Billy London's Blog, page 2

Killer Queen

I'm slowly getting back into the swing of things (trying to balance the work life with the book life). Now words are flowing once more, I'm going to do a takeover on Facebook!

The delightful and crazily talented Kenya Wright has invited me to a celebration of all that is Mafia in her group K Killers. If you're not already a member, add yourself and join me on Friday 12 March 2021 at 8 - 9 EST which is 1 - 2 am GMT.

Looking forward to talking about all things tall, dark and affiliated tomorrow!

You Should See Me In A Crown

 I'm absolutely going to age myself here, but I remember watching Princess Diana's interview with Martin Bashir. I wanted to write to Princess Diana and assure her that she was loved by the people, especially me (who copied her at every possible opportunity). I never did and then she was dispatched. That was my opportunity to express my concern and appreciation for what she was doing gone. 

I was not going to let the same thing happen to the Duchess of Sussex. The racists were out in full force from the moment it was revealed Prince Harry was dating her. There was a pap picture of them at a wedding and the glee with which people were commenting I don't think he likes her very much. The way she's grabbing him and he's not interested! Oh he was interested alright. He married her. 

In the roar of claims that Meghan had made Kate cry, she was nicknamed the 'Degree Wife' and she worked a 'different' way to the rest of the royal household, it started to bite at me. I've been minding my Black business when I've been accused of being 'aggressive' of 'making people upset' of making changes that 'aren't appreciated'. I've worked since I was sixteen years old. There has never been a job where I haven't been outsted, belittled, undermined, harassed or accused of making other's feel small because I exist. 

A man was physically aggressive with me in my office but I was a problem for voicing my concern with his behaviour (I left that place and he tried to follow me by petitioning to my then boss that we had worked well together! Imagine! He didn't get the job thank God!)

A colleague said I was 'scary' because I told them exactly how they had fucked up and how that would damage not only me but the reputation of the business. 

I've been accused of being aggressive because I didn't mollycoddle yet another man as to how to do his job. Not my own - his. 

It is all that magical ingredient we call racism, and it is strong and pervasive as fucking garlic and yet, this country continues to question whether it exists, setting up roundtables of white people to judge the issue. 

I am very obviously Black. It's the second thing noticed, after my boobs (because like Lydia Caristo's boobs, they are fabulous). And that Blackness is never divided from anything I do, even if I express myself in the meekest way possible, it will always be twisted to suit a particular narrative because of said Blackness. The same playbook is being attempted on the Duchess and I'm actually glad it's being played on a global stage, so the world can see the madness this woman is having to endure. Prince Harry married the lightest, mixed race woman possible and the vitriol she's faced for the audacity of having a Black mother has been difficult and disgraceful to watch. So when she was still contactable through one of the many palaces, I wrote to her. I did what I wanted to do for Princess Diana and I told her over four pages of my Jo Malone scented printed stationary, how much she was appreciated, how proud I was of her for her work and her words and her ethics and she had my love. I won't share her response , but I still pick it up and read it every so often. 

There is no doubt in my mind that Meghan is a decent, worldly, intelligent and graceful woman. And in a world that makes a mission to humble such women, especially if they have a drop of colour in them, I can see the campaign against her for what it is. Utter nonsense. I hope you see it too. 

For this reaction, playing the 'bullying, terrible, Black woman' book to undermine the first time the Duke and Duchess are freely speaking about their years of madness, you know what they tried to do to Meghan was bad. Really bad. We saw her tears and despair in South Africa. We saw how protective Harry was and remains. So, in satin pyjamas and a cold glass of prosecco, I will be watching that interview with Oprah and be ready to petition for the end of the monarchy. No institution that campaigns against a woman of colour thereby telling citizens of the same hue that they are deserving of such a reaction when they are protecting a literal paedophile, deserves to remain. 

I want my money back, thank you. 

Choices (Yup)

 

During a rather boozy celebration of last week's ten year anniversary (pop a bottle man! Ten years is a long time!) my beautiful friends asked me a casting question. Who would be your leading men, if you could have anyone, no questions asked, no budget worries, anyone? 

"You can't have the Duke of Hastings," one friend reminded me. "He's not on any of your covers, and you dragged a certain author for blackfishing covers."

Oh yeah, I did, didn't I? Good times... So obviously, my current book is a shoe in for the His Grace, Simon Basset aka Regé-Jean Page. But the others? (insert awkward face). 

