tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-51092696632620253252024-02-07T09:26:40.418+00:00So Billy says, she says...What's another word for spanked?Billy Londonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17677598358996736536noreply@blogger.comBlogger363125truetag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5109269663262025325.post-70913895085384089432021-08-24T22:46:00.002+01:002021-08-24T22:46:24.983+01:00Dutty Wine<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTZ4Ek5-VluctOIVUMRyQ0kAMHNl3AJV3rLxkZWx_3ILIa9t24ACQZ31ORyn59bbyVuRakrHITfZIQZh-FBL0waqTckKhnDEC2bHAl63pfQDImooes6UYVz5UiQkdNoacTq7F5S5WxVQO1/s2048/1069C701-8E95-4453-87DF-0DF66B612F16.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTZ4Ek5-VluctOIVUMRyQ0kAMHNl3AJV3rLxkZWx_3ILIa9t24ACQZ31ORyn59bbyVuRakrHITfZIQZh-FBL0waqTckKhnDEC2bHAl63pfQDImooes6UYVz5UiQkdNoacTq7F5S5WxVQO1/s320/1069C701-8E95-4453-87DF-0DF66B612F16.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><p><br /></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I’ve been meaning to get this necklace for ages! It's from <a href="https://www.omololajewellery.com/collections/necklace/products/ghana-outline-necklace" target="_blank">Omolola Jewellery</a> and it is glorious!</span></span><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Pre the global pyramid, right about now, I'd have been umming and ahhing about going to Carnival on the Bank Holiday. </span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; text-size-adjust: auto;">The first Caribbean Carnival was established by the epic Claudia Jones to celebrate West Indians in London. The same people who had been invited to the U.K. as British Citizens to rebuild the decimated country after it had been bombed to dust. They came with scotch bonnets. With plantain. With spices and seasoning and music and style and culture! Imagine leaving the balmy warmth of the Caribbean to come to cold rainy racist England and not even have the food you like? Yikes. At the very least, they had one another and thought, "We're fucking amazing! Let’s have a street party! No let’s make it a carnival! A carnival like the way we would back home! Embrace how fucking amazing we actually are!" (Watch Steve McQueen's Small Axe series!)</span></span><p></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: medium;">Notting Hill Carnival was thus born in West London and before Richard Curtis got his sticky fingers in the area, it was very much (like most of ‘urban’ London) where you went to party, to hear those steel pans, to smell the jerk oil drum smoke, chew on some sugar cane, jump and wave to dancehall, to eat and drink, to feel the joy of a culture that has tsunami’d across the world. Where else would John Boyega “catch wines”?!? </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: medium;">And it was always basically on my doorstep! But then… We all got a bit of Carnival fatigue. The weather would never be good enough. There would always be too many people and you would never find your friends where you’d say you’d meet. The food began to be ever more expensive and the police presence more oppressive. Reality tv stars would go for street cred (I saw Proudlock from Made In Chelsea one year and told myself not to go any more!) And yet, on a Monday afternoon, I’d find myself on the tube, shuffling behind people in Jamaican flag print dresses, with whistles around their necks and vuvuzelas blasting at the tube platform to join my fellow carnival goers. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: medium;">No one would ever assume that I’m anything other than very African, so I would feel free to wear prints, huge Ghana flag earrings, paint a Black star on my wrist as a symbol of my patriotism to my motherland and found myself even more embraced by my West Indian family. You can’t tell me that doing “tunderclap!” simultaneously with fifty other people isn’t anything other than exhilarating!</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: medium;">I’m truly going to miss it again this year, probably more than last year because we’ve had a taste of freedom. It’s too great of an open air festival to risk apparently (didn’t stop masses from gathering during England’s World Cup run but let’s not talk about that disgraceful episode). </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: medium;">So for a variety of reasons, one being bad ass from For The Last Time Paris Amihere and her outline tattoo of Ghana and the other being I couldn’t find any Ghana flag earrings, I bought this necklace. That way I keep the spirit of carnival as close as Ghana to my heart. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: medium;">Carnival 2022 will be a madness and I can’t wait! </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: medium;">Happy Bank Holiday!! </span></p></div>Billy Londonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17677598358996736536noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5109269663262025325.post-2814167907013306782021-08-03T00:42:00.001+01:002021-08-03T00:45:28.116+01:00Island in the Sun<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_Kg68D9NfUcAgwKc6TAXw26DE9w3l3Xas2AYfGdeKIoDQBD-Kbz4rZqsNtw9nKInXIBawPPwHJIV91wlcpW9yDxIy3IVwsfScDW5VTqJLMr34CSat69y2_vQMvmYvKhuUCkKjc7NstNA2/s1242/9EC6F29C-E37C-45AB-B66D-1C0C9C7708DD.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="974" data-original-width="1242" height="251" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_Kg68D9NfUcAgwKc6TAXw26DE9w3l3Xas2AYfGdeKIoDQBD-Kbz4rZqsNtw9nKInXIBawPPwHJIV91wlcpW9yDxIy3IVwsfScDW5VTqJLMr34CSat69y2_vQMvmYvKhuUCkKjc7NstNA2/s320/9EC6F29C-E37C-45AB-B66D-1C0C9C7708DD.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1"><br /></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">Sigh. Collectively, we really need to talk about the way we deal with Black women on reality tv. Love Island (LI) is back and to be honest, after the year we’ve had, post an Oprah Interview, BLM protests and George Floyd, I didn’t want to see another Black woman be dragged for merely existing. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">Kazana Kamwi is probably one of the best LI contestants ever cast. She’s bubbly, bright, sexy, intelligent and articulate. Her skin is smooth as cocktail ice and her bold choice of colours in her mini dresses and bikinis set off the richness of melanin in her skin. And yet, here come the critiques. She’s too happy. She’s too excited for other people. She can’t read that someone is not interested in her and obviously using her. She should say what’s on her mind with her chest. She’s doing too much. She’s not that attractive and the worst of all “she needs to go home coz the crying is too much.”</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">The lack of grace that is extended to Black women is just disgusting and disappointing. We are not a monolith. We don’t all react to situations the way that someone else would and certainly not always as we should. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">LI is an intense vacuum. You’re spending 24 hours a day with people very attractive people with NOTHING ELSE TO DO so of course feelings will naturally develop faster, like bacteria in a Petri dish in warm conditions. Four days to you and me in the LI villa is equivalent to months. So if someone is laying it on Factor 50 thick, selling you dreams about the outside world, how there’s no one else for them except</span> you, wouldn’t you believe it? Apparently Kaz should have had her guard up on level ten and judge all men that enter by the standards of previous contestants. “Play the game!” The game is to find love, you bunch of bellends!</p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">The same people complained about Yewande being too quiet and not making an effort. Worst of all, Kaz is being accused of “embarrassing us” as in the Black collective. I’m questioning how? Has she bullied anyone? Been violent to any other persons? Shown aggression? No! Not even remotely, despite obvious microaggressions. Her composure and restraint will become legend when this series is finished, I promise you. “Kaz would never!” will be the values by all future cast members will abide by! </p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">It’s perfectly acceptable to cry when someone upsets you. Why hold it in or back? It will make you unwell and is never good for your mental peace. The villa is a never ending void where you’re stuck with the persons or people who have hurt you in one way or another and those persons more than likely don’t have the range to communicate appropriately how they feel and acknowledge how they’ve made you feel. Can you imagine having no escape from that and then having armchair psychologists tweeting “it’s not what I’d have done.”</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">Really? Let’s see your dating profile at 24? Tell me who was selling you the world wrapped up in a Metro newspaper? Share with the class! No? </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">What’s really sticking in my craw is the intense judgement that is laid on Kaz’s head for being upset at what we perceive to be manipulation - a man seeing a woman happy and deciding he doesn’t like it and needs to be a part of that happiness. Whatever decisions she makes now will be critiqued and theorised and dissected in the way that no other contestants will be. It won’t be admitted because this country is so fucking backward still but it’s misogynoir. Always misogynior. Legitimately just say you hate Black women and go! It’s simpler and I can block you! </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">The “be kind” rhetoric never covers Black women, does it? It’s always “she’s a lost cause.” (For not picking a Black man during Casa Amor week.) Why is she still crying!” (Because the boy she coupled up with tried to gaslight her on his return) “She’s doing too much!” (Because she told said gaslighter about himself with savage precision) “She’s moving mad!” (For being exactly who she is!) </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">I am relieved there were no cameras around when I was 24 years old; making insane decisions and crying over people I didn’t need to waste a tear over! I swear to God, I don’t know how I’m alive with the shit I pulled. I’m giddy that I’ve got the perspective of age and distance to be able to judge my actions and not live vicariously through a girl who hasn’t lived through what I have and shouldn’t be hardened by the mill the world runs women through before Black women are sent off to the harsher grinder to be drained of any lightness and positivity and confidence. It’s clear to me that Kaz is a gorgeous woman of her convictions in an environment that has the most beautiful of girls doubting themselves. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">Because she is a dark skinned Black woman, Kaz absolutely deserves even more of our patience and our care and our understanding. Why should we be so quick to wash our hands of her, as if we’re her parents twenty years ago and she only got 98% on her English exam? It’s “support Black women!” Until it’s actually time to do so. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">The time is right here, right now. And before you say, it’s just TV, remember that the presenter, Caroline Flack and two contestants committed suicide and previous Black cast members received death threats. Even the most recent evictees have had awful messages of hate and racism. It’s just TV, but these are still people. Human beings, not SIMS characters. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">Give Kaz and the Black women you see on TV some grace; some patience and most of all some damn kindness! In a world that’s not going to do that for her, you do it! Do for her what wasn’t done for you and if you can’t, go to therapy and stop projecting the mistakes you wish you could undo onto her. I beg. </span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22.7px;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1"><a href="https://www.psychotherapy.org.uk/find-a-therapist/">https://www.psychotherapy.org.uk/find-a-therapist/</a></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22.7px;"><span class="s1"><a href="https://www.betterhelp.com/"></a></span><br /></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1"><a href="https://www.betterhelp.com/">BetterHelp | Professional Counseling With A Licensed Therapist</a></span></p>Billy Londonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17677598358996736536noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5109269663262025325.post-33580883820154417032021-07-24T18:23:00.011+01:002021-07-24T18:23:52.608+01:00Side Eye<p>Hiyaaah. It's going to be me dragging this country again - and it's not as if it doesn't deserve it! </p><p>Something twigged in me when I was listening to a space in Twitter. People don't know that Britain had a civil rights movement. The laws in place now, the shoulders upon which this government is claiming that we are now almost a "post racial society", formed on the efforts and struggles and determination of Black and brown Brits. We had our own version of Black Panther Party, feeding people, providing education. We had Bristol Bus Boycotts - same city where the Colston statue was brought down last year during the BLM protests. We had riots in Brixton with water hoses from fire trucks knocking protestors off their feet. We marched, we got into parliament, and demanded change. That people are convinced that British racism has never been direct but covert, is so incorrect, it's concerning. Understanding that this has always been the way for this country needs to taken in. </p><p>Let me take you into a very brief history. Britain has been exceptional at rebranding. Despite 18 and 19 century architecture, arts, education, and hilariously, philanthropy being directly funded by the transatlantic slave trade, Britain has done its best to distance itself from its origins. To the point where it's not taught at school. Only that William Wilberforce is one of the "greatest Britons" for forcing the end of slavery. The funny thing is, British slave owners were paid off with a government loan to end the trade. What's even funnier is that my family only stopped paying towards that loan to compensate in 2015. Two thousand and fifteen. Meaning that I have paid it off. Me. A Black African. My parents. Black Africans. Have compensated slave owners in this country to end the trade. Me. </p><p>Some people don't know about "the Greatest Briton" Churchill's role in the Bengal Famine that killed around 3 million people. Or his efforts in Kenya where concentration camps were used and killed around 14,000 people. They then burned the paperwork to hide their involvement in those deaths. Or the UK's involvement in the Middle East (including Iran and Iraq) that began the issues in Israel/Palestine. Or that present day Zimbabwe was named Rhodesia after Cecil Rhodes (a violent racist "imperialist") or that the current government was very anti-Nelson Mandela and were against sanctions on South Africa. One of our Prime Ministers, David Cameron who not only benefitted from that slave owner compensation, but was involved in a group at Oxford University that called for Nelson Mandela's assassination. </p><p>Racism isn't just calling someone a monkey or the n-word and that's what Britain has been very good at. "What's wrong with calling you black, that's what you are, isn't it?" Yes I may be a fucking bitch, what's my Blackness got to do with it? It's never been forward facing here. It's always been "it's for your own good" "it's because you don't know how you" "it's civilized" "you wouldn't survive otherwise" "we know better than you and it's not because of race at all, why would you be so awful to even suggest that?" The Irish know this. Southern Asians know this. Black Africans and Caribbean know as well. The open racism of the 50s to the 80s - the "no Irish, no dogs, no Blacks" has stepped to "migrants are the bane of our country and we're full up". It's been rebranded to cover up what anyone non-white will know and understand clearly to be as racist as possible. And then the best part of that rebranding is that they can say it's not racist. Prove that it is. You're the racist for bringing it up.</p><p>It's never been covert. It's as blatant as it's always been, it just needs the history to understand what it is. That's why you have white 'allies' saying "it's just a few of us!" or "that's not who we are!" Yes it is. It's what this country, who colonized three quarters of this planet for spices that they don't know how to use, has always been. A man with a superiority complex and a small dick. </p><p>From the census in 2011, 13% of London is Black (African/Caribbean) and across the UK 3% is. It's not a lot, but given the number of us, the change we have effected and impacted on our own is vast and shouldn't be underestimated or understated. While it seems dire right now and overwhelming, because of social media and because of traditional print media, there are so many of us still fighting, still educating, still doing our utmost to challenge Britain's goodie goodie, gentile image and thank God for Meghan Markle and Prince Harry because if anything that's blown that image to pieces, it's them. You look at young Black athletes and sportspeople openly calling out the nonsense they experience not just in print but on social media as well. You can't gaslight an entire section of the population and not have all your grimy roots exposed. It means persevering. It means continuing to call it out. To undermine the rebranding so it can't be hidden behind. I hope that this country doesn't ever get to escape its racism and xenophobia and that its treatment of its Black and brown people, particularly its treatment of Meghan. Ever until there is acknowledgement, remorse and reparations. </p><p>I said to a friend and I'll say it again, this country will never move forward until it accepts and makes reparations for the extensive wrongs it has done and the abuse it has inflicted on its Black and brown populace. Until then, I am happy to tear this country a new one until it does. </p><p>Clink clink bitch! We're having a glass of rose to go with this!