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The extracurricular adventures of Vlad and Ms Crockofshit

Blogging it to death

Sick House by Jeff Strand.

18/2/2018

7 Comments

 
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Reading Sick House is like entering a mangled elevator in a blackout, you only have yourself to blame as the cables snap and you are plunged at break-neck speed into the visceral dark recesses, crushing the maimed corpses of previous terrified passengers along the way. Finally you hit the ground feeling nauseous, dazed and violated, screaming, AGAIN, AGAIN!

Jeff Strand is the master of horror-comedy, I laughed out loud often, a necessary reprieve from the relentless tension, which was relieved only by the sudden, visceral violence, followed swiftly by another witty, sarcastic observation. The writing is nimble and flowing, dragging the reader along from one well-crafted scene to the next, and just when you think things couldn’t get any worse for the unfortunate Gardner family, of course, they do.

The Gardners are in the wrong place at the wrong time as their family home is invaded by intruders from beyond the grave, Boney, Chokey, and stretchy, three ghosts, who in life had been ruthless killers for hire, murdered themselves by a witch named Gina in revenge for her sister’s gruesome murder. The Three Stooges of ghosts have returned, from somewhere that is not quite hell to suck the energy from the house and its occupants so they might return to the land of the living.

The fight for survival begins, and it seems the odds are stacked heavily against the Gardners, Boyd, the father, in desperation even finds himself visiting ‘Not Quite Hell’ in his desperate attempt to save his family. It is here that Jeff Strand’s extraordinary talent for description impresses the most, Boyd’s experiences here are both horrifying and very, very funny. I had to choose a quote from this sequence, it was difficult, there were many worthy of repeating, however, I believe this one sums it up:

‘Many people would love to be a severed head. Less responsibility. Nobody telling you to lose weight. No fish heads protruding from your chest.’

If you enjoy horror, a good ghost story, and are prepared to laugh at some very dark subject matter, I cannot recommend this book enough.


7 Comments

Serafina and the Black Cloak by Robert Beatty.

18/2/2018

7 Comments

 
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A captivating story, well told using language easily grasped by your little pagans, though not in the least patronising, so much so, that I found myself absorbed in the tale, forgetting this novel is aimed at the 8+ age range. Many moons have passed over my head since I was eight years old!

The story, set in the sprawling Biltmore estate, North Carolina, is certainly dark, and at times violent, though never gratuitously so, Serafina’s chilling initial encounter with the ‘Black Cloak,’ left me breathless, and perhaps some parents may find the subject matter too intense for their delicate little flowers. Parental discretion may be in order, as with any book, movie, video game or TV show, the final responsibility of course resides with the parent, only they are in a position to judge their offspring’s maturity in this respect.

This is not a tale for ‘snowflakes’ then, however if your 8+ children love a good story, well told, and enjoy losing themselves in fictitious worlds, that not unlike the real one can at times be dark, and populated by characters that can be unpleasant, even malevolent, without causing them lasting trauma, then this bewitching book is for them.

Serafina has much to teach your children if you allow it, living in the bowels of the great house in its dank basement, while on the floors above the gilded and the privileged live in the lap of luxury, she does not wallow in self-pity. Indeed, she is proud of her position as ‘Chief Rat Catcher’ as she lives a life unknown and unimaginable to the gentrified owners of Biltmore. She does not allow her lowly position to stop her fighting for what she believes to be right, she will not be held back in discovering who she truly is, and establishing her place in the world. She knows that if she works hard, and treats those around her with respect, she will earn respect herself, and this determination and self-confidence is displayed during her struggle to identify and battle ‘The Black Cloak.’

If you are looking for a positive role model for your offspring, especially your daughters, you would do well to introduce them to the brave, clever, and big-hearted Serafina.


7 Comments

Lupercalia.

13/2/2018

5 Comments

 
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Happy Lupercalia all of you hopeless Paramours!

The Ides of February are upon us, and it is time to celebrate the ancient Pagan fertility festival of Lupercalia, named for the she-wolf, or ‘Lupa’, who is said to have raised Romulus and Remus, the founders of Rome. Tradition has it that Pagan Priests would disrobe and sacrifice a goat for fertility and a dog for purification. 

PictureThat really chaffs you know!
The men would slice the goat hide into strips, plunging them into the sacrificial blood, they would then take to the streets, whipping the naked women who lined up to be slapped with the blood soaked strips in the belief it would increase their fertility.


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Let the whipping commence!
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Later, as the celebrations continued, all of the unattached young women present would place their names in a large urn, the bachelors would draw out a name and be paired with their chosen maiden for the remainder of the festival. Some of these matches were known to survive the festival, and even result in marriage, which may conceivably account for the ‘love connection’.


