Saturday, 11 July 2015

The Switched by Ryan Bracha Book Review)

Violence, more violence, sex, sex with yourself, face masks made out of real faces, , MENstruation (get it?) , shit,…… tons more shit, serial killers, celebrities, drugs, an ENOURMOUS COCK, the owner of said cock riding it, Love, Hate, betrayal, candles being stuck up arses, , octogenarian sex and death by dildo, …..this is just a tiny glimpse of what this story holds.

The Switched is Ryan Bracha’s latest novel and in case you didn’t know it he is one of the most vibrant writers the UK has seen in years. He is funny as fuck and no doubt, deeply disturbed. He pulls no punches in his writing and this latest tale is his best yet.

The switched explodes (pun intended) into life right from the start and the relentless pace is continued throughout as we learn of how the lives of set of five main characters, Charles, Jake, Helen Francesca and Leonard are changed beyond belief when each of them (as the story unfolds) wakes up to discover they have swapped bodies with a complete stranger. Yes, you may have seen multiple shitty Disney type films with the same body swapping premise, but believe me the similarity stops there.

Bracha goes for the jugular from the outset. As with his other works, he doesn’t waste words for the sake of his art. Every page and chapter feels vital, exciting and darkly, darkly funny. You can just tell that he had a ball writing this…any shackles that may have been there before (and there weren’t many) have been shattered and he has unleashed a literary assault on us that left me begging for more. I am not going to divulge any more of the plot, I am just going to recommend that you read this if you like your humour to be dark and your violence and conflict to be relentless and excruciatingly stark.

I have no doubt that many people will find the book too shocking and possibly gratuitous, I also have no doubt Bracha will not give a fuck about those people and will be pissing his pants laughing at any such criticisms.

Honestly, I cannot recommend this book highly enough. My favourite read since Trainspotting, back in the 90’s. Not for the feint hearted or easily offended. Brilliant.

Monday, 15 June 2015

Micheal Potter - Mister Popular, Facebook fooligan and Lois jeans

First of all, some sort of apology explanation should be forthcoming re: Louis Jeans in the last ins/outs. A pair of Brutus Gold to the first person to have spotted this not so deliberate mistake.  (Brutus Gold was a make of jeans popular amongst certain folk.)

A true tale: Willie Whitelaw, the Home Secretary and dear Margaret’s henchman circa 1979, introduced his short, sharp and ultimately failed shock. Basically, it was a strict bang up strategy for the nation’s disaffected youth. Anyway, an END reader incarcerated at the time in one of these sterile outposts-somewhere in Yorkshire- was friendly with a Leeds fan whose poetic words went thus: "First thing I’m doin’ when I get out, scouse, is buyin’ a pair of Brutus Gold ". The fast- paced jeans fashion roller-coaster of the late 70s going into the 80s took no prisoners! Lois (or was it Louis?) Jeans were designed methinks for the slender of frame Mediterranean folk. They were always splitting all the time on the more robust scouse frames. (oh, and if any 80s casual is watching down that there London way, the same goes for you but 18 months earlier...obviously). Pass me the claret, I can feel a poem coming...

Mister Popular.

Drivin’, drivin’ very fast past the school smoking grass,

Tunes full on:  Leviticus, Deuteronomy,

Jokerman’s an apt tune for me,

Me bird’s on the corner standin’ proud and tall like a beacon to tango

Hope she doesn't fall off the Jimmy Choo’s

Or is Scooby Doos something to do with igloos,

Someone give me a clue?

Fook, I haven't got a jar but I’ve got a belter car. Specialise in bullying pensioners on blind bends, chattin’ imaginary friends, texting record producers, reality show recruiters, Big Brother’s just a dream for now. I’m movin’ in style,

Smash...Hello? Hello? You’re through to Jeremy Kyle!

Facebook Fooligan...

Could be New Cross South London, Hunts Cross or even Holy Cross Liverpool.

It doesn't matter, the song remains the same. Our cyber hero yawns and stretches the seams on his Stone Island onesie working to maximum capacity. One of his many online mates "Inky Arms", from Slovakia wants to know why and when the skinheads put the airwear away and put Adidas on? He’s in a pickle, maybe his old mum will know. She’s got all the newspaper clippings this ex skinhead girl, God bless her.  ‘Ah mum, he says ‘don't wear my fave Taylor Made. That's from the Open Augusta Georgia’. ‘Nah it’s not you nitwit’, she responds. You’re getting confused again. Your uncle George got it last August bank holiday from Southend, you muppet.

