Yes, I've decided to give up blogging. I know, I know, but since I posted that story yesterday on Gav I've received a number of death threats from people living in Melbourne. Now, they were tastefully delivered - the horse's head in the bed this morning was a particularly nice touch and not something I've ever seen before, well not up close like that - but I've seen all the episodes of Underbelly so I know this is not something I should ignore.
But more seriously, I reckon if you're going to do a blog you need to put something up there pretty regular and I'm struggling to find the time, to be honest. I have to earn some more of the folding stuff as well as give the nippers the time they deserve, and also I need to sleep occasionally.
I'll continue posting on the GONE site (here's the link: http://kingcoultas.blog.co.uk/) because that's a simple cut and paste job from my book, and I'll run it until that particular story is all told but on this site this'll be the last from me.

Of course, I may resurface again in the future and if I do I promise you, you'll be the first to know.
Thanks for all your comments and your friendship and I wish you well.
(And Melbourne's not that bad really - especially when the sun shines...during those three days in February. In fact, I fancy one day I may even move there).

I had a coffee this morning with a bloke called Gav who I used to work with. He’s a salesman and lives in Melbourne but he was up in Sydney for some sun. I used to go down to Melbourne every week to troll around with him in his gold Jeep Grand Cherokee to visit potential magazine advertisers. Once he told me, "best place in the world this, chief."
"It's pretty good," I said.
"Chief! There is no finer place!"
I'd taken a deep breath and asked, "Where else have you been that you like, even a little bit?"
"How'd you mean?"
"I mean, like Italy or Greece, France or the US, even New Zealand."
He stared at me like I'd asked to have a drive of his Jeep. I said, "So you've never been out of Australia?"
"No need, chief. No need at all."
Now, I used to have a reputation as a snappy dresser, even if I do say so myself. Once – in Melbourne as it happens – I got pulled over by an unmarked police car (well, actually the copper driving the unmarked car pulled me over, but you know what I mean) and I stepped out and the first thing he said was, “Now that is a nice suit, sir” before booking me for using my mobile while driving. Girls on planes used to finger my ties, often without asking, and once a hostess sat with me at the back of the Qantas 737 and talked about my shoes and her stilettos and how she had never been to Italy.
Gav eventually started to copy my dress-sense, buying pink, lilac and herringbone striped shirts, opting for ties designed by people, and even going for a full-leather pair of shoes, rather than the glaringly shiny faux-leather ones he normally favoured (“Made in China, mate”, he’d said, “can’t get better value than that!”). I thought he was on the right track until one day he arrived to pick me up sporting a new puce coloured suit. It wasn’t the colour or shininess of the fabric that made me stare open-mouthed it was the, “chief, look at this. Creases and all, and in the right places I’ll venture, and when it gets mucky you can just roll it up and put it in the washer. They say it comes out wrinkle-free.” Who ‘they’ were I just don’t know but clearly they had as much knowledge of haute couture as, well, Gav did.
So, today, Gav was sitting there with me by the harbour looking at the boats and the sun shining and he leaned forward and said, “Y’know, Sydney, it’s overrated, chief.”
“How’s that?”
“Well,” he drawled, “all you’ve got’s the harbour. That’s all.”
I imagine if he ever went to Venice he’d say, “it’s nothing, chief. All it’s got is water.”
Now, I was asked to go to Melbourne next week to do some media training but my black suit is in the cleaners. In Melbourne they like to dress in black. They've got cafes on the street where you can take a cappucino and breathe as much of Gav's exhaust as you like. They have trams that rattle and creak on metal tracks that make your car go wobbly and uncontrollable when you cross them. They have the bare naked busker, though in fairness he's a blow-in from the US, and they have the biggest, glitziest, most crass god-awful casino outside of Macau, owned by Australia's richest man who inherited his money from Australia's previously richest man who inherited it from his father and who could have made more money if he'd simply put it all in a normal bank account, but that's none of my business.
"Chief," said Gav today, squinting in the Sydney sunshine at the glittering harbour and the ferries bobbing and the girls walking by in bright dresses with smiles, "Melbourne's the place. It's got it all."