PictureEmperor Claudius II.
It is perhaps unsurprising that this was a very popular festival which would last for several days, commonly from 13th to 15th of February, and it is one that Christianity had trouble stamping out. As is the habit of the insidious creeping death known as the Roman Catholic Church, they decided to absorb the festival, renaming it St Valentine’s day in honour of not one, but two of their ‘Martyrs’, both named Valentine.

The Pagan Emperor Claudius 2nd was, it must be said, a bit ‘murdery’, especially where Christians were concerned, though these executions were scarcely more than insignificant ‘pre-emptive strikes’ when one considers the industrial scale murder that Christianity was about to unleash. 


PictureOne of the Valentines losing his head.
The first Valentine, Valentine of Terni, was executed under Claudius, though by the direct order of a prefect with the wonderful name of Placid Furius around AD 200. The second, Valentine of Rome was executed around AD 289. Legend has it both men died on 14th February, which of course suited the Christian usurpers very well.


PicturePope Gelasius.
It was in the 5th century that Pope Gelasius combined the new ‘St Valentine’s Day’, with Lupercalia in his attempt to finally dislodge the Pagan rituals. However the festival continued to be a watered down version of its original incarnation, still a drunken bacchanal, but with more clothes and less whipping with blood- soaked animal skin.


PictureFernando celebrates Valentines day.
You may of course choose to enjoy this time as you see fit, and I sincerely hope you have a wonderful time with the love of your life. Have fun exchanging cards and chocolates in honour of two dubious ‘martyrs’ representing a religious empire you may or may not believe in, which erroneously re- named the celebration after them for nothing more than convenience.


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Personally, to acknowledge the burgeoning fertility of the land and the beauty of this Planet Earth I call home, I will be disrobing, wassailing and carousing while whipping Ms Crockofshit’s exposed fundament with bloody strips of goat!

HUZZA!



5 Comments

The Unhappy Medium.

10/2/2018

11 Comments

 
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I was obliged to download this superb book on the beach in Croatia recently, despite having more than fifty unread novels on my Kindle. (I know, I know, I have an acute case of abibliophobia, and as a result, I hoard real books and digital ones.)

I was compelled to download this particular book after spending the first day and a half of our sojourn listening to Ms Crockofshit shrieking with laughter and watching the tears roll down her face as she writhed about on the sunbed next to me.

 I simply had to read it myself, to find out if it really was that good, or if my dearly beloved was indulging too heavily in the 'cocktail of the day'. Download it I did, and it transpired her one word review, (GENIUS!') was not in the least over stated.

 I will not bore you with a synopsis, you can read that in the book description, I will simply tell you what I thought of it.

 It is one of the funniest books I have ever read, the characters are all believable (even the dead ones), likeable (even the evil ones), and three dimensional.

 The story takes place in various locations, from sleepy Dorset, to the big city, rural Spain, and even Purgatory. Great writing is capable of transporting the reader to anywhere, by this standard, this is indeed great writing.

 If you enjoy a tremendous, imaginative, story, told with passion and affection, and if you like laughing until your face aches, your stomach hurts, and your face is wet with tears, and if you don't mind nearby people staring at you with amazement and amusement, then you must buy this book. You will not regret it.

 If you read this book and don't pull a muscle somewhere in your face, then you would probably qualify for a job as a lower level administrative assistant somewhere in the bowels of purgatory."

If like myself, you are an admirer of Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman, I believe you will enjoy the work of T.J.Brown tremendously.


Connect with T.J.Brown on facebook here: www.facebook.com/The-Unhappy-Medium-520092791442428/





11 Comments

    Sometimes one simply needs to get away. My neighbours, amusing as they sometimes are often re- awaken in me certain ‘urges’. Urges which invariably concern the use of greased wooden poles.

    Of course when I do have the opportunity to scamper off on a jolly jaunt, my ideal destination tends not to be ‘usual’.

    I prefer charnel house to manor house, gin palace to Buckingham palace, Bran castle to Windsor castle, boneyard to botanic garden. You probably discern the pattern.

    Therefore, fascinating as life on the strangest street in this sceptered isle may be, I thought readers might appreciate the occasional diversion further afield.

    It is my intention to regale you with tales of my light-hearted cadaverous caperings into the weird, the macabre and the unusual around the UK and (sometimes) beyond.

    Perhaps I may visit medieval buildings guarded by faithful gargoyles, graveyards and catacombs inhabited by the restless dead, extraordinary natural landscapes where pagan gods dwell, restaurants, pubs and hotels in unusual places, haunted by ancient denizens and hopefully run by mad chefs with mad ideas. I will not know until I get there. I can only say they will be places to replenish my essence and head off those pesky impaling urges.

    Tread with me if you will, paths less well known.

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