POETIC INJUSTICE & LAFFING ASIDE

About the Book

Never in my life did I ever contemplate composing a book of Poetry so I didn't and my apologies to those of you out there who thought I would dare categorize it as such when comparing it to the classics. For some unknown reason during the past two years, there has been an avalanche of rhymes materialising in my head on a daily and sometimes even an hourly basis. Everything that my eyes dropped on to or what somebody might have happened to mention in passing was automatically filtered into the verse as opposed to the voice box or voice-versa and summarily twisted and turned into a rhyming subject. Silly ,serious or just amusing, most were given an added ingredient of poignancy or irony that may have directly related to the complex world we live in. Flowing with the phenomonom, my thoughts seemed to urge me into re- producing other experiences that may have been lying dormant somewhere in the back of my mind since my first tangible recollections of life and the initial flexing of brain muscle back at the school of learning right up to the present moment. The anecdotes are again observations and stories picked up and stored over many, many years and embellished to produce an occasional break from rhyme reading. The Human Race warms to laughter and happiness in a serious, demanding enviroment and hopefully this book will bring some small ray of sunshine into your life to provide a welcome break from the daily grind. This is an enigmatic look at that life so to speak and like a drink, I trust you will enjoy it responsibly.

About the Author

Born in the North West of England shortly after the end of the Second World War when food rationing was still high on the social agenda and spending cuts were something you purchased in a Butchers shop window, the author had not one ounce of literary thought, interest or ambition to write, once he found how to. The first close encounter came at the age of nine when he began to copy out a lengthy feature on the mysteries of the single celled Amoeba during which time his father asked him what the purpose of the exercise was for. He can vaguely recall that there wasn't one but did say that when he was older, he was going to write a book, to which his mother dismissed the idea as being nothing more than than a childish fantasy. She was half right. The planting of that seed remained deeply rooted and dormant in his memory core for another fifty one years before he decided to write a couple of short stories and a few silly rhymes in a small exercise book and present it as an alternative Christmas present for his Granddaughter. From there, his enthusiasm to make a serious attempt at a book came by way of the Three Storey Elevator and a second attempt at something completely different in the guise of this book, began in earnest to bring that childhood dream to fruition and satisfy himself that he had made his mark in life albeit good, average or indifferent. The mountain was climbed and the flag planted. Only the winds of fortune will give it direction.