Today is a good day...

Dolly hasn't got cancer, Lisa's due a promotion and I've shifted some baggage. My brother's new book God Of Clocks has arrived and its increadible. I'm working on a new book at the moment too and the sun is shining... Oh and at long last I have a brand new electric cigarette, which is actually working. It may just be my Karma rebate has finally arrived...

Some days weigh more than others

Today weighs more than most. I don't mind a little exercise but my shoulders aren't what they used to be... Some one very wise once told me it doesn't matter how deep the water gets as long as you're on top... Well today I am not on top and the waters very deep...

Call the coast guard I may well need them today. Wish me luck!

Proof Reading... Check!

So firstly some news on the book. I'm having it professionally edited/proof read at the moment... Today I received this message...

"Hiya, proofreading of the book is going swimmingly although it took me an hour to work out where the new Word keeps its page number and cover page formatting thingy, darned new software! But all looking good & 'tis rather a corking read if I may say so. :) Nicely done!!"

So basically I am in an excellent mood today...

Slightly nervous...

Got to be honest. I am not easily frightened, except in cars but that's another story. However... Each year arround this time my loving friends spend far too much time making up new and interesting ways to publicly humilate me. In the past this has invovled revealing speeches, strippers and my own personal favourite the five semi naked firemen. Yeah they went there...

Tonight the joy of facebook, or as I like to call it life wrecker, has revealed a fragment of what may well be their darkest design to date. Am now actually considering bolting my door. It may well take an angry torch bearing, pitchfork weilding mob to oust me.

Wish me luck, god knows tonight I may really need it...

in the event of fire? or... in the vent of ire?

So you want to know which apparently....

Mmmm? depends on my mood to be honest...

Today is a strange day. I woke to discover I'd stolen someone's phone, purely by accident I assure you. I am so hungover I can't even begin to trawl through it looking for Paris Hilton's number.

Anyway I have arrranged a KGBesque drop off and have demanded coca cola as my reward.

My ex girlfriend Rosi called, who dumped me on valentines day, somewhere on the M25. We're speaking again now which is nice and brings the number of ex girlfriends I don't speak to down to a respectable one.

Appart ftom the phone, I have no horrid feeling of remorse about last night. Which is a good thing. There simply is nothing worse than awaking to the clanging chimes of doom. If i had a penny for every time I'd slapped my forehead after waking up, thinking what the hell did I do. I'd probably have enough for my own coca cola and march the offending nokia down to the nearest cash convertors and trade it for an XBOX....

I still have three days of mayhem to contend with. So my 'apologies in advance card' is valid till Sunday...

Anayway many thanks to every one who's read and reads my blog. I had a great birthday.

Be seeing you,

Neil D Campbell

ps. Am starting to like the D

My birthday blog post...

So.... I am another year older. Still none the wiser. I have decided not to post any more of The Tramp Steamer here until the fat cats at some publishing house cross my palms with silver...

I did recently rediscover my first attempt at a novel hiding on a three and half inch floppy. So as soon as I discover a computer still able to retrieve the archaic files I'll stick it up here... It's called Once Was King and is a factious biograghy... I think there's about 32000 words or so....

Anyway I now plan to spend the next few days in blissful oblivion...

Oh and in typical prolific and optimistic style I am already on to chapter three of The Tramp Steamer's sequel....

If in the coming days I offend anyone... My apologies in advance...

Kind regards,

Neil D Campbell

So only another 60 chapters to post and I can basically put my book up here...

Chapter 3

"To Samson and The Western Dream!" Captain Grey announced. "A fine captain and a finer friend." He added and held up a glass.

The new crew all returned Grey's toast. They sat at the huge mahogany table in the rear of the wheelhouse. Lochlann took a moment to survey the charts adorning the walls, hoping for the briefest moment that they might return with something to fill the obvious gap to the east

"I took the liberty of investigating the hull," the shimerall chirped in. Her voice had a strange metallic ring that gave the impression the creature was actually speaking from another room. "There's a bit of rust, a lot of barnacles and sabre eels nesting by the moon pool. They've taken up residence on the submersible's mooring lines. Wretched beasts,” she spat as she spoke.

“It wouldn't be so bad if you actually had any submersibles. I recommend strongly everyone stays well away from the moon dock. They have fine eyes and would most certainly strike anyone careless enough to wander in to their reach." The mermaid's report brought silence to the meeting.

