Category: Blog

To be published ((TBA)). My first Crime Thriller!

About the book 

Soho Warrior is the story of Alex, whose best friend is found stabbed to death in a notorious gay cruising area of London.

This is the late 1990s and the London gay scene is being stalked by a killer. Determined to find him, Karate man Alex joins the homophobic gang he suspects of the murders to unearth the evidence the police prefer not to seek.

In the tawdry glitter of the gay clubs, pubs, streets of Soho and in the wild places of outdoor cruising, Alex finds himself facing his demons and battling for his soul.

How did the Book come about?

I was walking along the riverfront in Putney one night and a man I knew well from teaching came staggering towards me, badly beaten up. He begged me not to call the police or an ambulance. He had been gay cruising on the Putney Towpath when he was approached by a homophobic gang who punched, kicked and robbed him before leaving him for dead.

We didn’t call the police. As a teacher in a Christian girls’ school he feared for his job if his sexual adventures became public knowledge. I took him to my flat, tended to his injuries and drove him home, seething with fury at the monsters who had attacked him.

I was a Karate obsessive in those days. (I still am, tbh) I was a brown belt, trained at least three times a week with the world-famous Enoeda Sensei at the Marshall Street Dojo in Soho. Brown Belts are feisty! It’s the most fighty of the nine grades to Black, in my opinion. At Brown, all you want to do is prove yourself, test yourself, fight at any and every opportunity. Yes I know. Karate is all about defence, sure I understand that, now I am a Black Belt 3rd Dan in Karate, 5th Dan in Martial Arts.

That’s now. Then, I grabbed my nunchuck the very next night and headed to the towpath to find and mash the bastards. Fortunately for my career and my ego, they weren’t there.

So instead I wrote a novel in which facts and wish-fulfilment, woven in with a little autobiography combine like blood, guts and bone. Including funny-bone, of course.

Once the book was written I decided never to publish it, because I was also a teacher in a Christian girls’ school and feared for my job due to Section 28. Publishing a book which presented gay life in a positive light would certainly have resulted in getting me into trouble or even fired.

Now I am out of that profession and Section 28 is history, I can finally publish this story.

Soho Warrior  is published by The Conrad Press and can be ordered from Amazon and all good bookshops from August 5th.

FOR A SIGNED COPY AT HALF PRICE (FREE POSTAGE IN THE UK – ALL OTHER TERRITORIES ADD £5.00) EMAIL ME johnelkon@yahoo.co.uk. Payment Paypal only please. Orders received before 5th August ONLY get the HALF PRICE offer!

Note: (Wikipedia) Section 28 or Clause 28was a legislative designation for a series of laws across Britain that prohibited the “promotion of homosexuality” by local authorities. Introduced by Margaret Thatcher‘s Conservative government, it was in effect from 1988 to 2000 in Scotland and from 1988 to 2003 in England and Wales. It caused many organisations such as lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender student support groups to close, limit their activities or self-censor.

The day the ceiling fell in and I didn’t

God nearly killed me yesterday. It was, I must admit, a bit of a shock. I am – or seem to be – alive, which is fortunate because it gives me another chance to choose between Upper and lower case. God or god.

I was standing in my kitchen chatting casually with V in the next room. The discussion had something to do with sugars in tea, I assume, since the kettle had just started boiling. And then a grinding crash from above my head, and a large chunk of ceiling fell at my feet.

I didn’t react immediately. Earlier I had been cleaning those heavy chunks of shelving from the ‘fridge, which for some reason had become spattered and sloshed in blood, or rather blueberry juice from a prematurely defrosted bag. The fridge looked as if a recently guillotined head had been tossed into it, maybe to keep it out of sight of a close relative, for reasons I may one day turn into an amusing short story. So it did need a clean.

So when this great grinding smash of a crash happened, I assumed a glass shelf had hit the floor. Forgetting that all the shelves had been gingerly returned to their rightful place at least ten minutes before. A rather stupid conclusion, bearing in mind the fact that the crashing sound had been accompanied by extremely loud Eastern European versions of ‘oh FUCK!’

Then I realised there was a hole in the ceiling, and most of the hole was deposited at my feet. Four anxious Eastern European eyes bulged through the gap above my head, attached vaguely to cartoon-style faces, each absurdly like Desperate Dan from the Dandy, drawn on stubble included.

