Above: Reggae Fairy (2016)
Hey Presto link to the Scum Gentry!!!
Some people have really shitty Christmases and a long, long, long time ago in a galaxy far, far away, so did I. In light of this tinsel-less fact, here’s a metaficion of mine in which I stick three heads up my own fictional arse. Contains a seasonal sprinkling of sprouts.
As Shakin’ Stevens would say – ‘Merry Christmas – everyone.’
I am pleased to announce that a fiction of mine, entitled,
Kicking My Mother In The Head
is now available to read in
The Cantabrigian Magazine
based in Cambridge, Massachusetts!
Click the following link –
I’ve broken America!
I have a story published in American literature and lifestyle mag Thoughtful Dog!
Just like The Beatles’ first appearance on the Ed Sullivan show – to a much much smaller extent obviously. But still like. It’s exactly the same sort of thing!
Read it here –
“Why are the kids crying? Rick is dead. The people’s poet is dead! But how can he be dead if we still have his poems.”
From The Young Ones.
Sad news, the death of Rik Mayall.
Hopefully, he’s in the underworld right now with his giant frying-pan gripped firmly in his hands, giving Thatcher exactly what she has coming. And you can take that (picture Rik’s shaking head) both ways young man. It’s what he would have wanted.
Obviously, when he arrived in heaven earlier that day and saw God in his white robes proferring flutes of Champagne and a silver-platter of choice nibbles, he kicked him promptly in the knackers, turned directly to camera and said – “What a puff!” Then, using Neil’s underwear, parachuted to the underworld for the above mentioned bit of outstanding ‘business’, whichever way you’ve taken it young man.
So farewell then, Rick with a silent P – Goodbyeeeeeee
P.S. I’ve probably offended everyone with that; it’s what he would have wanted.