Author JW Bowe returns with another episode of Publicly Limited Company, in which he answers questions, the telephone and discusses the editing process from where he sees it.
Herbert, Derek and Benjamin have a secret.
Now who are they going to trust?
Boys, girls, wheelchairs… secrets beyond
gravity, a comedy above North Wales.
The following links will take you to the paperback, Kindle and iTunes versions of The Meifod Claw! For other ebook versions please check your provider’s catalogue.
I always loved playing darts. Everything about it; the feel of tungsten in my grip, chalk dust wiped onto my trousers, the sound of clipping the metal separators around a triple twenty.
I bought some new darts recently. A completely wanton purchase I’ll admit, but then I had been playing with only one for the past year, having lost the other two either out of the window or under something that I have still yet to check. Dart is still a great game though. It boils the game down to its barest essentials and makes the amount subtraction a lot easier to handle. I was great at dart.Continue reading “Dart”
For reasons that might be either a fall back into a standard position, or else a guiding light of existence, my dad has always been building sheds. You could do a quick panorama of any piece of turf that he has owned, spot one, and then if you performed another turn there’d be a fair chance that another one will have gone up. If you really wanted to test his credulity, well… you’d just end up giving in after the first dozen or so turns.Continue reading “The Lord of the Sheds”
10th August 2019
My wife and I were drugged by a Buddhist monk once. For reals. Apparently he was enlightened but we only had his word to go on about that. I can say for certain that he was a decent business man because he sold us some of his home brew jazz cd’s while we were there (he was a local business man of the year). That was after the scented tea drug (he was a local business man of the year). Afterwards I drove home across the country with a headache. Part of the way home from the tranquility garden that we’d gone to visit, I said to Anna that I was thinking of bloody driving back to said monk to say that if he’s in the market for popping enlightenment then I’m sure that such drugs already exist. Unless enlightenment is supposed to feel like a headache. Years earlier I’d hung out around the fringes of Das Western Buddhist Order and generally found enlightening to be no more harmful than it was a hassle. Anyway that tea was dreadful to drive under, like an endless Blob Dildo anthem blasting from a puja circle within the oscillations of my mind-brain. I couldn’t even have a go on the worry beads he’d flogged us because I was busy with the steering wheel. Ridiculous.Continue reading “Blog. the Scent of Enlightenment, by Buddha ™”
3rd April 2019
In a bid to slip into the sandal of Christian charity, I have recently started taking myself on a wander about town of a Saturday night as a Street Pastor. Perhaps you know of them. Perhaps they helped you out in your local town when the night has a grip upon the wear of your heal? Perhaps you’ve just said hello while passing along the thoroughfare and asked for a lollipop. You can do that by the way, we’re well down with doling those out.Continue reading “The Blog on the Street”
20th March 2019
What makes a good song? I’d say its about the time of day, the melody, lyrics, voice, arrangements and some warm, lo-fi production. Mostly though it’s the time of day, as the rest of it you’ll find deployed amongst the music that you already deem decent enough to bother with. And I’ll be honest, in terms of actually understanding music, past having some moves on the egg shakers I’m less than familiar with any instrument.
I have moved a lot of instruments around though, from my days working the concert hall. Good days. I once ran a spanking new Steinway over a live extension cable during performance time; hat’s off to those piano makers, once you get the vast weight of a grand piano moving, those tiny wheels work like greased lightning.
I got locked on the stage one night too. Having performed a faultless stage move, I was locked on the stage by a workmate. He laughed at me being stuck in there with eight hundred and more punters through his monitor. To be fair to the context of the situation, he did that because earlier in the day, about lunchtime, he’d discovered that I’d electric taped up his rucksack which contained his lunch, and thrown it into row H of the raised seating.Continue reading “Odds On, Blogs Off”
23rd February 2019
So I just got savagely overtaken by an Audi. You know the deal. It was one of those steroidal Audi’s that started life as a Volkswagen Passat, then got all dressed up in a puffa jacket and garish trainers, hot for either track or A road. I can live with the overtaking, but what’s with the chip on their shoulders? Is it that deep down in the bowls of their turbochargers, Audi’s know that they are the children of Volkswagens and not the offspring of Bavarian Motor Works?
Regardless, I was left sucking tail pipes.
While I’m on one with the cars though, I will just crowbar a moment of your time to let you know that I recently categorised each of the four gospels according to their corresponding supercar. We shall do them in correct order; Continue reading “Bloggom and Gomorrah”
9th February 2019
Okay … let’s see if this old engine still runs. Going to have to drag it off the bench where it’s been left with some old tarpaulin for cover. It might have forgotten how to work but there’s still a veneer of fuel left in the tank, enough to pump through if we can find the little teat? They’re always hidden away in some crevice that you forget about. Best give a good few presses as well because that carburettor is not going to want to join in unless it really has no choice. All good? Then let us pray, then pull the cord.
So what’s it like to survive being born again to Christianity? Well, if that cord pulls true then we’ll know, but in the meantime I’ve got some field notes for you. Continue reading “Back on the Blog”
JW Bowe sits to discuss artistic process, gigantic glass kilns and more, with Sculptor George Triggs.
17th July 2018
I’m going to review some things today because soon I’ll be cajoling folks into reviewing The Brine in Me, so I thought I’d have a go at doing some of that myself. Probably none of these reviews are for things that are very recent, although the film that I’m going to review I only saw two nights ago. I didn’t finish it. We’ll get to that.
Actually, let’s do that now. The film was called The Accountant. It’s about a man who sees spreadsheets. He can also break paper work down into a single speedy montage so the film can get to the showy offy bits where there’s some sort of administrative jujitsu action that our man is clearly a platinum business card holder of. There is a girl as well, but that doesn’t matter because the only rolling around in this film is between the fella and the fellas brother. Colour me disappointed. That said, the second act is keen with narrative details and extreme marker pen use, but I switched it off early and went to bed after the brotherly grappling remained shirted for over a minute. File under, ‘Would have been better with Jason Statham.’ Continue reading “In the Blog of my Hand”
24th June 2018
I hold a record! As of last Saturday it is possible that I am the most acupunctured man in England, certainly the most that that particular practitioner has ever used. But then I did tell her to shove them anywhere if it helps. I was in the fallout of a terrible injury to my arm and hand and shoulders following a fallout with my lawnmower as to whether or not it was going to start. It did but my goodness it was angry about it. I’ve actually spent more money in repairing myself from the mower than it cost me to buy that wretched self drive first place. It was too big for the gardening round that was its task. It was too big for its boots. It has been retired.
But I’m back off the bench and my shoulders feel great. Well, they’re alright, but they were great just after all the prickly business. Anna asked me how I felt when she came to pick me up and I said I felt good enough to punch a tree. She told me that she was driving us home. Continue reading “Too Big for its Blogge”