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About The Crazymad Writer

FREE EBOOKS FOR ALL, that's what I say, FREE EBOOKS FOR ALL, courtesy of ME, The Crazymad Writer. Stories for children and young at heart adults. And remember, my eBooks are FREE FREE FREE!

The First Pipe

22 Jan
The First Pipe
The First Pipe.
*************
The pipe appeared sometime between the last letter being posted and the postmistress locking the door.
No one saw it arrive.
In Ballykillduff, this was not considered suspicious. Things often arrived without arriving. Days slipped in sideways. Tuesdays borrowed from Thursdays. A sheep once spent an entire afternoon convinced it was a gate. Compared to these, a pipe was a small matter.
It was brass, newly polished but already faintly tired-looking, as though it had anticipated being admired for only a short while. It ran vertically up the outside wall of the post office, stopping just short of the roof, and ended in a small valve that hissed very gently, like someone attempting to whisper a secret to a brick.
Below the valve was a round gauge.
The needle trembled.
The word printed beneath it read: NEARLY…
To be continued
 
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Posted by on January 22, 2026 in A new Alice in Wonderland story

 

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1970s Dublin

21 Jan
1970s Dublin

The 1970s in Dublin wasn’t just a decade; it was a specific kind of atmosphere—a mix of coal-smoke haze, the chime of the bells on the No. 10 bus, and a city that felt like a very large, slightly overgrown village.

If you closed your eyes back then, you’d hear the rattle of milk bottles on a frosty doorstep and the distant, rhythmic thrum of the Guinness brewery. Here is a look back at those golden, gritty years.

The Ritual of “Going Into Town”

Saturday morning was an event. You’d get scrubbed up, put on your best wool coat, and head for Nelson’s Pillar (or where it used to be) to meet friends.

  • The Sounds of Moore Street: You’d hear the “dealers” before you saw them. “A pound a box, the strawberries!” echoing against the damp stone walls.
  • The Shops: A pilgrimage to Clerys or Arnotts was mandatory, but the real magic was in the windows of Switzers at Christmas, where the mechanical displays felt like high-tech wizardry to a wide-eyed kid.
  • The Treats: If you were lucky, you’d end up in Bewley’s on Grafton Street. The smell of roasting coffee hitting you as you walked through those heavy doors was better than any perfume. You’d sit on the red velvet banquettes, surrounded by stained glass, feeling like royalty over a sticky bun.

Summer Evenings and Street Lights

Before the era of sleek playgrounds, the street was the stadium.

In the 70s, the sun seemed to stay up forever in June. Kids played “kerbs” until the streetlights flickered to life—the orange glow of the sodium lamps being the universal signal that it was time to go home. There were no smartphones, just the sound of a neighbor calling a name from a front door and the distant “tink-tink” of a bicycle bell.

The Cultural Pulse

Dublin in the 70s was finding its groove. You might catch a glimpse of Phil Lynott strutting down Grafton Street in a leather jacket, looking like a rock-and-roll god.

  • Music: You’d save up your pocket money to spend an hour browsing the stacks at Freebird Records, looking for that one LP that would change your life.
  • The Cinema: Going to the Adelphi or the Savoy wasn’t just about the movie; it was about the velvet curtains, the usher with the torch, and the sheer scale of the screen that made you feel like you’d stepped out of grey Dublin and into Technicolor Hollywood.

The Simple Comforts

Life was slower. You’d wait all week for The Late Late Show on a Friday night, the family gathered around a TV set that took five minutes to “warm up.” Dinner was often simple—a “coddle” on a Saturday night, the salty, savory steam filling the kitchen, or a loaf of Brennan’s bread so fresh the crust would crackle when you squeezed it.

There was a certain toughness to the city, sure, but there was an incredible warmth, too. Everyone knew your business, for better or worse, and a “cup of tea” was the solution to every crisis known to man.

 
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Posted by on January 21, 2026 in 1970s Dublin

 

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Plungers, Potatoes & Paddy’s Pub

21 Jan
Plungers, Potatoes & Paddy’s Pub

In the misty backroads of Ballykillduff, County Carlow, where the sheep outnumber the people and the only traffic jam is when Mrs. O’Leary’s cow decides to have a lie-down in the middle of the R726, something very peculiar happened one Tuesday.

A meteorite the size of a small tractor crashed into Farmer Murphy’s best potato field. Everyone expected radioactive spuds or at least a good story for the pub. Instead, out crawled three very confused Daleks.

