W900
by Tom McNulty
Genre: Literary Fiction
Print Length: 304 pages
Publication Date: June 24, 2019
Hovis Monk had been deceived. Perhaps he always had been. His comfortable life in the Snowdonian bubble, provided by The Blue Yonder Mining Company, was ending. As his world implodes Hovis spins into a realm of inner and outer realities, chance occurrences, memories, music, luck and laughter.
This story describes the reunion of Hovis with his old Paisley Underground band, a little known group called The Festers, and his struggles with a very special Flame Red Time Trialing Onesey…..
"Have you ever considered getting The Fester's back together, or maybe taking them back on the road?" He reached over to recover his mug from the table directly in front of him.
"Not much chance of that," Hovis smiled as the last biscuit disappeared into Lee’s gigantic mouth. "I haven't got a clue where any of them are these days and you know, to be honest, although that f’ing idiot Ken Alexander played it on the radio, I'd not heard ‘I Want you, Love.., Want me too, Love,’ for over thirty years! Now the dickheads got it on his band play-off thing on his next show. When, get this, it'll be up against ‘Aphrodite’s Child’s’ ’68 hit. Jesus, how the mighty are fallen," he exclaimed dismally. "Normally, I couldn't give a damn about shit like this but to lose in a popular vote, to a piece of blatant Eurotrash like that abomination, would be even more than I can take! I mean, ‘Rain n Tears’ couldn't punch its way out of a wet paper bag," he cried passionately and folded his arms, with a "humph," added purely for extra gravitas.
"Bet your Dad did that frumpy last bit, when you were a kid, a sort of final word thing, didn't he?"
"I was about to tell you, what a pleasure it's been to know you, Man but I don't think I'll bother now," Hovis grinned broadly.
"See if I care," Lee replied using acceptable male badinage and finished his now cold chocolate with one glug. Then he stood up, holding his hand out, for his hillside buddy to respond and shake it.
"Mates forever," he said as Hovis gripped his outstretched hand.
"Mates forever," a small tear stung his right eye. "Damned eye infection," he casually wiped the liquid from his eye socket. "Looks like you've got it too," he pointed out to Lee.
"Must be contagious, I reckon," the Postman moved towards the front door.
"Don't forget to send me your address when you get settled and I'll send you a newly pirated copy of The Fester's greatest hit, free of charge. Oh, and make sure you get something for that eye, things like that can turn nasty if you don't look after yourself."
With that, Lee Kelso, gregarious postman par excellence, walked outside of No.37 for the last time, got back in his van and started the engine,
"See you around, Man. Happy trails to you, old friend.”
Hovis fired back, in typically male bravadic script,
"Not if I see you first." However, Lee was right on the ball that day and as his red van accelerated down towards the Rat Road, he casually threw out,
"It's been really average knowing you," and with that he was gone, leaving Hovis, open mouthed and frustrated.
I began writing these existential stories because they needed air and because I was sick to death of people being lauded for writing trivial rubbish. It’s easy to write nice, acceptable TV bookclub bodice rippers, a lot harder to tell the truth.
My stories scrape the scrotum of life's existence and laugh at despair. There is no room in my books for any Goo Goo Muck, just straight up Rock n Roll.
So read at your peril…
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