Bookpushing time

More than thirty years ago I first came across this novel.

It had a different title then, something like-

"How evil Commie bastards are planning to take over the World"

Or-

"The Bear and the Dragon are coming to rape your women."

But that was then.

It's been deconstructed and rewritten and is a really good read.

http://www.turnermaxwellbooks.com/

PS It's by my brother, but it still is a good read.

Enid Mary Blyton (1897 – 1968)

Enid Blyton was one of my favourite authors when when I was a very small boy, Hollow Tree House being my favoured bedtime reading for a while when I was down.

Living in a hollowed out log, depending upon the charity of

some posh kids for something to eat.

Life isn't so bad after all, my seven year old self used to say to himself, sigh contentedly, give my goll-err...teddy bear a hug and go to sleep.

The thought of Auntie Enid being a racist snob, just nonsense of course...

Twenty-five years later.

The clocks struck thirteen.

"The other one got away..."

Said Comrade first class Urak.

"Shite!" Shouted Commissar Grok.

"We need more rats, those bastards up at Room 101 are upping the quotas."

"However, if you are hungry?"

He said, waving a wriggling bag in front of Urak's face.

"Doubleplus good eating."

Newspoke Grok, noticing a camera.

New Clarkson Scandal

Tractor stats inspired me on this one.

Nightmare III This time it's impersonal.

Sir Fitzurak McGrok and Sir McUrak Fitzgrok are relaxing in their club after a long morning making phone calls.

The Cuban cigar smoke around their two leather armchairs almost obscures the men in grey suits, quietly whispering all around them.

"More Hors d'age?"

Says Sir Fitz, prodding a crystal decanter at the red nose of Sir "Mick" as he is affectionately known by his employees to his face.

"Is the pope a Na-err-yes thankyou."

There is a loud crash from the cheap seats outside the inner sanctum.

A man is attempting to rise from a tangle of furniture but keeps falling on an elderly lady.

"Just that oik Cumnock again."

Says Sir Mick rummaging in a large briefcase.

Sir Fitz opens the humidor on the small table between them, and takes out a Montecristo.

Sir Mick takes a paper out of the the briefcase twists it and lights it in the fire.

"Only six thousand nine hundred and ninety nine to go."

He quips, lighting the cigar.

"I'm starving, do you fancy the spatchcock?"

Nightmare II: A green lifestyle continues...

Grok and Urak, after a long days hunter-gathering, wearily watch Patrick run about in ever decreasing circles.

"What's the chosen one wittering on about now?"

Says Urak, rummaging in a bag.

"Something about dams hurting salmon."

"Dam all can hurt wee Eck." sniggers Grok

"Especially him!"

Urak pulls something from his bag.

"I'm starving, fancy splitting this beaver...?"

Patrick Harvie's nightmare.

Being.

Green.

Sounds wonderful doesn't it?

The simple life of the hunter-gatherer, awakening at dawn each morning, having a healthy breakfast of a handful of berries and a beaker of nearly pure water.

Stepping out of your crude shelter, stretching, scratching your lice and picking up your flint spear.

Looking at your campfire.

"Carbon Emissions!" you cry.

"Eh?" says Grok.

"Put it out at once, it's making the world hotter!"

Grok looks at Urak and makes a circular motion of his forefinger around his temple.

And we all laugh.