Andy Rivers's Blog, page 3

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Alreet,



How's this for a deal - I'm prepared to let you have a FREE kindle copy of my sweary, funny (fuck off man it is!), sad and pretty bloody original novella 'The Spy Who Bluffed Me' about a Geordie bouncer who thinks he's a spook in return for you simply clicking a button to tell your mates about it on Facebook/Twitter/Google Plus - pretty good eh?







Job's a good 'un...so crack on!

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I get around...

I have a love of travel and have been to a few destinations over the years that a lot of beach-lovers I know think are a bit weird, I don't care. I've also jotted down some bits and bobs whilst travelling to, from and around these places - mainly for my own amusement or to ensure I remember what went on (my memory is shocking) or even just because I'm bored shitless on a flight/coach/train! Anyway, I've discovered some of my ramblings from the last few years on a corrupted phone and have managed to save some...and...even better...edit them into some sort of order...no need to thank me.
So as the start of an irregular series here's a very small bit of Lake Garda from last year :- 



Get ya gas board slide down that then!

I bloody love BA!
You don't hear that often do you? But, after years of budget, cheap and generally customer unfriendly air travel we ended up on a British Airways flight to Verona (Shakespeares 450th birthday as well don't you know!) and I was canny chuffed. It started when I was online checking in the day before. Pick your seat - pretty standard you might think these days - aye? So did I, then, out of curiosity, I clocked on the emergency exit seats...and got them...at NO EXTRA CHARGE!  
I'm a big lad so this was the equivalent of a fucking upgrade to a backstreets Byker boy I can tell you.
Then, after being ripped off at Gatwick for a coffee and a sandwich (it was five o clock in the morning so fuck off with your 'get a proper drink you soft shite' bollocks) I boarded my plane to be met by a smiling crew member (smiling for God's sake - it’s like they value my custom!) who, once we'd taken off gave me muesli, juice, a filled croissant and coffee FOR NOWT! I could get used to this like - I tell you, customer service...its the future. Whey...it's alreet I suppose...

I grew up on a council estate on the banks of the river Tyne(I might have mentioned it...) that was steeply stepped and for entertainment we used to nick those red and white plastic gas board barriers and use them as makeshift sledges down the steps - usually stopping via the medium of smashing into a wall, all good fun. I found that crossing my mind as I looked down the sheer side of Monte (Mount) Baldo down to Lake Garda and lovely Malcesine and wondered if I'd beat my record for distance. Then, as I looked around at the top of the mountain it'd taken two, sweaty German filled, cable cars to get to, I wondered why would I do that? It was gorgeous, peak after peak of snow capped wonder screamed for my attention, the freshest air I've ever breathed chased the city smog I tend to carry round with me right out if my lungs and the view across the magnificent lake will stay with me for ever. It was a surreal experience being up there ( its a journey that's taken me a lot longer than two cable cars believe me!) and I could have stayed up there for the rest of my life.
Sadly it was time to go all too soon but I contented myself by watching the madmen throwing themselves off the side with only a flimsy piece of fabric to help them descend their way back to safety, and asking the question - they might think they're brave now but would they have had the bollocks to gas board sledge it down ten flights of steps through the dog shit, past the cars and into the (very) unwelcoming arms of the Raby Street mob. I think not.
Later
Rivs

And the winner is...

Alreet kids,

How's your summer going then? I just wanted to let you know that, as promised, I've chosen two names from my newsletter subscribers to be named characters in my next book and they are (drum roll please...)

Maggie Macdonald - Mother of one of the main male characters (He's a bad lad!) and had a bit of a crush on the MC at school which really didn't please her husband - a local heavy known as 'One-Punch'.

Chris Marshall - Old School Criminal who teaches the main Character his trade and gives him a code of honour to work from

Just to give you a bit of background about the book, it's coming together well and I've even put together a back cover 'blurb' to let you get a feel for it.

'How does it feel to be invisible? How does it feel to know that you're of so little worth to the people around you that they can't actually see you? How does it feel to know that you let your daughter down, that your one job as her dad was to protect her and you let her die at the hands of that animal? How does it feel knowing that people pity and despise you in equal measure? How does it feel every day in that moment just before the alcohol does it's work and sends you into a guiltless semi-conscious state for a few hours of respite?'

They're the questions I ask myself a lot...or I did, 'cos yesterday I realised something. I worked out that if you're invisible then you can get away with anything...even murder.'

Well done to Maggie & Chris and, just to let you know, every time I do something new I'll pick at least one name from my newsletter subscribers list to be a character so keep an eye on my blog. In fact I went to see a few Shakespeare plays recently and they left me with an opinion that I shared on my aforementioned blog which caused a bit of a furore - my Twitter feed nearly melted! - you can check that out here.

Have a good one - see you later.

Cheers

Rivs

Was Shakespeare the original feminist?

