"..."

"..."

"...?"

*shrug*

"...! ...?"

"No no, nothing like that. Just got nothing to say really..."

Not a lot going on really. In a sort of Christmalaise - not really got all my shopping done; not really got all my work done; not really got that much writing done although I'm getting bits and pieces done. Just, you know, not getting stuff done.

I blame the weather. And the mince pies. I don't actually, really, like mince pies but I keep getting them given and, you know, it's sweet pastry. I'm a bit of a tart for sweet pastry...

I did almost get to meet Bill Bailey though, which I admit is not as exciting as actually meeting Bill Bailey but, still, s'quite good. I almost sort of supported him at the Sage last night too. Again, it would have been far more impressive to have actually supported him but hey, not many people have even managed to almost to that have they?

I tried going in the performers entrance too, but was told to go away. So I had to pay for my parking., although I got mince pies (iced for extra Chrismassy goodness) and free drinks and attention and, well, that's me sold really isn't it?

Me and Bill and Sheila Quigley - rocking the Sage up right nice, how.

We had a reading event thingy on the same night, in the same venue as Bill. We decided to let him have the main hall though, he'd come a long way, plus he had instruments and stuff so needed the space. Obviously that left hundreds a little upset that they couldn't fit into the library space we were using but I hear that Bill was pretty good - hopefully they still had fun.

S'a good laugh doing events with Sheila, she has this great thing where she asks the audience questions if they go quiet; rather than my trick of sitting in a quiet corner staring at my feet. She's good value that woman.

Twas was a good laugh and actually was the first time I'd been in the Sage. S'big. And sort of wobbly, you kind of want to go around hugging the walls cos it's all so friendly looking.

Anyway, got some work to pretend to do now I think, try and shake off the spirit of Lazymas for a bit and, you know, look busy.

And boil up DK right nice too I think. Got some mince pies to dunk...

Reading Comprehension

Me: That's... interesting. Explain it to me.

Student: Well, the question said to draw the monster.

Me: Uhuh...

Student: ... So I am.

Me: Yeah, true but what are you basing the picture on?

Student: ... The description of it in the story.

Me: Great. So what're these?

Student: Well the story said it was a bit Octopussy so I've done eight of them.

Me: ... Yeeeeeesssss...

Student: And it said that it had evil eyes so I've done them all red.

Me: I like the eyes, they're good. But why are these hairy?

Student: Oh, I know, I wondered about that cos it's says they're like leather doesn't it?

Me: It does yeah, so why do them hairy?

Student: ... Well... Because they are hairy aren't they?

Me: ... Um... Are you sure?

Student: Yeah.

Me: ... Could you, um, could read that word out for me please?

Student: That one?

Me: Yes, yes please.

Student: Testicles.

Me: (Trying not to giggle) ... Um... No. No it says tentacles.

Student: (After a long pause) ........................................ Oh.

Me: Yes.

Student: Ah.

Me: Yes.

Student: Can I start again please, sir?

Me: Yes. Yes that might be a good idea.

Hey Everybody, Hey Dr Nik: Step Two

Alreet?

Yes yes I know, I'm evil and cold and uncaring and have been ignoring you all for geet ages and yes. I feel bad about it. I do. Really. Really really do.

But I've been busy as, how. ("Busy as" what? You may say but unto you peoples I shall say only this: it rhymes with truck and isn't nearly as easy as it looks...)

Ages and ages ago, in a time before work kept getting in my way and before my car started coughing and wheezing I posted this. And they laughed at me. They said I was mad! But who's laughing now eh? Who? Well yes, exactly, no one. I'm all very serious now and use geet long words and semi colons and stuff; I am cleverer than the most cleverest person in the world*.

I am: Nicholas R***** Jones BA (Hons) MA (Distinction) and all round modest nice guy.

Or, as My Geet Mint PR Guru prefers to say:

I'm a BAMA.

Which is also pretty cool.

And not only that, I'm greedy too.

I am not yet content.

DK has a PhD. He waves it at me sometimes, wanders around with it stuck to his buttons. He lets it flow out behind him when he steams, a rippling cape of geet mintness inside of which he stands, silhouetted against the rising sun, his 'little tea pot' spout raised in a fist against the retreating night: a God amongst appliances. Not just a kettle. A super kettle. A hero.

And it pisses me right off.

Cos I want one.

I want a PhD cape what I can strut about in.

I want to stand silhouetted against the sky looking hard as nails and wearing an Indiana Jones hat for extra crispy impressiveness.

I want a Fudd.