When I do my cover requests, I hunt for pictures that fit my characters as best as possible and it's always harder to find Black women than it ever is to find sexy white tanned muscled torsos. So anyways, Windows' initial inception (well revised to include banging) coincided with my obsession with Eddie Cibran and his dimples. I have no idea who would be throw the knickers away, they're no use right now enough to make me tattoo his name on my body. No, I lied absolutely. Henry Cavill could do it with a grin and a sideways glance at my bustline. (It's the first thing men look at guaranteed). 

For Murano, the Beppe inspiration was the delightful Oliver Cohen-Jackson, of the Haunting of Hill House fame. He does dangerous/mad/funny/loving beautifully well. 

My other male character obsession was and for the large part still is Bren Macclellan from Wynne's Surprise. Oh my god, I haven't loved off the laptop like that since, well since Nick. And his inspiration was Jai Courtney. But with a Scottish accent obvs. Like Hot Muse Hank was deeply worried, the man took over my day to day for months. I'd dream about him, it was weird and wet dreamy and I should be embarrassed but it was great for the book. 

Have you seen the body on Lucas Gil? Coz that's who would play Remains' Jamie. Niels Strøm would be played by the Kingslayer Nikolaj Wadu-Costa and Arthur McWorth of An Art To It allowed me to cougar my way into Harry Styles' fanclub. I adore a bit of Harry, I truly do. 

So those are a few of my potentials, if I could cast the mens. I'll show you my ladies next week. Thoughts, suggestions, reminders all welcome! 

Perfect Ten

 

 

Happy Ten Year Anniversary to me then!

It really has been a whole decade since I thought, lemme add banging to this story about a Mafia guy called Nick in love with his best mate called Gina. Then lemme put it on Literotica. Then lemme get a publisher (enter stage left Jayha Leigh). Then lemme get absolutely stoned in Brighton and figure out a way to add another fifty thousand words to it. (Enter Hot Muse Hank to tell me “bitch, add more sex!”) Lemme give you some Tony Caristo, sprinkle in a little Rocco Mamione and a healthy dash of Beppe Nardiello. Oh and if we’re adding a little spice to the mix, Gianluca Caristo warmed by Durante Da Canaveze all under the heat that is Sir Massimo Da Canaveze. Lemme give you some of my favourite places, my favourite shops, my favourite things to do, lemme share a little trauma coz it’s good to share. And ten years later, here we are. 

So, as if it were a lifetime achievement award (I’d like a BAFTA one day) let me say some thank yous:

The Lady London and her ever patient squire Papa London. What would I have done without you spelling out words in Fante to me and asking why only to be thoroughly distracted by watching something on TV instead. 

My bros, endless sources of amusement! 

Hot Muse Hank, where would I be without your guidance? 

Ms Jayha Leigh for finding me and testing me and encouraging me and introducing me to my next big thanks

The Queen of Hearts, Barb Wilson, the most magical of editors. There are things I wouldn’t have linked or understood or even come up with in the absence of your wonderful, magical guiding hands.

My fellow authors especially Janet Eckford and Nikki Winter and Violette Dubrinsky. I’m a solo artist by my very definition, but solo artists do have producers and sound mixers and all sorts. They have collaborators who will tell you ‘nah, son a little to your left.” I'm so grateful for the time they gave to me. 

And finally, my readers. You, yes, I’m looking right at you! Thank you. I thought Windows was a pump and dump, to be fair. I thought it was finished and nothing else would come of it. I didn’t think I’d be writing about Massimo’s elegant feet or Tony’s propensity to smack a bare bottom or Auntie Belinda’s love of swimming or Rocco’s tattoos or Beppe’s Prince Albert piercing! Yet, here we are. Because you asked, maybe threatened to cut me a little if I didn’t.

And I’ve expanded that little universe to my other stories and I’m getting back to a place where I can write just as freely about new characters. I love writing. I always have. I always will. Let’s see what the next ten is about. Got to be wilder than this!

 

    

Celebration

Omfg, where did a whole decade go? I had a memory pop up the other day on my mobile to remind me that on 16 February 2021, it will be ten whole years since Windows was published. I mean... what the hell happened? 