Such is life for our facebook fooligan. On line japes with fellow dreamers with a Jimmy Cagney ‘Top of the world Ma!’ very much in the foreground. ‘Here son, put this nice picture up. It shows your tattoos. The other one’s a bit blurry. Looks like a Top Gun reunion what with all those flying jackets’. ‘Blimey! Mum that was er 1970. Er, haven't you anymore?’ ‘Oh you mean the casual box set collection? Why didn't you say? I loved you in that diamond Pringle’, she gushes with pride. These are bound to get at least 20 ‘likes’ and even more ‘shares’ .Mum’s knowledge of internet speak was invaluable. She had more followers on facebook than me, a self proclaimed top boy. She loved putting up pics of the girls havin’ it large, bottles of Prosecco behind their On Tour witty banner.

And finally 

Mum got in a bit of "Facey " bother recently. Two DEFRIENDS! She was more angry than upset; an innocent chat over the incidental music featured in HOMES UNDER THE HAMMER turned down (out?) right nasty. Mum reckoned two lardy estate agents perusing a nice piece of decking with Badly Drawn Boy as a backing track just didn't work. Why not Blur’s one about a big house in the country or any Chris De Burg number? One disgruntled tweet led to another; even Techno fans got involved claiming under representation on HOMES UNDER THE HAMMER. Before you knew it, iron girder! Internet went into meltdown. Thank gawd it’s it sorted now. A couple of grammatically incorrect posts, pics of grand kids. Prosecco followed by 29 xxxxxxxx happy daze!

Thursday, 14 May 2015

Ins & Outs May 15


Ed Moribund

Having murderous intent.

improper use of Tofu

Having a permanent look of bewilderment

Pampering your penis on a Thursday evening

Becoming aroused at the thought of a kebab

Claiming to know Nucky Thompson.

Going to Runcorn  people watching just to make yourself feel normal.

Remembering Louis jeans.

Favouring mung beans.

Inappropriate grinning.

Truly empathising with a psychopath.

Saying " yeah am partial to the odd nosh".

Blaming Islam for a a poor Derby performance.

Not knowing how to take it.

Mistaking baldy people for each other.

Telling someone over and over, “you look like a bouncer” (or Bizzie)

Shaping your pubes into a fringe to create your own Ringo Starr

Deaf school knickers

Slicing imperial soap

Smacking yer dad on the back of his head


The bombed out church

Tinned black pudding

Not giving a shit about facebook

Mad  bastards who stop at nothing

Remembering haircuts in “Daves” (opposite the Royal, where kevin keegan went)


Bette Bright’s Big Bossom


Sitting on a plank across the barbers chair

Remembering “Vic”

Placing an macadamia nut in your bosses ear

Jellied Heels



Pork belly ice cream

Having a leather scrotum transplant

Having a B.A in B.S.

Stifling a loaf

Firm, muscular snails

Frying a hard-boiled egg

Whimsical Pro’s

Ball crushing, green Jumbo cords

Garrulous Gorilla’s

Resembling a walnut

Courtesy flushing

Getting road rage on the bog

Granddad farts


The next 5 years

Claiming to know…(ahhh, who gives a fuck)

Blogs (like this)

Confusing personal taste with fact

Farrage’s scrotum face

Tinned pizza

Discussing white goods

The Self Righteous

Concealing a poached egg

Telling everyone what exercise you have done that day

Telling everyone what you have eaten that day

Telling everyone what you earn

Telling everyone what gangsters you know

Telling everyone , “what you really mean”

Telling everyone about the big line you have just had

Disagreeing with trout

Smug pit bulls

Trying to be serious

Jangling about your mate on social network sites

Fat baldy scousers


Kissing kebabs

Interrupted wanks


trendy bizzies

Bizzies with handlebar moustaches

Your Tory mate

Gordon taylors  monumental stupidity.


The continuing plan to make very city look the same

Diego Costas demonic eyebrows.

Van Galls unearthly forehead.

Saying "ups a daisy".

Amish beards.

Coconut conundrums

Conspirational coughs

Considering counting

Counting on a considered reaction


Saying "i used to be a Grock".

