One of the joys of writing a book is that you have in effect created a whole series of blogposts! Here is another extract from my latest book.
The original, which introduced the delightful Fairy Hanny, is also available on Amazon.
“So, as we sip our cold beers, brewed to perfection in silly Suffolk, our eyes are cast upon this beautiful woodland glade.
(Don´t worry about the cast in your eye, you´ll grow out of it. Well, that’s what the doctor said to me.)
At this very moment, in what we choose to call Time, we find ourselves watching a scene unfolding, not too far from the Magical City of Setebos, the seat of the Fairy Kings, where King Innocent the Foetid is the centre of all wisdom, on a planet largely devoid of common sense. It is also devoid of incense, ten cents and senescence.
City of expiring dreams and chocolate covered ice creams! Where poets die and crooner’s cry! Though it’s not unusual and you don’t have to be rich! A place for doves to cry and spies to spy! Where watching birds can catch your eye! A city for tourists and two men with four wrists! Where boozers booze and cruisers cruise! Where the Fairies are light and airy, and nothing is dreary! And if you want to go home just find a Gnome! If things get too tricksy just find a Pixy! Where Bigfoot sits Leery whilst eating a canary!
Chomp! Chomp! Chomp!
Was it a yellowy canary or just a parrot looking scary?
Cities all over the Multiverse and Yorkshire have their concentrations of rogues and villains and scum and scavengers and Gypsies, Tramps and Thieves, and Thugs and Yobs and Yahoos and Bullingdon Bores and Lying Bigots dressed in Blue; wherever you go you can be sure they’re there! And if you don´t know where you are going then you will definitely end up on Uranus.
Setebos -Your streets are paved with a Golden Vision and there are golden showers everywhere; your bars are decorated with lasciviousness; there are pretty Fairies all over the place; but sometimes the sky is grey, and we wonder how tomorrow could ever follow today. City of perspiration and inspiration, of expiration and exploitation, of generation and a railway station! Oh Setebos, Mother of Invention and Zapper of negativity, even when it doesn’t pull you through. When the season of mists and mellow fruitfulness comes running through, that is when we see what is owed to Autumn, when the trees do a shimmy of golden-brown leaves falling all around.
Then we know it’s Time to be on our way.
Anyway, on this most auspicious of days, the Sun shines her long-lost rays into this comfortable clearing, dancing from leaf to leaf, roots to branches, catching diaphanous wings of Mayfly’s, who hunt the wilderness for their one day of fame, seeking insectile eroticism before death takes them prematurely to the great Entomologists Display Case in the sky.
A leaf falls silently from the highest branch of a Rowan tree, oscillating left and right as the drag competes with gravity to slow its descent. It caresses the ground like a kiss from a rose, delighting a woodlouse in its humdrum day of decay. A beautiful white rabbit pops into the scene, slowly rubbing shampoo from his eyes; he wasn’t going to worry about being late as this is not the tale of his tail. Soon those stinging eyes perceive a flickering ghostly image, which becomes a shimmer and a glimmer as the light gets dimmer. The rabbit scurries away to a hole in the ground, from which there will eventually emerge a Magnificent Mathematical Yarn – but that’s another story. As the rabbit disappears with his ears, from the twinkling manifestation, appears the delicately roguish Mad Tom of Bedlam; wild silver hair and deep blue eyes trying their best to regain focus.”