For months I’ve been immersed, nay, drowning in my new book, Sods Law. Now, less than a week after publishing it, am I going hell for leather trying to advertise it? Well, er no. All this time I’ve been writing, rewriting, and trying to make it the best thing I’ve ever written. And now I’m starting the new book.
As I may have mentioned, I’d love to be filthy, stinking rich, but I just want to write. Don’t get me wrong, I will make some (feeble) attempts to advertise Sods but the new one is burning a hole in my head.
And I’ve just worked out out my villain is going to carry out his dastardly deed.
Haven’t quite worked out out my hero is going to foil him yet – or even if he will.
Can’t wait to find out.
Here’s a passage from Sods Law I really enjoyed writing. Just another display of my juvenile humour but I like it.
‘Teach them to come barging into our house,’ Doris growled, sniffing the air suspiciously, but clearly with more things on her mind let it go. ‘Who were they?’ she demanded wrenching open drawers and cupboards before tossing the shopping in and slamming them with as much violence as she clearly wished she’d been able to visit upon their three recent visitors.
‘Don’t know.’ Arnold really didn’t know and had no wish to share the room with an angry Doris and a rack of carving knives. Whether she would actually have assaulted them was another matter. Most of their annoying visitors, like Jehovah’s Witnesses and representatives from the council usually got the message before his wife had recourse to violence. Chantal turned to leave but halted at a voice, an oddly strident and excited voice. Even Arnold froze in surprise since it was the first time he’d heard more than two consecutive words emanating from this particular mouth without either of them being obscene.
‘I seen ‘im before.’
‘Oo?’ demanded Chantal, obviously more able to decipher what passed for English from her friend. As if to forestall any more complaints from her father concerning her own grammar, a sly wink on Waynette’s blind side reminded him of their previous conversation on said matter.
‘That geezer outside. He’s a copper, a real minger.’ Interested now, Chantal turned to her friend with a smile.
‘Which one? There was three.’
Perhaps surprised with her own outburst Waynette grinned. It wasn’t a pleasant expression, but being the first Arnold had ever seen from her he decided that anything was better than nothing.
‘The one what was in your face. Seen that tosser before.’ Having rediscovered the art of speech Waynette’s face became animated and with a surprisingly nice smile it was almost easy to overlook the strange clothes she was wearing, most of which he noticed, belonged to his daughter.
‘When have you seen him before,’ said Doris, her stern voice enough to dampen Waynette’s euphoria somewhat.
‘Told you. He’s a copper. Came to our place after mum’s new boyfriend moved in.’
‘The one what reads all those dirty mags? Or the one that tried to do it to…’
‘That one,’ Waynette said smiling nastily. ‘Won’t be doin’ that again for a while.’
‘Wait a minute. I’m getting lost.’ Arnold felt his head spinning. It might have been confusion or a vague memory that the sausages he’d eaten just a short while ago had been out of date by nearly a week. Waynette’s smile of derision returned to the one he remembered so well.
‘He knicked my mum’s boyfriend. But it took three of them,’ she remarked with obvious approval.
‘When, why?’ Doris stuttered apparently unconcerned by their grammar.
‘Ee’ was growing skunk in our garden shed. Would have been alright,’ she said with regret, ‘except that the next door neighbour’s dog went in chasing a fox, and when it came out dragging one of the plants, it was stoned. Weren’t half funny.’
‘One of the plants?’ asked Arnold, only vaguely aware of what dope was because he’d heard it mentioned in one of those real life cop shows on the telly. As for skunk he had no idea.
‘Yeah, but that weren’t the best bit. He ran off with it and dropped some by the foot of another copper what was nicking the ice cream bloke for selling beer to the kids.’
‘And they took him away?’ Chantal asked, entranced with the whole scene.
‘Yeah, but they had to let him go in the end.’
‘Why?’ Doris’s voice clearly displayed her disgust.
‘Well they couldn’t prove that mum’s boyfriend had grown it. So they let him out, but not until they’d given him a kicking for slashing in the cop car.’
‘Slashing?’ croaked Doris in confusion, but only long enough for Waynette to simulate the action to Arnold’s barely concealed amusement.