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/

About Daniel Kemp

Daniel Kemp’s introduction to the world of espionage and mystery happened at an early age when his father was employed by the War Office in Whitehall, London, at the end of WWII. However, it wasn’t until after his father died that he showed any interest in anything other than himself! On leaving academia he took on many roles in his working life: a London police officer, mini-cab business owner, pub tenant and licensed London taxi driver, but never did he plan to become a writer. Nevertheless, after a road traffic accident left him suffering from PTSD and effectively—out of paid work for four years, he wrote and self-published his first novel —The Desolate Garden. Within three months of publication, that book was under a paid option to become a $30 million film. The option lasted for five years until distribution became an insurmountable problem for the production company. All seven of his novels are now published by Creativia with the seventh—The Widow’s Son, completing a three book series alongside: What Happened In Vienna, Jack? and Once I Was A Soldier. Under the Creativia publishing banner, The Desolate Garden went on to become a bestselling novel in World and Russian Literature in 2017. The following year, in May 2018, his book What Happened In Vienna, Jack? was a number one bestseller on four separate Amazon sites: America, UK, Canada, and Australia.  Although it's true to say that he mainly concentrates on what he knows most about; murders laced by the mystery involving spies, his diverse experience of life shows in the short stories he writes, namely: Why? A Complicated Love, and the intriguing story titled The Story That Had No Beginning. He is the recipient of rave reviews from a prestigious Manhattan publication and described as—the new Graham Green—by a highly placed employee of Waterstones Books, for whom he did a countrywide tour of book signing events. He has also appeared on 'live' television in the UK publicising that first novel of his. He continues to write novels, poetry and the occasional quote; this one is taken from the beginning of Once I Was A Soldier There is no morality to be found in evil. But to recognise that which is truly evil one must forget the rules of morality.
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