</p><div><br /></div>Billy Londonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17677598358996736536noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5109269663262025325.post-44453480173896371682021-06-27T18:59:00.000+01:002021-06-27T18:59:19.549+01:00Apples and Bananas<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0EhPW4adVoAXEpon9klzHXkComgyPZmN6Zz57oxX60Q0amCrGY83zjcHKNh4L9AzE7DIKGhKN24t7S6CYVYIiSiztPZbX_DgSNb0wmIp47ctpDLvjFuL8Q6qjRw2EWC8_lqWJoXr_DoWF/s1980/cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1980" data-original-width="1320" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0EhPW4adVoAXEpon9klzHXkComgyPZmN6Zz57oxX60Q0amCrGY83zjcHKNh4L9AzE7DIKGhKN24t7S6CYVYIiSiztPZbX_DgSNb0wmIp47ctpDLvjFuL8Q6qjRw2EWC8_lqWJoXr_DoWF/s320/cover.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p>I love how I'm spamming my own blog with this book... Then again, it is my first book in a long time and it's the first book I've been able to make available on Apple Books!</p><p>Grief, the way I was emotionally tested by this; how long it took to upload, the additional formatting... Let me never go through that again, please Lord, I've been good (ish) I don't deserve it! (much)</p><p>So enough of the wingeing and on with the linkage: <a href="https://books.apple.com/us/book/for-the-last-time/id1572847511?itsct=books_box_link&itscg=30200&ct=books_for_the_last_time&ls=1" target="_blank">For The Last Time on Apple Books</a></p><p>This is an ePub version for those with the Apple Books app. Paperback will be on Amazon shortly and if you want a PDF? Email me. I've got you! </p><p><br /></p>Billy Londonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17677598358996736536noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5109269663262025325.post-49777510880153959672021-06-17T21:06:00.004+01:002021-06-19T20:12:31.676+01:00The Last Time<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiihOCS76BMoHcsP4haYmS9OfgSYusZSRHDT9iW5IIkzWQwXx5MbUg4SvJgDixizub1-idTNp9i4wFdZNlSlHpRAhSC3Tbrm0hlxo-YboeQJUea7500TzYwqKz54BJn9hz2BGJtY2hd13Qe/s2048/eForTheLastTime_BillyLondon.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1365" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiihOCS76BMoHcsP4haYmS9OfgSYusZSRHDT9iW5IIkzWQwXx5MbUg4SvJgDixizub1-idTNp9i4wFdZNlSlHpRAhSC3Tbrm0hlxo-YboeQJUea7500TzYwqKz54BJn9hz2BGJtY2hd13Qe/s320/eForTheLastTime_BillyLondon.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>And it's here!</p><p>Goodness that took a long time to review. Not that it's long as hell (once more with feeling, it's 102,000) but I used the new Word feature called "Read Aloud". It's never not hilarious to have an automated female voice repeatedly stating "what the fuck?" </p><p>Anyway! Let me celebrate my first release in over eighteen months! I hope you can read it. It's a difficult subject and it was difficult to write at times, but first and foremost my new favourite phrase is to preserve your peace. If it's going to be a triggering subject, don't read it. There's been enough disturbance over the last two years (let alone a global panasonic) not to unbalance whatever calm you've cultivated. </p><p>What my characters experience, my female characters in particular, is toughhhhhh. One of my oldest friends, after I explained the story and some spoilers, looked at me over a rather large glass of wine and said "Do you need help?" She said it with a laugh, but there was a slight professional edge to the question (she's in psychiatry). I told her I worked it all out of my system in this book and to be honest, reading it and giving myself nightmares probably helped even more. </p><p>With that sense of freedom, you can read For The Last Time on Amazon here: <a href="https://kdp.amazon.com/amazon-dp-action/us/dualbookshelf.marketplacelink/B097CLC9X7" target="_blank">For The Last Time on Amazon</a></p><p>I'm waiting for Apple Books to release the goods, but in the case you can't get an ePub or PDF version, feel free to email me your request. I have PayPal and I have formatted the devil out of this book!</p><p>As Issey's daughter says, "Talking is healthy."</p><p>It truly is... </p><p><br /></p>Billy Londonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17677598358996736536noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5109269663262025325.post-47364517175482963182021-05-24T23:31:00.000+01:002021-05-24T23:31:10.259+01:00You Don't Know<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiihOCS76BMoHcsP4haYmS9OfgSYusZSRHDT9iW5IIkzWQwXx5MbUg4SvJgDixizub1-idTNp9i4wFdZNlSlHpRAhSC3Tbrm0hlxo-YboeQJUea7500TzYwqKz54BJn9hz2BGJtY2hd13Qe/s2048/eForTheLastTime_BillyLondon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1365" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiihOCS76BMoHcsP4haYmS9OfgSYusZSRHDT9iW5IIkzWQwXx5MbUg4SvJgDixizub1-idTNp9i4wFdZNlSlHpRAhSC3Tbrm0hlxo-YboeQJUea7500TzYwqKz54BJn9hz2BGJtY2hd13Qe/s320/eForTheLastTime_BillyLondon.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>Shall we get ready to rumble?! While I get stuck into formatting this badboy of 102,000 odd words into shape, I can tell you a little bit more about it, because I can't keep this to myself. I mean, I made my editor cry, I made myself cry and I actually had a nightmare because of this too. Yikes! Not selling it am I? Imagine writing a book and then it keeping you up and night because you have literally scared yourself silly. I mean there isn't a demon or a ghost running around the pages of this story, but... some of this truly is messed up. I did it to get some things off my chest and while I feel like it was literary therapy for me, it's still very close on the surface of what I've actually processed and there's not enough emotional distance for me to box it up into the 'that happened and it's acceptable' rather than traumatising. Oh God, I'm going to traumatise you lot too, aren't I?</p><p>I've already warned that's it a different lane from the usual Billy London fare, in that it's not an out and out romance. It's undoubtedly a love story, but a love story between family - family that you choose and family that you don't. Oh, my characters are going to bang like bunnies, it wouldn't be a story by me if they didn't, but it's banging in keeping with the people that they are. And there are jokes. I can't help myself, like my main character, Issey, I tend to make light of terrible situations, so I can manage it in my brain. But as you'll see from just the trigger warning, you'll need to be in the right place to read this and even then some of it may still shock you. </p><p>Let me explain: </p><p><i>Blurb - 24 May 2021</i></p><p><i>T/W - discussions of suicide, sexual assault, stalking and suicide</i></p><p><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 12pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;">“My name is Issey Deroche-Maurel. My mother was
married to Derek Carpenter. He was my stepfather and twelve years ago, he was murdered on my
wedding day.”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">At the height of
the macabre delectation of true crime podcasts and in the midst of a global pandemic, Issey Deroche-Maurel and her
traumatic past have been discovered. Seizing upon the opportunity to tell her
side of an impossible story, before it's told for her, Issey gives herself the voice to speak. For
herself. For the people she loves. For the very last time.</span><i> </i></p><p>Now that I've set it up, read on here:</p><p><i>Excerpt - 19 August 2008 </i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 10.8pt;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">Issey’s shoulders began to ache with the effort of
keeping as much distance between herself and the officer as humanly possible.
“I talked to over a hundred people. I can’t recall all of it.”</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 10.8pt;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">“Why don’t I believe you then?”</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 10.8pt;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">“Because I’m sure recalling a conversation is far
easier with a recorder or a notebook to hand,” she snapped.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 10.8pt;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">His eyebrows drew together slightly, a slight
wrinkle forming there. “What are you trying to hide?”</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 10.8pt;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">“Absolutely nothing,” she lied sweetly.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 10.8pt;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">Roylings softened his voice. “What you’re doing is
obstructing justice. You’re legally required to help the police in our
enquiries.” She blinked at him. “Do you know what happens to pretty little rich
girls like you in prison?”</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 10.8pt;"><i><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">Oh, don’t you fucking dare</span></i><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">, she thought, despite how her stomach dissolved in sudden fear. She
shook her head.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 10.8pt;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">“Things that make Harvey Nichols seem a long way
away. Things that make period pains look like a walk in the park. Things that
make women a lot stronger than you go mental. Things that make you wish for a weapon.
Do you understand? You help me out, Mrs Buchanan, and you’ll never need to
know.”</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 10.8pt;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">She scratched her neck. “I told you I can’t
remember.”</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 10.8pt;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">“You’re doing it again.”</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 10.8pt;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">“What?”</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 10.8pt;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">“Batting those lashes at me to see if I give up.
I’m sure every male you’ve come across has bent to your will. There’s always an
exception to the rule.”</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 10.8pt;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">“Yes. I married him.” <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 10.8pt;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">She looked at Roylings, her eyes bright with
laughter. “I’m sure the floor’s clean enough for you to roll over whenever
you’re ready.”</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 10.8pt;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">Roylings leaned in a little closer, and she could
see the dark blond stubble that coated his lower jaw, and that his eyes weren’t
black or brown, but a deep, very dark blue. “You’re playing out of your depth.”</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 10.8pt;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">“Something to strive for while I’m not on
honeymoon.”</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 10.8pt;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">“How about you strive for bail when I arrest you
for obstruction to justice?”</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 10.8pt;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">Issey’s temper finally surfaced. She was not one
given to making threats, but hey, when in Rome… “How about I do you for
harassment, sexual and racial discrimination?”</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 10.8pt;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">He laughed in her face. “I would love to know how
you’d even attempt the last one. Go on, Mrs Buchanan. Enlighten me.”</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 10.8pt;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">She cleared her throat and said in her most
delicate lady-of-the-manor voice, “The moment you met me, you have made your
dislike of me patently obvious. I would figure that to be some deep-seated
dislike of women in general and right now you are using your height and weight
as an advantage over me as a woman. Sexual discrimination. Your methods of
interrogation are proving to be rather brutal, given you have offered no form
of counsel and no tape recorder. I am assisting you with your enquiries, not
being questioned. You made that distinction to me. With the recent family
bereavement in mind, it is hardly admirable policing. Harassment. The fact that
you’re an inch from my face, I’m immensely surprised that you cannot see that
my father is Black.” <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 10.8pt;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">She saw his eyes widen in astonishment, as she
concluded, “Racial discrimination. I am a fantastic journalist, and I can spin
this in such a way that you’ll be collecting your pension this time next
fortnight. You wouldn’t want to be responsible for the Met being under scrutiny
for the way they treat ethnic suspects, yet again, would you?” Her eyes gleamed
as a rather malicious smile tilted the corners of her mouth. “I like a good
fight.”</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 10.8pt;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">He looked at her as if he had discovered a new
species. “What box do you tick when you have to fill in those equal
opportunities forms?”</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 10.8pt;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">“Mixed, obviously,” she said, trying not to show
how irritated she was in making the clarification. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 10.8pt;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">“Those laws are there to protect the vulnerable in
society,” he reminded her, as if they were having a congenial conversation.
“Those who are truly abused by the system.”</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 10.8pt;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">“And I am taking advantage of that law.” She lifted
her brows. “Why, do you think that racial discrimination is reserved for those
who are all black or all Asian or all white? I deserve to be protected from
unwarranted slurs against my character. You clearly have issue with me. And my
proximity to Blackness may be one of many.”</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 10.8pt;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">“You are unbelievable,” he told her in part
admiration. “You know that it would be laughed out of any court.”</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 10.8pt;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">“The very fact that you suggested that it would be
constitutes an abuse of my right to be protected by that law.”</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 10.8pt;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">“I doubt it.”</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 10.8pt;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">“You would,” she derided, “you’re the one I’m
pointing the finger at.”</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 10.8pt;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">“You are very defensive.”</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 10.8pt;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">“I always am when men try to bully me.”</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 10.8pt;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">“Help me out,” he encouraged. Good Lord. Any guilty
person would have told him what he wanted to know to stop the range of moods he
went through.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 10.8pt;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">“Why don’t you ask Clare Windsor?” Issey said
eventually. “She was right next to Derek when we had our instantly forgettable
conversation.”</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 10.8pt;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">“Who’s Clare Windsor?”</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 10.8pt;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">“If you stop hovering over me, I’ll show you.” He
stretched up and watched her flick through the pictures. “Here. If that’s all,
I’d really like to go home now.”</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 10.8pt;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">Roylings inclined his head in the affirmative. “You
can tell your mother that she’s no longer needed either. Whatever you’re trying
to hide, Mrs Buchanan, it’ll be better for you if you own up to it now.”</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 10.8pt;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">“It’s Ms Deroche-Maurel,” she corrected, only to be
promptly ignored.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 10.8pt;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">“Take a note,” he said with a taut edge to his
voice. “This is the part where you’ve walked freely into the lion’s den. Don’t
scream if you get eaten.”</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 10.8pt;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">Issey picked up her purse. “No one can eat a whole
me. There’s far too much to go around.”</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 10.8pt;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">He laughed suddenly. “You always have to have the
last word, don’t you? Does your husband have any idea what he’s got himself
into?”</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 10.8pt;"><i><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">Eyes wide open. </span></i><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">She lifted a
shoulder. “I doubt it.”</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 10.8pt;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">He opened the door for her and walked her towards
the reception. “Anything else that comes to mind—a conversation, perhaps—please,
let me know.” He stared at her, as if he had recognised his sparring partner,
and was looking forward to beating her stupid.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 10.8pt;"><i><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">Over Derek’s dead body? No, thanks, I’ve got better
use for my time.</span></i><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"> “Of course.”</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 10.8pt;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">He held the door open for her and she slipped her
sunglasses back onto her nose. Vanessa was still on the phone, standing by her
new Audi. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 10.8pt;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">“Of course, of course, yes, darling, very soon. Bye-bye.”