Sabre Eels were prolific killers and would take anyone unfortunate enough to go overboard in seconds, not to mention anyone unlucky enough to wander too close to the moon pool. The ship's undersea dock was a pointless room now, the sub long gone to cover some debt.

"I can clean the barnacles and patch the rust," she went on, "but we'll need to shift those eels and I can't do that alone."

Lochlann looked round the table at his ragged crew. The bravado had gone from the peacocks. Despite Laila's lithe body, cruel scar and cutlass, she was no use in the water.

"Old Getty's got a clockwork sub, he denies it but I seen it once. I'll bring him some rum and a hand of cards, he'll give me a turn I'm sure. We'll clean them nasty snakes off the boat or I'll sink it. Either way better than sitting here." Albert, the old sea salt had spoken about the voyage with interest for pretty much the first time since he'd drunkenly hollered his loyalty back at the rostrum.

Lochlann was somewhat relieved having pretty much decided the old bluff was as useful as a net hull.

Departure was set for four days time on the twenty forth of Middle Springtide, Saviours Day which traditionally guaranteed all sailors safe passage. The meeting over, the small crew of the old steamer bid each other good night and made their way to their cabins. Only Albert lingered in the wheelhouse. He measured his bottle with calloused fingers, sighed disappointedly and drew a fresh bottle from the depths of his oilskins. He hard work to do tonight and thirsty work at that.

“Fives! Again?” Exclaimed Getty. “There's a devil in you Albert Grim. I swear to it.” The old man felt like a fool but he'd enjoyed the company. Without any reluctance he handed Albert an ornate pewter key. Their game over Albert thanked his host, packed away the cards and tidied up the last of his glass.

“You sink her... you bought her.” Getty shouted at the door after the departing sea dog.
“If I sink her. I'll have bought my ticket for the long journey old friend.” Albert replied closing the door with as much care as his drunken limbs would allow.

He walked from Getty's shack on the far edge of Havant's Western Beach. Stumbling over the shingle, crashing into the eroded groynes. He had counted them wrong three times now. Eventually during a moment of sobriety, brought on by a mouthful of cold salt air, he found the right one and then eventually the tiny bollard.

It was low tide and nearly dawn. His old, yet, sharp eyes could just make out the brass wheel just below the waterline. He stumbled over the mooring rope and fell head first into the bitter water. He emerged a moment later shivering but in hysterics.

“I do believe.” He said to no one “I may be drunk.” His brief swim had sobered him alarmingly and he managed to haul himself out of the water with ease. Albert Grim sat there for a moment on the cold stone groyne, tugged a brown bottle from somewhere in his oil skin and took a long swig.

It took him twenty minutes to drag the sub to the water line. Her ballast had been set to keep her under. Out of the gaze of thieving eyes or worse yet joyriders. He'd managed to winch the little iron sub just high enough to reach her valves. As carefully as he could, he reached out at arms length and tried to get purchase on her release cog. It took him a few goes but soon enough his hand found the stiff little tap and he twisted it with all his might.

The sea around the submarine wobbled like an underground spring and she bobbed to the surface like an apple. Albert untied her lines and climbed aboard. He somehow managed to keep his balance probably aided by, if anything, his drunken state. The Submersible was in a shameful state. She was the colour of the brown pebbles below her and beaten and warped in a dozen places. Albert wondered how the thing was able to float at all then paused to consider his old friend Getty and his rust barge. The council had condemned the thing every year for the last ten. Yet Old Getty had always ignored them and had continued to sail the derelict out into open waters twice a week.

“If you'll do for Old Getty.” Albert grim whispered to the little tub. “You'll do for me.” He patted the iron hatch as if he were petting a dog. The pewter key fit the lock on the subs hatch easily enough but it took him ten minutes to get the bloody thing to turn. Eventually though the lock clicked open and he released her hatch. Her name plate was barely visible but he traced with calloused hands what he could not read. Elizabeth Harvey, the name struck a chord with Albert Grim. So he thought to himself that's why you hide her! You named it after your lost love.