Just a quick one as I need to make coleslaw for the week (yes, we eat luxuriously in this house...) and the lecky people are coming around later to try and work out why the power keeps tripping off.
Yesterday took the nippers to see The Wiggles. If you don't know who they are, you're about to have a lesson in their infectious humour (their words, not mine) as Tourism Australia have decided to ditch the large-breasted, pretty yet foul-mouthed Laura Bingle (Ad slogan: 'Where the fuck are you', or something like that), with these four blokes in the primary colour costumes. The Wiggs currently pull in around $45m a year which I imagine will go up once they are on your TV screens every break between The Bill and whatever else comes on before Coronation Street these days.
The concert was a charity event for Unicef and featured so-called stars, most of whom I'd never heard of and certainly wouldn't want to hear again. It was packed and yet they only made $180,000 for the starving children of the world. I suppose it all adds up though, which presumably is what the concert organisers were thinking too as they pocketed the $185 from our tickets, plus all the rest from the hundreds of other concert goers. Nice work if you can get it.
Then we went to Chinatown for Yum Cha which Five consumed with as much glee as Pavarotti after a fast, while Two played with his chopsticks on the metal table and sang, The Wiggles' Whoop De Doo at the top of his voice, much to the concern of the Chinese for whom whoop de doo means earthquake aftershock, I believe, in Mandarin.
Then we decided to go on the Monorail. They've got an investigation going on at the moment into corruption at Sydney Rail. Apparently most of the people siphoning off millions of dollars a piece for sending work their mates' way thought there was nothing wrong with doing 'business' this way. The boss of City Rail denies any knowledge of the widespread corruption saying he was more concerned about keeping the trains on the tracks. I think though, most of them have been sold to organised crime bosses so I can't imagine he was that busy. Anyhow, I wasn't too surprised when the woman in the ticket booth said, "$9.40 love, and don't worry about a ticket," she winked like someone in a French farce and added, "there'll be no-one at the other end."
"But we're doing the circuit and coming back here," I said.
"Like I said," she winked.
I just hope she is investing my money wisely.

Meanwhile, I'm whacking on with the crime novel which needs to be finished pretty quickly so I can get it into the competition which pays almost $200K as a first prize. Will I make it? In the words of Laura Bingle, I bloody well hope so. Now, there's another chapter of GONE up. If you're interested just follow the link from an earlier post.

Now, I don't aim to become an oil tragic but really, is anyone paying any attention? I ask because while the US merrily uses a quarter of the world's daily oil production on fueling, amongst other monstrosities, V8, V10 and even, good Lord above!, V12 engined SUVs, the International Energy Authority has issued a warning today which basically says it has understimated the amount of oil still available. That'll be the first time they've even come near the truth - usually they've happy to say the sky is blue, the grass is green and hope you all have a nice day. This comes against a backdrop of $150 a barrel for the black stuff and easily $200 reckoned, (or more) by the end of the year. Meanwhile, for the first time ever we are using more of the stuff than they are managing to pump out of the ground. Hello! Quite simply, no oil producer can raise production significantly - if they could they would, especially at $150 a barrel.

The other thing is, China, and India are cruising along in overdrive and buying as much oil as they can. I know I've mentioned this before but if China eventually has the car ownership level of Germany (itself much lower than the US where even bag ladies seem to have a Ford) then, well, there are not enough raw materials in the world to allow it to happen. Interesting.
I think as a first step you folks in the US should have a couple of days at home with the air con turned off and the plasma TV unplugged so oil production can keep up with supply. I mean, come on, it's only fair, people! 

