Saturday isn't it.

Novel Snippet Number 4

Here’s the fourth snippet from the first draft of the new novel. I intend to get this book done, dusted and published by the middle of 2017. The book is set in a seaside city in England in the mid-70s. It features a gang of small time, small thinking men with one, very big thinking woman. Here’s a glimpse of the husband and wife.

Her time giving him strength is coming to a close. She sort of understands this even if the actual idea refuses to fully form in her head and thus will not make its way to her heart nor her heart of hearts, that secret place that once sat in a clearing in the light. But when all’s said and done – which it is – Jenny Prudom is now head over heart for Jimmy, which is a shame but these things happen. She knows the drill, love.

As far as Jenny can see, Jimmy is entirely unaware of his own changed circumstances. He goes on like a fat drunk machine as far as she can see. He drinks and drugs and dresses in the hardman style of years ago when he’d look up to the brutal dockers and the market sneaks and council estate razor lads and bootboys, to the club druggists, the bad musicians, the bikers, the posh gunman, the skin heads at the football with the brass necks and knuckles, to his piss-little family, to the gypsy fighters, the suedehead Nazis, and to the returned service men with the skitters who did speed all day and all night and would knife you for a wrap or tell you their life story for a pint and only because you were the only one who would listen since they got back from Derry or Belfast or wherever they had been in their head, soul, body and heart.

Jim’s all leather jacket and shiny slip-ons, little button-down collars and the occasional pork pie hat these days. He squeezes himself in and sweats. Jimmy wears jeans or something smart and he’s a sentimental sort. He longs for things that he’s been told were all around once upon a time. And he loves Ska music as much as he loves any music. And he loves football.

Only he doesn’t. In his heart, in his emphatic heart, he loves reading books about lost islands, dragons, fantastic adventures. Jim writes poems, has done ever since he was a small boy. He hates the football because it makes no sense whatsoever to him even though he understands its language, syntax, grammar and he understands what others see. He can’t see it…

 

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