Literary a disaster pending - the rebirth

I'm trying to work out the likelihood of the police having cctv evidence to charge a bouncer in a fight on a club door in 1987, i reckon its unlikely

You have a compelling argument, cheers.....particularly when you mentioned the Yorkie point

This does not get you out of being a hooligan, ODM, nor does it Slick & possibly Winrew

A good idea of what cctv was like would be the Bulger case which sticks in everyones mind, that was around the early 90's.
Its not impossible if the camera was over the door as i said you had to be within about 6 foot to make out features etc, we had some installed in work around that time and the police did manage to nab somebody who robbed our place using the cctv, the daft cnut was caught walking towards the camera and putting a tea towel over it.

Clubs in those days quite often didnt want the camera anyway, so job done I reckon, he's getting off which is good cos otherwise I'd have to put the cunt in prison for 5 years, screwing the plot

Been rejected 3 times since this post with 4 others in cyberspace/already been rejected but couldn't be arsed to tell me.....shit game this is

Latest rejection, 2 weeks later, 'doesn't sound like our kind of project'.....oh, so you haven't read it then?

Changed the 1st paragraph as well, in fact I might post it up in here. Might as well, no other fuckers gonna read it

ODM, I'm sending the new part completed one either later today or tomorrow

This is the original prologue:

He balanced the child in his arms, walked forward and twisted, pushing open the front door with his backside. As he straightened back up and began to walk away from the building, he heard Estelle, the child’s young mother, at his side. She swore softly as the magnitude of the scene before them revealed itself. The spot-lamps, the television crews and their vans, the onlookers, the police, seemingly hundreds of them. He couldn’t see the guns, but he knew they were there.
It was a slow walk, and it seemed to last an eternity. Partly it was so as not to waken Josh, asleep in his arms, having finally succumbed to exhaustion. The more telling reason was the warnings he’d been given by the kidnappers behind him, back in the building. He had no doubt that at least one gun was trained on him, waiting for a mistake, even though they had told him that he was in no danger.
The time was just after 4pm on the Saturday, and although there was weak sunlight bathing the car park, the tarmac was still wet from the earlier showers. He looked up briefly at the clouds, tried to listen for the birds singing above him, but all he could hear was an expectant hush all around him, and the beating of his heart.
One step after another he strode, Estelle hanging on to his elbow, Josh stirring slightly. He counted the car park spaces that he crossed, mindful of the threats if he went too far. He approached the Ford Focus that Karen had been driving on Friday morning, when she had the ill luck to await the RAC mechanic inside the café. No doubt Karen was watching them now, hardly taking a breath.
After eighteen spaces he brought them to a halt, thirty yards short of the police line. The officer in charge made to move forward but stopped at a quick shake of the head.
“I can walk him to your line as long as you make a space, then I’ll place him down for you.” A nod towards Estelle. “She can’t approach you until I’m back where we are now. One of us to be alone at all times so they’ve got a clear shot. They were very clear on that.”
The officer nodded, a look of sympathy mixed with steel etched on his face. He leant forward on the barrier.
“Just her and the lad? Not you?”
A shake of the head. “No, not me, not yet, I’m just their errand boy. It’s the same demands as before, just stronger. If I try to make a break for it they’ll immediately kill one of the others…..and they want Kentucky Fried as well, for six they said, although there’s only four of them.”
The policeman nodded, turned and moved his people back. Estelle was sobbing as her son was carried forward and placed gently onto the concrete, before being left briefly alone whilst he stepped away. When he drew level with her, she reached across and hugged him fiercely, kissing him on the lips, whispering “thank you” before hurrying to be with her son.
The officer was leaning on the barrier again, a look of something approaching respect on his face.
“Keep going, man” he said quietly, “you’re the best chance everybody’s got in this one.”
Jez Kennedy smiled and nodded briefly, then turned away and walked once more back towards the café. As he approached he could see the faces through the unbarricaded doors, knowing without needing to look that the remaining six hostages had all just breathed a huge sigh of relief.

