Prompted by a telephone call on the landline recently, my mind took off down a rabbit hole, me racing after in in the hope of catching it quickly and getting back to more mundane musings.

You can read this and other blogs on www.jimclarken.ie 

Instead of reading my blog as I usually would, I am reading the first chapter of my novel Toxic Love which has just been published on Amazon as a paperback and on Kindle. 

An Irish, Indian Summer, brought Jim Clarken out into the light of day where Blackberry bushes caught his eye and brought on  memories and reflection of hunting down berries as a child. You can read this and other blogs on www.jimclarken.ie

When Ireland’s national broadcaster promotes Bloom’s Day (The 16th of June) with a reading from a very famous scene in the book, it awakens the critic in my 93-year-old mother. As a result, I find myself contemplating commodes and my grandmother’s use of them. This leads back to Molly Bloom’s famous potty scene. You have been warned. You can read this and other blogs on www.jimclarken.ie

Jim Clarken reflects on his mother’s gambling habit, does the maths, and realizes that her Fish & Tip Man, not only has the freshest fish in town, but he also has the best tips. 

Jim Clarken reflects on the difficulty of recording a podcast in an airing cupboard and on overcoming his fear of public reading while being chased by the ghosts of teachers past. 

Jim Clarken reflects on Nom De Plumes and how so many of them are forced on the writer. To have or not to have one, that is the question bothering him in this reading from his blog, as he faces into the publication of his first crime novel. Satisfied with his surname, he wonders which of his middle names would have the most shelf appeal for fans of crime fiction.

 When my mother said jump, I should have been more careful about answering. As it was, I said yes without thinking, and soon found a parachute tied to my back.

I got through Covid without incident. It was well after my first booster shot before the dreaded illness struck. It could have chosen a better time to strike, a day when my mother did not need to be taxied to A&E. You can read this and other blogs on www.jimclarken.ie

When I heard the colour name ‘Spanked Bottom,’ I felt that the days of subtext were well and truly over in the world of marketing. But mostly I was saddened that any colour could be so muddied by such a name. Rosy cheeks would be an equally valid, without even a whiff of brimstone attached to it. Read this and other blogs on www.jimclarken.ie