New Book Excerpt! Hehey!

Hello you. If you’re interested, here is a continuation of the new book I am writing. I’m still rather proud, and would like to continue to share bits and pieces. This particular section follows on immediately after the one I published here.

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Yan Poisson was, objectively, a buffoon. Yan Poisson was, in my opinion, very attractive. His glossy hair fell in waves to his shoulders, dyed blonde at the tips. He wore dark eyeliner, deftly applied with a well-practised hand. He had abs that could grind flour. One smouldering glance from Yan Poisson could calm a yapping puppy, ease off the rain, and sweeten a cup of tea. He was, undoubtedly, very beautiful. And he had all the mental dexterity of an udder. Continue reading

Well, I’m Writing Another Book

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I finished my last (and first!) book a few months back – it’s not published or anything, but I’m pretty fuckin’ proud of it. Anyway I was in Goa back in March and was slapped by an idea for a new story that I’m really excited about. I’ve been trying to write it while travelling, but between writing my travel diaries and doing a bit of freelance work and being drunk all the time, I’ve written about a thousand words in three months. It’ll get done eventually. But I just finished the first few pages and I’d like to share them, because I feel giddy and proud. It’s a first draft, so of course I will loathe it entirely in a day or two’s time, but for now I’m quite happy with it. Have a gander, if you fancy x

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The Goblin Racist

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The world outside was black and sodden when the sombre clock struck midnight, and concurrent with the last vibrato of the pendulum, there was an almighty bang at my front door. I lowered my book, listening.  A silent flash lit the room as I sat, and moments later a slow thunder rolled and belched in the distance. Perhaps I had imagined it. Continue reading

Travelling Back In Time To Break My Father’s Nose, or, The Weirdest Story I Have Ever Written

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Do you think you could beat your father in a fight? What about when he was in his prime? My uncle asked this very question at my father’s birthday dinner last weekend, and my father, without a hint of irony or humour, gazed straight into my eyes and told me he would ‘massacre’ me, even now. He’s 59 years old with a hernia and a beer gut, I am 25. The hubris. This simply won’t stand. Something must be done.

I am going to break your nose, old man. Not now, not today, while you’re old and feeble and your best years are behind you. There’d be no satisfaction in that, there’d be no challenge. No, father, I’m going to go back to the 1980’s, I’m going to find you, and I’m going to make you wish I’d never been born. Continue reading

Companions – Short Story

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I did my fly up and rinsed my hands in the sink. My paper hat was skew-whiff in the mirror. I took it off, parted my hair, repositioned it, then for the fifteenth time checked I hadn’t got any sauce on my shirt. I shook my hands dry as I turned, and through my own interminable bad luck I found myself flicking water over James Dean’s groin.

“Shit, sorry man,” I murmured as I bustled past.

“Ah, it’s nothin’,” he shrugged, undoing his belt and slinking past me into a cubicle. Continue reading