Thursday 27 December 2012

Valentines Day is just around the corner...




Oh, how swift the moment changes. We bade farewell to our eldest daughter and the grand-children after a twenty-four hour stay at Greenfield Acres and a quick visit to our little vintage store to check out the new floor. The white Christmas tree was still glistening at the apex of the hall of mirrors and a few lucky dips still dangled from the foil branches. Not for long though - Ruby and Amelie stripped the branches in no time at all and strode around the upper floor in lucky dip finery before giving Grampy Greenfield a farewell peck or two.

Christmas over, my thoughts turn to St Valentine. I came across the heart shaped mirror screen a couple of days ago and my mind turned to visions of love. Six weeks away. That's all! And with Saint V comes the first inklings of spring. I love the spring.

I promised Mrs G our first trip to Venice in the spring. Remind me when the time comes all of you...

I won't need reminding...

The shop tree will disappear before twelfth night, but the one at home will stay until the very last moment. And the mistletoe still works...

I'm turning in for the night now. Non stop shop and then the seasonal celebrations have fnally floored me. We have our little break in Wales coming up - and then on into the newest of years...

I'll just give that heart-shaped mirror a little polish...

Goodnight all!


Saturday 22 December 2012

Love, Peace and Harmony from Mister G.

Listen to 'A Shropshire Lad'

It looks as though we survived the whole end of the world thing. Here at Greenfield Acres life goes on as crazily as it ever has.

The little vintage shop we own doubled in size on the twelfth of the twelfth of the twelfth at 12:12...and we survived the upheaval that caused and the buzz is out. We've already supplied seasonal gifts for some of the local authors our part of the world seems to breed. Of course I couldn't possibly mention any names, but just think equestrianism and sex and you'll be in the right ball park.

Mrs G and I are exhausted, but there is a short break on the horizon. We're off to our favourite little Pembrokeshire hidey hole. Nestling on the cliffs above Amroth with expansive views of the Atlantic Ocean. I threatened the kids that I'm taking part in the New Year's Day swim... (I already went skinny dipping in October...) but it's not happening - we just like to wind them up. They should left home years ago, so they deserve a scare from time to time.

My book, Slow Poison, is picking up some good reads. The story is set at this time of year and is well worth checking out. (Here's a link to a free sample read: Slow Poison Sampler )

You'll have noticed another link at the top of this blog. It's a link to a favourite track of mine from David Ireland. A gentle little protest song of sorts called 'A Shropshire Lad'. Well worth a listen. Listen to 'A Shropshire Lad' 

A few more days of trading in the vintage store before we head to Wales to recharge the depleted batteries. I may have a chance to write a few more thoughts before the end of the year. Let me take this opportunity to wish you all the very best for the season with a big helping of love and peace and harmony for good measure.

Happy Christmas, Cas


Wednesday 19 December 2012

Slow Poison; Casimir Greenfield's Perfect Winter Chiller!


Slow Poison; Casimir Greenfield's Perfect Winter Chiller!

Set in the snowbound Cotswolds, Slow Poison is a tale of vengeance, abduction and snow. Casimir Greenfield's debut novel paints a picture of English rural life seldom seen. Slow Poison will do for the countryside what Trainspotting did for the town.

Read a sample at the Amazon link Slow Poison Sample

Slow Poison Casimir Greenfield Cover 1000



Slow Poison is the debut novel of UK author Casimir Greenfield. Set in both Amsterdam and The Cotswolds, Slow Poison is a hard hitting, uncompromising look at the seedier side of life. Set in the mid 1980s, Slow Poison moves through several decades and draws in life on a Cotswold housing estate, Amsterdam and the holocaust together in an unprecedented way.

A reader comments; 'This is a good play on mistaken identity - the imprisonment of a youth for a shocking murder in Amsterdam when, it eventually transpires, the real murderer is another person who has an agenda of death to meet on others in vengeance for the mayhem he once experienced on a seedy Gloucestershire estate.
I was first attracted to this book because of the contrast between the beautiful Cotswolds, which I know quite well, and the brutality which, I had thought, irreconcilable with such a place.
Perhaps more interesting though, is that the killer is incited to commit his trail of murders by coming under the influence of a diary written about the WWII death camps and I do sometimes wonder whether, even today, society somewhere, in some country, might still be so fragile as to have failed to recognise when evil can creep back again.' Martin C (UK)

Slow Poison in a nutshell: Slow Poison opens in Amsterdam in the days around the feast of Saint Nicholas in December in the mid 1980’s.