....& this is the proposed new chapter 1. As in, no prologue, everything else moved back a number: (bear in mind I have to edit this yet if I am to use it)

There was a noise from outside, or so he thought, but he couldn’t move without waking her, so just listened intently. Hearing nothing else, he convinced himself that it was simply his imagination.
He couldn’t sleep….wouldn’t sleep. His mind was too alive to allow the darkness to take over and give him the rest his nerves required.
He lay with his fingers laced behind his head, sunken into the pillow, his eyes staring at the ceiling. Mary lay curled into his side, breathing softly, and he watched the soft curve of her right breast rising and falling in rhythm, her black hair lying across his chest and shoulder.
His time was split fairly evenly between his own flat in Armagh, above a shoe repairs in Thomas Street, and Mary’s house in Drumcree, Portadown, where she lived with her two children, Eamon and Sarah. Mary had been a widow for almost four years, after her husband had been killed in an industrial accident, leaving her to bring the children up alone at the age of twenty one. There had been a tribunal, but it found that Patrick, her husband, had been negligent in his working practices, and although the company was given a warning, Mary didn’t receive the lump sum that she had been hoping. There were rumours that the company had ‘bought’ the tribunal, but nothing proveable, and the whip rounds and the three months wages that she was paid as a token gesture didn’t last long.
She had met Mike in the local pub where she worked twice a week, her sister watching the children for her. It gave her some independence and a rest from the daily grind, and put some much needed extra money in her pocket. She had been attracted to Mike very early on, noticing him simply because he stayed in the background, drank quietly and never showed off. He had mates that he hung around with but even though they would occasionally get drunk, she noticed that he always wanted to stay in control of himself, and never went too far, and she liked that in a man.
They had laughed, joked and flirted quietly, before he asked her out for a drink. They went to another local bar, but due to the children she never stayed out late and started inviting him back to her house to allow her sister to go home. She surprised herself how quickly he started sharing her bed, but consoled herself that it felt right, and she had long ago decided to play the cards that were dealt her and to live with no regrets, as she’d already felt that she’d been dealt enough bad hands.
Apart from the fact that he had a flat in Armagh, which she had never seen, and family in the town, who she had never met, she didn’t know that much about him. What she did know was that he felt more secure than his twenty six years should have done. He wasn’t brash or outspoken, and he didn’t go looking for fights or trouble, which amongst the young men growing up in the troubles, that was a blessing in itself.
Mike Brennan thought of all this as he stared at the ceiling, wondering if Mary would stay with him if she knew what he really was. He felt a little ashamed as she hadn’t wanted to make love tonight, as she wasn’t in the mood for it, but he was. He knew he was too hyper to sleep, so had pushed the situation. What had made it worse was that it wasn’t love he was after that night, but pure sex. Sex to try and drive the energy out of him and send him to sleep. She hadn’t said no but he felt ashamed anyway, and it hadn’t stopped him clamping his hand over her mouth as he took her from behind, to avoid waking the children.
He thought of his parents, who he rarely saw, knowing that he felt as though his dad could see straight through him, and his brother, who occasionally he drank with and was at the moment stopping in his flat after being kicked out by his girlfriend. He thought of all these and hoped he would drift off into sleep, but he knew that it would be a long time coming.
He was on edge, as much as he had ever been, and he knew that living a double life was taking a severe toll on his nerves. He had learnt very early on to portray coolness on the outside, but if anyone had ever strapped a heartbeat monitor on him they would have been shocked.