...is the title of a novel I've just finished reading by James Howard Kunstler (I think with a surname like Kuntler, er sorry, Kuntyler) you probably need the Howard to take some of the emphasis off) and it is a really good story. Rush out and buy it now!
Basically it's set in the not too distant future when oil has run out and the world as we know it has come to an end. Literally, everything is now a manual pursuit and there are no more jobs like real estate agent, banker, public relations director or marketing executive - you know, all the important jobs we'd miss.
I guess it's what you call speculative fiction but frankly there's not a lot that's too speculative about it; the oil will run out in our lifetime, or at least will become so expensive it causes major economic collapse (and you thought sub-prime morgages were bad...).
I know a bit about the oil business, having worked in the auto industry for a good slab of my life, and I can tell you all the oil companies are busy buying back their stock. What does that mean? Well, in as few as 10 years time companies like Exxon will have liquidated themselves, or to put it another way, they'll entirely hold all the oil they have, rather than having to worry about shareholders. In fact, l happen to know, all the major oil companies are now spending more money buying stock back than they are exploring for new oil. Why's that? Because they know it's running out, there's not much left (30 years' worth by some estimates, but much of that won't be easily extracted) and they want to keep hold of as much of the black gold as they can and have one final money-making jaunt, though what use the folding stuff will be when the world gets made by hand, I just don't know.
Anyway, on that cheerful note, have a look for Kunstler's book, it's a great read. As, of course, is GONE, the next chapter of which is now up and ready for reading. Follow a link on an earlier post if you're interested.

...is the title of a short story I read to the kids. Just thought I'd mention it.
Meanwhile, the crime novel is hurtling along, as well it needs to be with just a couple of weeks to get it finished, and another chapter of GONE has just been posted. Follow the link from an earlier post if you're interested, and frankly you bloody well should be!
Oh yes, I take the gun out today and show it to a young girl, as you do.

...well, it will be. But let me explain...
I've been off the radar again because I've just been so damned busy. In fact, I'm still so busy I have barely got time to write these words but I am reading a book at the same time and dictating a feature article to my lissom assistant. They call it multi-tasking though I've also heard it referred to as 'making a dog's dinner".
Anyhow, here's what's been happening.

Right then, I must concentrate on a suitable crime...wish me luck.

I was talking to a friend just now on the phone about crap films.
I'm not talking about stuff like the BBC's I Claudius where they forgot that the quartz wristwatch hadn't been invented (one of the main characters was sporting one for most of an episode) or that the Morris Minor hadn't quite surpassed the Roman chariot (a maroon Minor sailed by on a road above the set during a discussion about Rome's army in Crete), no I'm talking mostly about those ones with mega-buck budgets where they really should know what they're doing.

Meanwhile, there's another chapter of GONE up and ready for you to read. Here's the link: http://kingcoultas.blog.co.uk/

...for five days now as I attempt to shed some pounds, get the body back to that temple it once was (no madam, I don't mean the temple of doom) and generally get me fit (yes I know that's not proper English but some of my readers are American and I feel I should cater for them too - I am an equal opportunity person, you understand.)
Talking of Gordon Ramsay and his dreadful show Hell's Kitchen which has just started screening here, I've only got one thing to say to GR -  in language he'll understand - what the fuck were you thinking?
Now I'm all for him going to failing restaurants and telling their owners, who are already down on their luck, "that meal was like a kick in the bollocks", because I admire people who can use English with such dexterity, but this American foray is simply, well, bollocks - pardon my Ramsay.
I mean, it's so patently stage-managed, he's so clearly working to a formula set up by a production team of vegans in California who wouldn't know sage and onion stuffing if it was used on them and who haven't a clue about what it means to have a decent meal (I mean one that is cooked and contains a bit of fat), that GR should be ashamed to be part of it. Talk about doing it for the money.
Meanwhile, in the real world, there's another chapter of GONE up and ready for you to read. Here's the link: http://kingcoultas.blog.co.uk/

Cheerio.