I looked up. I looked down. I computed. I concluded. ‘You!’ I yelled, with all the power my drama-trained teacher-voice could muster, ‘come down here! Right away!’

The contractors working for the flat upstairs are a ragged bunch. For some crazy reason my upstairs neighbour has employed the same batch of incompetent clowns to deal with her water damage as had failed to fix the roof, charged for it, and refused to come back and fix it when gallons of moisture entered all the flats in this Edwardian house. Along with the statutory mould, damp and misery. We had to hire proper roofers to do the job. And now here the roof-buggerers were, ‘repairing’ the damp in the flat above me.

So here they stand sheepishly, in my kitchen, East European Desperate Dan and Co, staring up, down, up, down and attempting to draw some conclusions. ‘I sorry,’ DD number 1 said, ‘I drop and fall through floor.’

‘You nearly killed me!’ My teacher voice bellowed. ‘You see? I was standing right here!’

Incomprehension. Further apologies. Promises to fix.

So now, I’m faced with the dilemma: God or god?

Background: V has recently had terrible life traumas. Finding me dead and bloody on my kitchen floor is not on his menu of life-enhancing experiences.

Mind you, it’s certainly not on my list of life-enhancing experiences either.

I’m thinking about all the millions of people who, after terrible life-threatening events, say ‘God (or the Gods) saved me’, or ‘prayer saved me’. Also I’m thinking about the millions who went into death or horrible injuries with prayers on their lips. As the plane plunged to the ground. Or the Tsunami approached. Or Cancer eroded their (or their loved one’s) lives.

Death or horrible injury didn’t happen to me, this time. Thank God. Or god.

As you probably know, I have often said this: ‘God’ is a very convenient metaphor for the hugely complex interactions of action/reaction since the beginning (or invention???) of Time. Before the 4 billion years of Earth, before the invention of Time, there was infinity. After the invention of time there is infinity. During time, there is infinity. So time is a convenient invention, as is ‘God’ to explain the whole shebang, when it’s all just Newton’s Third Law. Or Karma, as the East says. So it is quite correct to say ‘God made us’, and many of the banal sayings in the religious books, taking ‘God’ as a metaphor, are therefore correct. What makes me chortle is when the metaphor is taken too far and ‘God’ is anthropomorphised – given thoughts, a voice, intention, and even a human face. A being, who listens to prayers. And then that engenders a great deal of delightful fiction which is used to terrify people and screw money out of them.

How tempting to say ‘God saved me’ – and V!

BUT. If the analysis above is right (and I have no idea if it is- but it’s as good a theory as the anthropomorphised ‘God’) `- I prefer to use the lower case g to refer to the substance behind the metaphor.

Which is right? I reserve my judgement until either a great voice, a thunderbolt, or a telegram emerges from the Great Unknown and says, ‘Jon! You’re an asshole!’

I love you all.

Note to ‘God’ just in case: Listen here daddy, I’ve always been nice and good and helpful and if there is ‘heaven’ and ‘hell’ and I’m denied one or the other just because I didn’t join the right brand, just pop me in ‘hell’. I’d hate to be in a ‘heaven’ which only admitted one brand.

To my New York Cousin

Dear Cuz

I haven’t forgotten you though I’m considering forgetting everything else.

How are you? In this biodegrading world? At least you lot have had a respite from the collapse of western civilisation. I wish you a deep ‘phew!’ Don’t ‘phew too loud, someone might hear. Even Mudrock! Who lives only a few blocks from you in Manhattan. If he were to hear any ‘liberal’ sighs of relief he would dump Trump, call him Humpty Trumpy and put all his evil machinations to the service of De Santis.

Too late! He has! MNM> (for the elderly amongst us that stands for Make No Mistake and is not to be confused with MSM, which is what the Rabid Right call an illusory monster which seems determined to unveil all their dirty secrets. They’re terrified of it.) De Santis is a real threat to democracy and the world. While Trump is merely a deluded narcissistic clown with too many penises, Ron is One Big Dick. And remember how critical the Name Game is. ‘Trump’ means, something or someone determined to beat everyone to prove his superiority. Whereas De Santis means Of the Saints. Shiver in thy boots oh world! A creature who thinks he is beloved of ‘God’. Who thinks he is capable of miracles! Whose mission is to ‘save mankind’.

