Book 8 of the Magic Molly series, The Curse of Cranberry Cottage has been published in both Kindle and paperback formats.
The book follows Molly’s adventures as she travels with her family to the house of her Great Aunt Willow. Molly is intrigued by Cranberry Cottage, a securely fenced off property on the outskirts of the village. The Cottage has a history. The legend says that a Black Witch, Belladonna Blackheart lived in the house hundreds of years ago. Belladonna cursed the house and anyone entering it after the local villagers, angry at a series of crop failures and soured milk episodes, tried to drive her out. The story tells that Belladonna didn’t die of old age, but cast a spell on her deathbed to allow her to live on as a Wraith Witch.
The Book Blurb.
Magic Molly Miggins and her family are spending a weekend on the coast at the house of Granny Whitewand’s sister, Willow. Molly is intrigued by the legend of Cranberry Cottage, a house so creepy that none of the villagers will go anywhere near it. The legend says that hundreds of years ago, Cranberry Cottage was cursed by the Black Witch, Belladonna Blackheart who still lives there in the form of a Wraith Witch. Molly, despite constant warnings, decides to get a closer look. When her arch enemy, Henrietta Havelots turns up, things get more than a little serious. Molly discovers that Belladonna is planning to open up the dark, mysterious, Void so that the evil witch, Morgana can return to the world. Can Molly remove the curse and put a stop to Belladonna’s plans, or will the Wraith Witch succeed in her quest to release Morgana and make Molly and Henrietta her slaves.
Kindle Price. £1.99 Paperback. £4.99
Kindle Version Available Here
Paperback Version Available Here
Here’s something I started a while ago but left unloved and alone in a folder on my computer. The chapters that might follow are set hundreds of years into the future and none of the characters in this scene appear again except in name. This is just the prologue to what might be a full fantasy novel.
On the morning of his execution, Morrain Bur-Belir woke to the sound of a tolling bell.
The priest got to his feet, brushed the filthy, damp straw from his blue robes and rubbed his aching right shoulder with the palm of his left hand. Outside the sun was up, Morrain could hear the clattering of carts and the murmurings of people as they trudged past the court house. There would be a good crowd today. He smiled grimly and stretched his neck to look out of the high window but the only thing in view was the top branches of the Hanging Tree. Morrain made the sign of the blessed one across his chest, closed his eyes and prayed silently.
Five minutes later, a heavy iron key rattled in the door lock and three, long-bolts were drawn. The thick, studded oak door was eased open and two guards wearing leather vests and helmets walked into the cell. They were accompanied by a priest in coarse, red robes. He wore an amulet bearing the image of Osurn on a chain around his neck and carried a skin-bound copy of the Krah carefully in his hands. The guards took up position either side of the open door as the Red Priest stepped forward.
‘Morrain Bur-Belir, you have been found guilty of heresy. You have been sentenced to hang. I am here to offer you one final chance of redemption.’ He held the Krah out in front of him with both hands. ‘Renounce the false Goddess, Uhati, return to the bosom of the Red Goddess, Osurn and you will be spared.’ Continue reading
A small extract from Magic Molly, The Curse of Cranberry Cottage.
Molly is at the gates of the cottage, at midnight, with Wonky, her ancient old wand…
Molly was transfixed by the beauty of the cottage. She could feel the wand’s uneasiness and knew that she should really make her way back to Aunt Willow’s house, but she found that she couldn’t summon up the will leave such a wonderful place.
Then she saw something move.
She thought she’d imagined it at first. She could easily have been mistaken – It could just be a trick of the light – just a shadow, cast by the moon as it shone across the lead-lined, small-paned window at the front of the house. But then she saw the movement again, in the window on the other side of the porch. Molly narrowed her eyes and peered through the gate.
‘I wish I had some binoculars with me,’ she whispered to herself.
She suddenly found she didn’t need binoculars.
The shadow in the window began to get larger. It started in the small pane at the centre of the window, but grew rapidly until it covered all sixteen panes. Then the shadow began to solidify. Molly’s feet seemed glued to the spot. She tried to drag her eyes away but something more powerful than her own will kept them fixed on the window. The ghostly shape grew lank, white hair, a pair of narrow eyes and a hook of a nose. Then a cruel mouth and a long chin were added to the vision. The window flew open and a thin, sinewy arm stretched out. A long, skinny finger with a twisted, broken fingernail made a beckoning motion. Molly tried to concentrate on her wand, but a voice filled her mind, a cruel voice, an insistent voice that shut out all other thoughts.