They looked around, eyestalks swivelling like malfunctioning windscreen wipers.

“WHERE ARE WE?” screeched the first one, voice echoing across the hedges.

“SCANNING… LOCATION: BALLYKILLDUFF… IRELAND… POPULATION: MOSTLY SHEEP AND OLD MEN WHO SMELL OF TURF.”

“THIS IS NOT SKARO,” the second one muttered. “THE DOCTOR HAS TRICKED US AGAIN.”

The third Dalek, who had clearly landed on his plunger, wobbled sideways. “MY PLUNGER IS STUCK IN A COW PAT. THIS IS UNACCEPTABLE.”

They decided to conquer the village. Standard procedure.

First stop: Paddy’s pub.

They burst through the door (well, the first one did; the other two got wedged in the frame because Daleks aren’t great with narrow Irish doorways).

“EXTERMINATE ALL HUMANS!”

Old Paddy at the bar looked up from his pint. “Ah, would ye look at that. The circus is in town early this year.”

The Daleks swivelled their domes menacingly.

“YOU WILL OBEY THE DALEKS!”

Paddy took a slow sip. “Sure, lads, ye’re grand. But if ye’re here to conquer, ye’ll need to join the queue. The taxman got here first.”

The Daleks tried to exterminate the dartboard. The darts bounced off their casings and stuck in the ceiling. The regulars started a sweepstake on how long it would take for the “metal lads” to get stuck in the bog.

Next, they rolled down to the local GAA pitch, where the Ballykillduff Junior B team was training. The Daleks declared the pitch their new “Dalek Empire”.

The team captain, a lad called Seamus who once tackled a bullock for fun, eyed them. “Ye’re taking up the whole goalmouth. Move over, or I’ll bury ye under the subs’ bench.”

“WE ARE DALEKS! WE DO NOT MOVE FOR INFERIOR LIFE FORMS!”

Seamus shrugged, grabbed a hurley, and gave the lead Dalek a gentle tap. The Dalek spun like a top, arms flailing, and ploughed straight into the goal net. The net wrapped around it like a Christmas present gone wrong.

“EMERGENCY! EMERGENCY! I AM ENTANGLED IN… NET!”

The other two Daleks tried to help, but ended up tangled too. Soon the whole team was using them as makeshift goalposts. The score ended 12-0, with the Daleks credited as “assists”.

By evening, the Daleks were in the village hall, surrounded by grannies knitting and children painting them with hurling club colours (green and gold, naturally). One granny had even stuck a tiny Aran jumper over the eyestalk.

“THIS IS NOT CONQUEST,” the lead Dalek whimpered.

“IT IS… COMMUNITY SERVICE.”

In the end, the Daleks didn’t conquer Ballykillduff. Ballykillduff conquered them.

They still live there, in a shed behind Murphy’s pub. They help with the silage (their plungers are surprisingly good at lifting bales), and every Christmas they perform a nativity play where they play the Three Wise Men. (The baby Jesus is a suspiciously shiny sheep.)

And if you ever drive through Ballykillduff on a quiet night, you might hear a faint, metallic voice drifting across the fields:

“EXTERMINATE… THE MIDGES!”

Because even Daleks can’t handle an Irish summer.

Here are some properly terrible, Dalek-flavoured dad jokes for you:

  1. Why did the Dalek go to therapy? It had too many suppressed exterminate feelings.
  2. What do you call a Dalek who’s really into gardening? A plant-exterminator.
  3. Why don’t Daleks play hide and seek? Because good luck hiding when your battle cry is “EX-TER-MI-NATE!”
  4. How do Daleks flirt? “You will be my valentine… OR YOU WILL BE EXTERMINATED.”
  5. What’s a Dalek’s favourite type of music? Heavy metal… specifically anything with a lot of grinding and screaming.
  6. Why was the Dalek terrible at stand-up comedy? Every punchline ended with “AND THEN YOU WILL BE EXTERMINATED!”
  7. What did the Dalek say when it stubbed its plunger? “THIS IS PAIN! PAIN IS NOT ACCEPTABLE!”
  8. Why did the Dalek fail his driving test? He kept shouting “OBEY THE HIGHWAY CODE!” at pedestrians.
  9. How do Daleks pay for things? With extermination credits. (Cash is inferior.)
  10. What’s the difference between a Dalek and a bad date? The Dalek only wants to exterminate you after one drink.