I'm actally shocked to reach this milestone, I truly am! Remember the first cover for Windows and I put it on a cake? May have to do that again for next Tuesday, pop a few bottles and drift into the bliss of a hell of an achievement. 

I'll do something for you guys as well - I have to I mean I wouldn't still be here if it wasn't for you. And probably me and Lady London getting absolutely wasted in Kos, wandering through the Greek supermarket and buying all sorts of rubbish in sight. The way you guys embraced my darling Nicky and his little blue flower Gina, the way I've tattooed Nick's surname on my body that gets me the side eye on the regular. It's on my hip but a little to close to the kitty cat and to date, it's my only tattoo, its's truly taken over my life in the best possible way. I'm so happy that my stories have touched you, made you a little bit horny, intrigued you, inspired you, and become a fond memory, like an old friend. If I could hug you all (sans this panoramic business) I would. And a la Sofia buy you a bottle of champagne, I'd do that too. 

Last and by no means least, Jayha Leigh deserves my biggest thanks. She saw something, a spark that led to an Italian fire that is now eternal. Thank you Jayha, forever and a day. 

Cheers ma dears! Per centi anni! 

Back Once Again

  

I wish I was au fait with technology to put that video of Leo Di Caprio from Wolf of Wall Street whispering "I'm not leavin'. I'M NOT FUCIN' LEAVIN'!"

It's been a long while hasn't it? How are you? How's life been for you? Don't mind me if I say, life has been kinda crushing. I've always said that I'm not someone who can write while emotional and given I've either spent the last nine months in tears, prostrate on my bed wishing I was looking up at an Japanese sky or drunk or all three, trust me when I say I have not been able to write. 

Fast forward to December 2020. I've got M&S mince pies with salted caramel cream, I've learned how to perfect a roast pork with crackling, in a cider and apple sauce, I've discovered hot chocolate made with Baileys and I've spent more money on white wine than is sensible, I have taken to walking in the woods in wellington boots, like a heroine with resolvable problems and thereby discovered investigative podcasts! Billy has evolved beyond a fifties housewife! 

You know when you have to do something, so you procrastinate? My state of procrastination is to put on marigold gloves and clean. I can't do anything in silence, so I usually play music but ever since one of my bezzies told me about a fascinating podcast by John Sweeney. Look it up - it's brilliant. Scared a few folks on a walk with it on full speaker volume. 

The world is so changed from December 2019, I think to myself listening to Sir Sweeney's devastating investigations. What would we do without podcasts, Netflix, Disney+ (I am an actual sim for zaddy Mandalorian)? We do Zoom parties. We text more than ever. We go on socially distanced walks with our doggos. How do I fit a new world into an old one? How to I link the two differences? How do I make it believable for myself and a reader to reach into a place that hasn't existed before? And let me Carrie Bradshaw for a minute and realise something (another relic coming back from the televisual grave). Isn't that what investigative podcasts do? Do that reach for us? From the future into the past to explain what we wish we'd known? And that, my dear reader, allowed me to write again. 

So here we are, with sorry to say a pretty dark story. It's just where I am at the moment. I'm sure I can get back to the light eventually, but me and my bottles of Sancerre say after after. 

The wonderful Garrett of Black Jazz Books designed this cover for me and I thought you deserved to see what I'm working on. Finally. At damn last! Blurb and excerpt will come later. Like I said, it's dark and when I say dark, yeah... (Marge hiding her face gif). 

Auntie

This year is being an absolute see you next Tuesday and continues to batter me.

I lost one of my favourite aunties yesterday. Not an African auntie, but my proper same surname as me Auntie. For all the aunties that tell you about your weight or getting married, my Auntie was genuinely concerned for me and my wellbeing. 

When I had my first period, my Auntie was straight around with an embroidered white blouse for me to go with the white skirt my mother wanted me to wear (don’t ask), to have a ceremonial celebration of my womanhood. It was acutely embarrassing but it was precious. 

Auntie made the best doughnuts and had the best laugh. She did nothing but love her family to the ends of her perfectly coiffed wig. She was decent and honest and God fearing and I don’t know what her kids will do without her. They’re not kids any more but when it comes to your mum? You’re always a kid. 

My Auntie’s knowledge and power and understanding has fed a lot of my books and she was unabashedly proud of me. I can’t quite believe that I’m never going to see her again. Or hear her laugh. Or the way she says my name with such affection. She was at home with me and my mum having a couple of glasses of wine when I received my first email from Jayha Leigh. The three of us were cackling in the car as my mum dropped her home. Another sign of her decency - she loved a glass of red and a hard spirit or two. 

