23rd August 2017
Here’s a tip right out of the gates. Just because you like the sound of crediting someone as ‘Boris Becker; German Spelling Checker’ in your novel, doesn’t mean said sportsman will have any interest. He might just think you’re taking the piss, and get no more in touch with you than he did me.
Context can be a difficult thing to navigate when opening communication, but try not to take it personally and reply to their cold shoulder by telling them that you preferred Stefan Edberg anyway. You move along and find someone else. I’m sure that Bruce Jenner will get back to me with the answer to his favourite strength of cheddar. I’m a number five type of person, but that’s in imperial and I’m not sure that his answer might not get lost in some transatlantic numerical confusion. What if the answer is a two, but his cheese options run out at three? Should I have said that I was a five to begin with? I’d hate to get the situation confused and end up feeling a fool, or offending. He’s pretty fast, too remember. I wouldn’t bet on escaping his cheese rage even if I was wearing springs on my feet and he somehow ended up with the high heels.
Damn, I’m going to see what he’s been up to in retirement. I don’t tend to catch up with all the nuances of sporting news; I’ve only recently discovered that Mike Tyson tattooed his own face in for instance.
Bruce seemed pretty down to earth though so I’ll probably find nothing. In fact I’ll do that now, hold on…
Okay. I’m going to have to delete everything I said, perhaps even my entire life. I feel a touch like the newsreader caught between his autocue and the headlights. Can we go to the weather…?
Today’s weather will be localised, unless you are burgeoning into omnipotence, in which case it will still keep up with you but may become variable. Back to the sports desk!
There’s no adverts? We’re pay per view? Oh well that’s fine, I won’t have upset anyone then. I used to wear heels myself; well they were riding boots, but I always liked the way they cupped my calves. No spurs, though. I worked for someone who specialised in retrieving mentalist horses for dressage rehabilitation. You didn’t need spurs, just body armour and a lack of common sense. If you can swear on top of those then that helps too. With time you might even manage to turn the air blue while you’re winded and collapsed into some fencing.
But I wouldn’t stop until I gave those wretched ex-race horses the dignity of a fabulous counter canter. Without dignity I fear we may be no more than a beast. And I am aware that I say such things as a fully grown man with long hair, still, and with no plans to change that. I do get looks from people, and sometimes children are scared that there’s a Malfoy on the thoroughfare. Although with time perhaps I’ve come to closer resembling some kind of a goblin from House Slytherin. Perhaps we all just reach a natural point of ageing and just race to the weirdness, bend the rules a little and hope that no-ones looking. We all know we are looking, but maybe save the bullying for when you’re back indoors. Which is generally when we all laugh at everyone else anyways, so that’s probably a solution to a problem that doesn’t really harm anyway. If you’re the sort of person who high-fives at a realisation, consider it on! Otherwise we can indulge in one of those contractually awkward hand shakes where you can’t remember the gesticulation-to-peer group manoeuvre.
Why can’t I just have a hug?
Anyway you love, we know how you feel
JW Bowe xx
P.S! Anna urges me not to go catching up with the past few years of Lance Armstrong news. Maybe she’s right, but I love to catch up with a hero. Actually, maybe I’ll just write back to Bruce Grobbelaar. You’re always safe with a Bruce.
If you enjoyed this blog, and you’re impatient for something else to read, feel free to bunch up close to a free sample chapter from JW Bowe’s debut novel, The Meifod Claw, which is available now at Amazon, iTunes and on various other international eReaders.
You can also double up your sampling by following this link to the forthcoming fictional autobiography of The Meifod Claw’s wheelchair-in-chief, Derek Gainsborough. His life and apologies will be released next year under the sail of The Brine in Me.
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