Despite my appearance I like a bit of Shakespeare  (don't say what do you mean' - I'm a fifteen stone Geordie skinhead with a face like a smacked arse!  When people meet me for the first time the only theatre they connect me with is the operating one in the local hospital!)  and usually around my birthday I go to see a couple of productions by the fantastic Shakespeare's Globe on tour ( Much Ado About Nothing this time - very funny!) and the more local but equally mint Creation Theatre in Oxford (As You Like It this year in the wonderful gardens of Lady Margaret Hall - which they make full use of believe me!) 
I've been doing this a few years and have seen a decent number of productions now and it struck me recently that there's generally a very strong female lead in the story (off the top of my head Rosalind and Beatrice for starters just in the two I mentioned above) which may just be down to the fine acting that is a given with these companies but, just to be sure (and because  am one nosey bugger!) I Googled 'Shakespeare Feminist ' (as you do) to see what everyone else thought and came to a startling conclusion which is...that's half an hour of my life I'll never get back!
By the stage at 'Much Ado...'Purely from my own perspective though I reckon that, in a time that was male dominated and women weren't treated very well at all, old Billy boy definitely had feminist leanings - even though the word hadn't been invented yet...although he probably would have done that given time. Obviously there was another school of thought that Shakespeare was merely a front man for an anonymous writer who, given the aforementioned female lead thing, could easily have been a woman but I haven't got time to go into that 'cos I've gotta do the dishes before wor lass gets back from work.
What say you then?
RivsPart of the set of 'As You Like It' 

Black grape...and many other drinks!

You know how safari types go on about seeing 'The Big Five' in the animal world? Well it was my birthday last Sunday (yes this is another post about drinking - I'll do some writing ones soon okay?) and I celebrated by going back up to the Toon on the Friday to see Black Grape at The Riverside. That was me getting my 'Big Five' in right there!




It certainly was a 'Big Day in the North' and thanks for all the birthday wishes on Facebook those of you who contacted me - I would have replied personally but my head was up my arse after that and the drive home the next day - still, only twelve months to the next one eh...

Cheers

Rivs

Not Nineteen Forever...sadly!

I've taken a bit of time off from writing recently (First rule of being me - I do what I want!) and was away last weekend - 'The Lads' and I meet up two or three times a year for a 'Big Boys Beano' in a different city and relive our youth by getting pissed and going to indie clubs...then moaning about it for a week after - at the magnificent Stone Roses Bar in Leeds.


I really should have dropped in on the excellent Armley Press but, despite them being made for my sweary, dragged up on a rubbish tip kind of style I haven't actually got anything new to submit to them...yet! You should have a look though.

Anyway, as we were milling round the VIP area (£10 - you get your own bouncer, your own space at the bar, your own roped off alcove and free drinks on arrival - bargain. It would cost you a fiver to get in anyway so there's a tip for you if you're ever in the area) and hoying ourselves about to The Courteeners et al I realised that not only was I the coolest person in there, nor even the best dancer but I was also probably the oldest...hard to believe I know when you're looking at my profile pic eh?

I put it to the back of my mind and worked on making my hangover a good one (it was a fucking belter by the way!) and have only really considered it again this week. The concept of time fascinates me - I mean it seems to take ages doesn't it? You start your eight hours shift in the factory or warehouse and it seems endless but I'm forty-five in a few weeks and the last thing I remember is going out on my eighteenth birthday...what the fuck happened there then Father Time you cheating bastard eh?

I've probably only got thirty or forty good years left (if I'm lucky!) and I've realised that my current output of books just isn't enough. I'll be furious with myself if my next moment of clarity sees me in my seventies and still not having fulfilled the potential I know I've got. This applies to you lot as well like - I know I'm not the only lazy bugger round here!

So I'm getting on with it - there'll still be pints and yobbish behaviour like, too old to change now! - the next novel's plotted and ready to rock and I've got a couple more half-planned as well a completely different series in mind.

Watch this space...

Rivs

Ever wanted to be a character in a book?

It'd be pretty good wouldn't it? You're turning the page as the hero walks into a bar to be confronted by a hard-as-nails villain / sexy-as-owt femme fatale and THEY'RE NAMED AFTER YOU!
Throw in a mention in the authors notes or acknowledgements and you'd be well chuffed wouldn't you - I would! What's that you say? Pipe-dream? Couldn't happen to me? It could like...


But, I hear you say, what kind of character would I be? What if you made me into a proper scrote and I was too embarrassed to brag about it? Well, I can see how that would worry you (you've obviously read my books if that was the first thing that came to mind!) so I promise that everyone selected will get a shout from me with a couple of choices as to who they'd like to be...honest.


So, now that's set your mind at rest, you know what to do don't you?

Cheers

Rivs

ps - Check out my books HERE. Cheers

     

Cornish and pasty...

I was once laid out cold with heat exhaustion for forty minutes whilst in the back of a jeep that was travelling through an Indian tiger reserve. Now bear with me on this...

I went to West Cornwall last week for a holiday and it was lovely. Stayed in Penzance (the only pirate there was a rather large store selling tat to chavs...think it was called Shit Direct or something...) visited Lands End, Minack Theare, St. Michaels Mount, The Scilly Isles, St. Ives, Carbis Bay, Mousehole, loads of pubs and...ooh loads of other stuff. I can't recommend the area enough if you're after a British holiday this year...and don't get me started about the pasties!  

