‘But I’m on the dole,’ Danny pointed out. ‘And that will take a while coming through,’ he added ruefully. ‘I don’t have the money for a deposit or rent.’

‘It’s only a little two room bedsit,’ Suzie said with a chuckle. ‘Only six pounds a week and ten bob for the electricity meter.’

Danny stared blankly at her. That was cheap by any standards. He could afford that. And the electricity?

‘The meter’s broken,’ Suzie chuckled. ‘Mr Rose is a sweet old thing. Rather than spend out on replacing the meter he charges ten bob. You can have the fire on all day. It’s a godsend.’ She grinned at him. ‘See Danny,’ she added gleefully, ‘you can afford that, even if you are on the dole.’

‘What about the deposit?’ Danny asked, his head spinning.

‘It’s only four weeks rent in advance,’ Suzie explained,’ and you can owe us that. Charlotte won’t mind. Her daddy’s paying for it anyway. He’s glad to have her home. They’re rich. He won’t even miss the money. See! It’s perfect! You can move in today. Right now. It could not be better.’

Danny was bewildered. It sounded too good to be true. Manna did not really drop from heaven, or at least not in Danny’s world. Perhaps there was such a thing as destiny after all. He felt his spirits rise as a world of possibility opened before him.

‘You might have to play it a bit carefully,’ Suzie said cautiously, an element of doubt creeping in to her voice. Danny’s ears pricked up. There was always a catch. He felt his heart sink. ‘Mr Rose is a stickler for rules,’ she explained, eyeing Danny’s long waist-length hair. ‘He’s really nice but a bit old-fashioned and set in his ways.’

Danny felt as crestfallen as a young child whose birthday party had just been cancelled. What was offered was now being taken back. It was what he had become used to. That was the way of the world.

‘He won’t have any pets, babies or,’ and Suzie paused here and looked pained, glancing at Danny’s long hair and brightly coloured clothes, ‘hippies.’

That was it then. While Danny did not consider himself a hippie, as such, there was no doubt that to the untutored eye his waist length hair, patched, flared jeans and colourful tunic might superficially suggest otherwise. Danny had no doubt that Mr Rose would see him as a hippie and that was all there was to it. The door slammed shut with a bang. A look of resignation came over him. He was used to it.

‘So we’ll have to get in through the backdoor.’ Suzy muttered thoughtfully.

Danny frowned. Did Suzy have a scheme? The spark of a glimmer was igniting once more.

‘You move in,’ Suzie suggested, beaming at him. ‘I’ll tell him you’re a friend who’s visiting for a week or two. You go and pay the rent and get to know him. He’s a real sweetie. Then, when he’s got to know you, you change the tenancy over.’

Suzie could see that Danny was looking dubious. It did not sound a very convincing plan. But on the plus side it might just provide him with a week or two of grace. That would be sufficient to get his head together.

‘It’s alright,’ she chuckled, ‘he’s a lovely old thing but he’s got a terrible memory. When he’s got used to you – just point out that he’s still got the book in our names and get him to change it over. If you play it right and choose your moment he’ll think he just forgot to change the name.’

Danny did not look persuaded.

‘Don’t worry,’ Suzie chuckled, with a reassuring pat on Danny’s hand ‘It’ll be fine.’

By the time they were through in the café it was a done deal. Danny had a place to stay. At least temporarily; until Mr Rose threw him out. But at least tonight was sorted.

The gloom had lifted a little.

How the Sci-fi novel ‘The Pornography Wars’ came about.

How the Sci-fi novel ‘The Pornography Wars’ came about.

A novel involves bringing together a number of ideas. Usually one idea starts the ball rolling. That then provokes a series of other ideas and presents challenges with all manner of problems that require solving.

Here’s a little taste of how this developed:

  1. I had the idea of writing a novel where the whole of human history was a film set run by aliens for their own entertainment.
  2. I decided it would not be a film but a rather tacky soap opera.
  3. I then decided that it had to be a pornographic soap opera. I liked the idea of human history being nothing more than a sleazy porno soap for aliens.
  4. I had to create my aliens. They had to be designed to be far more efficient biologically that humans. I used my biological background to design a perfect body.
  5. They had to be very sexual because they enjoyed these porno soaps.
  6. They had to be very technologically advance to be able to control humans and develop this enormous film set. Hence psych control, nanotechnology, instant space travel with jumptubes, droptubes and A/I.
  7. They had to be creative.
  8. Their sexuality had to be extreme.
  9. I wanted the drama in the humans so I introduced the element of a human who was breaking free of the alien psych control.
  10. I wanted drama in the aliens so created a group who wanted to clean up the tridee networks and remove the decadent sexual content.
  11. I now had a setting, characters and drama to knit together into a story.
  12. I had an ending.

As with all novels the characters take off and things change as they go along. It comes to life in unpredictable ways.