I’m going to have a hard spirit for her. Just for today. Given the pandemic means we can’t travel to Ghana to honour her in the way we Ghanaians usually do, I’ll toast to her and all that she gave me.

Rest well, my sweet Auntie. You’ve earned it. 

Love In A Time Of Madness

And is this time not mad?

Briefly, I've been thinking about my Italian Knights babies and what on earth they'd be doing given the current situation.

And it came to me pretty quickly:

Nick and Gina have their restaurant - Ghanaian/Italian fusion food of deliciousness. Focaccia and hard dough bread freshly baked every morning by that clever Robinson girl. Can Nicholas arrange delivery? Of course he can! It would also be the best place to get gelato in a range of flavours. They're taking gift vouchers and providing meals for freezing to food banks.

Tony and Lydia are hard at work, when Tony isn't indulging in his hobbies and giving Lyds a smack or two. Tony - hacker extreme - is fiddling with the numbers on bank accounts. He can't have people starving, can he? He's also making sure PPE is available for those who need it. He's got to protect his in-laws, or his eardrums won't survive. Lydia's nursing has always been exemplary. I can't see her doing anything but putting her everything into keeping people well. Private hospital run by her husband's best friend or no, space should be made for those who need it.

Massimo and Belinda are self-isolating in their beautiful home in London. Both Paul and Nick didn't want them to be in a different country while the UK locked down. Belinda has taken to making shitto for her babies and they collect at a safe distance. Massimo makes pasta for the street and every Friday, the neighbours sit in their front gardens and create a pub like atmosphere to enjoy their food.

Rocco and Anna have fixed boundaries and separate offices. Rocco is doing a lot of criminal pro bono for black Londoners who are being disproportionately targeted by police with little to do and rules that aren't law. Anna is fielding clients who are trying to stay afloat and keep their employees. She's also taking on free cases to keep people in work, rather than sacked. Nonna has Nick sorting her cake deliveries across London and if he's late, he has to pay her double. Deliveries to the Mamione-Taylors from Nonna and Gina are key.

Luca and Frankie are busy with their twins and work. Rather than twiddle his thumbs, Luca has set up a build your own pizza from home business - dough ready to be rolled, tomato sauce or white sauce if you fancy and sides to top it with garnishes. Frankie is working closely with domestic abuse agencies and insists that Luca provides his pizzas to key workers. She has one or two herself.

Ella and Durante's work is elbow deep in olive oil. Their town is pulling together to keep going. Durante has relied on Tony's work to make sure they survive. Ella is still shipping her divine VBR Rose oil products and ensuring shipping is free. All their children are at the farmhouse grilling, swimming or picking olives.

Finally, Beppe and Mimi returned from Switzerland before the lockdown kicked in. Beppe's been working on providing sterile kits for new mothers and the elderly. He's putting his brain to everything he can to help. Mimi is taking up those routine operations that have fallen in the path of the virus.

Busy little bees all of them. I like to think they're entertaining themselves and getting some snuggles in too, even when they're a bit tired. More than anything, I like to think that they're safe.

What The Hell??

What. The. Hell?!?

I thought me and 2020 had an agreement? I thought we were cool and things were going to be peachy this year after the disaster of 2019? And you do this 2020? I feel like I’m living in the Prince of Egypt but without the insane Hans Zimmer score.

Let me just side step by saying why are old people so stubborn? Both my parents are in the vulnerable category and should have been taking self-isolation seriously. But my mother? “I need to find something to eat!” Know what she came back with from Lidl? Quiche. Flaming quiche. And my dad? After I hand rolled some oddly shaped but highly tasty bread rolls for him bumps off to Poundland. Poundland. I- Actually you know what I did? I told my big brother who in turn FaceTimed my parents to tell them off. Now my dad calls me a grass.

