Cavendish Avenue - Paperback
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Cavendish Avenue is a short, unsettling walk through a perfectly ordinary street where something feels... off.
Inspired by real events, this book blurs the line between memory and imagination, humour and dread. What begins as a familiar domestic scene slowly tightens into a psychological maze-doors that seem to watch, silences that grow teeth, and thoughts that refuse to stay quiet.
Told with sharp wit and an honest, unflinching voice, Cavendish Avenue explores fear not as a monster, but as a companion-sometimes ridiculous, sometimes terrifying, always personal. It is a story about the things we laugh at to survive, the things we ignore until they breathe back, and the moments that quietly change us without asking permission.
This is not a horror story in the traditional sense.
It is something closer.
And that's what makes it harder to forget.
My name is Florin Marius Golianu, born in the Romanian town of Vulcan, Hunedoara - which literally means "volcano." I guess I was destined to erupt with something one day. I later moved to Dorohoi, where I finished high school, learned to dodge trouble, and perfected the art of sarcasm long before I could grow a proper beard.
Life then decided to throw me into the army. Two years with the Black Wolfs brigade - less Hollywood hero and more sweaty boots, cold soup, and shouting. It taught me discipline, endurance, and how to survive when everyone around you is just as lost as you are.
After that came what I can only describe as a European survival tour. Germany was first. I worked with a man who believed sleep was optional and work was eternal, travelling with a children's carousel and living like a nomad in caravans that smelled of sausages and despair.
With help from a good friend, I later worked for wealthy families, cleaning and cooking in houses filled with chandeliers, marble floors, and surreal comfort. Germany also gave me its festivals - loud, drunk, joyful, and alive.
After Germany came Dublin, where I learned that beer can be breakfast and Irish humour is Romanian sarcasm with worse weather. From there, fate dragged me to London, where I met my other half.
Eight years at Soho House cooking for people who probably own islands, followed by work in a care home cooking for people who've seen more than most of us ever will. It's honest work.
Somewhere between frying pans and bad singing, I picked up my guitar again. Self-taught, imperfect, but honest. When AI arrived, The Stag was born. In 2025, I released several albums, including Life, Misbehaving, I Lose My Voice, and the Romanian album Demult.
Music gave me a stage. Writing gave me therapy.
My books - The Truth - Silly Minds, When Did I Stop Seeing?, and We Built a Brain and Forgot to Read the Manual - form an accidental trilogy about the mind, perception, and direction. They explore anxiety, wonder, technology, and what it means to stay human in a world that moves too fast.
I never set out to be an author. I kept writing because it hurt less than staying silent. I don't have all the answers. But I write anyway. Keep going.
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