He just managed to squeeze his portly form through the tiny hatch and sealed himself in. He'd piloted a sub only once before and was no expert. The old girl groaned and creaked in a moody manner as he kicked her clockwork motor into gear. He kept her on the surface for the majority of the voyage into port. Anxious not to lose his way in the open water. Once he'd reached the port Albert adjusted her ballast valves and the little boat began to descend. She hissed and groaned like a steam fair wheel as the pressure shifted. Slowly the craft began to descend into the deep.

Jumpy already, his heart leapt when he heard the tap on her fore porthole. He relaxed a little at the sight of the shimerall who had evidently decided to join in the hunt. He watched in awe at the graceful way the creature glided through the water. By the time they reached the hull of The Western Dream Albert had come to terms with most of the controls. The Elizabeth Harvey had no torpedoes but she did boast a pretty decent harpoon. Abert fiddled a bit with it's corroded mechanism and discovered he could reload it from inside the vessel. He rummaged around the boat and discovered eight usable spears and a dozen others rusted and bent beyond repair. He also found a pocket watch, a horde of empty rum bottles and a diary. He thumbed the leather book for a moment then set it back where he had found it. No old friend, he thought, whatever pain you saved in these pages is not my right to know.

He had made good time and within half an hour he caught sight of his prey. Lord of the Deep, he thought, they're monsters. The first eel he saw, hung by its tail from a berthing hook in the moon pool. Two others lazily clung to the ships anchor line. The one by the moon pool was immense. A full forty feet from tail to terrifying maw. At its widest the beast was as deep as a rowing boat. The serpent's were attracted to light. Their source of amusement seemed to be the moon pool itself, from which there was a constant low illumination like a skylight at dusk.

“Damn the bloody sea, all we had to do was turn the bloody gas lamps off.” Albert cursed to himself. The shimerall tapped the porthole once more and motioned below. She would go no further. Albert nodded understanding her concern. He nudged a another lever and the ship began to creep forward.

The sub's engine seemed to dull a fraction. Silently Albert cursed Old Getty for its lack of maintenance. Just like Old Getty to lend him a sub with a half wound motor. He prayed the boat would make it back to shore if he survived the coming encounter.

Albert pulse began to quicken. It wouldn't be long before the sub's own spotlight became more appealing than the slight radiance of the moon pool. He had to get a good shot in before that happened or the Eels would begin to take too keen an interest in his boat. He'd loaded a harpoon and cranked the clockwork firing mechanism as much as he was able. Slowly he took aim. He knew he had to get a fair shot at the head of the beast. The short barbed spears would do little but anger the sea snakes if he hit them anywhere else. An angry sabre eel would be more than a match for the beaten Elizabeth Harvey.

Albert Grim fought the rum back and desperately tried to focus. For what seemed like forever he sighted his target. Sweating uncontrollably, unable to breath, suddenly he was more aware than he had ever been of his mortality. He flinched and fired his first shot.

KLANG! It had gone wide by yards and bounced loudly and harmlessly off the hull of his new home. Bugger! He thought. Fortunately if the lazy serpent had even registered the shot, it didn't react. Sweating now Albert Grim reloaded and rewound the gun. He compensated for the horrific inaccuracy of the weapon and fired again. His heart stopped the silence of the sea was the only thing he could hear as the missile raced toward its target.

A direct hit, he'd skewered the eel through the mouth. It writhed and spat, even from his position, some ten yards away, the old man could see the creatures horrible foot long fangs. The other two serpents and then a third that he hadn't noticed, struck with lightning speed, fuelled by the sweet scent of blood. Wounded and writhing in agony, the largest of the four was defenceless as its companions gorged upon its bloody flesh, tearing it to pieces with their vile teeth.

He fired twice more. Albert scored another two hits on the second largest of the beasts. They were torso shots but still mortal wounds to the lesser beast. The two smaller serpents evidently thought better of their plight. Before Albert could blink they had departed into the deep.

It was only then Albert realised how lucky he had been. The barbed spears he had thrown which such abandonment were tethered to his ship by steel wire cable. Had he struck his first quarry anywhere but the head. Albert would certainly have spent his last minutes fighting for air as the beast dragged him to the abyss.

He wondered for a second whether the sub would have enough power even to surface. Particularly now he was dragging nearly a hundred feet of sea serpents.

Fortunately she had and minutes later Albert Grim returned to daylight smiling, successful and frankly still drunk.