Monday, 19 February 2018
Friday, 9 February 2018
Thursday, 11 January 2018
Wednesday, 10 January 2018
The one man who can save us all?
Sunday, 10 December 2017
Until one day, telling her nothing, her parents whisk her off to Rio de Janeiro. Determined to find out why, Ella takes her chance and searches through their things.
And realises her life has been a lie.
Her mother and father aren't hers at all. Unable to comprehend the truth, Ella runs away, to the one place they'll never think to look - the favelas.
But there she learns a terrible secret - the truth about her real parents and their past. And the truth about a mother, desperate for a daughter taken from her seventeen years ago.
This book is classed as YA fiction but I don't care I love the stories Emiy Barr tells.
I would imagine that the moral of this story (if there is one) is ...If your parents decide there are some things you are best not knowing then please believe them because things could be much worse if you find out.
When we meet Ella we realize that something is not quite right. Ella is trying to suppress a voice from inside her that wants her to do bad things. She doesn't want this to happen but sometimes she can't help it. One day Ella is taken out of school by her parents and taken straight to the airport. Her phone is taken from her and soon all three of them are on a flight to Rio,no explanation given. Once there Ella needs to take matters into her own hands and find out why her usually dull,quiet and over protective parents have moved her to a foreign country and are acting very strange.
Wow! What a roller coaster ride this story is. I was so afraid for Ella when she found out what she wasn't supposed to know. I was also surprised at how resourceful she became especially when she had the stress of keeping the other voice inside her satisfied.
I can't say much more without giving the plot away. This book is not just for the YA market it is for anyone and it kept me turning the pages. Once again Emily Barr has came up with a cracking good story.
I think I would go for the paperback over kindle this time as there's not much difference in price.
Wednesday, 29 November 2017
The one man who can save us all?
An eye for an eye only ends up making the whole world blind.
– Mahatma Gandhi
since 7/7? Not even once. I get called Paki every day‚ but not in the – what the fuck did you call me? – way. In my circle it’s a term of endearment. You see‚ we know who we are. And what some may see as an insult‚ we see as a badge of fuckin’ honour. The word Pak means pure and the word Pak means clean. And if you didn’t know that‚ then consider yourself educated.
I’m not stupid or naïve. I am aware of exactly what is happening around me but you’ve got to play the game otherwise you might as well carry a big fat kick me sign on your back. Don’t walk around wearing a sodding shalwar and kameez with a great big dopey beard and drive around in a fuckin’ Honda. That’s when you get pulled over and that’s when you get racially abused. But not me. Why? ’Cos I play the game.
I know the plight of my Brothers and I know the struggle of my Sisters and I feel for them‚ every fuckin’ one of them. But what do you want me to do about it? No‚ man. It’s not my war. Call it religion or call it politics or call it greed. It all amounts to the same thing: bloodshed‚ devastation and broken homes. Why would I want to get my head into something like that? Especially since my life has basically been one sweet ride – not too different
I was sitting in my ride at the back of Homebase car park in Isleworth‚ West London‚ waiting on a customer. He was late which would normally piss me off but I was otherwise distracted by all the shiny buttons and gadgets on my new whip. The speakers sounded sik and my nigga ’Pac never sounded so good as he rapped about dying young. I clocked my patron approaching and I couldn’t help but frown. This was exactly what I was talking about. He’s wearing a plain white suit shirt tucked into his tracksuit bottoms‚ finished off with a pair of Bata flip flops‚ looking like he just stepped off the fucking boat. I know for a fact that he’s forever being targeted because he looks like a fucking freshy. No-one likes a freshy. He looked around the car park and I realised I hadn’t told him that I’d replaced my Nova. I flashed my lights at him and his smile widened‚ at the sight of my Beemer. He approached and walked around it whistling appreciatively‚ taking special notice of my customised rims. I slid my window down and told him to get the fuck in. He did and he slammed the door‚ hard. I bit my tongue.
‘You’re late‚’ I said.
‘Sorry‚ Brother‚ I just came straight from the Masjid. Didn’t
see you there. Then I remembered it’s only Thursday. You only ever come for Friday Prayers‚ Javid‚’ he said‚ laughing at the unfunny observation.
We shook hands and the deal was done. He left with a fistful of Hounslow’s premium and I with a fistful of dollars. He slammed my door and toddled off in his ridiculous outfit. I hate that fuckin’ sanctimonious prick. In the space of a minute he vexed . We shook hands and the deal was done. He left with a fistful of Hounslow’s premium and I with a fistful of dollars. He slammed my door and toddled off in his ridiculous outfit. I hate that fuckin’ sanctimonious prick. In the space of a minute he vexed me twice. Firstly‚ he took a swipe at me because I don’t go the Masjid day in day out. It doesn’t make me any less of a Muslim than he is. So what if he decides to grow a beard and I decide to grow marijuana? I’m still a Muslim. I couldn’t care less if you sit in Aladdin’s eating your Halal Inferno Burger whilst I sit in Burger King eating a Whopper. I am still a Muslim. I’ll drink when I want‚ I’ll curse and I’ll fuck and I’ll gamble and I’ll get high. So what!? Read my lips. I. Am. Still. A. Muslim. I believe in Allah and only He can judge me. Not you. Or anyone else who walks this land.
Seriously. Call me Jay.