N. P. Ryan

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How Skunk Anansie Missed a Trick

August 29, 2020September 21, 2020 / N. P. Ryan / Leave a comment

Think of all the millions Noddy Holder has amassed thanks alone to the fact ‘It’s Christmas’ that he announced loudly, and not something considered far less fun, like, ‘It’s Morning’ or It’s Housework’ Continue reading →

The Great Rock n Roll Little White Lie

May 17, 2020September 20, 2020 / N. P. Ryan / 1 Comment

The story of how I found out one of the U.K.’s greatest recording studio’s best kept secrets; something any music tourist would probably prefer not know. Continue reading →

Killing Joke & How I Might’ve Almost Ended-up Being a Porn Star

November 18, 2019September 20, 2020 / N. P. Ryan / Leave a comment

Recently I’ve been thinking of writing something about how certain songs can take me to a very specific time and place.

Last week I was lucky enough to see Continue reading →

Why Madonna Sucked at Eurovision

June 2, 2019September 20, 2020 / N. P. Ryan / Leave a comment

Madge, me and the Brixton Academy; the latest entry in the Diary of a Mad Pest Controller.
Continue reading →

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Drinking in a dingy bar by the sea, crumpled postcard from Her and World’s Biggest Ray Zero for company; then the son of a starts saying I’m cursed. Praise Be to lighting-up another smoke. Inhale, taste a foul brand: the Hex She put on me. Promised Heaven, delivered a dive nightclub Hell. Thank the Lord for liquor loving hot chicks. Though nothing compares to how it’ll feel catching up with Her.

Wanted a quick bit of business and gone. Bath had other ideas. First, battered and left for dead after a hundred heart-breaking truths. Then a Police Chief with a saggy old treasure chest of secrets to keep needs a scapegoat. Dumps me in the middle of corruption so deep it eases through bone to suck greedy at marrow. With every gun pointing my way, Hell, not even He’s gonna get me outta this one.

Recent Posts: N. P. Ryan

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There’s something I’ve been wanting to tell you for a long time, but just haven’t found the right words or way. Today that changes.

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In an isolated corner of Wales there’s an unassuming shed with a humble wooden door and simple brass knocker; behind that door . . .

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