Sweet Caroline

This is the most bizarre post I think I've written. At no point did it ever cross my mind that I'd be writing about the death of Caroline Flack, The Flack Attack, Strictly Come Dancing Winner 2014 a few months after her 40th birthday.
She's a presenter who's always been in my line of tv sight, with her startling eyes and husky voice. And it's so strange to think she'll never do her slow motion strut into the Love Island villa, squeeze an islander's hand, ask a cheeky question, defend someone on Twitter, have the naughtiest little photos on her Instagram or be singing on a dance floor.
I didn't know her personally, but you can see from the out pour of messages and tributes from the people that did - she was so deeply loved. And she still took her own life.
While we'll never know the why, the breadcrumbs lead us to inevitable conclusions. Social media has changed something in us all. It's not just the tabloid press - who are crying crocodile tears while they delete all the negative stories they had up right up until they published Caroline's death - but us as individuals. I'm not going to plead innocence in how I tweet about reality television - it's tv, come on - but good God, why would anyone put their fingers to a keyboard, or touch their phones to tell another person that they should die?
Love Island has had three suicides (Sophie Gradon, her boyfriend and Mike Thalassitis) and after each one, the same sad faces, the same platitudes wandered around before the same record played again. Only a few days ago, I was listening to the Laid Bare Podcast, and Leanne, a recently dumped islander, revealed how she was receiving death threats. It's a television show. She told a guy she didn't like him. That's it. She didn't beat anyone. She didn't bully anyone. That's all it took for her to get death threats from a bunch of cunts. It's supposed to be entertainment. We're supposed to be watching people form relationships and win a bit of money. Their motives behind going on a show may be monetarily based (the prize money is only £25,000 if you share it in your couple, so the partnerships, the promotions can run into the hundreds of thousands) but these are still human beings. What gives anyone the right to do that to another human being?
Clemmie Hooper, a mummy blogger, who had almost 700,000 Instagram followers created a whole persona to troll herself, other bloggers, to be racist, even to troll her own husband. Because it gave her power - she enjoyed how it made her feel - superior.
People who tweet horrible things about Meghan Markle get likes, traffic, attention - so the trolling works for them. Think of Piers Morgan, Katie Hopkins, and the latest troll for hire, Lawrence Fox. It pays to be racist, sexist, homophobic, transphobic - to mock, to ridicule, to undermine. And in that same vein, people thought it was okay to mock and ridicule Caroline Flack. She faced a difficult trial for assaulting her boyfriend and it wasn't a show, because her boyfriend didn't support the case against her.
Listen, I've applied for protective orders. I've sat with clients and reassured them. I've gone to bed worried that I would get a call or an email telling me that client had died at the hands of their partner. I've had arguments with police officers who haven't taken what I've warned them about seriously and they get called back to the same address over and over again. I've also desperately tried to talk clients out of making statements that withdraw their complaints against their partner for fear of worse happening to them. And it does. The worse happens. The law exists for a reason, especially when it's failed survivors of abuse for decades. Even worse for male survivors because they're simply not believed. "How could your five foot two wife burn you like that, sir?"
Caroline needed to have her trial. She needed to be left alone to deal with that. She didn't deserve people laughing at her, tweeting at her daily that she'd lamped her boyfriend, to have the papers reprint a Valentine's card with a mocking cartoon of her on the front with a threat. She didn't deserve to hear that she was an abuser and deserved to go to jail forever.  That she was a paedophile and a nonce for dating Harry Styles when he was seventeen and Caroline was thirty one. That she should kill herself for what she did to her boyfriend.
I've had the barest of negativity from my work. I can't imagine what it would be like to open your Instagram to look at photos of your boyfriend, whom you're not allowed to be with because of your bail conditions, and instead see hundreds of messages telling you that you deserve to die. When you hear something enough, you start to believe it. And she did believe it. Despite all her friends and all her family telling her otherwise; she believed that she deserved to die. That the world would be better without her. That she didn't belong on this earth any more.
That's not fair.
There's a lot that needs to be changed with the media - god look at what the media did to Meghan and all she did was marry a man she loved who happened to be a member of the British Royal Family! Prince Harry and Caroline dated in the past and you know why they broke up? Same media. There needs to be some consequence for their recklessness. But there also needs to be tougher measures on social media and what that needs to be - smarter minds than I need to come up with that.
Most of all, I need people to know that they're not alone. Never alone. It can be a daily, unrelenting battle and the way this has come about can only be triggering when you struggle with your mental health. Please believe me when I say you deserve to be here. You deserve to live. You'd be missed. Please stay.
Please.

https://www.samaritans.org/

https://www.nhs.uk/conditions/Suicide/