Steve walks warily down the street With the brim pulled way down low...

How was your weekend?

Mine was alright, I’ve had worse… Kept myself busy, you know, the usual, did a bit of shopping, took the dog for a walk, that kind of thing…

Nothing special… Pretty standard kind of weekend that you have when you’re halfway between paydays.

There was only one minor difference… at 9:30, on Friday 4th September 2015, My friend Rick ‘Odie’ Hoad lost his incredibly short (as far as I knew) battle with lung cancer.

You might have heard me talk about him once before, but not by name  – The incident with ‘Buskilla’ and her detachable wheels? - But he wasn’t the sort of person that you had madcap adventures with… He wasn’t a SMick, or a Jock (RIP), or a Gullible Steve (RIP); That’s not to say he wasn’t funny – He’s had me laughing to the point of tears on many occasions – In fact he told some very inventive, if ultimately crap ‘Christmas Cracker’ type jokes which invariably contained one solitary, often accidental, swear-word… Which would evoke an instant apology to the parents of any youngsters in the room – Then a wink to the kids themselves… And the laughter resumed louder than before.

He was an old-school biker, well, more of a triker really as he seemed to spend more time on three wheels than he did on two – But he was never that slightly ‘up-themselves’ biker that you see in films and TV programs, he was the biker that other bikers usually describe themselves to be… He was there for the sense of brotherhood, for the joy of riding motorcycles – for having a good time. Always in his leather jeans and wrap-around shades

He had his demons, like we all do. He’d suffer crippling bouts of depression, he’d be cantankerous, offensive, forthright… blunt didn’t quite cover it on most occasions – But you knew where you stood with him, and it was usually just at the end of the phone, or a Facebook update, where he was waiting for an opportunity to help you, or to be given an invitation to a rally or a party.  He’d be there like a shot – In any weather, under any circumstances…

He really was one of life’s good guys – And he was also a dyed in the wool, 100% full on, accept no alternatives, knob of the highest calibre.

He really was, pretty much all of the time – One of the people who have paid their respects over the weekend described him as human Marmite, I think that’s a brilliant description.

He invented his own trike riding style… And demonstrated it to me (once… Just the once) – He’d lean out, rather than in on bends, claiming that it put more weight on the outside rear wheel and therefore increased the ‘sticktion’ enabling you to corner faster… To test his theory, we went round and round the traffic island outside my local B&Q on one of his trikes faster and faster, leaning out as far as we both could (it not helping that neither of us were particularly small) up until the inside wheel lifted off the ground, the front wheel all went a bit ‘tankslappery’ and the bollards got real-close, real-fast… He also had this habit of flicking his ignition off and then back on again to cause a backfire as we passed crowds of schoolchildren/football fans/old people/police/pregnant women and nuns.

He also once drove the entire Dandy family to the wonderful seaside town of Redcar (Near the oil refinery) to pick up a puppy that Mrs Dandy had bought under false pretences... All he demanded in payment, despite being given the option of a slap-up meal at a hostelry of his choosing, was a Pick 'n' mix (and his petrol, I'm not a slave driver)

I found also over the weekend that I didn’t have a single, solitary picture of Rick to share with you all.  Which is a pity – The man was an animal… So I’ve borrowed some from the many people who’ve shared their memories over the weekend. See if you can guess which one he is in the photos.

(If anyone minds that I’ve stolen their photos, I will gladly remove them – Just drop me a mail or leave a comment – No offence taken or intended.)

No helmet, just a leather top hat?

Tigga & Rick

Being composed at a wedding...

Stolen the kids' bubble mixture

But he felt the cold, the poor lamb

My condolences go out to his wife, Tigga, His Ex-wife Fiona, and his kids, whom I never had the pleasure to meat. And to his cat, Nermal T Groovekitten (The Ginger Terrorist) who bit my thmb once.

Ride free Brother, Don’t eat all the bacon nor drink all the Jack – I’ll see you down there, but I’m afraid it won’t be for a good long while yet - if we're both lucky.

And for the record, I quite like Marmite.

Oh yeah... Whilst I remember - FUCK CANCER! - FUCK IT RIGHT IN IT'S STUPID ASS!

It never Raines...

The title of today's blog will make a lot more sense if you:

a) Read it in Christopher Eccleston's voice
b) Have seen the 2000 'reboot' of Gone in Sixty Seconds

Anywho, it's been a bit of a full day today, lots has gotten done, some of which I've even been paid to do... Which is a turn-up for the books, all things considered.

-oOo-

The main thing that's happened though is that my third book 'The Collected Children's Pangolin Primer' is finally available in paperback from Amazon UK.  Don't get me wrong, the Kindle version's been out for weeks (which you can buy for the princely sum of 77p or $1.25 if you are deeply geographically challenged) but due to some flim-flam, or possibly jiggery-pokery, the actual pyhsical book has been as rare as Marmite flavour trifle.

But that is all fixed now, you can buy as many copies as your heart desires! Buy one completely selfishly for yourself. Buy one for yourself and one for your loved one - so that you don't have to keep saying 'What're you laughing at?' every five minutes.  Buy one for your child as a massive cautionary tale.  Buy four and use them to level that table from IKEA that you put together really badly.

Doesn't matter why you buy one, just buy one, or some, or many - I won't mind, I'll positively encourage it in fact.  If you send it to me (or bump into me whilst I'm in the Wild, or at one of my many appearances at Southcart Books in Walsall)  I'll write in it for you, maybe even doodle, or just sign it so as it's worth a few more pence on eBay.

This is what it looks like:

Yes, that's the Micro-Dandy and his fabulous performing teeth

And this is where you can get it

Get in on the ground floor, reserve your copy now.  Beat the rush!

