December 2, 2004

• On LordPineapple ‘s site are poems. I will only visit you all from one of these sites else I’ll won’t have time to write any more of the novel!
  

  
  

  I am eagar to leave the past post because all your wonderful replies have made me feel strong. So here is part of the novel wrote some years ago (updated this morning!) that was the basis of my user name “Lord Pineapple”

  
  

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  Chapter 1.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  Few people knew he was rich, one of the richest people in the world, he was not on any Times list, not on any real records but he was rich and all the money was earned legally.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  He had no one to leave it to, and he was buggered he would leave it to the State, he had to get a name from somewhere. After much searching he came across one, Peter Halfhead. Poor bloke, with a name like that he could deserve a break.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  Lord Danials, aka Lord Pineapple, (he had earned his money from the fruit and had built a massive pineapple on his house in the centre of Bristol.) Lord Danials had had a simple funeral, and still few people knew of his riches despite his vast house and grounds.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  …
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  “What?”
  

  
  

  “767 million pounds after all legal costs to a Peter Halfhead. But there is a problem, a big problem.”
  

  
  

  Having told the extent of the problem, Will Harding rubbed his hands with glee, “we are going to milk this one Stanley, we are going to be rich!”
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  …
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  “Hoi, Halfbreed!”
  

  
  

  Peter gritted his teeth, one day he was going to get even with some of this shit. He was nicknamed “Halfbreed” because he had a white mother and a black father. He was also nicknamed “Halfbrain” because of his poor school record. Peter was eleven years old.
  

  
  

  Peter lived in a crappy old council house in St. Pauls Bristol. His father had been murdered last year for drug-dealing, his mother spent most of the time looking at tv. His sister Jenny, aged 13 was quiet and clever and not at all like many had expected her to be considering her envionment. Peter also had a seven year old sister who was negletted and slighty backward.
  

  
  

  Peter was making a name for himself, he was selling hash-bars, he was buying them and selling eighths off of them, he was becoming quite rich, but it was dangerous, some white men in dark suits were looking for him, and they were not the police.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  —
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  “What now? I told you, my late husband left nothing here!”
  

  
  

  Stanley was glad he had contacted Life Security, a dodgy firm, as bodyguards. Stanley and his two assistants and his guard all shriveled up their noses, this place stank.
  

  
  

  “Well, come on, “Neighbours” is just starting.”
  

  
  

  “We have come to see your son, Peter.”
  

  
  

  “What the fuck for?”
  

  
  

  “Personal matters.”
  

  
  

  “Jenny, your brother been selling his shit again, call him on your mobile!”
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  —
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  Peter frowned. They had caught him, he could run, but his father never ran, his father was a man. His father didn’t carry a gun, he did.
  

  
  

  He walked into the living room, his sisters were there, he told them not to be afraid as a woman pushed them out of the room.
  

  
  

  “You have come into a large fortune.”
  

  
  

  “Oh yeah”
  

  
  

  “Yeah, you are a very wealthy boy.”
  

  
  

  “What the fuck did my dad do?”
  

  
  

  “Not your dad, a fairy godfather left you er 500 million pounds and a large house.”
  

  
  

  The man was lying somewhere, but Peter could see in the hatred on the man’s face that it was not about the money.
  

  
  

  “We will advice you for the first three months then I strongly suggest you retain us.”
  

  
  

  Peter had no intention of retaining this pair of racists, but just smiled. He clearly thought all of this was crap, they were going to take him away with them, that shifty man carried a gun too.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  Terry Cuthbert.
  

  
  

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  to be con’t

  
  

   

  
  

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  Thank you all again for all those lovely words. Terry.

  
  

   

  
  

  via http://www.xanga.com/home.aspx?user=FriendsNotesToTerry

  
  

   

  
  

  I am deeply honoured.

  • 1:26 am
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