- I only went to scoff the buffet…
The random world of MC gets more random. I was at a reception the other night. Whilst scoffing the buffet I spoke with man about what we were up to here. Overnight he googled the garden, found my website and tales of my travels. Turns out he is a literary agent, he asked if I had any aspirations to write a book on them. Hmmm?Posted 4 years ago
We have a garden that’s in the Yellow Book.
How’s that nice old barn coming along?
It’s getting there…
Posted 4 years ago
Heh heh – judging by his threads, McM’s book would certainly warrant such a title. Mind you, Thoreau had a thing or two to say about publishers and the perils of writing:
“For a year or two past, my publisher, falsely so called, has been writing from time to time to ask what disposition should be made of the copies of “A Week on the Concord and Merrimack Rivers” still on hand, and at last suggesting that he had use for the room they occupied in his cellar. So I had them all sent to me here, and they have arrived to-day by express, filling the man’s wagon, — 706 copies out of an edition of 1000…I have now a library of nearly nine hundred volumes, over seven hundred of which I wrote myself.”
Dinnae worrie, McM, we’ll buy them off ye… 😀Posted 4 years agoStonerSubscriber
there’s always a need for more fuel for the fire in mcmoonter towers. Remainders would never go to waste 😉
An even more apt Thoreau-ism:Posted 4 years ago
The youth gets together his materials to build a bridge to the moon, or, perchance, a palace or temple on the earth, and, at length, the middle-aged man concludes to build a woodshed with them.
The tale of the wannabe shed renting writer.
I was out when Nicolai arrived at the back door. My mother was here, she mistakenly assumed his Marcel Marceau outfit was cycling apparel, he didn’t look like a typical garden visitor. ‘You must be looking for Peter’ she said.
Turns out he was enquiring about something completely different.
We have an empty shop in Stockbridge in Edinburgh. In the window there’s a near life size religious sculpture of Christ descending from the cross. It’s there to deter burglars and squatters.
Nicolai claimed he’d experienced some sort of epiphany whilst passing the shop, he saw the sculpture and set out on this quest to find it’s owner with a view to it’s purchase.
Sleuthing through records and voters rolls he found our address and was now on our doorstep. Friendly enough my mother set off on a search for me around my usual haunts, which led them to my studio, the Pool Hoose and other follies in the garden.
They ended up in the pavilion where he was so taken with the space he pleaded to rent it to work in. My mother quizzed him for the nature of his work. He was evasive and repeatedly changed the subject. She persisted and managed to glean a few details. He claimed he was among other things a writer, like a terrier she dug for more, eager to see what she could increase the asking price of the statue to.
When they arrived back at the front of the house she was surprised to find a huge shiny silver 4×4. She thought he’d arrived by bicycle.
I arrived shortly after he left.
With the scant information we had we fired up Google.
Some things tallied, he had some ancestors that owned a castle near Dollar, and indeed that he was a company director.
He’d given my mother a work contact number which he’d scored out at the last minute to rewrite a personal number.
We cross referenced what we had of the business number with the company records to find he was the owner of Whiplash Trash. A sex toy, fetish gear and tattoo parlour in Cockburn Street, Edinburgh.
He never got back to us.
Mc’s mother.Posted 4 years ago
Writing shed you say ? this guy wrote a book or three in a shedPosted 4 years ago
McM – we could use the combined monkey brains of STW to get a kickstarter project to secure funding for your impending book. With anecdotes like that it’ll be a best seller.
Now get back to your serial overachieving, the rest of us need reminding that we have delusions of adequacyPosted 4 years ago
The topic ‘I only went to scoff the buffet…’ is closed to new replies.