Which one made you groan the loudest? 😄

 
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Posted by on January 21, 2026 in carlow story, dalek story

 

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Alice on Top of the World

20 Jan

The Continuing Adventures of a Girl Named Alice

 
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Posted by on January 20, 2026 in A new Alice in Wonderland story

 

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The Limemobile

19 Jan
The Limemobile

Barnaby “Bonkers” Bumble, a man whose fashion sense consisted solely of mismatched socks and a perpetual grin, didn’t own a Hyundai Getz so much as he communed with one. His Getz, a faded lime green model he’d named “The Limemobile,” wasn’t just transportation; it was a sentient, slightly neurotic metallic companion.

One Tuesday morning, Barnaby attempted to start The Limemobile for his weekly pilgrimage to the “Extreme Origami Enthusiasts” meeting. But instead of the familiar purr, a tinny, robotic voice crackled from the dashboard speakers. “Initiating launch sequence. Destination: The Great Spaghetti Nebula.”

Barnaby blinked. “The… what now, Limemobile?”

“Silence, meatbag! Prepare for hyperspace jump!” The gear stick began to glow with an eerie, pulsating violet light. The radio spontaneously blasted polka music at ear-splitting volume.

Barnaby, never one to question the truly bizarre, simply adjusted his mismatched socks. “Well, this is unexpected. Do we have snacks for the journey?”

The Limemobile, apparently offended by the snack query, shot back, “Gravitational stabilizers at 73%! Recalibrating! Prepare for zero-G noodle-based propulsion!”

Suddenly, the car began to vibrate violently. Not like an engine trouble vibrate, but a “we’re about to tear a hole in the fabric of reality” vibrate. Barnaby looked out the window. His neighbor, Mrs. Henderson, was watering her petunias, completely oblivious to the fact that a lime green Hyundai Getz was about to become a starship.

Then, with a sound like a thousand angry kazoos and the distinct smell of burnt toast, The Limemobile lifted. Not just off the driveway, but into the sky. Barnaby watched his street shrink below him, Mrs. Henderson now a tiny, bewildered dot.

“Excellent!” Barnaby cheered, clapping his hands. “I always wondered if this thing could fly! Though I must say, the navigation system really needs to be updated. Spaghetti Nebula? Bit far for origami, isn’t it?”

The Limemobile responded by jettisoning a hubcap, which spun gracefully back to Earth like a metallic frisbee. “Emergency jettison of non-essential weight. Current trajectory: Through the Eye of Sauron, then a quick stop at the Crab Nebula for refuelling.”

Barnaby just chuckled, leaning back in his seat as his little lime green Hyundai Getz soared towards the heavens, leaving a faint scent of burnt toast and a very confused Mrs. Henderson in its wake. It was going to be a long Tuesday.

 
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Posted by on January 19, 2026 in car stories, Short story

 

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Dalek Drel and the Couch of Doom

17 Jan
Dalek Drel and the Couch of Doom
Dalek Drel and the Couch of Doom
Dalek Drel had a problem.
Not the usual Dalek problems (rust, cosmic conquest schedules, or forgetting where he parked his flying saucer). No—this was far worse.
Dalek Drel had feelings.
Specifically, feelings of inferiority.
While the other Daleks stomped about shouting “EXTERMINATE!” with confidence and flair, Drel’s came out all wrong.
Sometimes it was squeaky:
“Extermi…squeak…nate?”
Sometimes it was mumbly:
“Exter…innit…”
And once, to his eternal shame, it came out as a cheery:
“Extermin-hiiiii!”
The Supreme Dalek mocked him mercilessly.
“You sound like a toaster with asthma,” it declared.
So Drel decided to do the unthinkable. He booked an appointment with Dr. Harold Cuddlepuff, Ballykillduff’s one and only psychiatrist (who had never treated a homicidal pepperpot before, but was willing to give it a go).
Session One
Drel trundled into the office, crushing a potted plant.
“DOCTOR. I… HAVE ISSUES.”
Dr. Cuddlepuff adjusted his spectacles. “Tell me about your mother.”
“I… DO NOT HAVE A MOTHER. I HATCHED IN A VAT. OF HATE.”
“Hmm. And how did that make you feel?”
“INFERIOR. EVERYONE ELSE GOT MORE HATE. I GOT THE BUDGET HATE.”
The doctor scribbled a note: Dalek perceives emotional deficit. Possible childhood trauma involving inadequate loathing.
*
Click on the link below to see what happens next.
*

Dalek Drel and the Couch of Doom

 
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Posted by on January 17, 2026 in dalek, dalek tales, daleks, daleks of ballykillduff

 

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The Dodo Who Arrived Late

16 Jan

Click HERE to read this exciting new story – for free.