It was getting worse lately, as though he could hardly walk down a street without looking behind him. People had noticed it, particularly Mary. She had commented on his lost weight, his diminished appetite, but secretly he thought she preferred the leaner him, being slim herself. She had often hinted that he must get money from somewhere, other than signing on, but she had stopped pushing it when she realised that he’d simply change the subject. He reckoned she was in love with him, and didn’t want to run the risk of him leaving her alone as well, and he felt pain as he realised than someday, probably soon, she would be alone again.
Again he heard a noise, like something tapping on a window, but it disappeared as quickly as it had come. It was windy outside, he told himself, and more to the point no one knew he was here. If it was back at his own flat he’d have been out of bed in a flash, pulling his gun from out of the hole in the plaster behind the bookcase where it was hidden.
He had been stopping at Mary’s even more since his brother had moved into his flat, and he was happy not to get involved in conversations with him about politics and ‘The Army’. The more he knew, the more he’d have to think about passing on. Ignorance was bliss as far as he was concerned.
Another noise, different this time, like something scraping, and his first thought was that he wished that he’d hidden a gun here as well. He hadn’t simply because of the kids, and how on earth he’d explain it if it was found.
He shifted sideways slightly to see the alarm clock, and for the first time realised that it wasn’t flashing. It was off. Had one of them knocked it earlier in the night? He couldn’t see it happening, which meant the power was off.
He swore to himself as he gently moved Mary’s head off his chest and put it on the pillow. She groaned and turned slightly over on her side, but didn’t wake. He stayed still for a few seconds and then gently got out of bed, ensuring the covers stayed on Mary as he did so. He padded over towards the door, contemplating putting some clothes on, but as he peered into the gloom he saw that both children’s doors were shut, so he proceeded into the hallway.
He stood stock still at the top of the stairs, listening, even smelling. As happy as he could be, he walked downstairs with the intention of looking at the fusebox, knowing there was a torch in the cupboard.
As soon as he was in the hallway he knew that he wasn’t alone. Sixth sense and his love of living told him that, and he quickly moved away from the small window in the door in case the streetlight outside was framing his silhouette.
He stood motionless, senses working overtime, and he saw a small movement in front of him, but at the same time a hand appeared from nowhere around his neck and clamped itself across his mouth, his wrists simultaneously being pushed up behind his back. He tried to struggle but he was held too tight.
This is it, he thought, the end of the line.
A figure appeared in front of him, whispering urgently in a local accent:
“Brennan, we’re friends. We’ve come to take you out, not kill you. Nod your head if you understand.”
He nodded. He had no other choice. The hand relaxed from round his mouth, but it didn’t move far.
“Who are you?” he managed.
“I’m RUC, but my name doesn’t matter. He’s a Brit” he nodded over Brennan’s shoulder. “You have to come with us, now. We’re pulling you out.”
Alarm bells started ringing in his head. Had he been uncovered? Could he trust these men?
The speaker saw straight through him:
“If we wanted you dead, you already would be” he spat. “Now we haven’t got time to fuck about, you’re coming with us because you know too much, but you can’t talk dead either, remember that.”
Brennan blinked twice, struggling to comprehend the situation.
“Mary, my family?” he asked quietly, but the man simply shook his head:
“Too late. They’ve raided your flat, that why we’re here….”
“My brother?” he interrupted.
“Fuck knows. Now where’s your clothes?”
“In the bedroom.”
“Oh well” he said, “We’ll get some more. Best hope it’s not too cold.” He smirked.
Before he knew what was happening, they were out of the front door and running for a car that was already running, bundling him into the back seat. The car sped off, with Brennan sitting naked in the back. Nothing was said for a while.
“There’s something smells fishy about this” said the Irishman in the front seat…..

