Almost Famous? No, not really.

OK, if you know me at all, you will be thoroughly bored with me going on and on and on about the reading 'gig' I had on Saturday.

But, in case you were sat in a bibliophobic void for the past couple of weeks... On Saturday I ventured into the Wild West (Midlands) to visit Southcart Books in Walsall during their festivities for Independent Booksellers Week.

It wasn't just me, obviously... I mean there were some real writers there too.  Ones with talent and imagination and money and everything. All very imposing.

I won't bore you with the details of the trip down, it was reasonably uneventful.  Obviously the SatNav let me down a couple of times by suggesting some completely fictional lane choices at junctions that caused the DandyMobile to cover about twice the mileage that she had to.  Oh, and there was a bus that tested the very limits of my military defensive driving training on the Lichfield Road. (It was a good job that the Mehmsahib had convinced me to leave the Desert Eagle at home I can tell you)  Other than that, it was a pretty sweet trip.

We arrived about two hours into the event, which turned out to be a bit of a mistake as far as the official publicity pictures were concerned, and everything was in full swing.

Here's the group photo, can you spot who isn't there? (Photo by Craig Beas)

The shop was brimming with interesting people and I treated myself to a quick game of "Try to figure out which of these people are other authors and which are just clinically odd." - I lost, which is strange when you realised that I was just playing with myself... I mean... No, nevermind, you get the gist.

I introduced myself to Scott, the owner, and The MicroDandy introduced himself to Amy, Scott's partner and co-owner, by asking for a cake - This is one of his three standard opening gambits when meeting a new person, and the only one that involves food.

We mingled for a while, scanning the laden shelves of the Fantasy & Sci-Fi sections (Which in fairness, mainly consisted of me whispering "Goddit, Goddit, Goddit" under my breath and Mrs Dandy sighing.)

I managed to catch the end of Lucy Onions reading from her new book, Good for Nothing (Which obviously, you should all go out and buy) - We like Lucy Onions, as well as being a great author, she's a fine photographer AND the lead female vocalist of Northern Soul/Motown Party Band Soul'd Out - She also used the word 'Surreal' to describe my writing, which made me do a big grin.  She also wears great shoes.

I missed the next author's set, (This was a huge ommission on my part, see below) as my good friend and fellow Penguin's Header, Neil Sehmbhy arrived and we did some manly fist-bumps and talked about marketing strategy and cupcakes.

Then it was my turn to address the teeming throng...

Here is me, before my head went purple (Photo by Lucy Onions)

As I sat there, in front of a dozen or so people and spied the nice lady whose set I had just missed. "Feels strange sat up here, in front of all of these people doesn't it?" I said.  She looked at me oddly, which was the correct reaction as she didn't know who I was in the slightest and replied that you got used to it after a while, especially when you did the amount of shows and Cons that she did. (That might have come across sounding as if she was being a bit curt, she really wasn't) I later found out that she was Theresa Derwin, author of Horror, Sci-Fi and Urban Fantasy (You should buy all of her books too, obviously)

I'd planned to read a post from each 'Volume' of the collected Chimping Dandy, which I did.  And then I was going to finish with the famous 'Library Scene' from Windspider... But I didn't have time, you know why?  Because real people were asking me real questions about both my writing and The Penguin's Head.  I'm reliably informed that not all of my answers sounded like I was pulling them out of my rear end.  Some did obviously, but there were applause and laughs so I consider that it was all a bit of a success.

The MicroDandy, Bless his little black heart, filmed both of my readings on his KiddieZoom camera.  I present them for you below, should you be interested.

Above is me reading 'Thermodynaimcs, it's the law', the story about the relationship between my Dear Old Dad (TM) and a frozen pigeon.

And the other one is me reading 'The Price of Everything, but the Value of Nothing' which explains how money isn't actually worth anything and may as well not exist.

You'll notice that my head went purple during the performance, this is nothing to worry about and is completely natural.

During this time, the remaining third of The Penguin's Head arrived in the form of the literary Demigod (or do I mean Demagogue?) James Josiah and the rest of the afternoon dissolved into a bit of a bro-fest.

I did however, manage to hear some of Ian Billings' set, which managed to keep the MicroDandy enthralled. No real surprise as the gentleman in question was once a scriptwriter for Chucklevision. (amongst a huge list of other amazing things - Buy his books too, if you have kids that is, or if you're infantile... I'm not one to judge)

All in all, a day well spent.

If you find yourself in Walsall with a spare five minutes, you could do a lot worse that moseying down to Southcart books and taking a look around - Tell them that I sent you and you'll get a free "What are you talking about? Who's the bloody Chimping Dandy?" from the owners.