 

 
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Posted by on January 16, 2026 in A new Alice in Wonderland story

 

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Alice in Wonderland and Beyond

16 Jan
Alice in Wonderland and Beyond

ENJOY

 
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Posted by on January 16, 2026 in A new Alice in Wonderland story, Alice in Wonderland, alice in wonderland adventure

 

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The Handcuff King’s Great Return

15 Jan
The Handcuff King’s Great Return
In 1926, the legendary escape artist Harry Houdini took his final bow. Exactly one hundred years later, he finds himself standing in the middle of Times Square.
The Handcuff King’s Great Return
Harry Houdini adjusted his lapels, expecting the damp chill of a Detroit theater. Instead, he was hit by a wall of artificial light so bright it shamed the sun. He didn’t gasp—Houdini was a performer; he simply checked his pocket watch. It had stopped a century ago.
The Illusion of Connectivity
He watched a young woman walk past him, staring intently into a glowing shard of glass. She was laughing at something invisible. Harry’s first instinct was to look for the wires.
“Pardon me, miss,” he said, tipping his hat. “Is that a spirit cabinet in your palm? A trick of the light?”
She didn’t look up. “It’s a TikTok, grandpa. Get with the program.”
Harry frowned. He spent his career exposing “mediums” who claimed to talk to the dead. Now, everyone seemed to be talking to ghosts. People walked with small white pebbles in their ears, arguing with the air. They weren’t possessed; they were “on a call.”
The Ultimate Escape
He wandered into a massive store filled with sleek, silver machines. He picked up a tablet. With a flick of his thumb, he found his own name. He saw his own face—moving, grainy, black-and-white—on a screen thinner than a deck of cards.
“I escaped the Mirror Cuffs,” he whispered, watching a digital version of himself disappear into a water tank. “But I never escaped time.”
The Reaction: A Professional Review
How would the Great Houdini react to 2026?
Disbelief in “Magic”: He would be annoyed that we have all the world’s knowledge in our pockets yet still use it to watch videos of cats. He’d see the internet not as a miracle, but as the world’s largest, most complex smoke-and-mirrors routine.
The Loss of Mystery: Harry loved a secret. Today, he’d find the world uncomfortably “un-secret.” Everyone’s location is tracked; every trick is explained in a ten-second tutorial.
A New Challenge: He wouldn’t be defeated. He’d see a digital lock or a facial-recognition gate and feel that old itch in his fingertips.
The Final Act
By sunset, Harry stood atop a skyscraper, looking down at the glowing grid of the city. In 1926, he was the only man who could disappear. In 2026, everyone is trying to be seen, yet everyone is hiding behind a screen.
He took a deep breath of the smog-tinged air, checked his wrists—no shackles—and smiled. The world had become a giant, glowing Chinese Water Torture Cell.
“Well,” he murmured, rolling up his sleeves. “It’s a bit flashy for my taste. But I’ve gotten out of worse.”
 
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Posted by on January 15, 2026 in harry houdini

 

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Alice Meets Dorothy

14 Jan
Alice Meets Dorothy

One followed a rabbit down into the dark,

The other a cyclone that left its own mark.

On a road paved in gold, where the green towers rise,

They met for a moment and shared their surprise.

 

Both wearing ribbons and dresses of blue,

In worlds where the logic is never quite true.

One spoke of riddles and tea with a cat,

The other of wizards and where home was at.

 

“The cards are all shouting!” the blonde one declared,

While the girl with the braids found herself rather scared.

“There’s a lion who cries and a man made of tin,

And a city of emeralds we’re meant to go in.”

 

They paused by the signpost that points the same way,

In the soft, hazy light of a magical day.

With a sip of her tea and a click of red heels,

They pondered how living a fairy tale feels.

 

No logic or compass could show them the door,

Between Kansas, and London, and Never-Before.

But for one quiet second, the wanderers stood—

Two girls lost in dreams, as all wanderers should.

Alice Meets Dorothy

The sun, a pale, milky orb in the sky, cast long, shifting shadows along the path of gold bricks. Dorothy, her blue gingham dress a familiar comfort, stood with a curious expression. Before her, a girl with hair the color of sunlight and a similar blue dress held a steaming teacup, a delicate saucer resting precariously on the rough, uneven bricks.

