Rat Giving Up Giving Up Again!
Saturday 3:40 p.m.
Due to having some visitors, I had to give up giving up last night, and duly succumbed as usual. There was nobody there I hadn't known for thirty years. Poisonous went yellow for a while then had to have a bit of a lie down. It was just like old times. He crashed out on my bed. Ten years ago he would have slept on the kitchen floor. How civilised we have become!
I missed Poisonous performing for the first time, a debut, at the Festival Theatre last Sunday during the Chinese celebrations for the New Year because I was throwing up at the time. He had five lines, all in Chinese. I asked if he'd based his portrayal on Obi Wan Kenobe, or whatever Alec Guinness was called in Star Wars. He was playing a monk. The boy needs an agent!
I'm here at this time on Saturday afternoon because I've decided to become a writer. I wonder what I could write about. It's a short step from here to the point when you have to ask yourself if you're going to have dwarves, and if so, how many? I wonder where these writers get their ideas from?
I've just had one! It's a piece of cake this writing business. My idea was to sell the names of the characters. If you want your name to be used for one of the characters in my new book, it'll cost you twenty quid. If you'd like any of the baddies called after your boss or whatever, that'll be another twenty quid. You'd have to write a Russian novel so that everyone has three interchangeable names. Here's the start>
When Adolphus Nannbugger Milngavieavitch raised his eyes from the ploughshare, he saw A Really Long Name come over the hill ..... That's at least £120 in the first sentence. This writing lark could turn out to be a money spinner! I'm going to be rich! Rich, I tell you! Rich!
9:05 p.m.
Some cheapskate's has been trying to take advantage of my good nature! Here's the new first sentence to my new novel.
When Adolphus Nannbugger Milngavieavitch raised his eyes from the now mutilated corpse of Albert McClonkiedick, he saw a Really Long Name come over the hill .... That's much better! A crime book! Pots of money!
The Edinburgh skyline from the seat overlooking the pond in Inverleith Park has seven or eight projecting objects, mainly steeples. There is a castle over to the left a bit. The big steeple on the cathedral in Palmerston Place is the most prominent and nearly bang in the middle. So you fix on that. My hands are resting on Kidnapped and I've got the hood up. Although I'm sitting in a half lotus, I'm trying not to draw attention to myself by pretending to be normal.
"All alone in Central Park, I was walking after dark, I must be crazy ..." Rolling Stones.
It wasn't dark at first and the sky was in various shades of grey. Between the skyline and Comely Bank Road, which is the first road after the pond and the park, there's a band of buildings facing you. They seem awful far away and the lights are out . Then it gets dark and the lights in the windows start coming on. It's very nice sitting there. It gets pretty dark. I'm starting to think about getting mugged, but this is silly since Inverleith Park is not Central Park. But it was getting dark. I became aware of someone coming off the main road out of the park and coming up behind me and a wee bit to the side. He stopped. I slowly swivelled my head and this joe says, " Sorry, sorry, I thought you were somebody else ..." and turns and runs off down the road.
If you're going to mug me, pal, you'd better not be on your own. Or have private health insurance because I hear those public wards can get a bit hairy when they turn the lights out at night. For I am not a very good buddhist.
Realising the retreating figure was none other than Albert McClonkiedickhead, the notorious penguin pervert, I took out the steak knife and started off in hot pursuit. A flashback! Already I've got a flashback! Pots of money! Pots of it!
00:30 a.m.
What a lovely weekend I've had! Of course, tomorrow I'll have to give everything up again. C'est la vie!
Due to having some visitors, I had to give up giving up last night, and duly succumbed as usual. There was nobody there I hadn't known for thirty years. Poisonous went yellow for a while then had to have a bit of a lie down. It was just like old times. He crashed out on my bed. Ten years ago he would have slept on the kitchen floor. How civilised we have become!
I missed Poisonous performing for the first time, a debut, at the Festival Theatre last Sunday during the Chinese celebrations for the New Year because I was throwing up at the time. He had five lines, all in Chinese. I asked if he'd based his portrayal on Obi Wan Kenobe, or whatever Alec Guinness was called in Star Wars. He was playing a monk. The boy needs an agent!
I'm here at this time on Saturday afternoon because I've decided to become a writer. I wonder what I could write about. It's a short step from here to the point when you have to ask yourself if you're going to have dwarves, and if so, how many? I wonder where these writers get their ideas from?
I've just had one! It's a piece of cake this writing business. My idea was to sell the names of the characters. If you want your name to be used for one of the characters in my new book, it'll cost you twenty quid. If you'd like any of the baddies called after your boss or whatever, that'll be another twenty quid. You'd have to write a Russian novel so that everyone has three interchangeable names. Here's the start>
When Adolphus Nannbugger Milngavieavitch raised his eyes from the ploughshare, he saw A Really Long Name come over the hill ..... That's at least £120 in the first sentence. This writing lark could turn out to be a money spinner! I'm going to be rich! Rich, I tell you! Rich!