So I'm going to get one. I've been applying see, and I'm creeping closer... Ever closer... I can almost smell the dusty corridors of academia, the heady aroma of stale coffee and old books. (mainly cos that's what my classroom smells like. I have an Essence of Academia room spray).

I will get that cape...

Plus: A success for me and many others that realises a dream I thought I'd given up on but actually it turns out I haven't. Catchy subheading no?

Ages and ages ago the results of the Even More Tonto Short Stories Competition was announced

And I was a winner! Yeay for me! It's got some writers I know of and they're kick ass cool. Shanta Everington and Fiona Robyn are in it and I'm really quite keen on reading those - even more keen on being in a collection with them. Makes me all chuffed inside being included in stuff with writers like that.

I've been sending out short stories since I was 14 and have quite the collection of polite "No" letters as well as huge gaps where no one could even be bothered to send out generic "No" letters or emails.

When I was younger and (even) lazier I sort of assumed that Short Stories were going to be my only route into being published. I couldn't be bothered to stick at novels and, if I'm honest, short stories required a skill I've been lacking I think.

Until now (giggles).

I'm so pleased, and so chuffed for everyone else who made it in and so gutted for all those who didn't.

I know how you feel.

If you want I'll give you TontoStu's address so you can send him poo-in-bags.**


*Not actually in way true, not even slightly, although I did once meet someone at university who thought Shithole was an actual place after which horrible places had since become known.

** Not actually at all recommended, or very fair, as I hear the competition was tough to judge due to the quality of the entries. You should have done what I did and bribe him with beer BEFORE the results were decided.***

*** Not actually in way true, not even slightly, although I did once meet a bloke who dressed up as a woman and stripteased his best mate in exchange for beer.****

**** Not actually TontoStu. Really really.

Nik And The Library Book Club Drink Free Coffee

INT: Library basement, early evening.

A stark white room, clean and functional in a converted basement. Above a long, narrow window allows some natural light to fall into the room. In one corner is a coffee machine and stacks of compulsively neat coffee cups, saucers and single serving milks. The foil pull tab of each of the milks points to toward the opposite wall. A dozen chairs are placed in an equally compulsive semi circle all facing toward a projector and screen unit which has been wheeled into a corner. Next to the projector unit is a table containing copies of THE NOVEL IN QUESTION.

In the darkest available corner THE WRITER sits sipping at coffee and staring at the entrance.

ENTER: OLD LADY WITH BAG and NOT AS OLD AS OLD LADY WITH BAG BUT STILL QUITE OLD LADY. They both shuffle toward nearest chairs paying THE WRITER no attention at all. NOT AS OLD AS OLD LADY WITH BAG BUT STILL QUITE OLD LADY pauses just before she sits, glances toward the table containing THE NOVEL IN QUESTION.

NOT AS OLD AS OLD LADY WITH BAG BUT STILL QUITE OLD LADY : Better see what all this is about then.

She picks up a copy of the book. Turns it over. Turns it back over.

NOT AS OLD AS OLD LADY WITH BAG BUT STILL QUITE OLD LADY: 9987?

She frowns and replaces the book.

OLD LADY WITH BAG: One of those hi-fi things is it?

NOT AS OLD AS OLD LADY WITH BAG BUT STILL QUITE OLD LADY: Hi-fi things?

OLD LADY WITH BAG: Yes, those future stories.

NOT AS OLD AS OLD LADY WITH BAG BUT STILL QUITE OLD LADY: Oh, you mean sky-high?

OLD LADY WITH BAG: Do I?

NOT AS OLD AS OLD LADY WITH BAG BUT STILL QUITE OLD LADY: Yes dear.

*Story may have been stolen from events not at all connected with the writer or the book club.

But I did get coffee.

A List Of Obsessions What Megan Has Made Me Do...

Ah-ha. Like that is it? Tagging eh? Sounds like a challenge that mind Taylor.

Alreet then, since I'm still transmitting (as far as I know) I may as well keep myself distracted. It is, certainly, better than the marking that I am staring at at the moment.

So. I've been asked to admit to 5 obsessions. Megan seems to have cheated a bit I think on hers but I see her point.

Do I have obsessions anymore noteworthy than the average non-radio-frazzled mortal? Hmmm. I dunno.

See my brother used to have an obsession with clothing labels. Not, you understand, in a fashion conscious sense. No. Rather in a tactile stroky sort of sense. And no, I don't even mean the quality of materials of the clothing.

I mean the actual, physical label.

He used to wander up to people, put his arms up around their necks (he was quite small at this point) and make a "hug-me-cos-I'm-small" type face. Then he'd fondle the label of their tops.