She turned to her daughter. “All done, darling?”</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 10.8pt;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">“You’re my witness,” Issey ground out.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 10.8pt;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">“To what?”</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 10.8pt;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">“That…that poor excuse for a police officer is
trying to stitch me up.”</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 10.8pt;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">Vanessa rolled her eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. He
likes you, that’s all.”</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 10.8pt;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">Issey sucked in a calming breath. As she had a
feeling that Roylings could be watching her from the station, she stopped
herself from shaking her mother to sanity. “Mother, your husband was murdered.
The faster they sort this out, the better they look.”</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 10.8pt;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">Vanessa waved her hand through the air. “I think
they’ve made a terrible mistake. No one would go out of their way to murder
Derek, and not at your wedding.”</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 10.8pt;"><i><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">You and I came pretty close</span></i><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">, she was so close to retorting, but she held it back. Her mother
continued, “Honestly, it’s the most upsetting thing I’ve heard, next to George
Best being an alcoholic. Broke my heart.”</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 10.8pt;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">“Really, Mother? Unless you want to add <i>daughter convicted of murder</i> to that,
then watch out for me.”</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 10.8pt;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">Vanessa gurgled with delighted laughter. “He seems
so intent on you because he finds you attractive. You shouldn’t be surprised,
not at this age. Just because you’re married doesn’t mean it won’t happen.” She
tweaked at her hat smugly. “Well, you are my child.”</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 10.8pt;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">“He’s just…”</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 10.8pt;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">Vanessa pressed the alarm release to her car. “You
ought to go out. It’ll be good for you. Here…” She handed over a gold-embossed
invitation. “Derek and I were supposed to attend Zack’s charity dinner for that
heart foundation. I suppose Lorccán will still be at work.”</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 10.8pt;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">Issey twisted her keys about her fingers. “I
suppose so.” Best place for him, really. Out of each other’s way.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p>
<span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">Vanessa
opened the door and gracefully stepped into the car. “Don’t brood too much,
will you, darling? It rather undermines my widowhood.”</span></p><p><br /></p>Billy Londonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17677598358996736536noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5109269663262025325.post-24518951639448982542021-05-13T17:17:00.002+01:002021-05-13T17:17:22.875+01:00Look Back<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiihOCS76BMoHcsP4haYmS9OfgSYusZSRHDT9iW5IIkzWQwXx5MbUg4SvJgDixizub1-idTNp9i4wFdZNlSlHpRAhSC3Tbrm0hlxo-YboeQJUea7500TzYwqKz54BJn9hz2BGJtY2hd13Qe/s2048/eForTheLastTime_BillyLondon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1365" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiihOCS76BMoHcsP4haYmS9OfgSYusZSRHDT9iW5IIkzWQwXx5MbUg4SvJgDixizub1-idTNp9i4wFdZNlSlHpRAhSC3Tbrm0hlxo-YboeQJUea7500TzYwqKz54BJn9hz2BGJtY2hd13Qe/s320/eForTheLastTime_BillyLondon.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p>I've been quiet on here - obviously not on Twitter if you follow me there, that's where I write all my nonsense - because I've been working hard both with the day job and with the edits on the book! Round one finally submitted! </p><p>So to celebrate, let's get some music on board. It's the only thing that's sustained me through the madness of this tale. I've been toying with this story for a while. It's a whodunnit because why not? Then the pandemic hit and we are all wearing masks, not touching, having video calls with our grandmas and how would a whodunnit at a wedding when the guestlist is down to thirty with no reception work? Cue Hot Muse Hank. While listening to a great podcast by John Sweeney, HMH told me that I could keep everything as is, but have the characters talk about what happened to them as though it happened years ago, rather than currently. </p><p>"You're a fucking genius!" I said to Hot Muse Hank. He made a face and said, "Well try it and see if it's easy."</p><p>Spoiler alert - it was NOT easy. You really forget things that were happening last week, let alone twelve nearly thirteen years ago, and then thirteen years from that date. I changed names and forgot to change names all the way through. I changed genders and forgot that I'd done that and read through thinking, who the hell is she? when I meant he. Foolishness. Did Hot Muse Hank help? Did he fuck. He reminded me that while it'd been his idea to take things way back into time, it was also my idea to follow his idea. </p><p>Also, let me do an early warning on the content of this book. While it'll have my trademark humour, it's pretty dark. There's a lot of murder, discussions on sexual abuse and assault and stalking. Once I have the book up, you can download a sample to see if it's for you but please be assured that if it's not, I promise you, I understand. </p><p>Anyways, the podcast within a book within a whodunnit takes place in 2020, with the murder at a wedding taking place in 2008. With me? For authenticity, all the music tracked is either from last year or 2008 or earlier. If you had seen me having a whole concert to myself doing this, you would agree with Hot Muse Hank that I have lost my natural mind. All good though! </p><p>Music a la podcast style:</p><p><a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2iKvo4mdS5AKdENYdT6BA8?si=gKi2x2baRgKxqix8IInN2w" target="_blank">For The Last Time Soundtrack</a><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;"></p><ol style="text-align: left;"><li>2WEI – <i>Echoes </i></li><li>Sam Sparro – <i>Black & Gold </i></li><li>Foals – <i>Like Swimming </i></li><li>Tom Mc Rae – <i>A Day Like Today </i></li><li>Interpol – <i>The Heinrich Maneuver </i></li><li>Rufus Wainwright – <i>Not Ready To
Love</i></li><li>Placebo – <i>Pure Morning</i></li><li>Björk – <i>Unravel </i></li><li>Kate Nash – <i>Nicest Thing</i></li><li>Zero7 ft Mozez – <i>I Have Seen</i></li><li>Tom Ashbrook – <i>Klass </i></li><li>She Wants Revenge – <i>Tear You
Apart</i></li><li>Radiohead – <i>Talk Show Host</i></li><li>Bloc Party – <i>Biko</i></li><li>Jimi Hendrix – <i>Voodoo Child
(Slight Return)</i></li><li>Guillemots – <i>Little Bear</i></li><li>TĀLĀ – <i>Cabin Fever</i> </li><li>Portishead – <i>Undenied </i></li><li>MJ Cole – <i>Sincere </i></li><li>Aqualung – <i>Good Times Gonna Come</i></li><li>The Naked And Famous – <i>The Sun </i></li><li>Amy Winehouse – <i>Tears Dry On
Their Own </i></li><li>Damian Marley – <i>Welcome To
Jamrock </i></li><li>Kanye West ft Consequence,
Cam’ron – <i>Gone </i></li><li>Stevie Wonder – <i>I Don’t Know Why </i></li><li>Madonna – <i>Candy Perfume Girl</i></li><li>David Bowie – <i>All The Young Dudes</i></li><li>Tricky – <i>Ponderosa </i></li><li>Portishead – <i>Strangers </i></li><li>Radiohead – <i>Nude </i></li><li>UNKLE – <i>Price You Pay </i></li><li>Madcon – <i>Beggin’ </i></li><li>Lamb – <i>Lullaby</i></li><li>Coldplay – <i>Spies </i></li><li>Paramore – <i>We Are Broken </i></li><li>Death in Vegas – <i>Hands Around My
Throat</i></li><li>Damien Rice – <i>Eskimo </i></li><li>Tom McRae – <i>Walking2Hawaii </i></li><li>Bat For Lashes – <i>What’s A Girl To
Do</i></li><li>Tricky – <i>Hell Is Around The
Corner </i></li><li>Basement Jaxx – <i>Everybody </i></li><li>Mark Ronson ft Daniel
Merriweather – <i>Stop Me</i></li><li>New Young Pony Club – <i>Ice Cream </i></li><li>Massive Attack – <i>Teardrop </i></li><li>Massive Attack – <i>Unfinished
Sympathy </i></li><li>Radiohead – <i>Paranoid Android </i></li><li>The Ting Tings – <i>We Walk </i></li><li>Low – <i>Breaker </i></li><li>Radiohead – <i>Everything In Its
Right Place</i></li><li>702 – <i>You Don’t Know </i></li><li>Cassie – <i>Me & U</i></li><li>Ledisi – <i>You And Me</i></li><li>José González – <i>Killing For Love</i></li><li>Sigor Rós – <i>Svefn-g-englar </i></li><li>U2 – <i>If God Will Send His Angels </i></li><li>Bobby Womack – <i>California
Dreamin’ </i></li><li>PJ Harvey – <i>The Garden</i></li><li>Faithless – <i>Crazy English Summer</i></li><li>Little Dragon – <i>Twice </i></li><li>Malcolm McLaren – <i>About Her </i></li><li>Bon Iver – <i>Creature Fear</i></li><li>Air – <i>Photograph </i></li><li>Bonobo ft Fink – <i>If You Stayed
Over </i></li><li>White Lies – <i>Unfinished Business</i></li><li>Coldplay – <i>Prospekt’s
March/Poppyfields </i></li><li>Alexandre Desplat – <i>Elegy </i></li><li>Linkin Park – <i>Hands Held High</i></li><li>Bloc Party – <i>Kreuzberg</i></li><li>Vanbur –<i> In Cold Light</i></li><li>Active Child – <i>Cruel World </i></li></ol><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></p><p>
</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></p><p><br /></p>Billy Londonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17677598358996736536noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5109269663262025325.post-79167693434796516282021-04-13T22:05:00.003+01:002021-04-13T22:05:37.287+01:00Insane In The Brain<p><br /></p><p>I've never flung a story so hard at my editor as I have my latest, For The Last Time. It needed to go, I'd held onto it for too long. Poor Queen Barb. I don't envy having to edit 102,000 words of my depressing words. Now that it is out of my "lemme tweak just one more thing/ lemme just change one more name/ lemme throw some sex at this here" hands, I can move on. </p><p>For The Last Time was an epic bit of therapy for me. You'll understand when you read it. If you read it. I don't know if it will be your thing at all. It's dark. I mean for me, it's dark. I can't imagine writing anything where the characters aren't living through their pain with humour. How does anyone else survive, if not to mock and take the proverbial? </p><p>I'd given myself until the end of March to complete and I thought I'd have the mental freedom to go onto my fluffier tales for a bit of relief. And yet, I am tethered to this story, even more so now that I've got to go over it again for edits with all my errors in tracked changes. It means I'm effectively retraumatising myself with each page. Such fun!</p><p>For those concerned, there will be a trigger warning in the blurb to prevent any blindsiding. Although, I actually put a demon in the title of a book and someone was still shocked that a demon was in said book. I don't know how effective the TW will be then if that's the case... </p><p>With that, pray for me. It's going to be a loooong week!</p><p><br /></p>Billy Londonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17677598358996736536noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5109269663262025325.post-90490278613527513892021-03-23T20:17:00.000+00:002021-03-23T20:17:04.907+00:00Little Sister<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiihOCS76BMoHcsP4haYmS9OfgSYusZSRHDT9iW5IIkzWQwXx5MbUg4SvJgDixizub1-idTNp9i4wFdZNlSlHpRAhSC3Tbrm0hlxo-YboeQJUea7500TzYwqKz54BJn9hz2BGJtY2hd13Qe/s2048/eForTheLastTime_BillyLondon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1365" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiihOCS76BMoHcsP4haYmS9OfgSYusZSRHDT9iW5IIkzWQwXx5MbUg4SvJgDixizub1-idTNp9i4wFdZNlSlHpRAhSC3Tbrm0hlxo-YboeQJUea7500TzYwqKz54BJn9hz2BGJtY2hd13Qe/s320/eForTheLastTime_BillyLondon.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>I am near the finishing line with this story! While I would normally be excited about completing a tale and letting you guys at it, this has been a toughie. I did say that I wasn't writing something light, didn't I? It fits in with how hard 2020 kicked my arse and how hard 2021 has been for me so far. </p><p>I don't have sisters. I always thought it would be a chore and an outrage sharing things like clothes or make up or god forbid shoes! And then I met a woman who made me feel like I was a part of her family. And I know why I haven't mentioned that she's left this world, because it's honestly one of the most painful things I've experienced, but I need to let some of it go, for my own sanity. </p><p>She was only in my life very briefly, but long enough for me to want to call her and talk about all sorts of things - from the spiritual to the inane, tv joys and travel highs. I'd have happily shared my entire wardrobe with her, looked for her approval to anything I was doing. Nothing made me happier than when her name popped up on my phone if she was calling or texting me, or when I saw her we'd have the best hugs. Any meet up would start with a cup of tea first, then we'd move onto the hard stuff - obvs, you know me by now. And I don't really take calls. I'm like "text me" but if she called, we'd talk. I really miss that. </p><p>Her illness came from nowhere and it robbed her and us of her. It really stole my friend, my little sister from me and I'll never get her back. There's a reason for me talking about my friend. The story I'm almost finished with, is really about the vitality, the necessity of sisterhood. Doesn't have to be by blood - I've written enough about dodgy relatives (looking at you Angela!) to know that blood is not always thicker than water. But that connection with someone who you could have easily grown up with, someone who makes you smile just thinking of them, that you'd do anything for - this is that story. The lengths these women go for their chosen sisters is wild. Truly and honestly but to paraphrase Chris Rock "I wouldn't do it, but I understand!"