Grumpy Blogger Book Giveaway + Guest post from Flatcap

Call me a glutton for punishment, but a blog slot to fill and a whole morning without so much as a whiff of a mint Aero has brought on a reoccurring bout of psychosis and an interview with the cantankerous Flatcap is the result.

All is not lost, however, as I have procured no fewer than FIVE free e-book copies of his hilarious musings, Grumpy Old Blogger. Now, if you knew Flatcap like I know Flatcap, you’d realise that the words FREE and FLATCAP uttered in the same breath is as scarce as hen’s teeth.

All you need to do to get your hands on one of these rarities is leave a comment below and in a week or so, the lucky names will be plucked out of a cap. Simple, innit?

Thanks to everyone who commented. The winners have been notified. You lucky people. :-/

Here's Flatcap...

Given my record of dealing with people, it’s not often I get invited anywhere, and I certainly never get invited twice. So it was a bit of a surprise when Maureen wossname, as what runs this blog, invited me to guest post here.

Her Indoors said it would be impolite to refuse, so naturally I refused. Mo’s a bit more persistent and on the promise of a couple of pies and a bottle of brown ale, I agreed.

I don’t know what I’m supposed to say. As I understand it Mo is an editor. I’m a bit deaf and I thought she said an ’ead hit her, so right away I asked, “Whose head?” and before you knew it we were discussing the relative merits of kick-boxing contests at Brownie camps.

Mo’s big question was, where does my sledgehammer humour come from. Easy. I look at this world, I look at people and I think, “How utterly absurd.” Take The X-Factor for instance. Someone please take The X-Factor and melt it down for scrap.

Now that is an example of paraprosdokian. You didn’t expect the final line, did you?

It takes a special kind of person to recognise the humorous potential in everyday life. Either that or you have to bribe your editor. God, she isn’t half expensive this Maureen woman.

It’s not just about what you’re saying, but knowing when to cut off. Add two more words and the gag can fall flat. I’d give you an example, but there are two reasons why I won’t. First, I can’t think of one, and second I’m not getting paid for this gig.

Try this.

“He died from strychnine poisoning,” the copper said.

I patted my knees. “I didn’t know they could be poisonous.”

“What?” asked the inspector.

“Trick knees. I didn’t realise they could be poisonous.”

By the time we get to comparing the homophones, strychnine and trick knees, the gag is falling off. Try again.

“He died from strychnine poisoning,” the copper said.

“I didn’t know trick knees could be poisonous,” I replied patting my arthritic patellae.

That’s what the writer should aim for, and if he misses the mark, then it’s up to the editor to point it out. And there’s no point bleating about it being the wrong time of the month (i.e. when United are hard at work in the Champions’ League). You just have to get on and do as you’re told.

I’m good at that. Doing as I’m told. Ask Her Indoors.

An editor is also good at making writers do things they don’t want to, but I told Mo, “I don’t mop our kitchen floor, never mind yours.” Take my latest megatome, which will be plugged somewhere on this page. I thought the perfect ending was a desire to be tuppence behind J.K. Rowling in the bank. It’s honest. Maureen didn’t think so and insisted I change it. I refused, Mo read me the riot act and I capitulated (capitulation is perfectly legal in a democracy and it’s practically compulsory in a dictatorship like men vs women). I’d still like to be tuppence behind JKR but telling everyone I didn’t wish them a Happy New Year because I couldn’t be bothered is much more Flatcap-ish.

Professional editors willing to withstand the curmudgeonly onslaught of insults, ignorance, mule-headedness, innuendo, general bad manners and crap typing that sums up Flatcap, are as hard to find as egg & chips in a DIY store. I consider myself lucky to have found Mo.

There, Mo, I’ve done as you asked. Now about that cheque you promised…

Flatcap is the resident philosopher at the Jolly Carter where, for the price of a pair of pork pies and a brace of brown ales, he will give you the benefit of his wisdom on politics, relationships, the modern world and the VV carburettor. 

Flatcap is the creation of novelist, David Robinson and you can follow his absurdities at Flatcap Fritters

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