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Jul. 6th, 2018 07:31 pmAt the risk of sounding like something out of a Janet and John book…are you melting? I am. The whole of the UK is descending into a sort of sweaty puddle, a mad sweaty puddle to boot, because random people keep shouting “It’s coming home!” at me. (It’s a football thing.)
News
First off I have a ‘missing persons’ alert. I drew the winner at my cover art competition post and left a message for then but they’ve not yet responded. If you are Lloyd Dodd can you get in touch with me, please? . If I don’t hear I shall have to redraw.
It’s great when you turn up an unforgotten gem, and this one’s a must for those who love the British Isles. This is a blog a number of authors (from all over the globe) contributed to in the run up to the 2012 Olympics. So many interesting posts featuring areas all over the British Isles, often with an LGBT connection.
Present time again! Really I should be bringing a stick of seaside rock, but instead I've got a summer-set (as opposed to Somerset) shifter story, the follow up to Shell Shocked. I sent it out as a freebie to the mailing list some months back, but if you missed it I’ve just uploaded it to my free stories page. Click on the link to Gob Smacked.
Excerpt:
“There’s a fox out there getting distinctly fractious,” I said, as I finished the washing up. “He’s not happy about you.”
“May not be me,” Jonny replied, carefully drying a plate. “I’m not the only shifter in the world. Or in the UK. Or in Wales, I bet.”
I should have realised that for myself, but it hadn’t occurred to me. “All of them glypotodonts?” I asked.
“Doubt it, or else people would know about them. Bit hard to hide. Not like a wolf that might get away with being a large Alsatian.” He wiped another plate, as nonchalantly as if we were discussing the cricket scores. “Did you know there’s a secret Facebook group for shifters?”
I flicked some bubbles at him. “You’re pulling my leg.”
“God’s honest truth. I can show you on my laptop.”
“Shifterholics anonymous?”
“Don’t be a pillock. It’s not like we can give up changing. It’s more of a support group.” I nodded. If you changed into a strange creature once a month I guess you’d appreciate a sympathetic ear. “What sort of animals are they?”
“What sort of animals do you want? Wolves, bears, even sloths and one that reckons he’s a jackalope, whatever that is.” Jonny put the last bit of cutlery away. “If you can get yourself to the Isle of Wight tonight you might find out.”
I put the back of my hand to my head, dramatically. “Alas, my private jet’s in having its MOT.”
Jonny sniggered. “Well, you won’t have to go far tonight for entertainment. It isn’t just the fox who can smell something in the air. I can detect it, too. Don’t ask me how, but I know there’s another shifter around. Perhaps it’s a werepuffin that’ll come dive bombing you when you put the bins out.”
“Now who’s being a pillock?” Although I made sure I’d put the bins out before it got dark. Jonny had got me worried about what could come rummaging in them later. We were just getting into preparation mode—luckily, it being June, we had extra time to get ready for the moon’s rays to strike—when a cry of “Shit!” came from the loo. I dashed to the door, worried that the shifting had started early.
“Are you okay? What’s up?”
“I’m bleeding soaking. Tap’s leaking again.” The bungalow we’d bought was brilliantly adapted, but whoever had put in the toilet must have been having an off day, because the posh taps had started to spray at odd angles whenever the fancy took them. The local plumber, Dai the ballcock, was less than impressed with the original work. He was going to put new ones in but until they arrived from the supplier we had to make do with a holding job, one which he was sure wouldn’t hold too well.
And finally, a stunning sunset from the Isle of Wight.
Charlie
News
First off I have a ‘missing persons’ alert. I drew the winner at my cover art competition post and left a message for then but they’ve not yet responded. If you are Lloyd Dodd can you get in touch with me, please? . If I don’t hear I shall have to redraw.
It’s great when you turn up an unforgotten gem, and this one’s a must for those who love the British Isles. This is a blog a number of authors (from all over the globe) contributed to in the run up to the 2012 Olympics. So many interesting posts featuring areas all over the British Isles, often with an LGBT connection.
Present time again! Really I should be bringing a stick of seaside rock, but instead I've got a summer-set (as opposed to Somerset) shifter story, the follow up to Shell Shocked. I sent it out as a freebie to the mailing list some months back, but if you missed it I’ve just uploaded it to my free stories page. Click on the link to Gob Smacked.
Excerpt:
“There’s a fox out there getting distinctly fractious,” I said, as I finished the washing up. “He’s not happy about you.”
“May not be me,” Jonny replied, carefully drying a plate. “I’m not the only shifter in the world. Or in the UK. Or in Wales, I bet.”
I should have realised that for myself, but it hadn’t occurred to me. “All of them glypotodonts?” I asked.
“Doubt it, or else people would know about them. Bit hard to hide. Not like a wolf that might get away with being a large Alsatian.” He wiped another plate, as nonchalantly as if we were discussing the cricket scores. “Did you know there’s a secret Facebook group for shifters?”
I flicked some bubbles at him. “You’re pulling my leg.”
“God’s honest truth. I can show you on my laptop.”
“Shifterholics anonymous?”
“Don’t be a pillock. It’s not like we can give up changing. It’s more of a support group.” I nodded. If you changed into a strange creature once a month I guess you’d appreciate a sympathetic ear. “What sort of animals are they?”
“What sort of animals do you want? Wolves, bears, even sloths and one that reckons he’s a jackalope, whatever that is.” Jonny put the last bit of cutlery away. “If you can get yourself to the Isle of Wight tonight you might find out.”
I put the back of my hand to my head, dramatically. “Alas, my private jet’s in having its MOT.”
Jonny sniggered. “Well, you won’t have to go far tonight for entertainment. It isn’t just the fox who can smell something in the air. I can detect it, too. Don’t ask me how, but I know there’s another shifter around. Perhaps it’s a werepuffin that’ll come dive bombing you when you put the bins out.”
“Now who’s being a pillock?” Although I made sure I’d put the bins out before it got dark. Jonny had got me worried about what could come rummaging in them later. We were just getting into preparation mode—luckily, it being June, we had extra time to get ready for the moon’s rays to strike—when a cry of “Shit!” came from the loo. I dashed to the door, worried that the shifting had started early.
“Are you okay? What’s up?”
“I’m bleeding soaking. Tap’s leaking again.” The bungalow we’d bought was brilliantly adapted, but whoever had put in the toilet must have been having an off day, because the posh taps had started to spray at odd angles whenever the fancy took them. The local plumber, Dai the ballcock, was less than impressed with the original work. He was going to put new ones in but until they arrived from the supplier we had to make do with a holding job, one which he was sure wouldn’t hold too well.
And finally, a stunning sunset from the Isle of Wight.
Charlie