The brutal slaying of a British tourist and the subsequent arrest and imprisonment of a young football supporter sparks off an orgy of violence. But the killing is no random act. The boy is innocent. The real killer returns to England to begin the final chapter of an obsessive campaign of revenge spanning several decades.

The twisted acts of violence and vengeance are punctuated by the pages of a stolen diary written in the dark days of the second world war. The killer identifies with the unspeakable horrors of the death camp as he coldly wreaks revenge for a series of traumatic events that took place in the mid 1950s on a Gloucestershire council estate.

The story culminates with an abduction and a bloody siege high in the snowbound Cotswold hills.

And nothing and no one is quite what they seem...

(This book contains very strong language and scenes of a sexual nature. )

Slow Poison is the first of three books set in and around The Cotswolds that we can expect from Greenfield. Bloodstones and Red House will both be released in 2013. For now, Slow Poison is set to become one of those chilling stories that, although not to everyone's taste, once read will not be forgotten.

Saturday 8 December 2012

12/12/12/12/12


12/12/12/12/12

Long days. Up at Five, bed at One.

Were refurbishing our little shop, opening a second floor and there is much to do. The new stairs have been hand built and installed. The ceiling has been tented with white canvas and the walls have been painted white. The wooden floor is jet black. Four blood red chandeliers to be hung and blood red rugs to be laid and we'll be open for the press and public on the most auspicious date we could have hoped for.

When pressed for an official opening time, there was of course one waiting.

So, we're opening at 12.12 on the twelfth or the twelfth of the twelfth.

The candle burning is mainly because we're doing all of this work on a shoestring budget and the shop has to be manned and open while it's all going on.

Plus, with the festive season upon us, we're now open seven days a week.

So, the shop is full of lovely customers. We have supplied a Christmas gift for one of The Cotswolds most successful writers (think sex and horses...) and the milliner to the stars was in yesterday too. And Mrs Hodges dropped by for a brooch. A young guy from the fish stall from the market was looking for a cloth cap. He's shaving his head for charity. (a friend has leukaemia and he's raising money to help him...) And a couple of our customers brought us gifts of wine and chocolate. It doesn't get better than that!

Think of us on the twelfth  It is the dawn of a new era. A time of bright hope for the little person. That would be nice. It's about bloody time!

If you want to have a peek - check the website after the big day. www.stroudvintage.com

We have a short break booked for the end of the year - the cottage in Pembrokeshire. There will be time to sleep then. But knowing us,, we'll be up and off and doing from morn till night. You're a long time dead!

And on that cheery note, adieu!


Image by Carl Hewlett courtesy of the SNJ


Wednesday 5 December 2012

Pushed To The Limit


Sometimes you've just got to know when to stop.

It's not always easy to know, not always easy to stop....but when those warning signs rear their ugly little heads (or whatever it is warning signs do) something has to give.

It was at the point that Mrs G tried to get out of the car while we were still moving that I realised that summat was up!

We have been revamping our little vintage shop and the stress and strain of trying to reach a suddenly unattainable deadline had started to get to us.

After a morning of sourcing canvas to tent a ceiling, project managing a herd of cats involved in stair fitting, floor painting and general refurb mayhem Mrs G and I were at breaking point.

The deadline is ours and ours alone. No one is waiting for that one specific day - so, this morning, at 5.25, we called a halt. Friday is out! 12 12 12 is in.

What a perfect and unique date to launch a new endeavour.

Calm...

Chilled...

ps: if you want to see how we got on, have a look at www.stroudvintage.com in a couple of days - there should be some very glamorous images to whet the appetite.

Saturday 1 December 2012

November Fades In A Foreign Place

I can't remember the last time I went on a holiday. As a self-employed freelancer, holidays are an intrusive luxury I simply can't afford.

Well, there were the four days in Pembrokeshire in mid-October. They would have been delightful, but when our twenty-something sons joined us twelve hours in, they brought with them all the chaos and debris that is usually the realm of teenagers. So that doesn't count.

So, the last real holiday was a week in Malta three years ago. Mrs G had lived there as a child and this was a significant trip. And through the tears and reminiscences we had a perfect time.

Then came last Thursday.

I had occasion to need my passport to verify something or other. Good lord, the photo still looked like me. I'm not growing any more hair, so that wasn't a problem. But the darn thing was thirteen months out of date!

So, a quick phone call to the passport office fixed up an interview for a full moon Friday...