Anyway, after going on about boycotting the Spurs match at St. James last week it's fair to say I did my bit and got myself as far away from the Theatre of Pain as possible.
Now, the eagle-eyed amongst you will notice that the weather on this pic is very nice. In fact it was cracking all week. I knew it would be and I still went just so I could be sure I would boycott the match - yes, it's true,  I hate fatboy enough to risk toppling over a cliff through sunstroke rather than possibly give him any money!
I think my commitment to the Ashley Out cause is now there for all to see... ;-)
Later
ps - Check out my books HERE. Cheers
    

Get Out Of Our Club!

Enough is enough. I apologise in advance if you don't like football...or bad language (you're really on the wrong blog by the way!) but the way Mike Ashley has turned Newcastle United into little more than an advertising hoarding for a low-grade, tacky 'sports' shop is past the point of boiling my piss.

We've never asked for a team that wins trophy after trophy, we've never asked to be the best in the world and we've never asked for a team full of billionaire players - all we ask is that they fucking try.

And that's too much apparently.

It appears that wanting the team that represents our city, and by association ourselves, to actually compete is beyond reasonable. We are told that the club won't bother in any cups and that aiming at tenth is the best we can hope for. Fuck off.

Every year bar one under this twat we give up once we get to a position of safety, every year we suddenly get a load of injuries to first team players when we're playing in the cup - injuries that subsequently clear up in time for the next league game and every year our season ends in January.

The lies, misinformation and spin that have emanated from the regime in charge over the past seven years may have kept the majority of fans in ignorant acceptance of this dumbing-down of ambition but the last few years have seen scales dropping from peoples eyes at an alarming rate. So much so that the team behind the very successful 'Sack Pardew' campaign have begun Ashley Out.com and are beginning their activities with a demonstration before, during and after the Spurs match. He won't go quietly - if at all - but it's time we let him and, crucially as he hates negative publicity with a passion, the world know just what we think of his spiteful, malicious campaign to denigrate a great old English football club. He will hate the spotlight being on him and it might just inspire some professional journos to start doing their jobs properly rather than just regurgitating lazy cliche's about Geordies.

I've decided I'm joining in. From now until the end of the season 50p from the sale of every copy (both paperback and Kindle) of my seminal (fuck off man it is!) book 'I'm Rivelino' will be donated to the Ashley Out cause.

I'm not blowing my own trumpet (if only!) but it's had reviews like this :-


"I absolutely loved this book, read it in next to no time"

"You don't have to be a Toon fan to enjoy this - I'm a Norwich fan, but the sentiments will chime with anyone"

"A must read for every football supporter"


there you have it. My hat's in the ring. If you want to support this noble cause but don't wish to tolerate my ramblings then go straight to their site and do it there - if you do like a bit of humour with your swearing then you could do worse than check me out. It's time for change - get out of our club!

Rivs

Hate Bush...

I love music. I particularly love live music. I worship the Happy Mondays and can trace most of the best moments of my life back to them or their songs but one of their recent tweets about 'Wrote for Luck' being inspired by a Kate Bush song pissed me right off! A couple of years back when everyone got excited on the social networks about her touring again after something like a thousand years I was just non-plussed at this fucker coming back into my life. In fact that's not the right word but I don't think there is one for bitterness combined with historic anger, humiliation and a ten year olds first experience of being let down. 
Let me explain before the trolls start yelling for attention. My primary school was selected to be the audience on 'Razzamatazz' back in the days of only three channels and a 50p slot on the back of your telly (no? Just us?) things like this didn't happen often to an unremarkable working class school populated by the council estate kids from all around it in the '70s. Those of us actually selected to go bigged it right up to our under-performing, truanting and downright naughty classmates.
"Ha, you've got to work while we're meeting pop stars!""I don't care, theyll be shit!""Ha, it's Kate Bush! She's skill man!""Waaaahh. Its not fair."Brilliant.
So after many weeks of one-upmanship the great day arrived and we were shuttled to the mighty Tyne-Tees studios to meet a genuine A-list celeb, oh how we preened and postured to our unfortunate classmates as the bottom of the range bus coughed its way out of the yard. Our excitement was dashed however when word filtered round upon our arrival that Miss Bush simply couldnt be arsed to travel to the frozen North.
"Not to worry," said my mate big Deka, "there's bound to be someone else good on and if I win the top twenty singles in the competition you can have the Boris Gardner one."
Smashing. We couldn't afford a record player but stil a nice touch from the big lad.Except...Deka wasn't even in the competition and Kate's replacement was someone that left me with a sinking feeling when contemplating my left behind classmates the next day.
"Now children, Kate Bush sadly can't be here today but instead we've got a great replacement...""It'll be The Jam.""Nah man, It's probably The Sex Pistols.""I hope it's Roxy Music me.""No children, it's better than that - we've got Bucks Fizz! Hooray."Oh for fucks sake.
So instead of 'Wuthering Heights' we got a badly mimed rendition of 'Making Your Mind Up' (I wasn't even old enough to appreciate the skirts being ripped off!) and I got a complex about KB that lasts to this day.
I gave her tour a miss in case you were wondering.