The View From The Cab.

Voting On Your Feet. Years ago in the working man’s parts of London, there were a profusion of eateries with the common name of..Pie and Mash. They were all independent but shared the same taste in design, being usually bright green and white tiled with long settled seating and a daily scrubbed shared table. You would, through a sense of well-being, take your own cutlery! The name outside the establishments aptly advertised their wares, namely a pastry pie and mashed potato’s which usually came with something called Liqueur. The pies contained a substance called Meat leaving the consumer to decide exactly where that Meat derived from, and from what kind of animal. The Mash was normally lumpy with the eyes of the potato’s left in, not only as a source a roughage but also as a sense of entertainment as you watched the black slimy things float around, looking back at you. The Liqueur was either a greenish-yellow or as a yellowish-green. It depended, I believe, on just how much Iodine was available that day! I myself partook in this pleasure on more than a few times, and obviously lived through them, although on several mornings, after such fare, wondered if I would. Sadly for those growing up, after me, in those densely occupied parts of this great Capital, the working man chose not to visit these places as often, when they were replaced by more Finer restaurants, such as Wimpy bars and then later McDonalds. The evolution towards today’s pretty food was unstoppable and by now you are wishing that it never started, and you too could have sampled my own experience, aren’t you. Fear not, help is at hand. I saw a popular chić bursting at the seams restaurant today in that most reserved part of town, the City no less, where once again I saw the..Pie and Mash sign proudly presented. This time, however, I saw no bland mention of that collective common noun Meat, nor did I see any dubious Liqueur. One thing though I most certainly did see of a positive nature. To the sign above the door had been added the following script..Purveyors of Fine Mash … The eyes no longer have it. http://www-thedesolategarden-com.co.uk/

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About Danny Kemp

I was at work one sunny November day in 2006, stopped at a red traffic light when a van, driven incompetently, smashed into me. I was taken to St Thomas' Hospital and kept in for a while, but it was not only the physical injuries that I suffered from; it was also mental ones. I had lost confidence in myself let alone those around me. The experts said that I had post-traumatic stress disorder, which I thought only the military or emergency personnel suffered from. On good days, I attempted to go to work, sometimes I even made it through Blackwell Tunnel only to hear, or see, something that made me jump out of my skin and that's when the anxiety attacks would start. I told my wife that I was okay and going regularly, but I wasn't. I could not cope with life and thought about ending it. Somehow or other with the help of my wife and medical professionals, I managed to survive and ever so slowly rebuild my self-esteem. It took almost four years to fully recover, but it was during those dark depressive days that I began to write. My very first story, Look Both Ways, Then Look Behind, found a literary agent but not a publisher. He told me that I had a talent, raw, but nevertheless, it was there. His advice was to write another story and that I'm delighted to say, I did. The success of that debut novel, The Desolate Garden, was down to sheer hard work, luck, and of course, meeting a film producer.
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