The Big Mac Novel

Hello there. Hope you're feeling well today.

Well Jack O'Judgement by Edgar Wallace is finished. Let my say at the outset that I liked it a lot in a sort of don't think about it wallow in it sort of way. Rather like the Sir Walter Scott historical novel The Talisman that I chatted about recently as long as you don't take it seriously you'll be fine. This book is, to use an old expression, a rattling good yarn.

(Must admit that I'd been waiting for a while for an another writer that I could say I disliked one book but liked the next one. Did not expect it to be Edgar Wallace!)

But when it was finished it made me realised that what I was reading was what I would like to call a Big Mac novel.

The thing about a Big Mac is this. You want it, you eat it,you've enjoyed it. But soon after you've forgotten all about it. A Big Mac novel is a work where the writer has specifically set out to write a bestseller. You've read it, let's say you've enjoyed it, but soon it'll just escape your mind.

When I was a teenager/in my twenties many Jack Higgins/HarryPatterson novels were consumed in the mistaken belief that I too could be a rough tough man's man (especially when I took my glasses off). But The Eagle Has Landed aside I can barely only remember some of the plots of the books and have forgotten many more. Ditto Dick Francis. And as for Alistair Maclean could not tell you the plots of his novels other than those that were made into films (and let me say here, his books were dull the films were better).

Or perhaps Frederick Forsyth is a better example. After his first three thrillers can anyone really recall a book of his? Or for the ladies Barbara Cartland, a woman who produced so many romantic novels I'd be amazed if she could remember the plot of them all let alone the reader.

(Of course there are exceptions. One of my favourite "Big Mac" writers as I've mentioned before was Arthur Hailey, author of Airport and Hotel and whose ebook versions of his novels sell for the astonishly high price of six pounds)

You could just say that this is because I'm a man in his fifties. Something I can't deny. But there are many other books I can remember reading at that time that I can recall now as if it was yesterday. Also, can you drag from the memory the plot of all the James Patterson (plus one other) thrillers you've read?

I'm not being snobbish. There's nothing wrong with having a Big Mac medium meal. I had one last Friday.....

(A quick aside here that was a mistake. I'd finished the afternoon/evening shift at work and for reasons that I won't bother you with needed to get something outside of the house for dinner. Well after ten o'clock on a Friday evening going through the drive through in my Kia Picanto surrounded by the young dudes and dudettes in their flashy over the top shiny alloyed wheeled cars made it the longest time I've ever had to hang round there for a burger)

.....but it's just that a fuller meal is better.

The next book randomly picked, which yet again seems to show that my Kindle has a sense of humour is the first part of the three cities trilogy, Lourdes by Emile Zola. Firstly because this weekend has been all Francais due to the election of Emmanuel Macron. The new President has already pronounced that he's going to seek the transfer of jobs from the City of London to France due to Brexit. Must admit that I'm going to have absolutely no sympathy for anybody there who loses their job who in the past practically wet themselves with excitement because a company closed offices/factories for "efficiency savings" in Britain despite the human/social consequences because it sent the share price up (but note before you call me a "traitor" or a "saboteur" I'm talking about those people only).

And it's also rather funny that having never read Emile Zola before this year I have in the past few months read a book about him and a short story (The Flood - Worth reading).

Must admit it shows that I'm more ignorant of France than I thought. I never realised that Lourdes was a city. You learn something everyday. Such as never go to a Mcdonalds drive through on a Friday night.

Until the next time.

Why Working On A Warm Sunny Sunday Was Less Awkward Than Being A West Ham Fan Near Swansea

Hello there. Hope you're feeling well today.

Personally I've never had any moral issues about working on a Sunday. My belief in deities of any kind having dissolved years ago and in terms of family my daughter is of an age that her priority (aka demands of me and my wife) is for her to do her homework. So for the most part she's not really missing any father/child time.

Today (Sunday) has been the first warm, as opposed to sunny day of the year. But I wasn't bothered by this. For although my blood is mainly Italian there are certain things that my Tuscan relatives would be looking at me and wondering whether I was truly from the Mediterranean stream. My preference for tea over coffee, my dislike of olives and my uncomfortableness with hot weather.

They probably first noticed when we went to Italy when I was around eleven. There was a trip to the seaside resort of Viareggo. But rather than play in the sand or the sea I was just under an umbrella and reading a book. (Can't tell you the title of the book but it was a Harry Patterson/JackHiggins thriller. Remember I'd enjoyed it at the time but I've forgotten the plot now. His books have that effect on me. The McDonald's of thriller writing). Also to be fair I was slightly too young to be effected by ladies in bikinis.

Today was not a blisteringly hot day. It was warm with light fresh wind to cool things down. Yet a lot of the people I saw at work today today were dressed as if they were living near Miami than Maesteg. Sleeveless basketball style shirts, shorts, sandals and sunglasses could all be seen. The one I don't really understand are sunglasses.I've lived in Wales since the late nineties and although contrary to its image there have been many blisteringly hot days, the weather has never been so dazzlingly bright that I've had the urge to raid the drawers in my bedside cabinet for the shaded specs.

It's not that I'm laughing at the Welsh you understand. It's that warm weather highlights how close to the Italian temperament they are because (generally speaking of course) it shows them comfortable with their skin. Something I wish I had the ability to have, despite my Italian blood.

So working today shouldn't have been a problem. If it wasn't for yesterday. West Ham, my team, played Swansea City.

And they lost.

Not only did they lose but by 4-1. Swansea City have had a season which other than avoiding relegation has been extremely disappointing. The nadir of which was the sacking of team stalwart Garry Monk as manager. Something of which was for me Shakespearean in action and  had the effect that of losing its innocence as a team.

Prior to the match even Swans supporters were telling me that they expected the Hammers to win.

So of course they decided to produce their best performance this season against the team I follow. Needless to say, being the closest West Ham fan most people round me know I was the target of good natured ribbing. Loud at that. Of course I had to grin and bare it. Those who weren't happy at the result had a go at me as well, given they were mainly from the arch rival Cardiff City.

Not much I could do or say really,especially as I've been bathed in reflective glory all season given West Ham's generally good year.

Ah well...such is life....and football.

Until the next time.