lucy brazier

FREE! Who Shot Tony Blair? Brexit Special

In a post-Brexit, pre-dystopian Britain, the traditional political system has collapsed and Tony Blair is back in Number Ten. Only this time, he is tied to a chair in the kitchen under the watchful eye of the accidental Prime Minister’s mother.

The year is 2028 and following several years of chaos after a bungled Brexit, it’s every chap (and chapesses) for themselves. Old rivalries resurface over the fight to bring the ex-Prime Minister and notorious war-monger to justice – but it is not to be.

With a list of potential suspects stretching from Land’s End to John O’Groats, who really did shoot Tony Blair?



To My Lovers

For those that loved me for just one night, or barely a day; for those that loved me for a season and those that loved me for a reason, too. For those heady, halcyon loves of my youth and as well the calmer, platonic loves of more recent years. For the requited, the unrequited and the loves of which I never dared to dream. For the passions that lasted barely hours and the passions that endure still, never spoken, the words never uttered… this is for you.

The heart is but a simple thing, yet impossible to fathom. It is a feral and vulnerable beast. It is capable of immeasurable endeavours and, unchecked, will lead one into wild and dangerous territories. When the quieting and reasonable voice of the head speaks its fundamental truth, the heart sings loud to the soul and, more often than not, we will dance to that oh so seductive tune.

And so the heart is an unreliable barometer of love. My heart has been broken, yet it has gone on to love again, harder and more fiercely than before, each and every time. My greatest loves have ended with little more than a sigh of resignation; others induce tears and the listening of sad songs even now. 


So perhaps it is the soul where love truly lies? 

For those that cheated, those that lied and those that lead me astray; the ones that played me, betrayed me and the very special few that thought that maybe they could break me – it was still a love of sorts, was it not? 

Love is a thing that can never be owned, but can only be given. It’s power lies in the giving. Withholding or retraction only diminishes the power of love. So give, with whole heart and mind, all the love you that have. Alcohol and music are there to negate any unfavourable results. Trying to protect the heart only makes it more vulnerable – like any muscle it must be exercised and pushed, and, above all, risked. Life without heart is hardly a life at all and a battered heart is surely a sign of a life well lived.

And so, my lovers, the persistent and the brief; the meaningful and the moments of madness; those true loves and those just in lust; the lovers that never quite were, the loves that never evolved beyond meaningful looks across a marriage; the ones that hurt, the loves that made me laugh; the loves that should have been, could have been, would have been… the love for a different time, a different place… 

I thank you all for the love. 

And you know I love you. Don’t you?

Why I Love Tony Blair

No, not ex-British Prime Minister Tony Blair, obviously. If I loved him, I wouldn’t have killed him so blatantly and violently.

In a book. Not in real life. You would have heard about that. And, for the record, I wish no harm upon the sneaky, power-crazed war-monger, either. Because I believe that life has a way of quietly going about its own special kind of retribution with no need of the assistance of the likes of you and me. And it would only make a martyr out of the blasted chap and no one wants that.

But anyway.

No. The affection to which I refer is for my own self published novel, Who Shot Tony Blair? It wasn’t that my publisher didn’t want it. In fact, it was to their great chagrin that I published it on a whim one evening via that great tax-avoiding bastard in the sky. (Not God – the other one, much more popular. You know.) And why I did that is still a bit of a surprise, even to myself. It was helpful to know that publishing a novel can be achieved in under half an hour, should the fancy take one. I learned that, certainly. But that was a by-product of the experience.


You see, I knew that this was the last thing I would be publishing in a while. And I also knew that, as raw and unpolished as it is, I couldn’t leave the writing world without this being out there. There has been little, if any, promotion on my part. A handful of enthusiasts, bless their cotton socks, have made a little song and dance here and there – for that, dear chaps, I salute you. Mind you, I backed out of all promotion and publicity for the much-vaunted and highly celebrated PorterGirl collection, Old College Diaries. Which leads us all to suspect that maybe I’m not overly fond of promotion and marketing.

Well, what’s new? I hear all authors cry. No one likes that! And you would all be right. Everyone hates that. It’s just that I’ve made the decision that I’m not going to do that any more. Why? There are lots of reasons. I am under no obligation to explain. In the words of mighty wordsmiths Run DMC – it’s like that, and that’s the way it is.

But back to Tony Blair. Who Shot Tony Blair? started as a drunken joke in a shed and continued as a huge in-joke as a blog series, featuring a cast almost entirely consisting of online and offline friends and family. It was the only major thing I have written purely for the sheer joy of writing, with a complete disregard for the the rules and norms of storytelling and literature. It is pure, unadulterated fun on a page, conceived and written before the whole Brexit debacle but with that very much at the forefront of proceedings. There is no real rhyme or reason for it at all – although it has proved uncannily prophetic in recent times. I wrote it for me and my readers. It is by no means a perfect or even a competent novel, but that is all of its charm. To place it in the hands of an editor and publisher would erode the sharp edges and jarring imperfections that make the book what it is. Which is joyful bloody nonsense, with no respect for either the authority of the state or the authority of the publishing industry. If this should be my swan song, then I delight in the fact that it is me, unfiltered and unrepentant in concept and prose.

I have written far better books. I have written much more accomplished things for fun – Poirot parodies Never A Cross Word  and Hide And Seek , for example. But part of me will never be more proud of anything than Who Shot Tony Blair? It is, without doubt, the most honest thing I have produced in my writing career. And, really, when you’ve done that, where do you go from there?



Regular readers will notice that I have turned off comments on my blog. This is not because I don’t love the interactions and bloody marvellous conversations that have made many of us firm friends – not to mention being more interesting than the posts themselves! My life has changed and no longer affords me the pleasure of your company in the way it did before. Please do not think my lack of interaction on your sites means that you matter any the less to me. Find me on Facebook (Lucy Brazier) Twitter (@Portergirl100) or email and I will be delighted to stay in touch.