</p><p>Before my friend left us, there was a very narrow list of people that I'd do anything for. My niece - she's got my card details, my bank account like a scam from a Nigerian Prince - but she's a bubs, so everything needs to be as an example for her, for her future. Can't let her grow up a scamp! And I struggled to understand that level of unbalanced, unconditional love where you think "What laws? Prison? Fuck it, ain't no problem!" I know it now. All too late, but I know. And I wish I'd done more. I could have done more. But hindsight in 20/20 is never useful. </p><p>When you read this madness of 103,000 words (it's really long, I'm so sorry), you'll understand what I've rambled on about. As much as it's about do anything for your sisters, even beyond the realms of reasonableness, it's about the depth of sororal love, beyond that of any other kind of love. </p><p>Funny. Funny weird, not funny haha. I had a sister all this time. And while she's gone, the love remains. </p>Billy Londonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17677598358996736536noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5109269663262025325.post-6808338987812953102021-03-16T18:30:00.004+00:002021-03-16T18:30:48.374+00:00Dangerous <p> </p><p>This last week has been a trial! I actively want to scream about wtaf happened! First we had International Women's Day, which is always blocked by "what about International Men's Day!" Then the UK had the Meghan and Harry with Oprah interview which opened up a new doorway to hell. Any institution that has benefited from colonialism, from the subjugation of Black and brown bodies, which to this day, is pocketing the money repeated from said subjugation... racism is going to be present. Some of my friends have questioned 'what would Meghan expect marrying into that institution?' Listen, the global image that Little Britain has presented, is that we're above racism. We don't sully ourselves in the mire of judging people for where they are from. We're nice and tolerant here right? We're nothing like America, right? I cannot see how anything, save for Jesus Christ himself appearing to Meghan and telling her that shit is about to go down, that would have prepared Meghan for what she was subjected to. I remember my mother asking me when Prince William (before his hairline abandoned him for his waywardness) went to St Andrews, and whether I would think about changing universities. I found it ridiculous as I went to university in the greatest city in the world. (I can't remember three quarters of it, but that's because I had a fucking great time) Secondly, there would be nothing that would induce me to not only to alter my entire life for a man, but marry into the same family that basically abandoned Princess Diana to the press hounding wolves? No, no thank you. So that was all of Monday, and people finally realising that Kate Middleton is every white woman who is offended by your existence in the work place and wants to interfere in your project. If you gently correct her, the tears will come and you'll be having a chat with HR, discussing what you need to adjust any perceived 'aggression' in your presentation. </p><p>Tuesday, a florid man with a too small shirt collar for the thickness of his neck, who felt offended that Meghan Markle didn't abandon a press junket for him to go to his pub and have a picture taken with him and invite him to her wedding, decided on national television to claim that Meghan was lying about having suicidal thoughts. He felt brave enough to do so. In contradiction to the broadcasting rules and regulations - he called her a liar - even as journalists in the royal rota (I call them journalists for ease only) admitted that Meghan had come into difficulties, that she had been deeply unhappy and often in tears. We'd all seen it in South Africa where she thanked a journalist for asking how she was because not very many people had asked. Yet, he under the umbrella of the privilege of his whiteness, felt in his power and bile to call her a liar. Not thinking that 40,999 other people would do so, I complained to OFCOM. He needed to be stopped. It was enough. </p><p>Wednesday, whether it was a PR stunt or not, florid man walked off his tv show after repeating his disbelief about the Duchess of Sussex' suicidal ideation and being challenged by the only other person of colour on the same show. We then found out that the number of complaints to OFCOM were in the 40,000s and that the Duchess had also complained directly to ITV heads and in his probable negotiations in staying with the channel or going elsewhere, he left. I for one, was relieved to not be walking into an old office and having to explain why this man was bad vibes for the morning and that his clashes with government should be standard for any journalists and not someone to be admired. After all, this was the same person with his nose so far up T*mp's arse he could have eaten the McDonald's for him. That same day, it was confirmed that a woman who had gone missing from an area of South London that I have walked, repeatedly at all hours of the day, with headphones blaring, on my own - as I often am - had been discovered an hour and a half away in a different county and dead? I was unbalanced by it all. In discussing florid man, Sharon Osbourne decided to peak white woman and verbally attack her co-host, demanding to be educated and raging. Also Baldimort (someone related to Prince Harry) claimed the Royal Family is 'very much not a racist family'. I don't know anyone who didn't find that utterly hilarious. (I know good people!) </p><p>Thursday, we find out that Sarah Everard, the woman who had gone missing, was likely murdered by a Met police officer. I wanted to throw something when the major cry was "you're supposed to protect us!" ***stares in Black woman*** I didn't want to derail because people were hurt, but Black people, Black women have not had the luxury of trusting the police. Ever. Black children have been murdered and it's been said to be in the public interest not to pursue their murderers. In 1981, there was a fire in New Cross which killed 13 young Black people. A certain Head of State had the opportunity to write to the families of the survivors and chose not to. The fire was started by white supremacists. The police instead decided to close the matter claiming that the fire was the fault of the party goers, who were aged between 14 and 22 years of age. Only last year, two Black women were murdered in broad daylight. Did you know that photographs of their dead bodies was passed around a police WhatsApp group? Do you think those officers still have their jobs? Of course they do. Rape and sexual assault have been pervasive throughout our society since its inception. We as women cannot do anything else more to prevent violence against us. I was at my local bus stop on my way out (yes I did look fire, thank you!) and a man tapped me on the shoulder and told me my Oyster card had fallen out of my pocket. I thanked him and he said, "You shouldn't have your music on so loud, so you're not aware of your surroundings. Anything could happen to you, you know!" The worst things that have happened to me, is when I haven't had music on, when I've been sober, in places where I should have been safe. My headphones have protected me from a world of nonsense. I didn't tell him that. I didn't even tell him that I'd been sexually harassed and assaulted on buses before, but I had no other way to get to where I needed to quickly and cheaply. Instead, I thanked him again and got on the bus. </p><p>Friday, Davina McCall, a television presenter decided to join in the #notallmen cry despite a survey confirming that 97% of women in the UK had suffered sexual assault or harassment, and ignore what happened to Sarah Everard, to worry about the impact on men and their mental health. Of all the pickmeness. Of all the derailment. What was the reason? What was the purpose? Yes, men do suffer but we're not talking about men right now. We were talking about the lengths women have to go through just to be out in the streets alone - wear bright clothing, call a friend, stay in well lit areas, keys between the fingers - but we should be concerned about men as to the impact of speaking about what women have to do to be safe? She was dragged expeditiously and deservedly. And before you ask, yes she is.</p><p>Saturday, after Charlie Hebbo decided to post yet another racist cover. A vigil was to take place for Sarah on Clapham Common. Baldimort's wife turned up, without a mask, in plain clothes (clearly contradictory to what Meghan had said during her interview.) This is someone who has had bodies turn up on her front lake and not said a thing about it - seemingly emptyhanded, looked appropriately sad for two seconds enough for a photographer to get her profile and left. As soon as she left, the police moved in under 'Covid rules' and began arresting women, throwing them to the ground and handcuffing them. As a Black woman, I could have told them that if the police decided to use those powers that they tend to take out on us on them as white women, but sometimes, you only learn by experience. Now they know. Now they're echoing what we've been screaming into the void for years. The police abuse their powers. </p><p>Sunday, the front pages of papers were full of pictures of Baldimort's wife and how she was displaying class and grace, rather than the violence inflicted on the vigil attendees. People were upset on Twitter and again, sometimes people only learn through experience. But it was very obvious from the reaction to the BLM protests last year compared to the vigil how much they had seen and how much they had ingested because the same lines were being regurgitated. Sunday was also Mothering Sunday in the U.K, while people with titles and honours and London mayor candidates were showing their anti-Blackness and their arseholes for the social media world to see. </p><p>Are you tired? I was exhausted. Honestly, I've felt a weight on me for days and it has. Not. Stopped. I have been tired of the change in narrative. I have been tired by the gaslighting. By the denial of humanity for women who are Black or have proximity to Blackness. By the attempts to paper over the cracks of the monarchy and the 'the countries I've colonised have been Black!' By the immediate reaction to protect men from the violence they wield against women, rather than making laws, rules, demands that they start changing. I can only hope that this week is better and a relief because it's been far too much. If anything, this should spur me to finish my current book, get it out in the world and then I can sleep. It's the one commodity that's fast becoming too expensive and all too rare. </p><p> </p>Billy Londonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17677598358996736536noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5109269663262025325.post-53064920509741399112021-03-11T13:24:00.002+00:002021-03-11T13:24:46.602+00:00Killer Queen<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjid_q2r-lc3WP9qnYUqhNuV6GKpWPQgy9s9a2ArXPcGX-FjuT2AGcTkjR5d2iXBco6CZOegfN4QTo-ODkXT0IY4wvjcYOl-p2mjsOqZqh_3NAAPSsOuBAE07jN0j8T35sQ5f_IJAzt3Alh/s1242/image_6487327.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="481" data-original-width="1242" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjid_q2r-lc3WP9qnYUqhNuV6GKpWPQgy9s9a2ArXPcGX-FjuT2AGcTkjR5d2iXBco6CZOegfN4QTo-ODkXT0IY4wvjcYOl-p2mjsOqZqh_3NAAPSsOuBAE07jN0j8T35sQ5f_IJAzt3Alh/s320/image_6487327.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p><p>I'm slowly getting back into the swing of things (trying to balance the work life with the book life). Now words are flowing once more, I'm going to do a takeover on Facebook!</p><p>The delightful and crazily talented Kenya Wright has invited me to a celebration of all that is Mafia in her group K Killers. If you're not already a member, add yourself and join me on Friday 12 March 2021 at 8 - 9 EST which is 1 - 2 am GMT.</p><p>Looking forward to talking about all things tall, dark and affiliated tomorrow!</p>Billy Londonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17677598358996736536noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5109269663262025325.post-70799260189463003762021-03-03T22:14:00.002+00:002022-03-24T13:41:16.362+00:00You Should See Me In A Crown<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2PkKnb8G6cqQA5DnBcaZljzP6XZrYQBosdzH5JM8G_lUGZw8mocvUOKrYKEA5d3lDJl_Xp5xsCJSqlTMKKow91YXVnw96lTD9riwBOSQKyvKcTXB5Q_-qm06gEUwpF76N2SAt548TVGjy/s2048/IMG_4870.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2PkKnb8G6cqQA5DnBcaZljzP6XZrYQBosdzH5JM8G_lUGZw8mocvUOKrYKEA5d3lDJl_Xp5xsCJSqlTMKKow91YXVnw96lTD9riwBOSQKyvKcTXB5Q_-qm06gEUwpF76N2SAt548TVGjy/s320/IMG_4870.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /> I'm absolutely going to age myself here, but I remember watching Princess Diana's interview with Martin Bashir. I wanted to write to Princess Diana and assure her that she was loved by the people, especially me (who copied her at every possible opportunity). I never did and then she was dispatched. That was my opportunity to express my concern and appreciation for what she was doing gone. <p></p><p>I was not going to let the same thing happen to the Duchess of Sussex. The racists were out in full force from the moment it was revealed Prince Harry was dating her. There was a pap picture of them at a wedding and the glee with which people were commenting <i>I don't think he likes her very much. The way she's grabbing him and he's not interested!</i> Oh he was interested alright. He married her. </p><p>In the roar of claims that Meghan had made Kate cry, she was nicknamed the 'Degree Wife' and she worked a 'different' way to the rest of the royal household, it started to bite at me. I've been minding my Black business when I've been accused of being 'aggressive' of 'making people upset' of making changes that 'aren't appreciated'. I've worked since I was sixteen years old. There has never been a job where I haven't been outsted, belittled, undermined, harassed or accused of making other's feel small because I exist. </p><p>A man was physically aggressive with me in my office but I was a problem for voicing my concern with his behaviour (I left that place and he tried to follow me by petitioning to my then boss that we had worked well together! Imagine! He didn't get the job thank God!)</p><p>A colleague said I was 'scary' because I told them exactly how they had fucked up and how that would damage not only me but the reputation of the business. </p><p>I've been accused of being aggressive because I didn't mollycoddle yet another man as to how to do his job. Not my own - his. </p><p>It is all that magical ingredient we call racism, and it is strong and pervasive as fucking garlic and yet, this country continues to question whether it exists, setting up roundtables of white people to judge the issue. </p><p>I am very obviously Black. It's the second thing noticed, after my boobs (because like Lydia Caristo's boobs, they are fabulous). And that Blackness is never divided from anything I do, even if I express myself in the meekest way possible, it will always be twisted to suit a particular narrative because of said Blackness. The same playbook is being attempted on the Duchess and I'm actually glad it's being played on a global stage, so the world can see the madness this woman is having to endure. Prince Harry married the lightest, mixed race woman possible (I say this not to disparage or negate her Blackness but to confirm that no matter the shade the Blackness is always a “problem”) and the vitriol she's faced for the audacity of having a Black mother has been difficult and disgraceful to watch. So when she was still contactable through one of the many palaces, I wrote to her. I did what I wanted to do for Princess Diana and I told her over four pages of my Jo Malone scented printed stationary, how much she was appreciated, how proud I was of her for her work and her words and her ethics and she had my love. I won't share her response , but I still pick it up and read it every so often. </p><p>There is no doubt in my mind that Meghan is a decent, worldly, intelligent and graceful woman. And in a world that makes a mission to humble such women, especially if they have a drop of colour in them, I can see the campaign against her for what it is. Utter nonsense. I hope you see it too. </p><p>For this reaction, playing the 'bullying, terrible, Black woman' book to undermine the first time the Duke and Duchess are freely speaking about their years of madness, you know what they tried to do to Meghan was bad. Really bad. We saw her tears and despair in South Africa. We saw how protective Harry was and remains. So, in satin pyjamas and a cold glass of prosecco, I will be watching that interview with Oprah and be ready to petition for the end of the monarchy. No institution that campaigns against a woman of colour thereby telling citizens of the same hue that they are deserving of such a reaction when they are protecting a literal paedophile, deserves to remain. </p><p>I want my money back, thank you. </p>Billy Londonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17677598358996736536noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5109269663262025325.post-4187094707546204932021-02-23T22:53:00.000+00:002021-02-23T22:53:59.711+00:00Choices (Yup)<p> </p><p>During a rather boozy celebration of last week's ten year anniversary (pop a bottle man! Ten years is a long time!) my beautiful friends asked me a casting question. Who would be your leading men, if you could have anyone, no questions asked, no budget worries, anyone? </p><p>"You can't have the Duke of Hastings," one friend reminded me. "He's not on any of your covers, and you dragged a certain author for blackfishing covers."