99 Reasons Why

I had great fun, a couple of years ago, hosting a chapter of Like Bees To Honey, a rather fabulous novel by author and fellow blogger Caroline Smailes. As part of its launch, each chapter was hosted online by a different blog site, so if you wished you could read the novel in its entirety by skipping from one site to another. I strongly recommend that you do get yourself a copy and read it.

Now, I gather that Caroline has been creating a bit of a stir with her new novel, 99 Reasons Why, published today. I'm pleased, once again, to be hosting some of her words to mark the occasion. However, before I go any further, I should add a spoiler alert:

Spoiler Alert - the ending to 99 Reasons Why is contained in this blog post. 

Or rather, an ending. There are actually several, all different, of which the text further below is just one. Basically, 99 Reasons Why is being published as an ebook (in Kindle and iBook editions), and actually has nine possible outcomes which are navigable by your e-reader. There are two further endings to be found (along with lots of other background information on how she came to write the book, and the resultant publicity) via Caroline's own site.

I should add that it's delightfully odd to be doing this, given that I've managed to avoid any details of the content of the book so far (I'm waiting until I read it). Still, without any further ado, here it is. I hope it whets your appetite.

99: the reason why I was only worth ninety-nine quid
It’s been six days since the little girl in the pink coat went missing and me Uncle Phil’s in me bedroom.

We’ve been watching the little girl in the pink coat’s mam on the news. She was appealing to the public for witnesses.

‘Didn’t realise she had a mam,’ I says, looking at me telly.

‘Everyone’s got a mam, pet,’ me Uncle Phil says to me.

‘She sold her story to The Sun,’ I says, looking at me telly.

‘Got a few quid,’ me Uncle Phil says to me.

I nod.

‘She wanted nowt to do with that bairn before all this,’ me Uncle Phil says, looking at me telly.

‘Do you know where she is?’ I asks me Uncle Phil.

‘Belle?’ me Uncle Phil asks me.

I nod.

‘She’s safe,’ me Uncle Phil says to me. ‘Your mam’s keeping an eye on her.’

‘Can I be her mam?’ I asks me Uncle Phil.

‘No, pet, you’re a filthy whore,’ me Uncle Phil says to me.

I nod.

‘Can you make Andy Douglas come back, Uncle Phil?’ I asks me Uncle Phil.

Me Uncle Phil shakes his head.

‘I love him,’ I tell me Uncle Phil.

‘Andy Douglas is your brother, pet. You didn’t seriously think Princess Di was your mam, did you?’ me Uncle Phil asks me.

I nod.

‘You’re a cradle snatcher just like your mam,’ me Uncle Phil says to me.

I nod.

‘Your mam miscarried when she found out I’d been banging Betty Douglas. Betty was expecting you,’ me Uncle Phil says to me.

I don’t speak.

‘When you was born, your mam went mad and I ended up buying you from Betty Douglas for ninety-nine quid,’ me Uncle Phil says.

‘Ninety-nine quid?’ I asks me Uncle Phil.

‘I paid a hundred but got a quid change for some chips for your mam and dad’s tea,’ me Uncle Phil says to me.

‘You bought me?’ I asks me Uncle Phil.

I’m a little bit sick in me mouth.

‘It was the right thing to do,’ me Uncle Phil says to me. ‘I got Betty Douglas pregnant straight away with Andy.’

‘I’m pregnant,’ I says to me Uncle Phil. ‘I’m pregnant with me brother’s baby,’ I says, and then I throws up on me purple carpet.

‘You’re a filthy whore,’ me Uncle Phil says to me.

‘What am I going to do?’ I asks me Uncle Phil.

‘You’re going to have the baby,’ me Uncle Phil says to me.

‘Have me brother’s baby?’ I asks me Uncle Phil.

‘Then I’m giving it to Betty Douglas to bring up,’ me Uncle Phil says to me.

‘You what?’ I says to me Uncle Phil.

‘It’s the right thing to do,’ me Uncle Phil says to me.

‘I can’t—’ I says to me Uncle Phil.

‘It’s either that or I’ll make you disappear,’ me Uncle Phil says to me.

I don’t speak.

I’m thinking, they’re all a bunch of nutters.

In a China Shop

So the coalition Government walks into a china shop, armed with a big bag full of padding, and a baseball bat. They wander the shop carefully, with much scrutiny, and after a while they take the best vases, bowls, crockery etc from each section, and keep them for themselves. Despite the fact that these items are supposed to be available to the public, and despite the fact that the government never said they would take the best bits and keep them. They put them in their bag carefully, to be taken to be sold off to their mates who will sell them at a much inflated price.

They then look at the now-depleted selection of China on display - there's not a huge amount left. Taking the baseball bat, they gleefully and systematically smash the rest of the goods into tiny pieces.

"What are you complaining for? There are now more pieces of China for everybody."

Candles

I've been away, and am in the process of adjusting to being back. Only a week or so away, and yet the normal, everyday stuff still seems odd, somehow secondary. Especially when compared to being cocooned in an atmospheric place such as the one above: places where life feels slow, and yet time passes so very quickly.

Just saying.

On bodily fluids

I was in very pleasant company today, and circumstances were solicitous to me telling this story. I'm glad to have revisited it actually: I love the expression on people's faces when I tell them about someone asking me "what's your favourite piss?" - sheer, initial incomprehension, followed later by curiosity, then the acceptance of what was a very odd situation. Finally, said company being able if not downright eager to supply me with their own answers to the same question...the beauty being the narrative arc which ensues.

No, that won't make any sense whatsoever unless you read the story I've linked to. Sorry. For what it's worth, I think it's one of the better pieces of writing that I've done, and one of the reasons I started blogging in the first place was because I wanted to recount this tale.

In anger

I cannot believe what the government of this country are doing, and for which they have no mandate. If, as is often said, you can judge a society on how they treat the most vulnerable, then our society is currently failing very, very badly. 

It's not just the government, in fact - sections of the media are essentially acting, as one might expect, as the government's propagandists. Yet when a right-wing, normally pro-(conservative) government paper like the Daily Mail publishes articles like this, it shows just how far - and rapidly - we've travelled in a very worrying direction.

I know I don't often speak out on here about political issues, but increasingly over recent weeks and months I've had a growing sense of unease, which is now developing into rage and despair. We ignore issues like this at our peril. Legislation like this doesn't affect me, you might say, since I don't have a disability. No I'm not disabled, but it's hardly a stretch of the imagination to consider that I might be at some point in the future. I hope not, of course, but if I were I would hope to be treated with a basic level of decency and understanding. At the moment, that appears to be too much to ask.

Combined with the ever-more-punitive treatment of anyone unfortunate enough to find themselves out of work (thankfully, some of which is starting to get the response it deserves), it appears that there is a concerted attempt to change attitudes. It would be wrong-headed to say that because someone has a disability, they have a problem - however what's even worse is reaching a state of affairs in which if someone has a disability, they are seen to be a problem.

How did we get here, and how is this even considered to be acceptable?

Misreading the signs

Shitting blood when you brush your teeth?

They must be making toothbrushes much sturdier these days, if that's the case. 

Mist