Heres my thoughts on the prologue Swoops, if you want the same for Chapter 1 let me know allthough it will have to be weekend lol.

This is the original prologue:

He balanced the child in his arms, walked forward and twisted ('then twisted', using 'and' sounds like he's either dancing or a nutcase), pushing open the front door with his backside. As he straightened back up and began to walk away from the building, he heard Estelle, the child’s young mother, at his side. She swore softly as the magnitude of the scene before them revealed itself. The spot-lamps, the television crews and their vans, the onlookers, the police, seemingly hundreds of them. He couldn’t see the guns, but he knew they were there.
It was a slow walk, and it seemed to last an eternity. Partly it was so as ('so as' not needed) not to waken Josh, asleep in his arms, having finally succumbed to exhaustion. The more telling reason was the warnings he’d been given by the kidnappers behind him, back in the building. He had no doubt that at least one gun was trained on him, waiting for a mistake, even though they had told him that he was in no danger.
The time was just after 4pm on the Saturday (The day was Saturday just after 4pm) , and although there was weak sunlight bathing the car park, the tarmac was still wet from the earlier showers. He looked up briefly at the clouds, (and) tried to listen for the birds singing above him, but all he could hear was an expectant hush all around him, and the beating of his heart. (personally I'd skip the birds bit as that would be the last thing on his mind)
One step after another he strode, Estelle hanging on to his elbow, Josh stirring slightly. He counted the car park spaces that he crossed, mindful of the threats if he went too far. He approached the Ford Focus that Karen had been driving on Friday morning, when she had the ill luck (misfortune) to await the RAC mechanic (from) inside the café. No doubt Karen was watching them now, hardly taking a breath.
After eighteen spaces he brought them to a halt, thirty yards short of the police line. The officer in charge made (went) to move forward but stopped at a quick shake of the head.
“I can walk him to your line as long as you make a space, then I’ll place him down for you.” A nod towards Estelle. “She can’t approach you until I’m back where we are now. One of us (has) to be alone at all times so they’ve got a clear shot. They were very clear on that.”
The officer nodded, a look of sympathy mixed with steel etched on his face. He leant forward on the barrier.
“Just her and the lad? Not you?”
A shake of the head. “No, not me, not yet, I’m just their errand boy. It’s the same demands as before, just stronger (its not the same demands as before then. Maybe 'they are more demanding this time.) . If I try to make a break for it they’ll immediately kill one of the others…..and they want Kentucky Fried as well, for six they said, although there’s only four of them.”
The policeman nodded, turned and moved his people (either 'the people' or 'his colleagues') back. Estelle was sobbing as her son was carried forward and placed gently onto the concrete, before being left briefly alone whilst he stepped away. When he drew level with her, she reached across and hugged him fiercely, kissing him on the lips, whispering “thank you” before hurrying to be with her son.
The officer was leaning on the barrier again, a look of something approaching respect on his face.
“Keep going, man” he said quietly, “you’re the best chance everybody’s got in this one.”
Jez Kennedy smiled and nodded briefly, then turned away and walked once more back towards the café. As he approached he could see the faces through the unbarricaded doors, knowing without needing to look (he was looking) that the remaining six hostages had all just breathed a huge sigh of relief.

Wasn't expecting that, Slick, cheers. I am edging more towards using the new one tbh, & that hasn't been sent off anywhere yet.

Been off today with a fucked foot, definitely tomorrow & maybe rest of week, either a sprain or deep seated gout, bizarrely cant tell which, all I know is it hurts more than anything I've ever known. Never officially had a day off sick at this place in 9 years but no holiday left to cover so its £75 a day going into xmas....might be begging here. Will get into writing tomorrow morning & stop feeling sorry for myself

Sorry m8, just dismiss my remarks if you wish as I'm no bleedin literary expert, I was just casting my own opinion.
Story itself is interesting enough though.

Health wise I'm going the same way m8, both my knees are now buggered allthough the bad one lately seems a lot better than my usual good one if you know what i mean lol, whoever invented age wants shooting.
I also noticed looking in the mirror today that I'm beginning to resemble my new avatar, I couldn't put my finger on it at first then the penny dropped, it's that cnut
I'm gonna change it to Cary Grant and see what happens, thinking about it i better not inncase i end up in a fcuking box.

No no, all thoughts are welcome. If this ever gets published the list of acknowledgements is gonna be bigger than the book lol

I can handle rejections, I had training with my love life its when the cunts cant be bothered to even tell you that as far as theyre concerned its a crock of shit

Maybe they couldnt see the cuddly toy franchise taking off

Did they not like the bit about you disembowelling santa claus