Poet's Day

Today is Tuesday. Not only that but to be more precise it is Tuesday the 20th March 2007. Nothing remarkable about that? Consider that the Sunday just gone was just Sunday the 18th of March, except it wasn’t because it was also Mother’s Day (in the UK anyway). We have also just had St.Patrick’s day and every year without fail, January 1st seems to always fall on New Year’s day. There are lots of ‘something’ days during the year and now you are wondering what today is. It’s not my birthday or to my knowledge (I hope) is it the birthday of anyone I know. It’s not even tied in to any anniversary of the writing of Bogg (that I remember). Today I just feel like saying that it is NOT Pete The Poet day. While many writers and poets get their own commemorative day and Fridays are often referred to as POETS day (Pee Off Early Tomorrow’s Saturday), I’m afraid Pete The Poet gets none. This is partly due to the fact that in Dungloon, he is widely recognised as one of the worst poets in history and partly due to the fact that outside of Dungloon, just about nobody has heard of him. Consider the following example of his work for a good reason why:

Fluffy - A Verse By Pete The Poet

Small fluffy clouds passed by
In an otherwise clear blue sky.
Clouds that looked a little like sheep without legs,
Only sheep can’t fly.

While suffering ridicule as a poet, Pete is currently appearing in Part 2 of Bogg after a minor appearance in Book 1. Part 2 is not yet complete but maybe after it is, he will receive the acclaim he richly doesn’t deserve and finally get a ‘Day’ all to himself…

The inside workings of a Private Detective...

Bogg opened his mouth to let out a sort of ‘aargh’ noise. No sound came out although his jaws were gaped quite widely. His eyes were open even wider and the eyeballs bulged unnaturally
in their sockets. As someone shook the door impatiently, the clip broke on the clothesline. The elastic travelled back to the winder mechanism on the far wall at several times the legal
speed limit and catapulted a drip-dried sock at an even faster speed directly into Boggs open mouth. It was still there when he opened the door.

Ms Daffodiltuliptree (not her real name but as Bogg could never understand her whenever she said her name, this was one of the various ones he called her) was ninety-four years old. Never
a very tall person, she had now shrunk further with age and illness and was therefore only ever so slightly taller than Bogg.

“Where’s my Tibbles?” she demanded.

Bogg blinked. His face was still as white as his beard and much whiter than his mouth-protruding sock.

“You told me you could guarantee quick results. Five days is not quick,” she pointed out.

Bogg blinked again.

“Sorry, have I interrupted your dinner?” Mrs Daffodiltuliptree suddenly seemed concerned.

Bogg blinked back in reply.

“Please find my Tibbles,” she implored meekly. “OR I WON’T PAY YOU!”

Leaving the stunned Bogg still blinking, she turned her heels and returned to her apartment, where she promptly turned her heels the right way ‘round again. Bogg blinked at the now empty corridor and closed the door. Perhaps he had better find Tibbles.

Three very strong cups of coffee later, J.Bogg Det., P.I. was ready for some crime solving. Although he didn’t actually plan on leaving the hotel, he put on his raincoat and trilby hat so that he could feel the part. Feeling the part always helped him to think and in Boggs case, thinking needed all the help it could get. Of course, after the episode earlier with the remote control, there were some other parts that Bogg wished he could feel but couldn’t yet. He hoped the numbness would go away later. Meanwhile, to the job in hand. Before opening his door, Bogg lit a cigarette. He didn’t like cigarettes but wanted to make sure the image was right in case anybody saw him. ‘Aha’, people would say (or so he thought), ‘there goes a clever and successful private investigator’. This thought always made him feel good. With positive thoughts flowing, he strode out of his room to solve the case.

Grinning with confidence, he stepped out of his doorway and onto his beard. He swiftly fell flat on his face, squashing both his nose and the cigarette...

Of Douglas Adams and Rhinoceros…

I have always felt an affinity to Douglas Adam, loving his Hitch Hikers series and writing within the same genre as him. I was therefore delighted to find recently that we also shared another interest, that of conservation and in particular, Rhinos!

I was incredibly fortunate a few years ago to take part in a conservation project in Kenya, studying and helping to conserve the Black Rhino. The experience was unforgettable and one day I will finish writing up my diary from my notes on it. I went out on Rhino patrol early in the morning, walked through the savannah with wild animals including lions, elephants and buffalo close by and even managed to spend time with a young adult Rhino, Morani, following him around for a few hours. I will always treasure the experience.

I have just added ‘Save the Rhino’ to the growing number of wildlife charities I belong to and that is when I found that Douglas Adams was their founding patron. Since his untimely departure, they have held a memorial lecture annually in his honour and last night I was delighted to attend the latest one with my wife. This year the eminent anthropologist and wildlife conservationist, Dr Richard Leakey was speaking and what a mighty presence he had as he stood at the lecturn. I feel privileged to have been in the same room and to have heard him speak about the future of conservation in East Africa.

As an added and unexpected bonus to the evening, an introductory homage was paid to Douglas Adams by Clive Anderson. The speech was extremely funny and after Dr Leakey spoke, we were entertained further by Clive as he acted as auctioneer to raise money for charity. He proved to be very canny at eliciting bids, telling people what they were bidding rather than asking them and somehow managed to get a bid of £2000 for a multi-coloured rhino made from recycled flip-flops! In all an evening that was funny, insightful and also raised money for a good cause. I even spied ex-python Terry Jones there to add to my personal enjoyment of the evening.

