A marketing spiel for "In The Wicker Wood".

Chapter 17

Fanahan was starting to hate this pub. It brought back unhappy memories. That Hoor Tyrell and his leads. Who else would go and ask a blind auld bag what she saw, when the priest was kidnapped. Who would think that an auld piss-pot up in the Church gallery, would come up with a clue that had caused him so much grief. Handmade bloody shoes, now Tyrell would have them all off chasing the bloody shoe clue down, and he had his bollix chewed off for not turning it up: in first place.

“And the blind woman, and her dog, of course could tell us nothing.” Tyrell had read it out loud at the briefing not once, or twice but three times.

“Jaysus Shay! Did you even interview the woman?”

The shagger’ went on to cover his interview with the bag and the piss-pot, and when Fanahan thought it was all over concluded with.

“And the blind woman, and her dog, of course could tell us nothing. Cross of Christ” he roared. “I wish all witnesses were as observant.”

Now to cap it all, Milo that Meath bastard, had put the framed photos back on the pub walls.

There it was in full view: in front of him. Cavan All Ireland Football Champions. Shite! And next to it, Galway All Ireland Football - Beaten Finalists.

Milo had obviously heard of his balls-up, or he would never be so brave, as to drag out the photos again. Feck him. He’s trying to rub this in again.

“Moynalty is nearly in Cavan” he squealed, each time Fanahan complained. “I’ll adorn me pub as I want.”

One of these days I’ll feckin’ adorn you with a split feckin' head!

http://www.amazon.com/The-Wicker-Wood-Lazarian-Wordsmith/dp/1500691364

My Ford Focus Titanium is one of those possessed cars Stephen King wrote about....

Never thought I'd believe in demonic forces, in my case, a malevolent creature who has control of my car, but I do now.

Whisper, whisper kids cover your ears. It's called an ECU - an electronic control unit - and it's in my almost new Ford Focus Titanium. And it tried to kill me and the grandkids, two weeks ago, on the M7 motorway by-passing Newbridge, Ireland.

This motorway has three lanes, on the inside large multi-wheeled trucks, speed along. In the middle lane normal cars going about their business at speeds of perhaps 120k an hour travel. But sometimes a gent or lady ambles along in the middle lane at a slower, sometimes very slow speed, and for safety you need to overtake these.

So myself and two of the new generation of the family are in my car when I decide on an overtaking manoeuvre.

OK, here we go, increase speed a little using the cruise control. Click, click button click, speed is increasing. Move into outside lane, increase speed again for overtaking- click - click.

Holy cow this car is stopping, speed is decreasing, I'm not in control any more. We are all going to get killed!!!!

As my very polite grandson, told his mother later, "A lady in a car behind gave Daideo the finger sign" as we were diving for the hard shoulder, hazards flashing ( I'm good at reacting) through a line of trucks.

We had an amber (warning not red) light to indicate we had an engine problem, and that the car had entered "limp home" mode. Second grandson 15 years old was reading the manual as I was trying to get the car to give me some power, without success, at first.

We limped to a safer location, on country roads, and called Ford Roadside Assistance. The AA man came and ran a diagnostics and did not find any fault. He took the car for a spin while we sought out refreshments. He returned and said he was able to re-create the fault: twice.

After discussions about towing me, on the end of a short pole, twenty miles or so to a Ford Dealership, with the kids in the car. I asked for another solution. So the battery was disconnected and the ECU reset itself, and I was able to drive back to Dublin.

Now I'm scared that the ECU is out to try and kill me again each time I drive the car.

The other day when the electronic key was taken outside with the car running - the lady's voice in the climate and phone control system told me that the phone was not connected.

When I shouted that she was going back to the factory - she told me that track 42 was not available.

And this blog has not mentioned that this car that I have driven for an average of twenty miles a day, has had the oil pump unit and drive shafts seals replace a year age, and is now in for the drive shaft to be replace and a new clutch installed. Ford say they will not pay the full cost of these repairs. 

They are turning a deaf ear when I tell them that this car is dangerous to drive - while it has an ECU with a mind of it's own in charge.

I'm going to call the next book (about the Staff of Christ) The Backroom Boys.