Southcart Books
20-21 Lower Hall Lane (You know, the white-painted one that used to be the hairdressers?)
Walsall
WS1 1RL

I need your clothes, your boots and your motorcycle

I like a good party, me.  I'm a great fan of the alcohol and the moving of parts of the body in a rhythmic style to phat, dench, beats and so forth.  But more and more, recently, I've found myself being invited to parties hosted by people I don't know hugely well.

I mean, I know these people, don't get me wrong... I don't just wander up to any building that sounds like it contains people 'Getting their groove on', knock on the door, hold up a four-pack of Carling and say 'Dave invited me' ('cos there's always a Dave around somewhere isn't there?).  But I've probably only seen them a couple of times a month, over a few years.  I guess I'm maybe what they used to call in the olden days 'a face'.  Someone you see around the place and nod at who you think might be more important/mysterious than they actually are.

Actually, it could be that it's actually Mrs Dandy who gets the invite and I just tag along, but I couldn't possibly comment.

Anywho.

They usually follow the same sort of timeline:

• We (because it's invariably a 'family' invite.) arrive about 15-20 mins after the posted start time, because you don't want to seem too keen.
• We look suspiciously at all of the other 100+ people in the room, few of whom we know.  We get scowled at quizzically in return.
• Eventually, someone we know quite well turns up and we annexe a couple of chairs/tables and set up court, where we can be visited by other party-goers (including our original inviter or the person for whom the party has been thrown) at their leisure.
• We have a few beers
• Dancing ensues
• The decision is taken whether to leave the car at the venue and get a taxi home is discussed and summarily rejected.
• I drink more Coke / Lemonade than is strictly good for me
• I comment pointedly on the tightness of / lack of clothing on some of the female guests to any of my male compatriots within earshot.
• I further research the above subject until I'm noticed doing so by the wife.
• We go home, in the car, in a generally frosty atmosphere.

But we got invited to an 18th Birthday last year which went a little bit differently.  First of all, the invitation contained those two words specifically designed to stab fear into the heart of every right-thinking Englishman. (No, not that, Bring Your Own Bottle is four words)

'FANCY DRESS' - But at least there was a theme, 'Heroes and Villains'

So we all went and had a bit of a think... The MicroDandy was fine, he had a Darth Vader costume already, The MiniDandy wanted to be a Jedi (we have the Force-FX lightsabres and everything, so it was just a case of making her a costume - Good job I can sew innit?).  Mrs Dandy has a fine selection of Goth stuff, so 'Generic Vampire' was her choice.  So it was left to me, I really wanted to go as Iron Man, but there wasn't enough time, or money, or talent available to make a decent costume in time (which I wasted  a significant proportion of sulking about it) So I had to go with something I already had.  Now my normal, day-to-day wardrobe contains all the items required for a decent Neo or Morpheus, Connor Macleod of the Clan Macleod or H.P. Lovecraft, but I fancied something different.

I decided to go as 'The Terminator', which I had the clothing for but not the prosthetics, because of course, I wanted to be a battle damaged T800 (and who doesn't deep down?) - So I searched the web and saw many, many videos of Americans with too much time on their hands sticking LEDs and theatrical PVC appliances to themselves and thought 'bugger that I'll just paint it on'.

So, if you'll picture the scene, I had my selection of acrylic paints that I once used for painting toy soldiers, in the upstairs bathroom, with one of those shaving mirrors screwed to the wall, you know, the ones with the comedy extending boxing glove type fitment.  painting my face, right-handed (I'm left handed) without my glasses on (I'd tried just painting over my glasses, but it didn't look very effective) - This was the result... Ah, yes, I forgot to say that I'd ran out of silver, so had to use gold...

So we got our accessories together and took some pictures, the smaller Dandies grabbed their lightsabres, Mrs Dandy grabbed our new puppy (that I had made a pair of bat-wings for) and I picked up my shades, the freshly painted, over and under Nerf shotgun and my .50AE Desert Eagle... For how does one terminate properly without devastatingly powerful projectile weaponry?

We then started on the party timeline as described above.  We got as far as the 'Someone we knew turned up' stage when suddenly there was a massive influx of Darth Vaders and Jedi.  Now, my son took umbrage at this because he'd had the idea of coming as Darth Vader first and he did no more than to storm across the room to set about these poor people with his lightsabre.  I don't know if anyone here's ever been twatted by a seven year old, full of righteous indignation, overarm, with a solid blade lightsabre - But it bloody hurts.  And I admit I felt sorry for these poor teenagers trying to defend themselves with the little plastic extendy-blade lightsabres, or in one case, the cardboard core of (I think) a roller blind with the end painted red.

Not sorry enough to stop laughing and do anything about it of course, but sorry all the same.