To find that I share the same interests as Douglas only adds to my enthusiasm for conservation and my inspiration for writing. I strongly urge anyone to join in the fight for the Rhino and other wildlife. You can read about and join Save The Rhino at www.savetherhino.org (they also have a myspace profile) and take part in conservation projects (as I did) through the charity Earthwatch. Please also look out for Dr Leakey’s website(s) and do as much as you can to support this beautiful planet of ours. The Earth is, after all “Mostly Harmless”.

What the Snirks have to say about politics…

“Squeak squeak.”
“Squeak squeak.”
“Squeaky?”
“Squeak, squeak squeak.”
“Sqeeeeeeeeeeak.”
“Squeaky?”
“Squeak squeak.”
“Squeaky squeaky squeaky squeak, squeaky squeaky…”
“…squeaky squeak!”
“SQUEAK!”
“Squeak squeak.”

Dear Sir...

Dear Andrew Attias

I am writing to you to complain about a large number of book characters that I believe are in your charge and for whom I hold you fully responsible for their actions. It seems that you are writing your sequel far too slowly and they are therefore spending a lot of time frequenting my inn. As a result, we are rapidly running out of chocolate milkshake!

Your characters seem to do a lot of arguing, especially regarding something called a TASSOC device. I don’t know what that is but I will not have Tassocs discussed aloud on my premises. It seems to upset my other customers. While I appreciate the efforts of one Princess Serena to moderate their language and behaviour, I am afraid that they are getting a little out of hand, although at least the violence is restricted to a single Ogre who keeps hitting himself for no apparent reason.

I would respectively request that you take control of these deviants with utmost urgency before my regular clients decide to take their patronage elsewhere.

Yours sincerely

The Innkeeper
The Rat’s Entrails Inn
Dungloon

P.S. There is an unpaid bill that currently stands at 5 gold pieces. Perhaps you could settle this at your earliest convenience?

An excerpt featuring the V.E.A.G.

Here, the Vraagas Executive Admiral General has to show patience in defference to protocol. Oh how he wishes he could blow up that planet now!

The VEAG would like to have started the invasion of Earth
but he was a stickler for protocol. The countdown had been
set to provide sufficient time for final preparations. Due to the
automation of virtually everything, the preparations had been
completed at about ninety-nine point ninety-eight point ninety.
No wonder he was bored. Unfortunately for him, the invasion
itself was also fully automated. When the clock reached zero,
the booster thrusters on every ship in the fleet would ignite
and they would all head to Earth on a pre-computed course
at a programmed hyper-speed. Each ship would arrive at preset
co-ordinates and attack a pre-determined country or city.
The targets would be bombed automatically and any enemy
attack would be repelled by automatic fire set off by automatic
sensors. Droid controlled fighter craft would take care of any
pockets of resistance. There was little need in fact for the
Vraagas themselves to tag along but the VEAG wanted to
accept Earth’s surrender in person as he felt it would be a good
photo opportunity.
The VEAG pondered over the decision to start the
countdown at one hundred. He would have preferred ten but
it was just one of those things with invasions that you had to
set an invasion time and it had to have an inordinately long
countdown. He wondered if there was any way of speeding up
the clock at Crewman Twelve’s console but decided against it
on principle. There were other matters at the moment that
needed resolving. At least they were helping to alleviate the
boredom.

Rethithtanth Planth

Hello? Thith ith Com’.
Can you hear me?
Dmytri, can you pick the retheiver up?
How are the planth for the rethithtanth going?
No, the new planth… the new wunth, Dmytri.
Ok, remember the codewordth, the mapth, the dithguithes and timetablth. We mutht get thith right if we are to thuctheed againtht the Prethident.
Oh and Dmytri, make thaw that your Mum pacth thum nith thandwidgeth, cheeth and pickle would be good…

I think BBC Radio 4 is trying to tell me something and I think I have to listen. I keep hearing about authors on the news and today another one appears with his stories of the Bronx and moving to Ireland and living in a huge mansion with 15 miles of private land for him to use as a muse for his writing. That sounds eerily like what I should be doing!

Meanwhile, I am increasingly worried about the silence of my characters lately. I don't know where they are and more to the point, I don't know what they are up to. They're probably holed up in The Rat's Entrails Inn in Dungloon getting drunk and planning chaos (not that they need to plan it as it seems to come perfectly naturally to them). Oh dear, I'm going to be in trouble if I don't start writing more of the sequel soon and get them back on the leash…

No more peace and quiet. Pah!

Damnandblastit! It’s bad enough having to appear on this blog thing without having to follow a comment about that embarrassing Detective who thinks he’s related to me. Pah! What is an elevator anyway and what’s wrong with stairs? They work perfectly well for me and there’s no music either! It just gets worse. Oh and now we’re on this Myspace thing under ‘Bogg The Dwarf’. I mean why not just broadcast it to the world! How am I supposed to get peace and quiet now? Pah!

Excerpt from Bogg!

An excerpt featuring Detective Bogg...

“I hope you like La Cucharacha,” he said dismally.
It was hard to tell if the Mexicans were especially pleased
to see the Princess as their grins were pretty wide anyway. Bogg
graciously allowed the Princess in first. She stepped up to the
wide guitars and then turned to face the lift entrance. Bogg
stepped towards the angelic vision as the doors quietly closed.
It was indeed cramped and he felt himself awkwardly pressed
up against her. He thought he had stopped breathing. Perhaps
this was heaven? The lift lurched and strained to get moving and
the guitars started to play once again. This was not heaven...

Read more in Bogg!