9:05 p.m.
Some cheapskate's has been trying to take advantage of my good nature! Here's the new first sentence to my new novel.
When Adolphus Nannbugger Milngavieavitch raised his eyes from the now mutilated corpse of Albert McClonkiedick, he saw a Really Long Name come over the hill .... That's much better! A crime book! Pots of money!
The Edinburgh skyline from the seat overlooking the pond in Inverleith Park has seven or eight projecting objects, mainly steeples. There is a castle over to the left a bit. The big steeple on the cathedral in Palmerston Place is the most prominent and nearly bang in the middle. So you fix on that. My hands are resting on Kidnapped and I've got the hood up. Although I'm sitting in a half lotus, I'm trying not to draw attention to myself by pretending to be normal.
"All alone in Central Park, I was walking after dark, I must be crazy ..." Rolling Stones.
It wasn't dark at first and the sky was in various shades of grey. Between the skyline and Comely Bank Road, which is the first road after the pond and the park, there's a band of buildings facing you. They seem awful far away and the lights are out . Then it gets dark and the lights in the windows start coming on. It's very nice sitting there. It gets pretty dark. I'm starting to think about getting mugged, but this is silly since Inverleith Park is not Central Park. But it was getting dark. I became aware of someone coming off the main road out of the park and coming up behind me and a wee bit to the side. He stopped. I slowly swivelled my head and this joe says, " Sorry, sorry, I thought you were somebody else ..." and turns and runs off down the road.
If you're going to mug me, pal, you'd better not be on your own. Or have private health insurance because I hear those public wards can get a bit hairy when they turn the lights out at night. For I am not a very good buddhist.
Realising the retreating figure was none other than Albert McClonkiedickhead, the notorious penguin pervert, I took out the steak knife and started off in hot pursuit. A flashback! Already I've got a flashback! Pots of money! Pots of it!
00:30 a.m.
What a lovely weekend I've had! Of course, tomorrow I'll have to give everything up again. C'est la vie!
posted by Hotboy at 3:37 PM
14 Comments:
I just finished reading The Curious Incident Of The Dog In The Night. The last sentence ends "and I wrote a book so I can do anything." But if I could do absolutely anything, why would I choose to write another book?
Please make Alec McClochendichter the hero and deduct 20 quid from the hut manager's pay. A bargain at only a pound a letter.
Adolf! Zeig! I fear you have misunderstood the nature of the remunerations for hut managementship. It's fifty fifty, but so far that's fifty percent of nothing. I'm afraid you have to pay money. Of course, if you started making beer with some alcohol in it, that might be acceptable. If you don't cough up, I'm afraid terrible things will happen to Alec McClochendicter in the course of this narrative. It won't help! Hotboy
Adolf! Heil! What did you think of The Curious Incident? Hotboy
Loved it on second reading. What about you?
Also, you might enjoy this film I saw today, Stranger Than Fiction, surely the best film ever for writers to watch.
PS Who's Adolf?
I say!
Put me down as the character who is the female lead's bit on the side, and deduct the twenty quid from previous unpaid debts.
A real twenty quid if you make the chief baddie my boss.
I say! Your weekend sounds as if it was spent in the company of saga louts.
At what time did Poisonous pass out?
MM III
I say!
Frightfully sorry about the inconvenience, and all that, but I am now to be foud here.
MM III
Adolf! Heil! I really liked the book, but I've never heard of the film! Hotboy p.s. Adolf is short for Adolf Hitler.
Bahooky: I've never been in Ifrica, so I refute your debt allegations. However, total debt relief if I do both things? Plus twenty quid, of course. That's bound to help. Hotboy
If there's someone commenting here called Hitler, their comments aren't making it to the southern hemisphere. How curious, but I gather we've all read the same book. The hero is so believable, and so consistently voiced, as I think the dialogue coaches say. A great achievement (I gather the joe teaches at Oxford, and used to work with autustic kids).
Stranger Than Fiction - the hero starts hearing a voice in his head, which turns out to be a novelist writing his life as he lives it. A bit like Adaptation, did you see that (Hotboy, not Adolph)?
Hmmmm. No therapists in Scotland you say. Perhaps one should go to Scotland. I bet he would find no shortage of clientel.
Adolf! Heil! Stanger than Fiction sounds interesting!
Toyo: Maybe Scottish are too mean to pay for one! Hotboy
Toyo - in my experience, Scots people psychoanalyse themselves to save money. They also brew their own beer and cut their own hair.
Adolphus Nannbugger Milngavieavitch...Wow, that sounds like a person that must be triple the personality of a normal person!!!!
Does Albert McClonkiedickhead get nekid?????
Love those names, how much is twenty quid?
Lee Ann: If you want your name in it, you can have it for free. Twenty quid might be twenty dollars these days. If you want Albert McClonkiedickhead to get nekid. I can soon do that! Hotboy
You are the sweetest...for free?
Thank you Hotboy!
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