Archive for February, 2012

Bloody agents

February 27, 2012

The agent’s just phoned in a great state of excitement – pissed, not priapic, thank God. Claimed to have a marvellous idea for my next book. And his great idea? That my next novel should be in 3D. Fellow’s mad. I always knew he was a drunk & a deviant, but insane is quite new. He’s always been repulsive, but a tip-top agent. The two go together, I suspect. I don’t mind how vile he is as long as the cash flows in and the contracts are water-tight and entirely in my favour. So the last thing I want is for my usually proficient agent going doolally odd-socks

Advertisements

Pokers and Gerbils

February 27, 2012

I am now being followed on ‘The Twitter’ by a US Poker website. I’m jolly interested in fireside implements. They often feature in my books in murder or orgy scenes. I recall a scene in one book where Charles the hero impales an imp on it’s own toasting fork. Fans consider it an iconic death. There was an unfortunate incident with my son’s pet gerbil while I was writing that scene. I often use props to help me block a sequence. The tongs were sharper than I expected. And gerbils contain more tripes than I had previously realised. Quite ruined the hearth rug which had been cross-stitched by my then wife’s late grandmother. I got it in the neck from both wife & son. At least one of them I could slap & send to bed without any supper. But my son was harder to placate

Ladies’ fashions

February 27, 2012

Earlier this evening I was pleasingly reminded of when ladies would wear a dead animal around their neck. Gave them a delightfully gamey aroma. And if a chap was shy, he could direct his conversation towards the decorative carrion’s glassy eyes. Made it easier to ask how far she went. Annoyingly, I caught ringworm off a dead fox which was draped around a rather tasty young Milanese Contessa. Although, in truth, it was the lesser of the infestations with which she presented me.

Ladies knew how to dress themselves back in the day. I particularly liked their use of gravy browning for tights during WWII.

Sunday lunch still gives me the horn.

Like a hole in the head…?

February 23, 2012

Had lunch today with Sir Adrian ‘Nobby’ Thrippleton. Old school chum. Noted neurosurgeon & author of the seminal ‘Brain Salad Surgery’ which is the famous ‘self-help’ guide to Trepanning oneself. Banned in 17 countries, a feat even I couldn’t achieve. Rather envious. He once offered to trepan me, but England is so damp, I was worried that rain would get in the skull and I’d get rheumatism of the brain.

Anyway, I took him to lunch at my club to pick his brains -no pun *guffaw* – about trepanning for a sequence on my new book. My hero Charles will trepan himself to release a demon trapped in his brain. Jolly gruesome, this Trepanning lark. You’d need a screw loose to want to inflict it on oneself. But it’ll make a thrilling chapter. My editor is worried it might encourage a stupid person to have a go. But if so, so
what? If they’re that daft, who’ll notice any difference?

‘Nobby’ told me in confidence that he’d trepanned The Duke of Edinburgh. They’d both been frightfully drunk at the time. He was bunged the knighthood to stop him blabbing about the hole in the royal bonce! And a title has done wonders for his Harley St practice.

Between you & me & the gatepost Nobby is a bit of a quack. I wouldn’t trust him to remove an ingrowing toenail. Particularly not when sober.

Phew!

February 10, 2012

Rozzers finally left! No charges for Stirling! Lucky what a a bottle of whiskey each and few crisp oncers will achieve, not to mention 2 tickets for the Policeman’s Ball (not a raffle).

In fact, I had to dissuade them from charging the poor old bag with wasting police time. They offered to ‘stitch her up good and proper.’ Not her fault she’s a frigid old bat who’s never seen a naked chap re-enacting a black mass in his own garden in the snow before.Besides if she were banged up (in chokey, I mean) the local shop which raises money for the ‘Sanctuary for Distressed Snails’ would go under. (Wife wouldn’t like that, she gets her clothes from in there). The old girl’s a stalwart of that shop. And of the local Conservative party too, so she’s not all bad. Her grandfather was a chum of Mosley too, apparently

Anyway, I think I will be able to bring a certain level of authenticity to my ‘black mass in the icy tundra ‘ scene in my next book. It’s bloody cold on the feet and one’s pork sword shrivels to the size of a cashew nut! 

Yes, even mine!

Not the best Idea I ever had…

February 10, 2012

There will be a scene in the new book where a black mass occurs in an icy tundra. So, for research, I thought I’d pop out into the garden in the altogether, take advantage of the overnight snowfall, and work out the staging.

With the benefit of hindsight I should’ve used the back garden, not the front.

The Milkman wasn’t fussed, but then he’s a man of the world. Falklands veteran. Postie just lit a fag & watched – for a bit too long in my opinion. 

But then that wretched woman who lives in that bungalow – The Vapours is it called? – over the way walked past. She’s the one who pushes her elderly Westies around in a battered children’s pushchair. Perpetually startled expression on her face, windswept complexion favoured by ramblers, lesbians and Ken Russell. Well, she had an excuse to be startled this morning! Guffaw! Even at sub-zero temps & from a distance the old Stirling Johnson is a sight to behold! Particularly for a lassie who, even at her advanced age, hadn’t come face to face with one before… Unless it’s dangling between the legs of a wee hairy beastie. And I don;t mean Mussolini.

Oh dear, this will have to be continued, the police have just arrived

 

 

 

February 7, 2012

I have talked previously about my ‘talking book’ which you can download here. It is now available as a ‘CD’ which, I gather, is like a gramophone record except you can also use it to shave by. Hurray before it sells out which is it bound to do