</p><p>Oh yeah, I did, didn't I? Good times... So obviously, my current book is a shoe in for the His Grace, Simon Basset aka Regé-Jean Page. But the others? (insert awkward face). </p><p>When I do my cover requests, I hunt for pictures that fit my characters as best as possible and it's always harder to find Black women than it ever is to find sexy white tanned muscled torsos. So anyways, Windows' initial inception (well revised to include banging) coincided with my obsession with Eddie Cibran and his dimples. I have no idea who would be throw the knickers away, they're no use right now enough to make me tattoo his name on my body. No, I lied absolutely. Henry Cavill could do it with a grin and a sideways glance at my bustline. (It's the first thing men look at guaranteed). </p><p>For Murano, the Beppe inspiration was the delightful Oliver Cohen-Jackson, of the Haunting of Hill House fame. He does dangerous/mad/funny/loving beautifully well. </p><p>My other male character obsession was and for the large part still is Bren Macclellan from Wynne's Surprise. Oh my god, I haven't loved off the laptop like that since, well since Nick. And his inspiration was Jai Courtney. But with a Scottish accent obvs. Like Hot Muse Hank was deeply worried, the man took over my day to day for months. I'd dream about him, it was weird and wet dreamy and I should be embarrassed but it was great for the book. </p><p>Have you seen the body on Lucas Gil? Coz that's who would play Remains' Jamie. Niels <span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 11pt;">Strøm</span> would be played by the Kingslayer <span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 11pt;">Nikolaj Wadu-Costa and Arthur McWorth of An Art To It allowed me to cougar my way into Harry Styles' fanclub. I adore a bit of Harry, I truly do. </span></p><p>So those are a few of my potentials, if I could cast the mens. I'll show you my ladies next week. Thoughts, suggestions, reminders all welcome! </p>Billy Londonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17677598358996736536noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5109269663262025325.post-56531475221422865562021-02-16T13:49:00.001+00:002021-02-16T13:49:31.890+00:00Perfect Ten<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBrqsiVKQAOChDO6lC7Dxur6gVEFSOEMqq24od2td7Xs42C9FnlrbxrWT-qXRDF7hxtV5jmVrnwz-IKqTDO8I-VBpZ684r0vupHIDLkV0w3dQ5G8K8U7Wn4C4yuO6EqmTdAQEZXOgsT_bL/s1080/9E64961B-9C37-44D8-AEB6-070B08D25A37.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBrqsiVKQAOChDO6lC7Dxur6gVEFSOEMqq24od2td7Xs42C9FnlrbxrWT-qXRDF7hxtV5jmVrnwz-IKqTDO8I-VBpZ684r0vupHIDLkV0w3dQ5G8K8U7Wn4C4yuO6EqmTdAQEZXOgsT_bL/s320/9E64961B-9C37-44D8-AEB6-070B08D25A37.png" /></a><span style="text-align: left;"> </span></div>
<p class="MsoNormal">Happy Ten Year Anniversary to me then!<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">It really has been a whole decade since I thought, lemme add
banging to this story about a Mafia guy called Nick in love with his best mate called Gina. Then lemme
put it on Literotica. Then lemme get a publisher (enter stage left Jayha
Leigh). Then lemme get absolutely stoned in Brighton and figure out a way to add another
fifty thousand words to it. (Enter Hot Muse Hank to tell me “bitch, add more
sex!”) Lemme give you some Tony Caristo, sprinkle in a little Rocco Mamione and
a healthy dash of Beppe Nardiello. Oh and if we’re adding a little spice to the
mix, Gianluca Caristo warmed by Durante Da Canaveze all under the heat that is
Sir Massimo Da Canaveze. Lemme give you some of my favourite places, my
favourite shops, my favourite things to do, lemme share a little trauma coz it’s
good to share. And ten years later, here we are. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">So, as if it were a lifetime achievement award (I’d like a
BAFTA one day) let me say some thank yous:<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The Lady London and her ever patient squire Papa London.
What would I have done without you spelling out words in Fante to me and asking
why only to be thoroughly distracted by watching something on TV instead. </p><p class="MsoNormal">My bros, endless sources of amusement! <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Hot Muse Hank, where would I be without your guidance? </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Ms Jayha Leigh for finding me and testing me and encouraging
me and introducing me to my next big thanks<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The Queen of Hearts, Barb Wilson, the most magical of editors.
There are things I wouldn’t have linked or understood or even come up with in
the absence of your wonderful, magical guiding hands. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">My fellow authors especially Janet Eckford and Nikki Winter
and Violette Dubrinsky. I’m a solo artist by my very definition, but solo
artists do have producers and sound mixers and all sorts. They have collaborators
who will tell you ‘nah, son a little to your left.” I'm so grateful for the time they gave to me. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">And finally, my readers. You, yes, I’m looking right at you! Thank you. I thought Windows was a pump and dump, to be fair. I thought
it was finished and nothing else would come of it. I didn’t think I’d be
writing about Massimo’s elegant feet or Tony’s propensity to smack a bare
bottom or Auntie Belinda’s love of swimming or Rocco’s tattoos or Beppe’s
Prince Albert piercing! Yet, here we are. Because you asked, maybe threatened to
cut me a little if I didn’t. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">And I’ve expanded that little universe to my other stories
and I’m getting back to a place where I can write just as freely about new
characters. I love writing. I always have. I always will. Let’s see what the
next ten is about. Got to be wilder than this! <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p><span> </span><br /><p></p>Billy Londonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17677598358996736536noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5109269663262025325.post-86218815467634977302021-02-09T21:07:00.003+00:002021-02-09T21:07:53.016+00:00Celebration<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij8rQQhWC0DF6siQlW9WEkqUwxkAABLEgN6gz-u69IrPN5PBZscZ78lWeqKB59hwA67pC2kVVcb0BZjtZtnczyMMGvkNBpCJhauzLCkJIl3_-iA2xd23_xnjTOYfVkrpu7v0oxTQRkN6Gw/s864/Cover%2521.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="864" data-original-width="576" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij8rQQhWC0DF6siQlW9WEkqUwxkAABLEgN6gz-u69IrPN5PBZscZ78lWeqKB59hwA67pC2kVVcb0BZjtZtnczyMMGvkNBpCJhauzLCkJIl3_-iA2xd23_xnjTOYfVkrpu7v0oxTQRkN6Gw/s320/Cover%2521.jpg" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhESrPz4yjPocYa1gwhkj7Y5Isc4WdZmrXym8huT6YAVW2M3manNMPaZ8hUAdOqGR31ONXjt_butptKvYe__Uk5Bpe6zUjKcuQWnln6WgDTu0IjNkzmN9iU4kRhTgW3eBZPIe6TPNwjXd3t/s300/ARE_windows_final.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhESrPz4yjPocYa1gwhkj7Y5Isc4WdZmrXym8huT6YAVW2M3manNMPaZ8hUAdOqGR31ONXjt_butptKvYe__Uk5Bpe6zUjKcuQWnln6WgDTu0IjNkzmN9iU4kRhTgW3eBZPIe6TPNwjXd3t/s0/ARE_windows_final.jpg" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p><p>Omfg, where did a whole decade go? I had a memory pop up the other day on my mobile to remind me that on 16 February 2021, it will be ten whole years since Windows was published. I mean... what the hell happened? </p><p>I'm actally shocked to reach this milestone, I truly am! Remember the first cover for Windows and I put it on a cake? May have to do that again for next Tuesday, pop a few bottles and drift into the bliss of a hell of an achievement. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnzzljGnH24eJmwPhWSq6zNQ11Np_MEemeCbPbYQV1Kc9dXrCOFaq3djx2n5JRl15kDIVnAXVvaFQfXubRFKQUddVK0jASAlZM4LRC_F5W1L6ijLvmZcCv2I_fPkRXmT7N4YPvf2HUAfo2/s480/cake.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="358" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnzzljGnH24eJmwPhWSq6zNQ11Np_MEemeCbPbYQV1Kc9dXrCOFaq3djx2n5JRl15kDIVnAXVvaFQfXubRFKQUddVK0jASAlZM4LRC_F5W1L6ijLvmZcCv2I_fPkRXmT7N4YPvf2HUAfo2/s320/cake.JPG" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>I'll do something for you guys as well - I have to I mean I wouldn't still be here if it wasn't for you. And probably me and Lady London getting absolutely wasted in Kos, wandering through the Greek supermarket and buying all sorts of rubbish in sight. The way you guys embraced my darling Nicky and his little blue flower Gina, the way I've tattooed Nick's surname on my body that gets me the side eye on the regular. It's on my hip but a little to close to the kitty cat and to date, it's my only tattoo, its's truly taken over my life in the best possible way. I'm so happy that my stories have touched you, made you a little bit horny, intrigued you, inspired you, and become a fond memory, like an old friend. If I could hug you all (sans this panoramic business) I would. And a la Sofia buy you a bottle of champagne, I'd do that too. </p><p>Last and by no means least, Jayha Leigh deserves my biggest thanks. She saw something, a spark that led to an Italian fire that is now eternal. Thank you Jayha, forever and a day. </p><p>Cheers ma dears! <i>Per centi anni! </i></p>Billy Londonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17677598358996736536noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5109269663262025325.post-63629599054171962282021-01-28T18:05:00.003+00:002021-03-16T18:32:39.311+00:00Back Once Again<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEEIVNUg9zulaflRG-j3Ch4frvECwdSatWJDQjLQpTTqsyqG8hC_kOA6iAKnJm1-WaBO_awUPtDBM2K8KNpimg1Z3pHP6S1kBHF0KhCWCPk1V1roIBJ5F9_vLQQ_D5rMJx7RKjefciVo7q/s2048/eForTheLastTime_BillyLondon.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1365" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEEIVNUg9zulaflRG-j3Ch4frvECwdSatWJDQjLQpTTqsyqG8hC_kOA6iAKnJm1-WaBO_awUPtDBM2K8KNpimg1Z3pHP6S1kBHF0KhCWCPk1V1roIBJ5F9_vLQQ_D5rMJx7RKjefciVo7q/s320/eForTheLastTime_BillyLondon.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>I wish I was au fait with technology to put that video of Leo Di Caprio from Wolf of Wall Street whispering "I'm not leavin'. I'M NOT FUCIN' LEAVIN'!"</p><p>It's been a long while hasn't it? How are you? How's life been for you? Don't mind me if I say, life has been kinda crushing. I've always said that I'm not someone who can write while emotional and given I've either spent the last nine months in tears, prostrate on my bed wishing I was looking up at an Japanese sky or drunk or all three, trust me when I say I have not been able to write. </p><p>Fast forward to December 2020. I've got M&S mince pies with salted caramel cream, I've learned how to perfect a roast pork with crackling, in a cider and apple sauce, I've discovered hot chocolate made with Baileys and I've spent more money on white wine than is sensible, I have taken to walking in the woods in wellington boots, like a heroine with resolvable problems and thereby discovered investigative podcasts! Billy has evolved beyond a fifties housewife! </p><p>You know when you have to do something, so you procrastinate? My state of procrastination is to put on marigold gloves and clean. I can't do anything in silence, so I usually play music but ever since one of my bezzies told me about a fascinating podcast by John Sweeney. Look it up - it's brilliant. Scared a few folks on a walk with it on full speaker volume. </p><p>The world is so changed from December 2019, I think to myself listening to Sir Sweeney's devastating investigations. What would we do without podcasts, Netflix, Disney+ (I am an actual simp for zaddy Mandalorian)? We do Zoom parties. We text more than ever. We go on socially distanced walks with our doggos. How do I fit a new world into an old one? How to I link the two differences? How do I make it believable for myself and a reader to reach into a place that hasn't existed before? And let me Carrie Bradshaw for a minute and realise something (another relic coming back from the televisual grave). Isn't that what investigative podcasts do? Do that reach for us? From the future into the past to explain what we wish we'd known? And that, my dear reader, allowed me to write again. </p><p>So here we are, with sorry to say a pretty dark story. It's just where I am at the moment. I'm sure I can get back to the light eventually, but me and my bottles of Sancerre say after after. </p><p>The wonderful Garrett of Black Jazz Books designed this cover for me and I thought you deserved to see what I'm working on. Finally. At damn last! Blurb and excerpt will come later. Like I said, it's dark and when I say dark, yeah... (Marge hiding her face gif). </p>Billy Londonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17677598358996736536noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5109269663262025325.post-71228282980049373382020-08-24T18:23:00.001+01:002020-08-24T18:23:06.918+01:00Auntie<p>This year is being an absolute see you next Tuesday and continues to batter me.</p><p>I lost one of my favourite aunties yesterday. Not an African auntie, but my proper same surname as me Auntie. For all the aunties that tell you about your weight or getting married, my Auntie was genuinely concerned for me and my wellbeing. </p><p>When I had my first period, my Auntie was straight around with an embroidered white blouse for me to go with the white skirt my mother wanted me to wear (don’t ask), to have a ceremonial celebration of my womanhood. It was acutely embarrassing but it was precious. </p><p>Auntie made the best doughnuts and had the best laugh. She did nothing but love her family to the ends of her perfectly coiffed wig. She was decent and honest and God fearing and I don’t know what her kids will do without her. They’re not kids any more but when it comes to your mum? You’re always a kid. </p><p>My Auntie’s knowledge and power and understanding has fed a lot of my books and she was unabashedly proud of me. I can’t quite believe that I’m never going to see her again. Or hear her laugh. Or the way she says my name with such affection. She was at home with me and my mum having a couple of glasses of wine when I received my first email from Jayha Leigh. The three of us were cackling in the car as my mum dropped her home. Another sign of her decency - she loved a glass of red and a hard spirit or two. </p><p>I’m going to have a hard spirit for her. Just for today. Given the pandemic means we can’t travel to Ghana to honour her in the way we Ghanaians usually do, I’ll toast to her and all that she gave me.</p><p>Rest well, my sweet Auntie. You’ve earned it. </p><p><br /></p>Billy Londonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17677598358996736536noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5109269663262025325.post-78454995905996876292020-05-14T19:58:00.001+01:002020-05-14T19:58:31.359+01:00Love In A Time Of Madness<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
And is this time not mad?<br />
<br />
Briefly, I've been thinking about my Italian Knights babies and what on earth they'd be doing given the current situation.<br />
<br />
And it came to me pretty quickly:<br />
<br />
Nick and Gina have their restaurant - Ghanaian/Italian fusion food of deliciousness. Focaccia and hard dough bread freshly baked every morning by that clever Robinson girl. Can Nicholas arrange delivery? Of course he can! It would also be the best place to get gelato in a range of flavours. They're taking gift vouchers and providing meals for freezing to food banks.<br />
<br />
Tony and Lydia are hard at work, when Tony isn't indulging in his hobbies and giving Lyds a smack or two. Tony - hacker extreme - is fiddling with the numbers on bank accounts. He can't have people starving, can he? He's also making sure PPE is available for those who need it. He's got to protect his in-laws, or his eardrums won't survive. Lydia's nursing has always been exemplary. I can't see her doing anything but putting her everything into keeping people well. Private hospital run by her husband's best friend or no, space should be made for those who need it.<br />