So, obviously a little disturbed by this, my gran then cut the labels out of all our clothes to try and stop him.

He cried until mam cut up one of satiny scarfs for him.

He wore that through over the next six months...

See, now that's a good obsession.

And I used to have a friend that was obsessed with picking at the skin on his finger-knuckle-joint thingy when he sucked his thumb. (Again, this was a little while ago.) He spent so long sucking his thumb and picking at the skin that eventually created a fleshy sort of build up of skin on that knuckle that he would prod into shapes.

It had to be cut off.

He now plays with Bluetac.

And again, I can't top that.

However, I've been challenged, so I've got to get something down don't I?

So fine:

1. Coffee
2. The phrase "juggling monkeys"
3. Discovering who stole my Woody Wood Pecker T Shirt
4. My Saturday night Chinese (172 & 174 with Crispy Spring Rolls) with my Geet Mint PR Guru.
5. Finding new ways not to mark; to plan lessons; to teach lessons and to spend more time with my Geet Mint PR Guru...

Oh... And so now I have to tag people don't I?

Hmmm...

Ok:

Rachel the Recording Lady
B the Suspiciously Absent Lady
Stephen the Short Story Writing Man
Jen the All Over Crazy Lady

and, but of course:

My Geet Mint PR Guru Lady

I Am A Human Arial And My Children Will Arrive As Ready-Made Faith No More Fans

I've got one of those in-car radio transmitter things, the ones that you plug into an mp3 player or something and it plays through the radio - you dig?



Cool as.



And it's pretty mint, mostly, but recently it's been getting a bit crackly. It's getting on a bit now and after an awkward first date with DK it's not really very talkative anymore. Tends to just be a bit ... well... staticy, I suppose.



It's ok when it's in conversation, as long as it's not straining it's voice. Me and my Geet Mint PR Guru take it with us on picnics onto the moors (pronounced moooo-ahs, by the way, as they are the Durham Dale ones) and it tells us stories. All very nice, even if my car smells of sausage roll and chilli crisps for days afterward.



But, on my way to (work) in the morning I find screaming is a good way to get myself prepared. I could do what some of my (colleagues) do, I've seen them scribbling away in huge geet big books, organising themselves and (planning). But I'm not into all that. My geet huge book is red and full of scribbles. Some of which look like spiders which I then see, much later, out the corner of my eye and terrify myself with. There is no planning.



Because I prefer to scream my way to work.



Problem is of course is that the radiotransmitterythingy can't do it. It's all croaky and rubbish when it yells.



Except, sometimes it isn't. I have discovered that, like most things, all it needs a bit of love.



I have discovered that if I hold it I can breathe new life into the machine.



Either I have magical electronic healing powers, or I'm a half decent conductor of radio waves, I dunno which, but I do know that it makes the shouty music sound better.

I know that Faith No More, on a Monday morning is now playable at high volume.

Only problem of course is driving one handed: generally frowned upon. So this morning I tried a new solution.

This morning on my way to (work) I wanted Shouty Dropkick Murphies. And I got Shouty Dropkick Murphies. By sitting on the transmitter.

This makes makes me fear for my ability to sire children now.

I don't like the thought of my crotch transmitting...

It cannot end well...

Rejoice! For I Am Alsorts Of Returned, How.

Ah... Work.

A joy isn't it?

Yes, that's right, a work whinge. And I don't care what you say. I know I get six weeks off when the rest of the world is sweating in offices. I know I am guaranteed time away from work every seven weeks or so while the rest of the world slowly sinks into their pits of routine and misery.

I know that I am, essentially, very lucky.

But I also know that this is not what I signed up for.

Anyway, enough of that, and no, I won't be apologising for my absence. Things needed doing. Things still needed doing. Me and DK are moving, again, things around me unravel a little then tighten up. You know: stuff.

The point is though: I'm back. So Rejoice and stuff and behold me, all minty and fresh, how.

I've even got some news.

If you wander through my fairly unminted website you will find a new events page which is chocka full of events for me and DK.

But, in case you're lazy here they be, my Autumn Tour dates...

September:

29th - Reading and Q & A @ Cramlington Library 7:30 - 8:30pm

October:

15th - Reading and Showing Off alongside Carol Clewrow @ Teesside University (Darlington Campus)

17th - Reading and Hanging About @ WORDplay, the Whitley Bay Book Fesitval.

24th - Hanging Around, Chatting and Signing @ Durham Literary Festival, Durham University Student Union.

Yus, that's right. Look at me all at Durham Festival, sharing a tent with Tony Horne and the far lovelier Valerie Laws.

Impressed much?