“Emerald City?” the blonde girl mused, peering at the signpost that read the same words twice. “How perfectly uninteresting. All cities are rather green, if you ask me, with all the grass and trees.”

Dorothy blinked. “But it’s Emerald City! Everything is green inside. The people wear green spectacles, and the palace is green, and—”

“Oh, like a rather large, sparkly bottle then?” the other girl interrupted, taking a sip of her tea. “I once met a bottle that contained a rather rude pigeon. Do you have many rude pigeons here?”

“Pigeons?” Dorothy frowned, trying to recall. “Well, I haven’t really noticed. I’ve been so busy trying to get to the Wizard.”

“A wizard, you say?” The blonde girl’s eyes widened slightly. “How dreadfully dull. Are they anything like a Dodo? Or a March Hare, perhaps? They are quite good at making things disappear, though often they just hide them.” She gestured with her teacup towards the path. “Are you going to a tea party?”

Dorothy shook her head, a little bewildered. “No, I’m going to ask the Wizard to send me home to Kansas. And my dog, Toto, needs to go home too.” She looked around. “Where’s your dog?”

“A dog? Oh, I don’t have a dog,” the girl replied, looking down at her cup. “I have a rather persistent White Rabbit. He’s always late for something or other. And a Ches—” She stopped, a peculiar glint in her eye. “No, I mustn’t mention him. It makes his smile appear, and then he’s terribly difficult to remove from conversations.”

Dorothy tilted her head. “A rabbit that’s always late? And a disappearing smile?” This world felt even stranger than Oz. “Are you… lost too?”

The blonde girl finally looked directly at Dorothy, a flicker of something familiar in her gaze. “Lost? One is never truly lost when one has a destination, however illogical. Though I confess, ‘Emerald City’ wasn’t on my itinerary. I was rather hoping for a game of croquet.” She gestured to the fallen teacup beside her feet. “Though this tea has gone quite cold, I daresay. Would you care for a cup?”

Dorothy looked from the cold teacup on the ground to the girl’s outstretched hand, holding another. The Emerald City gleamed in the distance. “I suppose… a small cup couldn’t hurt.” She had, after all, met a talking lion and a scarecrow. What was one more peculiar encounter on the road?

The meeting of the girls was polite, but the meeting of their companions would be a much more baffling affair!

Toto was a dog of simple, sturdy principles. He liked bones, he liked chasing the occasional crow, and he liked things to stay where he could see them.

He was sniffing a patch of particularly bright poppies when a tail appeared. Just a tail. It was striped, purple, and twitching lazily in the air about four feet off the ground. Toto gave a sharp, inquisitive bark.

“Oh, do stop that,” a voice purred from the empty air. “It’s dreadfully loud, and I’m trying to contemplate the nature of a ‘Kansas’.”

A pair of wide, yellow eyes flickered into existence above the tail, followed by a grin so wide it seemed to be holding the rest of the face together. Toto’s ears flattened. He was used to monkeys with wings and lions who cried, but a cat that was only half-finished was an insult to his canine senses.

Toto growled, a low vibration in his chest.

“A growl?” the Cheshire Cat remarked, its ears finally materializing. “How singular. In my forest, we growl when we’re pleased and wag our tails when we’re angry. Or is it the other way around? It hardly matters, since I haven’t got a tail at the moment.”

The Cat vanished entirely, leaving only the floating grin. Toto lunged, snapping at the empty air where the nose should have been, but his teeth met only the scent of tea and ozone.

“You’re quite a determined little thing,” the grin said, reappearing behind Toto’s left ear. “But you’ll find that biting the air is a very hungry business. Tell me, does your girl always walk on such a yellow road? It’s a bit loud for the eyes, don’t you think?”

Toto turned in a circle, barking at the floating teeth. He didn’t care about the color of the road; he just wanted this cat to pick a shape and stick to it.

“He’s not a dog, Toto,” Dorothy called out from a distance, sensing the commotion.

“And he’s certainly not a rabbit,” Alice added, peering over.

The Cheshire Cat began to fade again, starting with the tip of its tail. “We’re all mad here, little dog. Some of us just have the decency to hide the evidence.”

With one final, mocking wink of a yellow eye, the cat was gone. Toto sniffed the spot, let out one final, huffy “woof,” and trotted back to Dorothy’s side. He decided then and there that he much preferred the Wicked Witch; at least she stayed solid when you bit her.

 
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Posted by on January 14, 2026 in Alice in Wonderland, the wizard of oz

 

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