This novel is set about the fictitious town of Stockton and involves the building of a new road – an event which brings out the worst in an array of differing characters with equally different agendas.

Corruption is as old as the hills but many people don’t or won’t see that even the smallest ‘bad cough’ or ‘patting of one’s back pocket’ can have far-reaching consequences. If you think we’ve got a democracy, this book will open your eyes to what really goes on. Yet, despite that, it is not political – it’s a very human tale of how the countryside is being exploited for everyone’s gain. Everyone, that is, except the public.

Henry, our main character, is a town planner. He has a miserable marriage, children who just see him as a no-limit credit card, and a toadying boss who is obsessed with pointless minutiae and the feathering of his own nest through social climbing. One day Henry spots an opportunity for escape and …

Along the way, we meet the family whose dream house in the country loses its adjacent green fields in return for acquiring the family from hell as neighbours. We also get to understand why a waste disposal worker might turn a blind eye to the tipping of some asbestos, and how the law can be taken advantage of to make money.

We also meet someone who manages to turn personal tragedy into a new beginning.

You will find humour, disaster, greed, lust, sloth and just about every sin and emotion you care to imagine.

The Road is a blockbuster story with many dramatic turns. It is based on extensive personal experience and, although the characters are not directly related to any one individual, they are realistic.

Buy ‘The Road’ and be prepared to laugh, cry, and bash the living daylights out of a cushion or pillow as you seeth with rage at some of the injustices.

I hope you enjoy reading it as much I did writing it. Do leave your opinion both here and on Amazon.

Sample text

The trouble was that ever since he’d been stuck on this damned weighbridge he’d been on flat months paywise. There was never any spare money in his pocket any more and his young red-head was a ‘cash transactions only’ kind of girl. He’d made the half-hearted suggestion that they have a quickie ‘for old times’ sake’ but he had been politely but firmly turned down. No pay, no play.

One of the rare interesting moments at work came when he had a Didicoy lorry from one of the gypsy sites in the area arrive at the weighbridge. George could tell its origin immediately and without even speaking to the driver. Didicoy lorries would always be some ancient contraption that had been on its last legs long before its previous owner had sold it. Now the lorry would struggle slowly up the gentle incline to the weighbridge like some asthmatic leviathan heading towards its final resting place. It would invariably be carrying broken furniture, sheds, windows, doors – a motley selection of wood, glass, concrete, wire, fabric and other miscellaneous materials. He was supposed to usher them away if they weren’t hauling one of the three approved categories of waste but turning a blind eye was infinitely better than them fly-tipping somewhere which is what would happen if he complied with orders. The gypsies that came to him were the decent ones who were fully prepared to pay and he didn’t see it as his duty to discourage them.

Unlike other clients, they were always made to pay cash that his system logged in and which he dutifully handed over when he had his regular weekly visits from his supervisor. There was no reason for the gypsies to pay more than the rate other cash-only drivers paid and no possibility for him to have his hand in the till. He would have been caught immediately had he tried. He didn’t fancy doing bird in some snotty prison.

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 Reviews

“An absolutely great book showing how just one construction can change so many lives. Some for the better some for the worse. It will make you angry about how corrupt councils can be. Also gives good insight into good and bad building techniques. Read it, you will not be disappointed. “