I was at a ceremony on Friday to mark the 90th anniversary of the re-dedication of our church of St. Mac Cullins in Lusk.

I had opened my big mouth a while ago and told Father Paul that there were people in the community who remembered the occasion. So he invited the ten over 90's people.

My old pal Jack who is 97 in November presented a candle which burned for the ceremonies.

I had a brief chat with him and remembered that he is the last surviving member of The Backroom Boys - a drinking club.

Then the writing oil started lubricating my brain - and I thought what a great name for a book about Clerics planning a secret rebellion - to wrest Catholicism from Rome and instead have a Christian Community replace the Pope and his committees.

The Staff of Christ was brought here by St. Patrick's when he brought Christianity (not Catholicism) to Ireland. A few hundred years later Rome got in on the act and took over the Irish church.

The legend is that the Staff was in a monastery near-by until a few hundred years ago and was burned by a Reformation Bishop - who converted to Catholicism a while after. The original staff was maybe his admission fee. Something like this must have happened because Bishop Browne destroyed a lot of churches and treasures, and burned down a lot of monasteries.

What if he did not burn the real staff - but hid it. Then if The Backroom Boys can track it down they can Schism away to their hearts content.

I could be "Chuffed" that I'm in good company.

Wordery are listing The Knowledge Seekers & The Land Of Cudhabeen alongside Heaney and Yeats in their listings.

Both were very good poets - I'm not so that's a mystery to me.

Also someone who got a free copy on a Goodreads Giveaway, or someone in Coventry who sold a free copy, is offering it for sale, on eBay. Serves them right - they want a fiver and so far no one is bidding.

So should I be elated of sad?

Since I am working on my next book "The Backroom Boys" I will be sad until I type "The End".

The End 

I feel beter now!

I don't know what I will call the next book - this might be the start.

Prologue

"What is the name of this Kip again? Bally Bog Hole?"

"You know well Cardinal that it is not. But you always called it that. You used that name to upset your brother."

"Well he's gone now, so no matter!"

"He got some peace Cardinal. He was happy here."

"That scoundrel was never happy, except when he was rooting in a cave, or another hole in the ground, looking for The Grail, or whatever he called it - some other lost relic - like himself. He was lost as well. Why didn't he just be a priest and get on with his duties."

"Well you know the know-alls, including you, would not let him do that. All he wanted was a bit of peace, after the other thing. He was hounded and driven to distraction by his own community."

"He was obsessed with it. Is anyone at this wake going to offer me a drink? Get me one Monsignor - a large Irish."

This time Joseph, stay dead. The church can't deal with another resurrection.

Chapter 1

Joe Mara, was a missioner of the Sacred Heart of Jesus posted in the Philippines when he was kidnapped. Ironically by some young men he had instructed in the Catholic faith.

He was held for a month, while his captors dragged him around the jungle while trying to outrun the Militia and collect a phantom ransom. The order he belonged to had no funds, those that they had were given over for the education of the natives and the construction of churches and community halls.

On that faithful Friday, before Easter, when the rebels were close to being discovered, they decided to execute the priest. One of his former pupils knew the devotion Joe had to The Sacred Heart, and his fondness for chanting "Sacred heart of Jesus I place all my trust in Thee", decided to shoot him in the heart, to "Burst The Bleeding Heart of Jesus".

He stood Joe at the edge of a cliff, above a tree filled ravine, and then expertly aiming pulled the trigger. The gun, a relic of the first World War, not maintained, with a dirty barrel, fractured, burning his face and throwing him backwards.

The barrel top, and forward sight, flew in Joe's direction struck him, bursting through his cassock and bounced off his chest, but not before tearing a long gash. He was blown backwards by the force and his body fell over and down, into the forest below.

Satisfied that the priest was dead, either from a wound, or from the fall, the rebels fled to avoid the perusing military.

An hour later, as dusk approached they halted in their flight. Turning from the setting sun, they began to explore the land behind for signs of the perusing soldiers.

The were first astonished, then horrified when in the distance, they saw the priest, high in a forest tree, standing arms outstretched: his bleeding heart emblazoned by the setting sun, a red glow spreading over his white cassock, resurrected and mocking them.