Monthly Archives: May 2014

…if yeez can write like a child tells a story, yeez are on to sum’thing… #TBSU…

…regular supporters of this blog will know this ol’ Jurassic spends most early mornings writing in the lobby of the Jumeirah at Etihad Towers Hotel… it’s next door to where I live in Abu Dhabi… but there’s more attraction to my ‘writing den’ than just its proximity… the lobby is a fascinating place to watch and listen to people… and learn stuff… today was no exception… near the table where my laptop perches, a young Arabic family sat on a lounge settee… the daughter, who must be all of at least three years old, and smitten by the ‘can’t-sit-still-for-more-than-twelve-seconds’ virus rotated around her parents and older brother (an ancient lad of prob’ly five or six years vintage)… then, oh, the pleasure of it… she began to tell him a story… it matters not a jot the content of her tale… the beauty was, he was totally focused on her telling of it… and so was I… in the way that only a child seems to possess, a matter-of-fact series of statements became a saga… each elevation of the story was punctuated by a pause, the voice became a little louder, and the clincher, the bits in between her thought process and delivery,  where she says … ‘and..and..and…’ while her eyes grew wider and wider… then almost shrieked the punchlines… all the technique of the natural storyteller imbedded in one little child… sum’where along the way, I think most of yeez Lads and Lassies of Blog Land also have that in yer genes… the ability to build the expectation levels in the formation of the plot lines… to hold the reader or audience entranced with the ‘business’ of raconteurment… and the evident joy and delight the wee girl showed in getting to the end of her tale, well, we know what that feels like, right?… it was a great nudge to me and a reminder that the best stories often just go ‘free flow’ where yer imagination takes yeez… I’m just wond’ring if her parents would let her co-write for me?… just a thought … see yeez later… LUV YEEZ!



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Support an Author: Grab that Book You’ve Been Wanting ~ #saam14

…another sound piece of advice from Cate Russell-Cole 🙂

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…Georgie Best would have been 68 years old today… 22 May 1946 – 25 November 2005… the greatest football talent I’ve ever seen… R.I.P. …TBSU…

…I’ve shown this piece before, but on the man’s birthdate, I wanna run it again… with this year of the Football World Cup in Brazil, and much chatter about who’s the best player around, none of them consistently matches this man… the finest footballer of his own and possibly any generation, that I’ve ever had the delight to watch… Georgie Best

George Best


…simply the BEST…

…it’s not just because I’m a Manchester United nut…(I was born six years later in the same street in Govan, Glasgow as Sir Alex Ferguson)…fifty years ago, as lads in the school play-grounds, and on the dirt pitches around Glasgow, we played a different sort of football from the modern stuff currently served up on the television screens every weekend…no fancy coaching…up to twenty-a-side street teams versus neighbouring street teams…a tennis ball or rubber ball no bigger than a cricket ball (whatever that was) served the purpose, until the cheaper Mouldmaster real-football-sized versions became accessible…I often wonder if the pedigree athletes swanning around on the deck every TV match I watch are capable of using the ball for more than a one-touch pass…’dribbling’ we called it back then…and tackling wasn’t a dirty word…no less so ‘shoulder-charging’, including the goalies, most of whom, by the way, could look after themselves very well physically, thank you very much…little wonder, when I worked in London (as a Scot, I told them I was there as a missionary) that I look back on the few occasions I had the chance to watch LIVE, the great Georgie Best, and realize just how good the man was…at one match at Crystal Palace (yes, they did populate the top flight at one time before now…), the pitch was doing a passable imitation of a mud-bath obstacle course …remember the balls back then were heavier beasties than the featherweight ping-pong balls they seem to smack 1,000 yards nowadays… it didn’t matter that there were ten other United players on the field that day… George swiveled and turned the whole ninety minutes …the old cliché is that with one body swerve he could send the entire crowd the wrong way… be that as it may, what I saw him do all day that day will live in my mind forever …he may have played in grander matches and scored umpteen goals, captured in reels elsewhere… amid the mud and desperate lunging tackles, he danced away every time, as if the ball was part of his toes… and we, we of a certain age, ballet-danced through the mire with him… back on the play-grounds, scoring through the piled jackets of goal posts in countless open-scrub yards in cities up and down the country… I’m a grown man, supposedly a hard product of the docklands in Govan, but the day Georgie Best died, I sobbed my guts out… the world had lost an icon… one of the finest, if not the finest, exponents of the beautiful game… his back story and struggles are well recorded and I’ll let others dwell on that… but for me, the most magical player I’ve ever seen play live… simply the Best…


Seumas Gallacher

Abu Dhabi

April 8th, 2013




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…as Abu Dhabi MacYoda, enter now I must… #TBSU…