-oOo-

And the other massively huge thing that happened today?

Well, why don't you see if you can guess (Although you'll never get it in a month of Sundays)

What? No, my head isn't flat enough for that to be practical.

Cheese? No, why would I do that with cheese?

There aren't enough badgers on the planet to pull that idea off, but I'll file the idea away for the future!

You guys are rubbish guessers!

I'll tell you, We had our first reader from the small island of Réunion in the Indian Ocean.

None the wiser?  Here's a map:

The Red thing on the right is Réunion, the bit of land on the left is East Africa

A tiny place, in the middle of an awful lot of water, which is technically part of Europe, where one confused chap (or chapess) stared at their computer screen and thought, 'qu'est-ce que je lis?'

Whilst we're on the subject, if you look at the top-centre of the map, you'll see the island of Comoros... See it?  That's where Long-Pig Station from the Windspider stories will be built (well, in about 500 years time it will at least).

-oOo-

And that's it for today,  Remember to buy the book, read it, lend it to other people to read, and then... Most important of all...

Please leave a review on Amazon, or Goodreads, or erm... Well, just on one of those places actually. Authors live and die on the reviews you people write - There is nothing more important.

See you soom Kiddies, and Mr/Mizz Réunion person? 'Merci, s'il vous plaît venez à nouveau.'

Leviticus 19:28

Tattoos, they're great aren't they?

I realise that that might have sounded sarcastic, but no, I think they're great - I have tattoos, Mrs Dandy has tattoos, the Mini-Dandy wants tattoos. I've even designed the odd one (the very odd one in some cases)

Tattoos, tattoos, tattoos...

There are a few things that are still legal that are so divisive, there are two standpoints, you either love them or you hate them. No, hang on, that's Marmite... Marmite AND tattoos? Actually no, there are three standpoints, People either love, hate, or have no strong opinion on them at all.

Sorry, I came over a bit 'Monty Python's Spanish Inquisition' there didn't I?

Right, today's Blog's going well so far isn't it? Do you get the feeling that I haven'y really thunk it through?

Do you know someone with a tattoo? I don't mean one jabbed into their skin with a pin melted into a toothbrush handle by someone called Fat Malcky in the exercise yard of your local Government internment Centre during Exercise Hour. I mean a work of art, often costing hundreds or even thousands of pounds, performed by a qualified, registered artist under sanitary conditions with some degree of skill.

Is that person a baby-eating psychopath? Chances are that they aren't, chances are that they're well adjusted people who would not think twice about giving you their last carrot if you were short of one for your Sunday Lunch, or for use during a quiet night in on your own (Either way, they won't want it back).

So why the general vilification of the tattooed?

Well, I think it might be because the general populace, the huddled masses, Jane and Johnny Vanilla, can't tell the difference between tattooed people and people with tattoos.

What do you mean you don't know the difference either? C'mon people, work with me here!

Tattooed people are those who think about it first, ponder long and hard whether they should get some ink, think carefully about the content and placement, decide how it can be covered if that's a concern for them in their chosen sphere of employment, save up the money, listen to the artist's opinions and suggestions about subtle changes that can be made to improve the design, sit quietly and still, biting their lips as the job is done, then religiously following the aftercare instructions and ending up with a product that they're all to happy to show off.

People who have tattoos are those who, for instance, after Jeremy Kyle has finished, think 'I know, I'll have a duck tattooed on my eyelid'. Hunt down the back of the sofa, fail to find enough cash, raid their kids' piggy-banks for the fiver required to get it done by 'Our Sonia's boyfriend's brother' who does it in his bedroom at his Mum's house with a kit he bought from eBay, get the bus to some dismal Council Estate, wait for the shell-suited scrote to get back from scoring himself some weed, find out that he doesn't know what a duck looks like and then get convinced that what they really want is to have his thirteen year old, pregnant, girlfriend kiss your backside and then get it tattooed over, Manage to get the price down to three-fifty by showing him their cleanest Primark bra (But not doing what he wanted them to do to get it for free, because even they have standards), then going back to their council flat, letting it get infected and scratch at it until it looks like Nigel Lawson.

Easy mistake to make for the uninitiated I suppose...

-oOo-

As is becoming traditional, I leave you with a story told to me by a tattooist of my aquaintance.

One, quiet, sunny afternoon, a squaddie came into his shop and asked for his unit's insignia to be tattooed on or about his person. First of all, he didn't have a copy of what he wanted, so the artist Googled it and printed it out. He couldn't decide whether he wanted it black and white, or full colour, so the artist quickly did a black and white copy so that he could choose.

Then he couldn't decide where he wanted it, and after about three quarters of an hour, he decided to have it on his bicep. He took another half an hour to decide how big he wanted it.

After all of these questions, the artist thought that maybe a tattoo wasn't for this particular person and tried to convince him to go away and think about it, but try as he might, the squaddie was immovable, he wanted it done, and done now, so that it was healed for when he was sent back to... Erm... Afghanistan or wherever.

So an hour and a half later, the deed was done, the squaddie was happy, the artist was happy that the squaddie was happy, money changed hands and they went their seperate ways.

All was well until the next day when the phone rang at the studio.

'Hello, Circling Dragon Tattoos, how can we make you more attractive?'

'Oh, Hi, I came in yesterday and you tattooed my unit's insignia on my arm?'

'Yes, I remember... Is there a problem?'

'No, no, it's great, really, there's just one thing...'

'OK, what's that?'

'Well I've tried on my fatigues shirt, and it won't roll up high enough to show it off, so I wondered if you could move it down onto my forearm, .'

The tattooist was still laughing when he put the phone down, walked out of the shop, and threw himself under a bus.