‘Come to me,’ it said.
Magic Molly; The Curse of Cranberry Cottage.
‘Molly Miggins if you aren’t downstairs in five minutes flat, your breakfast is going into Harold.’
Molly rolled onto her back and looked at the ceiling. She wasn’t sure if Harold, the new in-sink monster she had conjured up a couple of weeks before, liked Wheaty Flakes or not. He seemed to like salad and vegetables best, anyway, she still thought Harold was a silly name for a former Compost Heap Monster. She had originally called him, Fang, because of his sharp little teeth, but Mrs McCraggity, the housekeeper had changed it to Harold.
‘Fang doesn’t like Wheaty Flakes,’ she shouted.
‘HAROLD, will eat anything if he’s hungry enough.’ Mrs McCraggity’s head appeared around Molly’s bedroom door. ‘Anyway, Harold’s eating habits are irrelevant. Have you forgotten that you’re going to stay with Great Aunt Willow this weekend? Granny Whitewand is up and about already, she’s really excited about the trip.’
Molly leapt of out bed and showered and dressed in record time. She slid down the banister to gain an extra few seconds, slipped off the end and bounced on her bottom twice before coming to a halt just in front of the hat stand.
Molly was still rubbing her bottom when she walked into the kitchen. Her packet of Wheaty Flakes was on the table next to a jug of milk and her breakfast bowl. Continue reading
The Royal Baby
Did you see the news about the royal baby?
I’m really pleased because it means we might get a reality program set in the palace. It will be great to see Kate changing nappies and burping the baby. I think she’ll be a brilliant mum. She could get celebs like Katy Price and Chloe Simms from TOWIE to share their child rearing tips with her. I’m thinking of sending her a pair of fake, Ralph Lauren baby shoes, they’ve got them down at the local market. I reckon she’d really like those. Wouldn’t it be fantastic to see him at his Christening wearing a pressie I sent him? I bet Kate gets lots of presents sent to her when she gets home, but those shoes are really classy and she likes quality stuff. Continue reading
My poem about immigration
Everyone is English
I don’t get this immigration crap
it really hurts my brain.
There’s talk of putting on a cap
even if we vote remain
But I don’t see the problem
where are these migrant folk?
Everyone I know is English
It really is a joke
My kids have an English teacher,
my doctor’s English too
and if we get a blockage
an English plumber clears our loo
I have an English landlord
at my local pub.
He serves me English lager
along with English grub
I work with English people
every single day
I even have an English priest
when I feel the need to pray
So why should I vote Brexit?
it goes against the grain,
when everyone is English
here in sunny Spain.
How’s the jogger’s nipple? I hate that, I got it once when I wore that hessian blouse without a bra to Bryony Chalmers’ end of engagement party. I was really popular with the lads that night but Christ, my nipples felt like they’d been chewed on by a starving buck toothed Piranha. I used up three-six-packs of Greek style yoghurts trying to cool them down.
That bastard, Simon, my ex, put my name down for the wet t-shirt competition at Tossers night club. The lousy sod said I’d be a shoo in with my cast iron nips.
Gran’s been giving us a lecture on how tough life was back in the 1960s tonight. It all started when Dad came home from work saying he was going to see the doctor about getting a few days off. Mum got all worried, she doesn’t like the idea of dad being on the sick. The last time he had a few days off he didn’t go back for twenty years. Continue reading
The kindle and paperback versions of Tracy’s Hot Mail, a satirical look at a member of the X-Factor generation and her friends and family, has been reissued on Amazon. 99p for Kindle and £3.99 for the paperback version. A signed copy can be bought at no extra cost. A small postage charge will be levied for the signed book.
Kindle Edition UK
Paperback Edition UK
The sequel. Tracy’s Celebrity Hot Mail will be available in reissued formats very soon.
After seeing one or two concert reviews appear on Facebook I thought I’d revisit a concert I attended with my wife a few short years ago. This was written at the time. It isn’t new.
Looking through my documents folder this morning I discovered my review of an Eric Clapton concert I attended in Nottingham a few years ago. It bought back some happy memories and some very disturbing ones.
Last night we went to see the legendary guitar hero, Eric Clapton, in Nottingham.
The show was staged at the Nottingham Arena, which also doubles up as an ice stadium. For those of you having visions of the great man skating around the stage in lycra pants and a frilly shirt whilst belting out Layla, let me put your minds at rest. He didn’t. Continue reading