… I s’pose it was gonna always be difficult to keep it under wraps… my dear pal Eric Gates, he of the Martial Arts skills (so don’t p*ss him off, whatever yeez do), learned that the next Star Wars movie is to be filmed right here in sunny Abu Dhabi… the resourceful Master Gates, used some of his ‘persuasive’ techniques, I have no doubt, to land me the amended role of Abu Dhabi MacYoda… the first promotional photographs of which now revealed can be… one with the ‘normal’ light sabre… the second with the MacSabre in tartan (of course, be it must)…here in all my majesty, I am… Sean Connery, yer heart out eat…. voila: …later, yeez see, I will…


Abu Dhabi Yoda



.Abu Dhabi Yoda with the Force


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…there is no price tag on courage… Tiananmen Square remembered…#TBSU…

Tank man

…the unnamed man who stood in front of the tanks on June 4th, 1989 in Tiananmen Square, Beijing, armed with nothing but a couple of plastic bags… his fate is unknown…

…this ol’ Jurassic has absolutely no desire to get enmeshed in politics of any colour… controversy and complexity have attended much of my activities over the years in business and in underdeveloped societies, where it’s almost impossible not to rail against the injustices and impoverishment of people who find it difficult to fight and voice for themselves… none of that is allowed to invade this blog... a decision I made from the outset when determining the style and ethos of what I scribble here… so, this particular post is NOT intended as a statement of anything other than to wonder at the courage shown by a mass of students 25 years ago on June 4th, 1989 in Tiananmen Square in Beijing, the capital of China… and hopefully as some sort of memorial piece for those souls who perished that day… I’m writing this now exactly two weeks before the 25th anniversary of the massacre, and will Re-Tweet it daily until then… I was living in Hong Kong and married at the time to a Chinese girl, whose own parents had fled to the then-British-held conclave to escape the notorious ‘clearances’ in Shanghai many years before in 1949, in which many of the middle class population just ‘disappeared’… we watched, horrified, on live television the scenes unfold as the students took on the might of the army tanks and troops… and I witnessed my wife’s terror as she fell apart watching what she considered a rerun of the Shanghai events… I wrote a poem that night, dashed down in one shot, which the next day I sent to the local English-language newspaper, The South China Morning Post… they ran it with a black border around it… I post it here without any further comment… LUV YEEZ!



The chill of death came swiftly

To the flowers of youth that morn

But the seed will last forever

From the slaughter, hope is born.


A world watched in horror

As their lifeblood flowed that day

The memories of courage

Will never fade away.


Soldiers, tanks and bullets

Cannot eclipse their roles

They may burn the students’ bodies

But they cannot destroy their souls.


Their voices now are silent

But will echo from the grave

To taunt at Man’s own madness

For those whom power crave.


In tears of grief and sorrow

For now, we share the pain

But please, let us remember,

‘Let them not have died in vain’.




June, 1989




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25 Ways to Help Self-Published Authors

Re-blogged from The Storyreading Ape

25 Ways to Help Self-Published Authors.


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…Authors, beware the shiny Mirror, Mirror on the Wall Syndrome… #TBSU…

…there’s only ever been two people that I really would like to have been rather than myself… the first was Sir Winston Leonard Spencer Churchill, my first and everlasting lifelong hero… that switch of character desire vanished when the great man died in 1965, when I was in my teens… it’s not much fun being a dead bloke… the other wannabe-sumb’dy-else phase happened when my other hero arrived on the scene… the comedic God, Billy Connolly… granted, for the initial period of doting on his humour I was more or less constantly in the addictive grasp of chronic Booze-ism…. (I’ve long-since abandoned the pursuit of a premature termination by keeping a wary distance from the electric soup and its various liquid cousins, but that’s a story for another day)… I’m now content to let Master Connolly purvey his craft without any need for me to switch places with him… so the full circle has been taken, and for good or otherwise, I’m left with….me… the thought pleases me… but here’s why I’m trundling on about this today… I’ve picked up on several of yeez Lads and Lassies of Blog Land out there who profess an objective of writing like sumb’dy else… it’s astonishing how these kinda topics come in herds… one week, it’s stuff lamenting a paucity of sales figures… the next it’s competing in polls for this, that, and the other scribblers competitions… this wee while back, it’s been all about wannabe write-alikes to that wee Rowling lassie, or the Jimmy Patterson fella, or some such other ‘famous’ quill-scraper… now, to have the desire to be great novelists is terrific… but not as a surrogate for sumb’dy else… my tuppence worth is this… stop it right now!…cut it out!…  desist!… be yourselves!... write yer own stuff, and if it’s good enuff, the WURLD will beat it’s path to yer door (or not… it is a fickle planet)… daft Scots Author’s mild rant over… get back about yer business, folks, NUTHIN to see here… catch yeez later… LUV YEEZ!




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