Then things went downhill, the guns got borrowed and they danced around the room for a good hour or so and spent their time being discharged into the faces of villains by heroes, or slightly more often, vice-versa.  As did the puppy, who, even if I say so myself, was incredibly cute dressed as a vampire fruitbat.  And I seem to remember at one point having a lightsabre duel, with the MiniDandy, between songs, in the middle of an empty dancefloor.

The night wore on, more coke was drunk and the number of people in PVC hotpants dancing to 'Gangnam Style' seemed to multiply every time I looked up.

I took a few minutes out to write something on the 'guestbook', well, I say write something.. What I actually did is stand there for ten minutes with my mouth open, thinking of some edifying advice for someone who'd just entered adulthood, then gave up and drew a dragon wearing a cowboy hat, which I then mislabelled as a dinosaur wearing a cowboy hat and wandered back to our little group of tables.

Can you think what had happened in my absence?  Have a guess...

Nope, wasn't that.

Not that either.

It certainly wasn't that, but only because I don't think that there's that much oil-based lubricant in the East Midlands area.

What had happened was that a number of our friends had turned up a little more than fashionably late and had, as a group, dressed up as 'The Scooby Gang', complete with improbably attired, lizard based villain.

Oh yes, and my seven year old son had field stripped the Desert Eagle into it's component parts and spread it out on one of the tables, he'd had an encouraging audience and everything.

I tapped him on the shoulder and said:

'Dude, you gonna put that back together?'

'Nope.'

'And why not?'

'I don't know how...'

So after the slowest sliding facepalm in the world, I sat down and set about re-assembling the gun, it took longer than I'd expected, as the breech cover had fell off the table and rolled away, and it was dark, and I had the same drunken audience.

On the whole, a great party, I need to go to more like it. And so do you guys, you owe it to yourselves.

And if you do, don't forget to send me an invite.  Oh yeah, you need to mingle, the mingle's the thing(le)

Danny in the woods

Sorry about the lack of Bloggery yesterday chaps - I got all snowed under with work and the day ran away with me a bit.

Hope you enjoy the post below, another fanciful tale about a thing, that happened, this morning.  Told in the style of a sequel to a story that I wrote a while ago.

-oOo-

The old Landrover bounced over the uneven ground, its ancient leaf springs making some very concerning noises.

'How far Ranth?'

'I don't know, that survivalist guy we found said that we just had to follow the river and we'd trip over them, you know exactly as much as I do.'

They'd been following the river for hours, there was nothing indicating that a settlement was nearby, no smoke, no signs, no nothing.

'Do you think we'll find him there?'

'Ellie, I don't know, but it seems that this is the only settlement for miles, can't think where else he'd run to.'

Ranth was starting to get sick of Ellie's constant questions, She'd found him hanging from a tree, luckily by his wrists not his neck, about a week ago. He said that it'd all been a big misunderstanding with a group of outlaw survivors that he used to run with, she wasn't so sure that they hadn't just got sick of his incessant talking.

'Wait! What's that?' Ellie pointed into the trees, 'I saw something move!'

Ranth stopped the 4x4 and looked into the trees,

'Where?'

'Over there, by that big rock, it's a shambler, I know it!'

'I can't see anything.'

'Look, between the rock and that dead tree, you can just see its head.'

Ranth took the binoculars out of her pack and looked again, scanning the treeline for the rock,' I see it, ' She said, 'It's not a shambler, not any more at least.'

'What is it then?'

'It's a skull, on a stick.'

They looked at each other, Ellie paled, Ranth started the engine and turned the car towards the grim totem. The skull wasn't that old, and it looked as if the local wildlife had been helping themselves to whatever choice morsels they could find.

'Looks like we've found the settlement then,' Said Ellie,

'Unless someone's got very interesting ideas about garden furniture,' Replied Ranth, 'Whoever they are, one of them's a decent shot, blew the top of the head clean off,' She poked her fingers into the hole where the cranium used to be. 'We'll continue on foot, get your gear.'

They'd only been travelling for a few minutes when a disembodied female voice sounded through the trees.

'Stop where you are, put your hands in the air.'

'Do as she says,' Whispered Ranth, she raised her voice and shouted, 'We don't mean you any harm, we're looking for someone!'

A rustling of leaves above their heads made them look up, to be greeted by the sound of snapping twigs and the silhouette of someone making their way through the branches, towards the trunk of a huge Elm tree. They looked at each other again, and shrugged.

'Don't move, we have you covered!', said another, younger, voice from behind them.

The tree-creeper dropped to the ground and immediately drew a Desert Eagle handgun, that was obviously much too heavy for her. She was about thirteen years old, with matted blond hair and about six weeks worth of mud covering her face and arms.

'What do you want?' She growled, never taking her eyes off them.

'Like I said, we're looking for someone.'

'Who?'