Yesterday actually...

We motored along the far banks of the Severn, avoiding floods and traffic until we realised that the time was cracking on, so I really put my foot down.

Newport looked amazing in the crisp winter air. Amazing architecture, both ancient and modern and we reached our destination with one minute to spare.

I tumbled into the office, poured the contents of my pockets into the security man's bucket. Nothing much of note. Phone, small change, gum - that kind of thing. Then upstairs for the interview.

Just a waiting room with others waiting. No interview. Just handed the forms in when my number was called. Then the first hitch. My photos were too thin. The wrong shape. So into a handy photo booth in the corner of the waiting room to add five pounds to the Welsh economy.

Handed in the photos (which actually looked like me for once) paid the money and headed back down to find Mrs G and Coco The Wonder Dog who had elected to travel with us.

Happy in his crate, we found a multi-storey in the centre of town, took the lift and emerged into the town centre. Much building work wherever we looked.

Into the nearest pub. 'Are you dog friendly?' 'Nah - and you won''t find anywhere in the centre that is, either!' I looked around and thought, well, you let THAT lot in! Didn't voice it though. Part of his ear had been bitten off.

CTWD would be just fine crated and asleep. So we went off in search of Americanos. Crowded streets full of Christmas shoppers. An old bloke accosted us. 'Everywhere you go there's a bloody foreigner following you...'. I answered him in Dutch. 'You foreigners then?' 'We're English. Does that count?' Then I went on to point out that it's a big world and that really, we're all the same... Deaf ears. Probably a UKIP supporter. Great start.

Coffee and a giant chocolate chip cookie. Starbucks. Not my favourite. As always, messy tables and a bit of a smell. Purple plush seats though and a good view of the street.

Outside, a pretty girl in a white bobble hat, anorak and backpack smilingly approached the passers by. The silent rebuffs took on  myriad forms. In the twenty minutes we sat there, not one person stopped to listen. She had no clip board, no leaflets. We were intrigued. The smile remained, but no one stopped. What a thankless task.

Outside, Mrs G went her way and I thought I'd investigate Bobble Girl. She ignored me. The first willing victim and she ignored me. Ho hum...

Caught up with Mrs G and shopped.

Later, I made my solo way back to the car with some heavy bags and Bobble Girl approached me. At last! I'm not the Invisible Man... Greenpeace! Ah! I'm a supporter. She was all the way from Cheltenham. Had been in our shop. Thought I'd recognised her.

We chatted, the smile was genuine, we parted on the best of terms.

Then I bumped into old UKIP again. As xenophobic as ever. CTWD was happy to stay in the car, and I needed to get to the Passport Office. Four hours had flown (with a pleasant lunch in between) and I needed to locate the place. Took a hopeful short-cut down a back alley behind the dog unfriendly pub come nightclub.

I was dressed like a businessman; grey Lauren overcoat, Burbury scarf, olive green trilby...so I must have looked a little incongruous hauling the twelve yards of black chiffon covered with sequins out of the skip halfway down the alley. But I'm not going to let a length of chiffon go to waste. There was a black feather boa too, but it came out in pieces and that was a step too far. Must have been quite a hen night though. Or stag do - you know what rugby players are like!

So, my second trip to the Passport Office required me once more to empty my pockets. Same as before, but this time accompanied by twelve yards of glittery chiffon. I didn't have a bag, so there it was, a huge sticky bundle of dubious provenance. I know. I know. I must have looked a little odd.

I was past caring at this point.

Upstairs, waiting room, full, me in business garb with glittery bundle.

The passport was ready. I was more than ready to leave the country.

Mrs G was not at all surprised with the chiffon. We go back a long way. I can only imagine what old UKIP would have to say.

We roared out of town after paying through the nose for the parking and we headed for the Severn Bridge (free from the Welsh side) and England.

An hour later we were at a marquee manufacturers discussing false ceilings. Like you do. Then home for Cypriot potatoes and tuna.

coda;

When I was a boy, I heard of the 'World Passport'. I thought it was a wonderful idea. I loved the idea of border-less travel, of being a 'foreigner', of being vaguely exotic. But in the real world there are borders and squabbles and war and other nasty stuff.

But I did travel. I did become a foreigner. And briefly, there were no borders in Europe, no checks...then things changed a little.

But, for half of my life. I've always been an outsider. On the inside.

This week our town has a Goodwill Evening. The theme is 'Make Love, Not War!'. In my world, there is still hope. Peace and Love to you all.