Inexplicably starting to resemble Zak Dingle. (I’d consider this an IN meself)

Opening yer beer with a lighter (when a bottle opener is right in front of you)

Steve Allens Alien Anus

Telling people about their own country’s history

Discussing garden size, engine size and mortgages on a night out

Complicit pomegranates

Leaving a skiddy in yer mates bog

Tight fitting anything

Snarling at barmaids

Sending a bottle of champagne over

Saturday, 11 April 2015

Potter';s Poems. Facebook Hooligan and more

This one’s called Austerity a sterling word..


Austerity? A puzzling thing

I often think as I run down the wing.

My agent he’ll sort it I’m only a boy

Cheer up dear fans for soul see destroy.

Bruised ego or toe nail can’t decide which hurts more.

Mr fix it were are you who’s that's by the door?

Someone called picket with placards and tears,

NHS workers, no rise in three years.

The beautiful games what i love and adore

Obscene wages, oh don't be a bore,

I know fans inside out know what makes them tick,

Pass me that bag think am gonna be sick.



Number 2 untitled.


I wondered lonely as a cloud

That floats o’er dales and hill and all at once I saw a crowd

....must be those aldi mushrooms !



number 3 Facebook hooligan.


I could be a cockney geordie or scouse

I don’t really leave the house

Peep through the curtains, likes coq au vin.

I am the facebook hooligan.


Used to stand at the back, what time is lunch

Never actually threw a punch.

Wave my arms, catch me if u can

I am the facebook hooligan.


Squeeze me Taylor made on heads getting’ fatter,

Like an obese pug but it doesn’t matter.

Here’s the meals-on-wheels, ending in van,

I am the facebook hooligan.

Talk of old school, Custer’s last stand

Enemy numbers getting on for a grand.

Against 50 top dressers is Gok Wan top man?

E-mail please, facebook hooligan.


Selfies? Breathe in chaps! More pictures of cans cooling in fridges all over the land.

Let battle commence mouse keyboard in hand.

An epic tussle already began,

Step forward Walter Mitty, facebook hooligan.


My Zorro mask is my little P.C

Used to dress up in blag S.Tachini

Tog the kids up in replica shirts

Meet like-minded fatties, Florida like me all top blerts.

Sorry top boys we call ourselves Mummy where’s my fake tan

Another cyber space kick-off, facebook hooligan.

Friday, 13 March 2015

Potter's Poems.


Ohh Mrs!! Titter ye not! How very very dare PSG!

Jose,Jose, in your 4 grand jacket
Prowlin’ the line ,must be on a packet
A gesture a sneer well fancy that
on order from Harrods here’s your jesters hat
Croydon’s top casuals havin’ it large
a lone metro traveller easy to barge.
See they love you they love you wohh-wwwohh
The Hugo Boss fatties, next stop Savlle row ?
To your credit, you slagged them, which I really admire
nearly as much… as I like your attire.
I’m growin’ quite fond of your Frankie Howard pout

next time when you,re miked up just take a time out.
Cos the clich├ęd pundits Messer’s Lineker
& co
drone on like a space cake minus weed to much dough.
You don’t fool me, you love playin' the fool
just like all the great showmen you’ve only one rule.
Keep the punters happy, yes you’ll get my vote
and when xmas is comin’ please send me that coat.



The Horribly long-oval faced twat, JC (jowl'd  cunt) Himself

Not really sure wot it is I hate most
the name of the show or the moronic hosts.
Talk about pistons and the strength of a horse
A nuclear strike I’d happily endorse
Middle age toffs, Henry n’ Henrietta,
Baying like sheep things can only get better
says the one who resembles a sad seventies  clone
or a geography teacher still living at home
Then comes Thomally Sebastian  and tomboy little sis
named after her brother, oh heavenly bliss!
Yes she’s Ttom with two tt’s, our fave nanny did choose
to close to our horses she plied them with booze.  
Paps said “bestiality to me, that's just fine  
It’s a oneness with livestock, simply devine”!
By now dear readers it’s so plain to see
I’m more for Lambrini than Lambourgini
Stout yeomen, three stooges , I need to redress
It’s the top gear audience I fuckin detest

Tuesday, 3 March 2015

Ben Turner is a Dead Man- Ryan Bracha (book Review)

