22 September 2017
I was following a supercar the other day around Colchester; just me and the McLaren in front, and all the gridlock of that time of day that came along as well. Now I do like a super-duper car, and they look great when they’ve been greased up and flung about a racetrack by Jeremiah Claxon. But I saw my favourite Ferrari driving about the shonky roads near Bala a few months ago, and I fear it may have looked ridiculous, dodging potholes and covered in the colour of Wales.
But that McLaren, burbling along in second gear, looked great, all vulgar and magnificent. It’s what Wagner would be busting around in if he was re-animated and given adrenalin.
Anyway, that was my quick trip back to the flatlands of my homeland, and it was great. Essex brings good tempo (gridlock aside) and raises the voice.
Lots of congratulations to the newlyweds that drew Anna and I back there, and at least two apologies to the fabulous new wife, who’s great train kept making me think of finding some tent pegs…
So I’m back at home, in amongst autumn. I knew it would happen, it always does. Otherwise the spiders wouldn’t know when to come in and flip-out over the thought of getting stuck in the bath. Are they especially mucky creatures? Wouldn’t the sink be enough if that was the case? The little things that you understood as a child, like, sometimes spiders live in bathtubs just don’t add up when you’ve grown. But there it is in the tub again, large as legs and not a word to say for itself. I’ve got a few words for them, though, but let’s move along.
I’m thinking that I’m going to have to tidy up my study at some point very soon. And by tidy up, I mean getting the old grandfather flamethrower out and reducing the room down to the level of carbon, then starting again. Anyone want some old, crap CD’s with the disks missing? Yeah, you’ve probably got your own, haven’t you? Maybe I’ll try to accidentally leave them behind when I make my first public appearance as a… thingy, y’know… writer! I’m not terrible nervous about it, although I am thinking of bringing Arthur along with me to round people up if no-one wants to come close. Anna might think that’s doubling down on failure though, and only she knows where the venue is. Anyway I’ll only end up repeating that Serious Biscuits is a publication house, not a Biscuit Monger. People do continue to think that, of course they do. But Serious Biscuits was my second choice of name, the first being Krunchie Komrades. Anna said she wouldn’t pick up the phone and say ‘Hello, Krunchie Komrades. How can I help?’ though. How could I argue that, even though in reality all she does is pick up the receiver and say, ‘Yes?’
Anyway, it is going to go fabulously at the event. I’m going to have just enough coffee beforehand to boost but not ignite me, and I’ll take a load of the flowers that I’m drying for winter with me. I can strip back the stems until the gathered and curious can take the quaking in their embers no longer, and saddle up close to ask about my magical mystery novel, known publicly as The Meifod Claw. I’m going to say the same thing to everyone though; ‘Its ten quid, cash in hand. The rest is all inside the book.’
If you come along and purchase two or more copies (that’s still at a street value of twenty clams) I might give you a free semi-dried flower. I can’t help you if you take it outside in the rain though.
See you there.
If it’s all the same, I’ll leave the way that I came…
JW Bowe xx
P.S! Anna urges me to point out that I will undoubtedly be appealing and thorough throughout my time with the public, just like when I used to sell parking tickets for The National Trust. I’ll just be asking for less money from the public this time.
Public Notice: The National Trust have already taken the beaches, if you know what I mean…
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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