Pollyticks, Preston, the weather and thanksgiving…

Posted: November 21, 2011 in Publishing

London? When? But the surf’s too good!

It was an odd last week and a bit. Lots happened, and some things didn’t. Namely, because I didn’t attend some things I was meant to attend.  Didn’t attend, is my more sophisticated way of saying I couldn’t be fucked. The surf was too good. Surfing is a fantastic reason for not attending any engagement. If it’s really important, and I mean really important, as in Josh at Cutting Edge Press will go fucking nuts at me, then I will go. Proof of this is I attended a meeting in Preston. Now I have a hard and fast rule about never going to a place that sounds like a sanitary towel. Preston sounds way to close to ‘Press-on’ for me. However, I went. What did we discuss? What literary developments did I digest? Nothing. Not a fucking thing. Why? Because it was so fucking cold up there. It was minus three. I know, that isn’t arctic, but in Devon it was still T-shirt and shorts. How is this possible? We are a tiny island, it’s not like California to Alaska, it’s only Plymouth to Preston. I blame the Met Office weather. Fucktards.
They said, and I promise you this, as I checked on my smart phone, and that clearly doesn’t work because I still do dumb shit. The Met office said the temperature in Preston would be 13 degrees. So, I turned up in a t-shirt, and it is minus three, that’s not even close! So, I inspected the Met office again, and there is a little link ‘Wind Chill’, you click it and it says, the weather in Preston will be 13 degrees, but with the wind chill it will be minus 3!WELL THEN IT’S MINUS 3 YOU STUPID CUNT! Why tell me what the temperature would be like if conditions were ideal? That’s like saying, it will be raining today, but if you have an umbrella it will feel dry. I said nothing all meeting. It made me look deep and thoughtful. Truth was I was too cold to form a single thought. It has also been suggested that I move to London. Network myself, schmooze. But, there is no surf in London. Besides, the place is so loud. People there have gotten used to it. If I lived in London, I’d never be able to listen to the voices in my head. It’s said my language is bad, in London, ‘fuck’ isn’t even a word, it’s a comma.
I was asked my thoughts on the ‘Occupy London’ protest and is there an ‘Occupy’ where I live. “I live in Plymouth” I said.
Plymouth, is the safest city in the world from a terrorism point of view. It the Taliban turned up to bomb Plymouth, they’d think it had already been hit. We’ve had an ‘Occupy’ movement for over a decade, it’s called the unemployed. They don’t bury the dead in Plymouth. They pickle them in formaldehyde and prop them up in shops to make the place look bustling.
I do empathise with the Occupy movement. It is a systemic failure. We all had an idea that banks and the government were in bed together. We sort of had an idea, but it used to be discrete, like when I pay to watch my cousin breast-feed. But now the banks and the government are fucking in front of us, like two drunken tramps in the street. I’m not surprised though. With our Coalition Government. Being the cynic I am, I expected no changes. For me when you vote, it’s like being given three bowls of shit and a spoon, and you have to eat one. Next to them, there is an empty bowl, so you can scoop two of the shits together and mix it up. But it’s still shit.
Also, oddly, I’ve made up with the critic who didn’t like the stylistic spelling and grammar. When I pointed out that even if the spell check hadn’t picked them up, either the sub-editor, my editor, the proof reader, test readers or head of publishing would have. Once it was clear it genuinely was deliberate, he liked the concept… now that is what I call pretentious!

Now I write this, at the time of thanksgiving. An American Holiday, where they celebrate the Pilgrim Fathers, who left my hometown of Plymouth in 1620, to land in America. This should come as a stark reminder as to How shit Plymouth is. The place was so shit, even back in the 1600’s that they were prepared to board a massive wooden boat. Wooden, I say again, WOODEN boat, and sail across the world to escape to land in America. That’s how bad it is. The risk of death is less than life in Plymouth. A city designed to inspire dark comic writing. We don’t have an occupy movement in Plymouth. The massive crowd is the people waiting for the boat to come back and pick them up!

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