Note To Self:

Never buy a pair of shoes made in a country where the general population do not know what footwear is.

In my quest to find the perfect pair of Chuck Taylor knockoffs, I recently expanded my search out of Asia and bought a pair of Etiko hightops from the Oxfam Shop. This was the first time I have ever bought shoes made in Botswana. I think there is a reason for this. The shoes are undoubtedly well made, and show every indication of doing very well on the "Days Worn Before They Break' chart (below). However, the Botswanan cobbler responsible for shoe construction has completely failed to take into account the knuckle of my big toe. I know this because right where my knuckle is, he (or she, let's not deny it) has put a whacking great seam, a fold of fabric which stands proud of the lining and has since Saturday been digging into my foot like a bastard. Still, it's lessening, and I wouldn't dream of letting them go now when they look like breaking all records for Chuck knockoffs.

The Chuck Taylor Knockoff Standings (days worn before developing tears and rips)
Actual Chucks (for comparison): 3 months (90 days)
Levi 'Horse' Red Tab Denim: 20 days
Hot Chilli (K-Mart): 11 days
Rivers Hi-tops: 3 days (and good riddance!)

An Excerpt

From my upcoming novel: "Country Mouse Vs City Mouse".

"Hello," said the City Mouse, "My name's City Mouse, but you can call me 'Cit' if you like."
The Country Mouse thought about this. "My name is Country Mouse," he replied, "And i'd rather you didn't shorten my name."

Doobie And The Bandit

"Look, dude, I admit," said Captain Doobie, "In the past, I may have done you wrong. But I promise, I will never do you wrong again."
Goodtime Slim pulled the pillow over his ears. "There ain't gonna be no more Captain Doobie and no Goodtime Slim," he told his housemate, "You understand me that? I gotta go down to the shop and pick up a bag of fertiliser."
Captain Doobie grimaced. "Shitty job."
Sensing the he wasn't going to get any further sleep that morning Goodtime Slim crawled out of bed. "Well I got a news flash for you," he told Captain Doobie, "you take those Cadbury Creme Eggs east of Mount Gambier, and that's bootleggin'. And that's against the law."
Captain Doobie treated his housemate to a wide grin. "Well who gives a turkey" he asked expansively, "when Captain Doobie and Goodtime Slim are doing the driving?"
Goodtime Slim fixed him with a baleful stare. "Why?"
"For the money, and for the fun. Mainly for the money."
"How much money did you say again?"
"Seventy-five thousand Spanish doubloons."
This made Goodtime Slim's mind up. "Wynette!" he yelled.
Captain Doobie turned to look in the direction he had yelled. "Who's Wynette?"
Godtime Slim stared at him, puzzled. "You know," he scratched his head, "I have no idea."

The Hunt For Atlantis - A Review

As I am currently writing my own archaeo-adventure novel about Atlantis, I thought i'd better read 'The Hunt For Atlantis' by Andy McDermott.
I wish I hadn't. Note to Mr McDermott: have a point. If you're going to send an archaeologist, her bodyguard and a wealthy philanthropist around the world hunting for Atlantis whilst being pursued by a sinister ancient brotherhood, try giving everyone some form of motivation prior to the showdown at the end of 600 pages. It makes it so much more exiting for the reader than a bunch of nice people trying to get somewhere before the not-very-nice people do for NO APARRENT REASON. A billionaire throws money and resources at the project, for what? Kicks?
Adding plenty of gunplay does not stop this from being a very boring book. Especially since when they reached Atlantis they blew the place up before anyone got to see it. Oops! Spoiler warning. Well, it would be if I was encouraging anyone to actually read this. Bloody hell.

Tongue Like A Sock Puppet, A.

I'd just like to say that if anyone discovers that they have wisdom teeth, and the dentist plans to remove them even though they're not causing you any pain, these people should punch their dentist in the cock.*

I failed to take this extraordinarily simple precaution last week, and now i'm at home spitting blood everywhere and living on Cup-a-soup. Ever since my day surgery in the Wakefield Hospital on Thursday, i've been a quivering mass of dextropropoxyphene, paracetemol and easily-swallowable MSG.

This enforced convalescence has it's upsides, of course. I'm not at work, and I'm reading voraciously. I've already finished off the tail-end of Perdido St Station (an excellent work which I avoided for far too long). I've also made short work of "A Practical Guide To Racism" and "Conan The Bootylicious"**, and i'm about halfway through Clive Cussler's "Atlantis Found".

I just wish I could eat chocolate, that's all.

In other news, the first draft of my new vampire novel has been finished. It's on hiatus while I'm up on blocks, then the redraft will begin in earnest.

*or fanny, as the case may be.
** or similar. They all sound the same anyway, and Conan belts heaps of people.