'Well, I don't exactly know, but he stole something from us whilst we were asleep a couple of days ago and we think he came this way.'

'Nobody comes this way, not if they've got any sense at least, not since Danny came.'

'Danny?'

'Yeah, he lives in the woods, we hear him at night sometimes, stumbling around.'

'A Shambler?'

'No, he kills shamblers, that's where we get the skulls from.'

'The skulls?'

'We use them to mark our territory, the shamblers mostly stay away, I don't think they like their own dead.'

'Can you take us to your settlement, so we can ask about the man who stole our stuff?'

'Settlement?' She laughed, 'There's no settlement any more... Not since Danny came.'

'Well, where do you live?'

'Here,' replied the girl with a smile, 'In the trees, we don't bother Danny, he don't bother us.'

'Can we talk to Danny?'

Both of the children started to laugh, 'You can try, but he doesn't say much.'

'What do you mean?'

'He mostly just says his name, we think he might be simple, but we don't want to get close enough to find out, he's too big and funny looking - You can try if you like, he's in there somewhere,' She pointed into the forest.

'Come on,' Ranth turned to Ellie, 'Let's see if we can get some answers out of Danny.'

Picking up their packs they started off into the jungle, being careful not to make too much noise as they trod through the heavy undergrowth. they were starting to lose the light when they both stumbled and fell to the ground with a shout.

'What the?'

'I think we're getting close... What was the guy who stole the gear out of the Landrover wearing?'

'Erm... Brown leather jacket, cargo pants... I think.'

'Like these?' Ranth held up a scrap of brown leather and some beige canvas, both covered in blood.

'Exactly like that... Should we leave?'

'When we've got what we came for, it must be around here somewhere.'

'Seriously?'

'Do you have anything left to barter when we run out of diesel next?'

Ellie shook his head.

'Well then.'

They started to poke at the grass, avoiding the bloody mess that had once been the thief, trying to find the box of trinkets that was their only remaining currency in the world.

'Did you hear that?'

'Don't tell me, a shambler?'

'No, there's someone talking, shamblers don't talk... Do they?'

'Nope, that's the one thing I like about them,' Ranth gritted her teeth as she lifted the remains to search underneath.

'Maybe it's the kids, it sounds weird though, too deep.'

'Ha!' Shouted Ranth, as she held aloft a gore spattered box, 'Right, let's go!'

They both stood and started to make their way back to the path, when there was the noise of splintering wood from behind them. Slowly, they both turned, to be confronted by the oddest thing that either of them had ever seen.

'You can see a panda, right?' Ellie breathed.

'Unfortunately, yes...'

'There's good eating on a panda, probably,' Ellie slowly reached for his gun.

'Maybe it's Danny's pet,' replied Ranth, 'I think he'd be upset if we shot it and ate it...'

'Danao.'

'What?'

'I didn't say anything.' Ranth whispered, pointing at the panda and backing away,

'But, panda's don't...'

'Danao!'

'That panda spoke!'

'Back away, very slowly.'

'What's he saying?'

'I don't know, I don't speak panda, but it sounds awfully like Danny to me.'

'He wants Danny!', exclaimed Ellie, 'Maybe you were right about him being his pet.'

'No, I think this is Danny, who's been killing all the shamblers, and scaring off the settlers.'

'DA-NAO!' Screamed the panda, dropping his head and charging towards them.

'RUN!' Yelled Ranth, 'Make for the Landrover!'

They both ran until they could feel their hearts beating in their mouths, but the panda was still gaining.

'I can't... I can't run any... any more...', choked Ellie.

'Just a few.. more... yards...'

When the explosion came, it deafened the pair of them and they fell to the floor. They looked up to see the little girl, sat on the ground, with the smoking gun on the ground behind her.

'Owwww,' The girl said, massaging her swollen wrists, 'That's a big bear!'

'That's not a bear Baby, that's a panda.' Remarked Ellie, who had suddenly got his breath back.

'Whatever it is, I goddit - Right through the heart!'

'You did, nice shot, OK - let's get out of here, you kids coming with us?'

'I don't know... It's nice here.'

'I've got a feeling that the shamblers won't be leaving you alone as much now, think they might have been scared of this guy all along.'

'OK then,' said the girl, 'C'mon Mal!'

A little boy, no more than eight years old, climbed out from behind a thornbush, walked over to the panda, kicked it and started off down the path towards the car.

'Let's try and find some food, but not anywhere around here,' Smiled Ranth, as she got into the Landrover and slammed the door.

Far behind them, on the forest path, the panda slowly rose to his feet, stared at the receding car and wailed, 'Daaaa.... Naooooo?'


And in this instance, my wife lost her purse, which had my petrol money in it, and we all turned the house upside down looking for it.