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I am currently working on First Chance I Get, a  comedy thriller. 

Will Peyton wants to avoid trouble.

Unfortunately, trouble, in the shape of Megan Chance,  turns up with a flask holding a lethal mutated virus and draws him into a manic chase across London and the Home Counties.

Soon Will is confronting kidnappers, bio-terrorists and an out-of-control secret Government department with a no-holds barred approach to national security. 

Trouble, it turns out, is the least of his problems.

See below for a taster...

First Chance I Get

A high octane comedy thriller..
Introducing Will 'Red' Peyton, a guy with red hair, a short fuse and a white knight complex.

Other work includes:

Short film script: 'Scarlet'

Fantasy children's novel: 'The Spiral of Time'

Thriller: 'The Faversham Deliveraunce' (a work in progress)
​

Editor of 'Dear Dib Dob, Hettypots & Mug':
​Letters from a farm boy who joined the Royal Engineers in 1936

(a collection of letters between my uncle who died in 1942 aboard the Lisbon Maru & his brothers & family)
​
First Chance I Get

Chapter One
Oh, shit!
I didn’t say it aloud.  Maybe I should have.  Although, knowing Megan, it wouldn’t have made the slightest difference, because she knows me well enough to read my mind and she knows ‘Oh, shit!’ is pretty much my default position whenever she turns up to wreck my life.  So I continued to serve coffee to a waiting line of impatient commuters and kept my thoughts and feelings to myself.  Three skinny lattes, four cappuccinos and a double espresso later and there she was, standing in front of me, her dark blonde hair tucked under a navy baseball cap, big green eyes, a megawatt smile and no indication that the last time she got me involved in one of her crazy schemes I almost died.  Twice!  I was determined not to get drawn in again.
‘Help you?’
‘Hi, Red!  You look good.’
She always calls me ‘Red’ because she knows I hate it and she likes to see me get mad.  It wasn’t going to work this time.
‘Cappuccino?  Latte?  A little steamed milk with a shot of cyanide to go?’
She smiled widely enough to bring the dimples out.  Double shit!  I’m a sucker for those dimples.  But I hardened my heart.  I was determined to keep out of whatever hellish plot she was working on this time.  The last time I saw Megan, she was skipping out of Nice with a couple of million pounds worth of assorted gemstones in her pocket, leaving me to wrestle a rabid Alsatian who had a grudge against mankind and breath you could surf on.  I’ve still got a six inch scar on my inner right leg from teeth which came this close to leaving me singing falsetto.  No go this time.
‘I brought you a present, Red.  Happy Birthday!’
She handed me a small box, wrapped in shiny silver paper with a big blue bow.  There was only one problem.  My birthday is in October, as Megan very well knows.  This was April.  I didn’t know how, yet, but she was doing it again.  Drawing me in...
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