Cast your chaff to the wind

And reap a right fishy reward

Some fellow writers tell me they sometimes find it difficult to keep coming up with interesting subjects to write about. Well my subjects might not be what everyone would call interesting, but there again I’m selfish I suppose, because I write what I’m interested in , without thinking if it will be interesting to others but of course I hope that it will. And I find no difficulty in finding subjects, many of these rather flippant and off the cuff peices you read here contain many seeds which could grow into an epic novel, which will, no doubt, cost me an arm and a leg to publish in paperback form, my preferred medium, I have to admit.

I‘ve started to put myself about a bit recently by attending local business breakfasts. Why do that? Well no one seems to think it strange that a budding novelist should be amongst them, a bit of an oddity, they seem interested to talk to me even though I haven’t anything to sell but myself. And I get to distribute my business cards which are much admired for their artistic logo and quality finish. It’s good to have friends who can turn your ideas into creative practice. You meet such people at Business events. They won’t make a fortune out of my business but they get to advertise their businesses to all the people I talk to. AND CAN I TALK!!!

Anyway, this week has provided me with much material for future novels about the ordinary man or woman. Everyone I meet has a story to tell, like the guy I met at Tuesdays meeting as I sat down next to his crutches. He couldn’t get up to carry his tea, well you can’t if you need two crutches to walk with but some kind person had already brought him one. I learned that he had been disabled for over ten years after a life threatening three months in hospital. He had been a well built Landlord of a Pub in a northern inner city area, after closing at 11 pm he had locked up and taken his dog out for it’s last comfort break before retiring to bed. The man had then been set upon by four thuggish youths and was beaten so badly that he was lucky to survive the assault but apparently it was not a forgone conclusion. The man now volunteers for a local charity that help young people through their mental health problems, he told me he had been working with two fourteen year old boys who felt they had nothing to live for and were going to commit suicide. He pointed out to them that he had much less to live for than they had but he had no intention of giving up and neither should they. I suggested he had a story to tell in much more detail and said he would be happy to feature in such a venture.

Another guy came over to talk to me, he said he had started to write a book some time ago but had never got round to finish it but suggested perhaps I might like to. We’ll see, make a note to follow it up, when time permits.

Then today (Friday) I’ve been alerted to a flat that’s just come on the market that I may be interested in. It is situated in an old coal mining village, so I hop in the car and go to look around. It’s a typical north country (sorry it’s over the border in Derbyshire so, North Midland country, they are sensitive about their identity round here) ex-mining village. Not sure whether I want to leave my modern third floor flat for a ground floor flat conversion in what was originally a 19th century school, a listed building. I like the historical connection but it’s a rougher than where I live now. Am I really a snob?

Across the road from the location of the flat is a Fish and Chip shop. I’d only had beans on toast for lunch so I thought I’d get something more substantial even if it was unhealthy. There were two blokes in front of me so it gave me time to weigh up what was the cheapest I could get away with, not only because I’m (tight) careful with my spending but also it was a ‘cash only’ place (I wonder why?) and I carry little hard cash with me. Anyway I had time to weigh it up and had decided on a Fishcake and chips, when eventually one of the other customers decided he had better go home whilst the food was still hot. The other customer a buck teethed youth of indeterminate age looked as though he was set in for the rest of the day. I ordered my selection and was asked if I wanted an ordinary fishcake or a Yorkshire fishcake. Well anyone who knows me knows that if anyone attaches the prefix Yorkshire to anything, I’ll buy it. In nearly 77 years I have never heard of such a thing as a Yorkshire Fishcake. Large or small chips sir. Small please. He wrapped the order in paper and charged me £4.50, which judging by the size of the parcel even allowing for the paper, seemed reasonable.

I thought I’d ask what the area was like so in my smooth subtle way I said ‘is it rough round here’ , as you can see I can be ever so dipolmatic, the direct approach certainly worked, buck teeth just smiled an otherworldly smile (reminding me of the my hero, Rob, in my novel), the shop owner was keen to play it down.When I asked if he was local he said, “ No I come from Bolton” well that’s in Lancahire, Red Rose County. I’d already given him my card with the White Rose Logo on but he didn’t hold it against me. Borders still matter but the wars are a long time over.

When I’d mentioned I was writing a book, buck teeth jumped in and said there had been a murder in the next street from where we were and started to go into the details. The shop keeper shut him up and played it all down, I’d like to talk to buck teeth again. I said I was interested in the murder as I was writing a novel about a murderer. Buck teeth said will you be making a film of it. I said I doubt it will be good enough for that. He said that he had started to write a book some time ago about the Orange Men, he’d read a story about the Banana Men and it had given him the idea for his book. He asked if I’d read the Banana men books and I said I hadn’t. I uged him to get back to writing, anything must be more rewarding that talking to an old stranger in a chip shop on the wrong side of Debyshire on a Friday afternoon.

I could feel my meal getting cold so I bid them farewell and made my way back to the car that I had parked on Colliery Road, I wondered what that vast area of wasteland was in the middle of the village. I opened the parcel to find a vast quantity of chips and a huge fishcake. There was layers of fish interspersed with layers of, I presumed, potato. You could cetainly see the fish unlike the standard fishcakes you buy where there’s not much fish in evidence.

I certainly will not want any supper tonight that’s for sure.

Well, I’ll try to get a viewing of the flat. I have after all already got two local friends in the area.

More tales from t’north country to follow, in the meantime may your god go with you. Bye for now from the ‘yorkshirefenix @gmx.com’

I