We, on the other hand, are juggling with Prime Minsters. There seems to be a factory producing defective humans specially designed for this purpose. What monsters they make! The Truss was the funniest: made out of  spare parts left by Maggie Thatcher, operated by a defective clockwork mechanism, with a teddy- bear voice box programmed with only three words, all of them ‘growth’

The latest one is rather diminutive and has aspects  of Ken, you know, Barbie’s boyfriend. In an attempt to persuade the public that this one is indeed human, he has been fitted with the CPU of an Amstrad computer of the early 80’s, programmed by Hayek, after he died.

Meanwhile the Extinction Event continues to ramp up. World leaders leave their massive carbon footprint all over Sharm el Sheik, jet trails from their private jets smothering the sky. And the hysterical voices of the Rabid Right continue their rants worldwide as their plans for world domination wax and wane, wax and wane.

I’m off to wax Wayne! Have a lovely birthday!

DOGGEREL OF THE WEEK

Hey diddle diddle 

The Cons on the fiddle

Day by day it’s the same!

Tweets full of dribble

Lies in each syllable

Shifting the blame!

Cons in a muddle

Trying to befuddle

Playing the silly blame game

One thing’s for sure

There’s only one cure

Shout!

Out Tories! Out! Out! OUT!

…and become, once again, THEM!

By ‘America’ I mean the USA. Much of the rest of the Americas teeter between Us and Them. Brazil, which has been Them for a long time, may in a fragile way, have made its first attempt to become part of Us. Canada, up there  in the top half of the North, still clings to its its Usness, like a faded battered lighthouse continually washed by the thudding of tsunamis rolling in from  its south. 

But oh dear, USA! That once Horn of Plenty has turned into the box in which Schrodinger’s cat may be alive or dead.

Once, we basked in Americana. Zoot suits. Levi’s, Coca Cola, porn, Allan Ginsberg, Marvel Comics, Kennedy and Obama. All built on the glorious principles of freedom of speech, the excellent values enshrined in the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution. The theory being allow every plant to grow and weeds will have nowhere  to go.

The weeds have always been there. With roots in the religious zealots who fled Europe in the 17th Century and after, with their bigotry and allegiance to ancient mores – as well as belief in  truth and ‘freedom’ within the constraints of their antique Book. Such a mixed blessing. Flowers, and weeds.

It may be inevitable that one day the weeds will win. In 2016 a particularly poisonous weed, Donald Trump, did indeed win the Presidency despite having won a minority of the votes of the people. The absurd Electoral College system, whereby states, whatever their populations, each have an equal vote ensured his victory. Thank goodness Trump turned out to be so noxious and incompetent, the next election saw an extreme senior, so senior that his outlines are becoming blurred, a sweetheart with a great heart and a deeply ingrained love of liberal democracy, into the Presidency. At least he is one of Us. It was a case of Anybody But Trump.

And in the new world of the Senior senior, the weeds grew and grew. 

Like the Weimar Republic post WWI, the baddies had been defeated but the seeds of the weeds planted by Keiser Trump with his Big Lie spread everywhere. They flourished in the Supreme Court, planted by the Liar-in chief. They snuck into many of the offices of the land, with bags of lies and sweeties for the kids.

It is the Right  Wing Narcissist’s playbook to always accuse the Opposition  of exactly what ails himself. They use the word ‘groomer’, to imply that all Democrats are pedophiles and only they can save ‘America’ from moral destruction.

Yet they are the groomers. I am not saying  they are pedophiles – a pedo can be of any political persuasion, and I’m sure their politics are of no consequence. What is of consequence is their preying on children, which is ghastly. And so, anyone accused of being a ‘groomer’ is seen as dark disgusting and dangerous.

Well, the Rabid Right is dark, disgusting and dangerous. Like weeds they  spread their poison wherever they can get it  in. They are certainly in schools, in every town council, in the Senate and Congress. They are attempting to groom the Nation. Not sexually: they are grooming the Nation to believe that only Fascism can save them from pedophiles, trans people, gays and a shadowy cabal they call the Deep State.

Behind them the lunatics of QAnon, the false Christian Evangelicals, the Rabid Right – racists, xenophobes, homophobes, Transphobes, Nazis, fascists, Bad People…and the innocents whose capacity for logic has been shut down by brilliant sophistry and twisting of the truth. Every  phobe in  the book. A panoply of Hatred.

Democracy cannot flourish when choked by weeds. 

America, have you left us?