Blogged out of Cylinders

24^th March 2018

Anna just walked into my study and stopped still because I was gazing moronically and obviously pleased with myself about something. She said that it was disconcerting, which threw me off what I was thinking about and now it’s gone. That’s alright, I’ll tag down the next idea. Once you get a feel for how they exist out there, they come along like a Mercedes AMG Taxi at full chat, and if you miss that one then listen out… that’s another V12 on the approach. You taking the Ferrari are you? I like the way you think, and your taxi is a two-tone maple brown and sunset orange. Ferrari never did enough of those. I’ve decided to go on my push bike instead so I’ll catch up with you later when I’ve got a sweat on. Have you got a spare seat in your Ferrari? No, just a roll cage in the back is it? Makes sense, I’ll just hang on to the rear number plate and catch a ride with you if that’s cool? You’ll be going at one hundred and ninety miles an hour will you? See that’s no good for me, I’ve got gangly long hair. Once, someone offered me a go at driving their kit car and in a pique of excitement I forgot that I didn’t have a hair band to go with the convertible and the summertime. Still, I had a proper good thrash around some reasonable tarmac and back with my hair wailing like a banshee and finding new purpose as a net to passing flies. By the time I got a brush to it I was fucking livid. True story. So I can’t hitch that ride with you. Perhaps your Ferrari will break down up the road and I’ll pass you then. There’s not too much point in me hanging about with you on the side of the road; I understand the principal of spark-release-push but otherwise I just like the noises that cars make. If I stop my bike and your taxi driver has the bonnet up and is going on about something to do with the drive train, I’m probably just going to shrug and imagine that the drive train is something that a pornographer uses for a special move or something, like in Street Fighter II. I wonder what the combination of button smashing for that move would be? Could you even perform it in your local arcade? I don’t know, and perhaps the tone of hanging out around the arcades has changed, but I can’t imagine that it’s changed that much, if I’m imaging anything at all, which I am not. I’m just biking on past, the wind a placated manner about my strands. It’s a good speed to move at, and more certain than waiting for the bus. I can’t do waiting for the bus. If I’m going to get wet waiting then I’m sure as toast going to prefer getting wet and already being on the way to where I want to go. I’ve attached this principal to job interviews, and I can tell you … the links to the purchase of my novels are available at the end of wherever this might be going. But I am at least going, and without the rain I’m happy to add. In fact I’ve been going a while, I might just pull over and enjoy the smell of mid summer parsley while I get my breath back. I love parsley, it’s got it all going on. Last best recollection of its abundance would be wandering with a dear friend to a cheese farm up a Welsh back lane that neither of us knew because we were on a holiday with a chunk of families back at the house. The smell of that parsley was terrific but damn the hills were steep. At the end of it the pair of us got to watch a whole cheese making video on our own, and then the tasters and inevitable purchasing. It was a good system on the farmers part because all the routes out were back down the hill so you could roll like a great barrel of Edam back to where you’d started from, right back into the heated pool with the overlooking Antirrhinums that seem to watch you back when you’ve been on the chilli Cheddar. I’d wondered about the Antirrhinums then, that they saw devils and lusted for the ability to move around more than was their given rite. Snapdragons indeed. In any case there was a river or waterway of minor significance between the ‘rhinums and I, and I thought that would hold them if anything happened, which it shouldn’t because it seemed ridiculous. My dear friend told me to calm down, that it was the chilli getting to me. He even went as far as the remind me that he always kept a blade attachment ready strimmer in the boot of his car, if anything should feel the need to get out of hand (he’s a gardener by the way). The chilli mad bastard even got out of the pool and went in a fever to collect it, which is where I must leave you…!

Circles in the sand dunes, and the night has eyes ….
JW Bowe xx

P.S! Anna urges me to point out that my mind has been needing recovery time after working through The Brine in Me with the editor. If the above was not fit for any purpose other than to demonstrate that, then she will be proved correct. Does that mean I deserve a thank you from her? If that goes down then I’m happy to apologise to you for the last few minutes of your time. No-one wins but we are all at least acknowledged.

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 this year under the sail of The Brine in Me.

JW Bowe can also be unearthed on YouTube and in various other ways through the Serious Biscuits homepage. Scroll down for further links, action and disclaimers.

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