<br />
Massimo and Belinda are self-isolating in their beautiful home in London. Both Paul and Nick didn't want them to be in a different country while the UK locked down. Belinda has taken to making shitto for her babies and they collect at a safe distance. Massimo makes pasta for the street and every Friday, the neighbours sit in their front gardens and create a pub like atmosphere to enjoy their food.<br />
<br />
Rocco and Anna have fixed boundaries and separate offices. Rocco is doing a lot of criminal pro bono for black Londoners who are being disproportionately targeted by police with little to do and rules that aren't law. Anna is fielding clients who are trying to stay afloat and keep their employees. She's also taking on free cases to keep people in work, rather than sacked. Nonna has Nick sorting her cake deliveries across London and if he's late, he has to pay her double. Deliveries to the Mamione-Taylors from Nonna and Gina are key.<br />
<br />
Luca and Frankie are busy with their twins and work. Rather than twiddle his thumbs, Luca has set up a build your own pizza from home business - dough ready to be rolled, tomato sauce or white sauce if you fancy and sides to top it with garnishes. Frankie is working closely with domestic abuse agencies and insists that Luca provides his pizzas to key workers. She has one or two herself.<br />
<br />
Ella and Durante's work is elbow deep in olive oil. Their town is pulling together to keep going. Durante has relied on Tony's work to make sure they survive. Ella is still shipping her divine VBR Rose oil products and ensuring shipping is free. All their children are at the farmhouse grilling, swimming or picking olives.<br />
<br />
Finally, Beppe and Mimi returned from Switzerland before the lockdown kicked in. Beppe's been working on providing sterile kits for new mothers and the elderly. He's putting his brain to everything he can to help. Mimi is taking up those routine operations that have fallen in the path of the virus.<br />
<br />
Busy little bees all of them. I like to think they're entertaining themselves and getting some snuggles in too, even when they're a bit tired. More than anything, I like to think that they're safe.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Billy Londonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17677598358996736536noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5109269663262025325.post-26156385113892383812020-03-23T23:31:00.001+00:002020-03-23T23:31:20.221+00:00What The Hell??<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
What. The. Hell?!?<br />
<br />
I thought me and 2020 had an agreement? I thought we were cool and things were going to be peachy this year after the disaster of 2019? And you do this 2020? I feel like I’m living in the Prince of Egypt but without the insane Hans Zimmer score.<br />
<br />
Let me just side step by saying why are old people so stubborn? Both my parents are in the vulnerable category and should have been taking self-isolation seriously. But my mother? “I need to find something to eat!” Know what she came back with from Lidl? Quiche. Flaming quiche. And my dad? After I hand rolled some oddly shaped but highly tasty bread rolls for him bumps off to Poundland. Poundland. I- Actually you know what I did? I told my big brother who in turn FaceTimed my parents to tell them off. Now my dad calls me a grass. 🙄<br />
<br />
Anyways, in the mire that is a 21st Century plague (I am not writing King Lear - behave. I’ve barely found the time and inclination to write this!) I am desperate to find peace in my own space which has turned into an office space. My phone which used to be an escape from everything is now the direct line to messages at all hours of the day with very little regard for my time or mental health to work.<br />
The day job isn’t a joke. It’s an emotional toll which I’ve finally learned to balance. If I can’t resolve it by six pm, I’m not going to resolve it at ten or eleven pm. There needs to be a point of switch off and if I can’t, I won’t be able to do it for much longer. I used to be able to close my laptop and pop downstairs for a little nibble and a cup of tea. Then out for a walk and to Liberty for a comforting break. Or off to delightful Wimbledon Village (of tennis tournament fame yes) to have a wander and a cheeky shop.<br />
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Now I don’t have those modes of escape. Can’t get my nails done, my hair washed, a massage or my bits waxed. All my techniques of distraction for the next three weeks at minimum have gone.<br />
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Seriously what the goddamn hell do I do? You lot already know that I don’t write when I’m emotional and this pre-apocalyptic mess is making a bitch emotional as hell. I’m getting that trapped cat about to scratch everything enough to send you to hospital for stitches sensation of frustrated.<br />
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Is this the point where I meditate and light scented candles? It may have to be or else you’re going to find out who I am - on the news and in handcuffs...<br />
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I mean I guess I have the time to watch the shows I’ve moaned I’m too many seasons behind to catch up on as a way to destress? Nah, lemme watch season 8 of Ru Paul’s Drag Race for the billionth time instead. Then I know I won’t be disappointed by the outcome and a Jo Malone scented bath with do wonders. Coz as much as that cost, it works a charm.<br />
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Deep breaths y’all. This is reaaaaaaaaaal weird.Billy Londonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17677598358996736536noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5109269663262025325.post-91375621955276678222020-02-17T00:06:00.002+00:002020-02-17T00:09:50.194+00:00Sweet Caroline<br />
This is the most bizarre post I think I've written. At no point did it ever cross my mind that I'd be writing about the death of Caroline Flack, The Flack Attack, Strictly Come Dancing Winner 2014 a few months after her 40th birthday.<br />
She's a presenter who's always been in my line of tv sight, with her startling eyes and husky voice. And it's so strange to think she'll never do her slow motion strut into the Love Island villa, squeeze an islander's hand, ask a cheeky question, defend someone on Twitter, have the naughtiest little photos on her Instagram or be singing on a dance floor.<br />
I didn't know her personally, but you can see from the out pour of messages and tributes from the people that did - she was so deeply loved. And she still took her own life. <br />
While we'll never know the why, the breadcrumbs lead us to inevitable conclusions. Social media has changed something in us all. It's not just the tabloid press - who are crying crocodile tears while they delete all the negative stories they had up right up until they published Caroline's death - but us as individuals. I'm not going to plead innocence in how I tweet about reality television - it's tv, come on - but good God, why would anyone put their fingers to a keyboard, or touch their phones to tell another person that they should die?<br />
Love Island has had three suicides (Sophie Gradon, her boyfriend and Mike Thalassitis) and after each one, the same sad faces, the same platitudes wandered around before the same record played again. Only a few days ago, I was listening to the Laid Bare Podcast, and Leanne, a recently dumped islander, revealed how she was receiving death threats. It's a television show. She told a guy she didn't like him. That's it. She didn't beat anyone. She didn't bully anyone. That's all it took for her to get death threats from a bunch of cunts. It's supposed to be entertainment. We're supposed to be watching people form relationships and win a bit of money. Their motives behind going on a show may be monetarily based (the prize money is only £25,000 if you share it in your couple, so the partnerships, the promotions can run into the hundreds of thousands) but these are still human beings. What gives anyone the right to do that to another human being?<br />
Clemmie Hooper, a mummy blogger, who had almost 700,000 Instagram followers created a whole persona to troll herself, other bloggers, to be racist, even to troll her own husband. Because it gave her power - she enjoyed how it made her feel - superior.<br />
People who tweet horrible things about Meghan Markle get likes, traffic, attention - so the trolling works for them. Think of Piers Morgan, Katie Hopkins, and the latest troll for hire, Lawrence Fox. It pays to be racist, sexist, homophobic, transphobic - to mock, to ridicule, to undermine. And in that same vein, people thought it was okay to mock and ridicule Caroline Flack. She faced a difficult trial for assaulting her boyfriend and it wasn't a show, because her boyfriend didn't support the case against her.<br />
Listen, I've applied for protective orders. I've sat with clients and reassured them. I've gone to bed worried that I would get a call or an email telling me that client had died at the hands of their partner. I've had arguments with police officers who haven't taken what I've warned them about seriously and they get called back to the same address over and over again. I've also desperately tried to talk clients out of making statements that withdraw their complaints against their partner for fear of worse happening to them. And it does. The worse happens. The law exists for a reason, especially when it's failed survivors of abuse for decades. Even worse for male survivors because they're simply not believed. "How could your five foot two wife burn you like that, sir?"<br />
Caroline needed to have her trial. She needed to be left alone to deal with that. She didn't deserve people laughing at her, tweeting at her daily that she'd lamped her boyfriend, to have the papers reprint a Valentine's card with a mocking cartoon of her on the front with a threat. She didn't deserve to hear that she was an abuser and deserved to go to jail forever. That she was a paedophile and a nonce for dating Harry Styles when he was seventeen and Caroline was thirty one. <span style="background-color: white; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">That she should kill herself for what she did to her boyfriend.</span><br />
I've had the barest of negativity from my work. I can't imagine what it would be like to open your Instagram to look at photos of your boyfriend, whom you're not allowed to be with because of your bail conditions, and instead see hundreds of messages telling you that you deserve to die. When you hear something enough, you start to believe it. And she did believe it. Despite all her friends and all her family telling her otherwise; she believed that she deserved to die. That the world would be better without her. That she didn't belong on this earth any more.<br />
That's not fair.<br />
There's a lot that needs to be changed with the media - god look at what the media did to Meghan and all she did was marry a man she loved who happened to be a member of the British Royal Family! Prince Harry and Caroline dated in the past and you know why they broke up? Same media. There needs to be some consequence for their recklessness. But there also needs to be tougher measures on social media and what that needs to be - smarter minds than I need to come up with that.<br />
Most of all, I need people to know that they're not alone. Never alone. It can be a daily, unrelenting battle and the way this has come about can only be triggering when you struggle with your mental health. Please believe me when I say you deserve to be here. You deserve to live. You'd be missed. Please stay.<br />
Please.<br />
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<a href="https://www.samaritans.org/" target="_blank">https://www.samaritans.org/</a><br />
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<a href="https://www.nhs.uk/conditions/Suicide/" target="_blank">https://www.nhs.uk/conditions/Suicide/</a>Billy Londonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17677598358996736536noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5109269663262025325.post-63281659559264638732020-02-15T00:07:00.000+00:002020-02-15T00:07:44.282+00:00Valentine<br />
It's the romance author's national holiday today! And in case you fancy a little bit of self-love and some time alone with a book boyfriend, let me reintroduce you to the Valentine's OGs.<br />
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I created Season of Love to front a few short stories to celebrate Valentine's Day. I've linked the pdfs here so you can remind yourself!<br />
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<a href="https://drive.google.com/file/d/0BzywymETRJSUZkxsSlQ2ZGljbl9YSURXejZjY0RMTHdMalFr/view?usp=sharing" target="_blank">Season of Love Vol 1</a><br />
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From Volume 1, I got Stella and Niels and Wynne and Bren!<br />
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<a href="https://drive.google.com/open?id=0BzywymETRJSUOGhxaUFKcE0wbE5WTUx0cDljMWlWZEppWGxV" target="_blank">Season of Love Vol 2</a><br />
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From Volume 2, I got Art and Patricia and I'll also have Salina and Cael too.<br />
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All these stories started on this magical day and will continue to give me a place to start, to evolve, to do better than the boys on Love Island because that's what Hot Muse Hank demands.<br />
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No matter what, today you are super loved and appreciated and you're needed right here.Billy Londonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17677598358996736536noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5109269663262025325.post-1540751376428491922020-02-10T23:24:00.000+00:002020-02-10T23:24:01.518+00:00Fake Love<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I am on something at the moment, so let's roll!</div>
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How beautiful is this cover? Black Jazz Design coming through for me like the proverbial knight in shining armour!</div>
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To explain! If you follow me on social media (and if not, why not? I'm freaking hilarious!) you'll know that I love reality tv or scripted tv shows. My day job although now part time is tough work mentally and emotionally. Other people's lives are terrible to untangle legally and if I'm not reaching for a glass of Merlot, I'm watching<i> Love Island</i> or<i> First Dates</i> or<i> The Undateables</i>. It's the best way for me to switch off and to distance myself from my work. By the time the hour has finished and I'm raging over what so and so has said to whatshisface or I'm dabbing my tears because a person with Tourette's is proposing to his girlfriend aka crunchy tits or I'm laughing at the seventy year old woman who doesn't fancy her date and wants her loins to be on fire before she jumps into another relationship, I can't even remember what the hell triggered me the entirety of my journey home. </div>
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One of my favourites is a little show where two strangers meet on their wedding day and go for the plunge - they actually get married. The romantic in me is desperate to see these people fall for each other, to get closer, to introduce each other to friends, to be thoughtful and caring and to make a decision where they stay together forever and ever and they tell their kids how mum and dad met each other on television. To be fair, the concept is a Westernised version of arranged marriages, without a camera crew following you about and people tweeting about your lives (also me typing in capitals for the husband usually to not be a dick!)</div>
