Monday, 7 January 2013



For three years Twenty Major has written a daily blog. Now though comes a tale so bizarre and abominable that mere words on a computer screen wouldnt have been able to do it justice. These words need to be on paper ...

When Twenty Major's friend, record-shop-owner Tom OFarrell is brutally shot in the stomach, his dying act was to scrawl the number 60 in blood on his chest and dial Twenty's number into his phone. When Twenty is called to the scene of the crime he hasnt a clue why Tom was trying to contact him or what the hell the number 60 means. But himself and Tom go back a long way and he vows to find Tom's killer.

Then things take a turn for the worse: Folkapalooza is announced - a massive free concert due to take place in the Phoenix Park with headlining acts Damien Rice, James Blunt and David Gray.

Something is wrong, really wrong. Why are people obsessed with Folkapalooza? What has turned the Goths outside the Central Bank into acoustic loving drips? Who is the ginger albino and how does it all link to Tom?

Can Twenty, Jimmy the Bollix, Stinking Pete, Dirty Dave, Lucky and even Ron himself, save the people of Dublin and, less importantly, the rest of Ireland, from a fate that is, quite literally, worse than death? And solve a murder along the way?

 Well, this started off in promising fashion – entertaining and amusing in places.
Unfortunately, by about a third of the way through this turned to irritation as to why there was still so much of the book left to read.  The plot was unbelievable, the characters one-dimensional and the sprinkling of one-liners that took a page or two to set up before delivery was frankly annoying.
The resolution of the murder/Folkapalooza palaver..........well who cares?

I don’t suppose the author meant for this to be taken seriously, and was written very much tongue in cheek, but it didn’t do anything for me.
2 from 5.

This was borrowed from my local library, so at least I can give it back.

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