Its well documented that I am a big supporter of the musings of the talented indie writer Ryan Bracha. I've read and reviewed pretty much all of his books and remain convinced this is a writer with a massive future. 
Ben Turner is a Dead Man is part 2 of a trilogy of books he is writing that followed on from the equally excellent Paul Carter is a Dead Man
The Books are set in a not too distant or unbelievable future where New Britain has closed ranks against the world due to Britain's delusional Political Leader's ongoing paranoia about the threat of terrorism and immigration. It's essentially a police state where law and order is governed by groups of violent right wing law enforcement networks who after detaining suspects allow the the great British public to decide their fate via a social network style voting system. 
In the First book a rebellion by an unlikely group of criminals (including the Hero of Book 2 Ben Turner) escalates into a violent and bloody attack on the heart of the law enforcement network before escaping to the nirvana that Scotland has become. However the activities of Mr Carter and his cohorts have planted a seed that has started to grow in Britain which results in further bloody activities and protests.
In The second book Paul Carter's right hand man (Ben Turner) is sent back into England with a gang of mad Scottish cronies to sort out a rogue group of (unlikely) activists, who are travelling the country systematically killing Law enforcement officers in wonderfully violent and gory manners (led by the enigmatic and sadistic Natalie). In the meantime the ex right hand man of the countries leader (Harry Garner) has headed in the opposite direction to approach Paul Carter to address the rogue killers. Much violence ensues along with all manner of brilliant twists and turns until all is revealed in a live televised broadcast by Ben.
As usual with Ryan Bracha's work, the pace is relentless, the humour dark and the violence is VIOLENT. This man pulls no punches! It was one of those books where you almost try to slow down to make the reading experience last that bit longer..oh and at the time of writing this the book is available for the ridiculous price of 99p!? ...what the fuck are you waiting for..go buy this book!

Buy it here

Monday, 9 February 2015

POTTER brings Poetry & Prose back to our Pages

The New year means Percy Shelley takes a bow in the form of Ins n Outs so pin back your lug‘oles me old suckers....It’s a POEM!
Put the Vera’s Down and pay attention.
Keith LEMON muzzies and North Face onezies.
Hard case uncles and plastic face grannies,
Who go to town and talk about graft and blow off Dubliners now that is a fact.
Orange faced aunties standin’ around lookin’ down coked up noses of people on brown.
‘He was alright our Joey didn't rob from his own,
till he got lifted on a visit to Rome
with the league of welldoers from Scotland of Road, two-ed up wid a bag ‘ead from somewhere out east (ALBANIAN? the YEMEN?).
Or was it the priest who introduced bobby?
Or was it the beast who sat in the corner and grinned like a tool,
driving manically by his infant son’s school,
sayin’ “is rite lad is rite lad”
How many times can a repeat offender repeat his lines?
How long is a piece of string? Is the obvious answer!
Einstein, my friend, just wot is the answer then?
There goes the nephew driving too fast in,
not so sleepy, Dovecot reeekin’ of grass. ‘lad lad lad!
Yes the song remains the same:
me bird’s doin’ me head in. She needs to refrain
from Jeremy Kyle blags…
I’m not goin’ on, I have my credibility to think about.
Experimentation. I hope that's a word?
Some FLOYD ‘ead said (or was it a bird?
‘Twas a long time ago in the dole in town,
a steamin’ metropolis - white meetin’ brown,
on the dole in LIVERPOOL town,
Were north met south and queued in a line for our coins off Thatcher.
Make sure you’re on time, cos they’d have you
spluttering and blamin’ your ma,
or your da, or the broken down car.
Renshaw Hall, the place it was called, biggest in Europe. Fuckin massive! One weird place. Bizzies sittin’ off, ex wives, ex pats, ALL WAITING WAITIN……………..
Then off to the bier keller if u got the holies of holies: THE EMERGENCY GIRO.
Renshaw Hall Blues.
((Sorry, I really am only messing… Here goes....))
I’ve got those Renshaw Hall blues, late again.
I got nothing to lose, yer soft cunt!
You have delayed giro.
Renshaw Hall BLUES...
Hey Mr Postman! Sometimes you forget
on your visits to Ladbrokes, the nice girl in the vets
(with whom you’re madly in love). The whole street knows
the affair around canines ‘Why don't u propose?’
See we’re not really arsed, you committed no crime,
Just please Mr Postman get my giro on time.