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When NaNoWriMo rolled around November 2019, I knew what I was going to do. Twitter fingers Billy was going to use all that energy into getting a scripted tv show romance done. </div>
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My main character, Victoria is amazing. I love all my ladies for real, but Vic has such flavour, no filter, a mum to two, an appreciation of all of her curves (and she got cuuuuuurves) a giant not just in heels but bare feet and the best baker in London town - ask the reality stars who've been Instagramming the crap out of her work. She's the perfect foil for Hal (I was having a Shakespeare moment, let me at it) my severe, half Korean, one legged, former army man who just wants to live a quiet life and run his nice restaurant in peace. Between their three respective kids, exes, parents, grandparents, best friends Vic and Hal are going to do what I've very kindly asked them to - fall for each other hard because a tv show put them together. </div>
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I love it when a tv show works out - don't you?</div>
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<i></i><i></i><i></i><i></i><i></i><i></i><br />Billy Londonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17677598358996736536noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5109269663262025325.post-67000389521732596322020-01-28T00:29:00.000+00:002020-01-28T00:29:06.741+00:00When You Believe <img height="429" src="blob:https://www.blogger.com/ba3fd27c-7b30-479d-8592-2e739eee7794" width="660" /><br />
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I was going to try and attempt to write my feelings on Kobe Bryant’s passing. Given the man was the same age as my older brother and he has a three year old daughter, coupled with the fact that I am extremely close to my father and I couldn’t comprehend my life without him, I know I don’t have the range to quantify my feelings right now. It’s all too terrible and too much.<br />
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Instead, I’m going to excise my feelings on a rando coming into my mentions to be loud and wrong on each of his tweets.<br />
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Sorry! Spoiler alert 🚨 If you haven’t seen Sex Education Season 2 STOP READING NOW!<br />
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Eric Effiong is my favourite character by far and away. He’s from a Nigerian/Ghanaian family who like most West African families attend church and are close knit. Eric’s pride in his sexuality culminated last season with his very African very religious father stating openly how proud he was of him. So this season in complete contrast to the last one, Eric has a boyfriend - the dangerously sexy and worldly Rahim. We don’t know a whole much about Rahim but he seems to know a lot. Except, it seems, how to behave around other people with tact and humanity.<br />
After pushing for an invitation (Eric did buoy it up with singing and plantain how can mandem resist?) Rahim attend a church service with Eric and his family.<br />
It’s a blackity black church - gospel choir in robes and traditional clothing.<br />
After being asked whether he is Muslim, Rahim announces that he’s atheist and doesn’t believe in God. Awkward sitting in the church you pressed to attend, but okay! The pastor welcomes Rahim and says “Jesus is with you.” Rahim says “I’m sorry I don’t believe in Jesus.”<br />
Bear with me, it gets worse. Then as they’ve left the church (forty five hours later) Rahim declares Eric’s family as “sweet because they think the ‘God stuff is real’ and obviously Eric only pretends to go along with it to ‘keep the peace’.<br />
If that isn’t telling that Rahim has no idea as to who Eric is - man who showed up to his prom in a gelee, a full face of glittery makeup and false lashes - would go to church and believe in God ti keep the peace, I don’t know what else. Eric states boldly that he does believe in God. The response is “how can you believe in a God that doesn’t think you should exist?”<br />
Pause - I’m getting there.<br />
He then adds that, “My family had to leave their country because of religion. Doesn’t make any sense to me.”<br />
And ends the conversation with “we’ll agree to disagree.”<br />
Let me start at the beginning: Rahim has no home training. His family moved to France from where? We don’t know, we’re never told. But they had to leave because of religion. You would have therefore had some modicum of a religious upbringing to understand the implications of not believing - especially as Rahim is supposed to be a teenager. Not practising your faith ie not praying with your classmates or work colleagues or not attending services with extended family members. You would have in the past to know the rituals and to explain your reasons for leaving the country. To understand the risks of non conformity - what it will cost you and your family to follow a different path - you would have started out conforming before the divergence. With any history of religious upbringing there is undoubtedly respect for places of worship and leaders of said worship. That doesn’t become undone by fleeing from persecution - it reinforces it. I know - I’ve made those applications for those seeking asylum. Just as I would cover my head in a mosque, I wouldn’t rush to the Iman and say “nah don’t get any of this business.” It blew my mind that he said to a pastor’s face “I don’t believe in Jesus.” Are you without sense?<br />
At base level, having been welcomed by the members of the congregation - it was plain rude. High key, why are you embarrassing your boyfriend like this? Why would you do that? He’s finally sharing an important piece of his life with you and this is how you react. And people were okay with this?<br />
Then the side swipe “you don’t believe in this stuff.”<br />
Why would you assume that having left the church your boyfriend expressed so much joy and enthusiasm for? If you are an atheist it’s very difficult to explain to someone what faith can give you. If you are someone who has turned away from faith because your beliefs do not align with your former religion it’s even harder to understand why you would embrace something that has effectively rejected you. Rahim wasn’t there when Eric was being bullied. The church was. It was a constant. A distraction. A time separate from school to be at peace.<br />
I like to visit places of worship when I travel and feel that same sense of peace in me when I sit and sit in stillness. When the world moves at a hundred miles an hour, that stillness can be glorious and uplifting in the same way meditation is.<br />
Eric can pour his effervescence his spirit his joy into the music. Gospel is music for the soul and no one can tell me otherwise. Eric isn’t known for peacekeeping. Eric pushes boundaries and served looks while he did so. He boldly proclaimed “take me as I am or do one!” In nail polish, in traditional clothing, in lengthening mascara, to his beautifully presented core.<br />
Ultimately, Eric’s belief in God is none of Rahim’s business. God and church are separate entities. If they weren’t, the things that man has done in the name of God would have made me an atheist too. Man told woman she couldn’t spread the word of the Lord (according to the church) and this never sat right with me considering women were the first ones to discover that Jesus had risen from the tomb. Man has dictated a lot of “should and should nots” protecting violent men from rightful persecution and lining their pockets with blood money. This is still separate from a person’s relationship with God. If anyone can point to me where in the bible Jesus says “you don’t exist gays! Begone!” I’d be grateful.<br />
If God is where Eric finds his comfort, his faith, his steady path - why is Rahim questioning that? Why would you question that of someone you love? If it doesn’t make any sense to you are you even willing to listen? You want everyone to know you don’t believe in God and your partner is foolish for doing so. The patronisation irked my soul. No two Gods are the same or even share the same name.<br />
I always come back to the scene in Atonement. The soldiers at Dunkirk singing Dear Lord And Father Of Mankind, knowing they’re stranded, that they may be bombed to death at any moment and yet they sing. Because they believed. They prayed in song for deliverance or God’s peace on their souls. Would someone like Rahim rush up to them and say “why are you singing when your God has abandoned you?”<br />
Probably he would - just to show he knows better because religion cost him his home. Religion didn’t. Man did. Man’s terrible interpretation and lack of simple humanity did.<br />
Having filled out enough divorce petitions for people whose faiths took different paths while believing they could maintain a marriage, I know how important it is to have respect for what the other believes. If you can’t respect your partner’s understanding and commitment to God, you won’t enjoy the same in your own relationship.<br />
There are some things that doom a relationship. There were many in Rahim and Eric’s but his casual dismissal of something that had been present in Eric’s entire life was the beginning of the end. I said so and a bitch was right.<br />
Now, I’m not saying that the church doesn’t have a whole bible of work to do in being more inclusive and welcoming all people; this is undeniable. Look at what the Church of England put out recently reserving sex for married hetero couples when the creator of the Church of England literally did it so he could divorce his first wife and marry several others. Further that the Church has been complicit in abuse and protecting perpetrators. There are gay Christians and this is your message to them? Doesn’t sound Christ-like at all. That’s what I mean by God and man being separate. And it doesn’t change Eric’s love of his God and his church because his boyfriend thinks he’s trying to keep the peace by believing. Gays are not a monolith. As a worldly teen (supposedly) Rahim should know that.<br />
Man didn’t even like musicals! He had to go!<br />
That was my beef and distraction today. And today of all days is not the one to question a person’s faith. In an undeniably cruel world where children are killed with their parents in senseless accidents, faith can be all there is that pulls you through until tomorrow. Never underestimate or deny that power. It’s not your place and if you truly love someone, you never will.<br />
<br />Billy Londonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17677598358996736536noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5109269663262025325.post-17014591319893290892020-01-20T23:22:00.002+00:002020-01-20T23:22:51.855+00:00Let's Do It Again<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Is this month ever going to end? It's been January for 84 years and I've had enough of it. I'm not doing any of the restrictions for this month. It's hard enough as it is without inflicting more misery on myself. I'm sticking with sugar - just reducing, although I made about a hundred pieces of salted caramel fudge yesterday and it's delightful! I have one meatless day a week - not doing it the whole month when I have so much bresaola that expires next month and I'm not paying for the gym when I'm saving for the two hundred holidays I'm taking this year. Yay me!<br />
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Anyways, given the longest month of time, I thought enough of that has passed for me to not spoil owt but clarify what songs go with which bit of Murano. I haven't done that for my previous books for fear of giving key things away. And I feel like we're at the stage where it's time for a second read and a second read with tunes as I maestro intended. Lol! Me going on like I'm Paris Hilton at a gig! You've known me long enough to understand my musical leanings, my love and adoration of Sir Hans Zimmer, that I'm so obviously an eighties baby judging by said musical leanings and that the strangest songs will make me emotional for no reason. If I told you the number of times I listened to <i>I Know What I Do</i> just staring at a wall crying, you wouldn't believe me. Routemaster to the rescue was born from being on the N44 streaking through London roads after far too many lychee martinis and praying the bus would go faster so I could throw up in peace. I don't travel anywhere without music, so Hans kept the need to projectile over my fellow passengers at bay. Now it's tied up with Bep being... well Bep. I maintain Radiohead should have been given the Spectre song which is why it's included so I can't listen to it without coupling it with sleek, silencer-ed weaponry. And I can't include <i>Smack My Bitch Up</i> unless a bitch is gonna get smacked up. Said bitch does get smacked up. And it just makes me love Mimi more.<br />
<br />
So there we are. A glimpse behind the thought process of what goes into my tracks. There's a reason for the weirdness. Always. Gosh, really wish I could apologise to my English teacher. I was always convinced that she looked for meaning behind everything when it could be that the author just wanted something that way. Now look at me - giving parallels.<br />
<br />
Nope! I take it back!<br />
<br />
<a href="https://open.spotify.com/user/billylondonluv/playlist/0G1vKpEIcC62k0UamaXOEV?si=5mMxzXnhS2CldGgsTpCAVQ" target="_blank">Murano on Spotify</a><br />
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<b>An Old Man’s Path<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<ul>
<li>Progeny – Hans Zimmer </li>
</ul>
<o:p></o:p><br />
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<b>Giuseppe Nardiello <o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<ul>
<li>Hey Mami – Sylvan Esso</li>
</ul>
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<b>Lost Boy/Wendy Darling<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<ul>
<li>You See All My Light – Jacques
Greene </li>
<li>Change Is Everything – Son Lux </li>
</ul>
<o:p></o:p><br />
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b>Last Wedding<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<ul>
<li>The Dream of Gerontius, Op 38/Pt
2 Praise to the Holiest – Edward Elgar </li>
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<li>It’s Magic – Dinah Washington</li>
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<b>Goddamn Sheen<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<li>Too Original – Major Lazer </li>
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<b>Sweet Sixteen on Coke<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<ul>
<li>212 - Azealia Banks </li>
</ul>
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<b>Come out with me<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<ul>
<li>Playinwitme – KYLE ft Kehlani </li>
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<b>Date Musicals<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<ul>
<li>Suddenly, Seymour – Rich Moranis,
Ellen Greene </li>
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<b>Nonna’s Speakeasy<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<ul>
<li>Sing, Sing, Sing – Benny Goodman </li>
<li>You Give A Little Love – Paul
Williams</li>
</ul>
<o:p></o:p><br />
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b>Mini Cab?<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<ul>
<li>Ultralight Beam – Kanye West </li>
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<o:p></o:p><br />
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<b>Marseille! Marseille!<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<ul>
<li>Palm Trees ?Téo<b><span dir="RTL" lang="AR-SA" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">ذ</span></b></li>
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<b>I Have Never…<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<ul>
<li>Shadow & Light – Martin Luke
Brown </li>
</ul>
<o:p></o:p><br />
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<b>Defiling The Inner Sanctum<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<ul>
<li>Surprise Yourself – Jack Garratt </li>
</ul>
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<b>Leisurely<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<ul>
<li>Waking Up – MJ Cole & Freya
Ridings </li>
</ul>
<o:p></o:p><br />
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<b>Fractured Family<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<ul>
<li>Back To You – Benjamin Gordon</li>
</ul>
<o:p></o:p><br />
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<b>This Is Beppe<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<ul>
<li>I Am – Rock Mafia ft Wyclef Jean</li>
</ul>
<o:p></o:p><br />
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<b>Neighbours <o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<ul>
<li>Breathe & Stop – Q-Tip </li>
<li>Tell Me That You Love Me – James
Smith </li>
</ul>
<o:p></o:p><br />
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b>The Sacrilege <o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<ul>
<li>Oh Baby – LCD Soundsystem </li>
</ul>
<o:p></o:p><br />
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<b>Why Are You Still Here?<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<ul>
<li>Same Drugs – Chance The Rapper </li>
</ul>
<o:p></o:p><br />
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<b>Happy Easter<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<ul>
<li>Movement – Hozier </li>
</ul>
<o:p></o:p><br />
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<b>Dear Sg Nardiello<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<ul>
<li>The Gulag Orkestar – Beirut </li>
</ul>
<o:p></o:p><br />
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<b>Darjeeling Comfort<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<ul>
<li>Not Dark Yet – Bob Dylan</li>
</ul>
<o:p></o:p><br />
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<b>That’s Not My Name<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<ul>
<li>Lost Boy – Ruth B. </li>
</ul>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;">
<b>Tomasina’s Protection<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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</div>
<ul>
<li>Lie – Halsey, Quavo </li>
</ul>
<o:p></o:p><br />
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<b>New Start<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;">
</div>
<ul>
<li>Do You Remember Jarryd James ft
Raury </li>
</ul>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;">
<b>Routemaster to the rescue<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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</div>
<ul>
<li>Fear Will Find You – Hans Zimmer </li>
</ul>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;">
<b>34 Letters<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;">
</div>
<ul>
<li>Hell To The Liars – London
Grammar </li>
<li>War Prayer – This Will Destroy
You </li>
<li>If I Go, I’m Goin – Gregory Alan
Isakov</li>
<li>Slide – James Bay </li>
<li>Cloudbusting – Kate Bush </li>
<li>Don’t Forget About Me – Cloves </li>
</ul>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b>The Safe House<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;">
</div>
<ul>
<li>On The Nature Of Daylight – Max
Richter </li>
</ul>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;">
<b>An Italian Kiss<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;">
</div>
<ul>
<li>Decks Dark – Radiohead </li>
</ul>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;">
<b>Book Me A Table At Claridges<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;">
</div>
<ul>
<li>Elephant – Tame Impala </li>
<li>On Thin Ice – Hans Zimmer </li>
</ul>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b>It’s A Trap<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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</div>
<ul>
<li>Set This House On Fire – Nick
Vallee </li>
</ul>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;">
<b>On the Common<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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</div>
<ul>
<li>I Know All What I Do – Jack
Garratt </li>
</ul>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;">
<b>Casual As Fuck <o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;">
</div>
<ul>
<li>Overture – Michael Kamen </li>
<li>Romantic Flight – John Powell </li>
</ul>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;">
<b>Solemn Stag Do<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;">
</div>
<ul>
<li>Hard Place – H.E.R </li>
</ul>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;">
<b>Venezia To The Bone<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;">
</div>
<ul>
<li>All For Us – Labrinth </li>
</ul>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;">
<b>I Know Who You Are<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;">
</div>
<ul>
<li>Selah – Emeli Sandé</li>
</ul>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;">
<b>She’s Dead<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;">
</div>
<ul>
<li>Strange Weather – Anna Calvi ft
David Byrne </li>
</ul>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;">
<b>Chances in Zurich<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;">
</div>
<ul>
<li>Alone In the Dark – Will Cookson </li>
</ul>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;">
<b>Brace Yourself, Wendy Darling<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;">
</div>
<ul>
<li>Carry You – Novo Amor </li>
</ul>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;">
<b>The Night Before<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;">
</div>
<ul>
<li>when the party’s over - Billie
Eilish </li>
</ul>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;">
<b>The Weirdest Day <o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;">
</div>
<ul>
<li>Outro – M83 </li>
<li>God Only Knows – John Legend and
Cynthia Erivo</li>
<li>The Vow – RuthAnne </li>
<li>Etta James – Til There Was You </li>
</ul>
<o:p></o:p><br />
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b>An Assassin’s Mistake<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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</div>
<ul>
<li>Under Attack – Kin Palo ft Amy
Stroup </li>
</ul>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;">
<b>My Lovely, Brand-New Wife
Amelia<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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</div>
<ul>
<li>Smack My Bitch Up – The Prodigy</li>
</ul>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;">
<b>He’s Got Two<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<ul>
<li>Mean Demeanour – Run The Jewels </li>
</ul>
<o:p></o:p><br />
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<b>Waiting<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<ul>
<li>Ruelle – Take It All</li>
</ul>
<o:p></o:p><br />
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<b>Nice Work<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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</div>
<ul>
<li>Mount Everest – Labrinth </li>
</ul>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;">
<b>In Deep Water<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<ul>
<li>Why Do We Fall – Hans Zimmer</li>
</ul>
<o:p></o:p><br />
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<b>Checkmate <o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<ul>
<li>Vasily – Martin Phipps </li>
</ul>
<o:p></o:p><br />
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<b>How was the wedding?<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;">
</div>
<ul>
<li>We Might Be Dead By Tomorrow –
Soko </li>
</ul>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;">
<b>Epilogue<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<ul>
<li>What You Won’t Do For Love – Luke
Burr </li>
</ul>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
<a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/B082RJ9TZD" target="_blank">Murano on Amazon</a>Billy Londonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17677598358996736536noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5109269663262025325.post-79325569897102649132020-01-14T13:39:00.000+00:002020-01-14T13:39:08.217+00:00Maze<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I wasn’t going to start my New Year this way. I really
wanted it to be a positive, glowing opening chapter to what will be an awesome
year. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But people are trying to interrupt my joy, so leggo. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You may have seen a few things that have happened over the
last few weeks – a certain royal couple deciding to step back from senior royal
duties; an incredibly successful artist stating that he agreed 100% that racism
exists in Britain; the absolute dearth of nominees of any colour in the BAFTAs;
a talented actor who has been part of a huge movie franchise being free to call
out the nonsense he has had in his mentions for years. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In conclusion, I live in one of the most racist countries in
the world. Why? The bare faced denial that anything in the above is based on the
fact that the above people have become ‘uppity; and the word has been applied
to all of them. Ideas above their station. And if they don’t like how things
are here, they should leave. That they’re playing the racism card. That they
keep bringing up race, so in truth they are the real racists. They can’t
provide any proof so it can’t possibly be racism. It’s so much worse everywhere
else in the world, so they should be happy living here. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
To be gaslit is abusive. It’s one of the pillars of abusive
behaviour, to control the way the victim thinks, feels, to undermine them, to
make them uncertain of their very selves, to make them question their own very
real, very lived experiences to mollify and content the perpetrator. That’s
what racism in the UK is like. Constant gaslighting. And it’s so subversive, sometimes,
it’s only truly visible when someone else says, “Goddamn, that was racist!”
that your third eye opens and you realise what you’ve been trying to defend is
a broken, one sided relationship. After the Brexit referendum, I was very fast
to defend cries of xenophobia against the UK given the voices of a broad spectrum
of BAME voters who were sold £325m worth of lies. It’s like someone insulting a
family member. You can do it – but no one else should dare! I’ve reached the
stage of “It’s what she deserves.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m going to focus on the B in BAME as that’s what I am and
that is my experience. I’ve experienced racism since I was five years old. From
being told about my skin colour (and not in a flattering way) to the
expectation that my breasts would make it impossible for me to be a dancer. I’ve
been to hospital and been queried if my pain was genuine. To my doctors and
told that I’m obese according to the BMI (which is inherently racist). I’ve
been met with surprise as to my profession, my articulation, my education. I’ve
been met with disgust as to my hair being ‘messy’, my body being overtly sexual
(even covered from head to toe and I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been
asked what I charge and for what). It is misogyny and racism together – misogynoir
in perfect balance. But, if I were to say any of this in a public forum,
guaranteed someone and normally that someone will be white, will happily tell me
that none of it was racism, but ignorance and people just being stupid and I should
ignore it. Or worse that my success, my education, my professionalism is proof that
racism doesn’t exist.<o:p></o:p></div>
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How do you ignore repeated, continuous incidents that chip
away at you? How do you excuse behaviour that causes hurt and pain and
disappointment as stupidity? You do if it never affects you. All this outrage
and surprise that this the golden goose of a country could be so vile. The same
country that colonised three quarters of the world (and didn’t use any of the
spicing they found in their food). The same country that created the blue print
for maintaining misery and despair on plantations (honest to God a Brit wrote a
diary/guidebook on treating slaves – from castration to defecating in their mouths
to rape and beyond). The same country that participates in wars and doesn’t think
it has any responsibility for the refugees it creates. The same country that
gave citizenship to tens of thousands of people, only to “lose” their paperwork
and put them on the first flight back to what they asserted was their country
of origin. Look at our current Prime Minister. Jesus, look at the one before him! Look at the track record of the
government. Look who is quick to say “look at me, I’m proof that our country is
multicultural and not at all racist” and question their motivation for being so
damn loud. One minorities success does not negate the existence and prevalence
of racism. <o:p></o:p></div>
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This country has been racist for the longest. My mother
remembers where she was and wasn’t allowed to rent properties because she is a
black woman. My father remembers why he lost management roles to his lesser
qualified colleagues. My uncle, who served in the British Army, told me what it
was to be a black man with white officers who were supposed to have his back.
None of it has disappeared. It’s evolved to what it represents today. <o:p></o:p></div>
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“No that’s not racist.” <o:p></o:p></div>
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“I haven’t seen any racism.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Why do you keep bringing it up? That makes you racist!”<o:p></o:p></div>
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“You can’t prove what you’re saying so you’re relying on the
old racism card. It’s been declined by the way.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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Witty, motherfucker. And yet, still untrue. It is not a card
to be played. Where are the benefits? Where are the terms and conditions? Where
are the extra rewards for use? No where to be seen. It is a way of invalidating
minorities. Are you tired hearing about racism? Try experiencing it in a never-ending
cycle of keeping you down where you are perceived to belong. <o:p></o:p></div>
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This year, in an effort to maintain my sense and sensibility,
I’m not taking any questions. I’m not hearing any comments. I have completed
Level 40 of deniability and accountability of White People and that’s enough
for my lifetime, no thank you, try next door. 2020 is the year of “no, not
to-fucking-day”. I’m not explaining. I’m not providing examples. I’m not
entertaining what you can quite easily Google. If you want me to, then send me
an email, put a £500 deposit in my PayPal account and I’ll do it. You’ll get an
invoice for further questions. Stupid questions get an uplift fee of £250 plus
VAT. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I highly recommend <i>Why I’m No Longer Talking To White
People About Race</i> by Reni Eddo-Lodge. (Dr Reni Eddo-Lodge btw!) If anyone can
explain this in a better way than I, it’s absolutely her. <o:p></o:p></div>
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To end, I leave you with this quote from @athenakugblenu “Why
do we have to explain something to white people that white people invented?? Did
they lose the manual?”<o:p></o:p></div>
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And last of all, read my book to distract from all this nonsense!
<i>Murano</i> IK7 is on Amazon for you. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />Billy Londonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17677598358996736536noreply@blogger.com1