Room 101

[Godot 149]

Literary agents. You can't sell a novel without an agent and agents aren't taking on new people. That's Catch 22. Not that they'd take that on either if it had been written today. Bastards.

Take some solace from this, Godot.

These are all the lucky (or persistent) buggers who got over the hurdle. It's no fun to be standing on the other side of the wall looking up. I'm reminded of W H Davies, the poet who hawked his poems from door to door then burned a load of them in despair. I bet there has been a lot of good stuff that has never seen the light of day.

How's about a few juicy excerpts, Godders old fruit? We're all literary critics here, you know.

 

I'm still cut up about how few people on god's green earth have yet to have the pleasure of hearing any of the Winterset oeuvre, but hey.

 

How about a public reading to generate interest? Maybe just a chapter or two to whet the curiousity of a publisher or two, and cut out the pimp middleman? It's kind of ironic that you have to jump through hoops to find someone to take 25% of whatever profits you make.

 

And here's another vote for a few juicy excerpts.

What? Like this one?

[harrymcnallysblueandwhitearmy 1,689]

Literary agents. You can't sell a novel without an agent and agents aren't taking on new people. That's Catch 22. Not that they'd take that on either if it had been written today. Bastards.

Take some solace from this, Godot.

These are all the lucky (or persistent) buggers who got over the hurdle. It's no fun to be standing on the other side of the wall looking up. I'm reminded of W H Davies, the poet who hawked his poems from door to door then burned a load of them in despair. I bet there has been a lot of good stuff that has never seen the light of day.

How's about a few juicy excerpts, Godders old fruit? We're all literary critics here, you know.

 

I'm still cut up about how few people on god's green earth have yet to have the pleasure of hearing any of the Winterset oeuvre, but hey.

 

How about a public reading to generate interest? Maybe just a chapter or two to whet the curiousity of a publisher or two, and cut out the pimp middleman? It's kind of ironic that you have to jump through hoops to find someone to take 25% of whatever profits you make.

 

And here's another vote for a few juicy excerpts.

What? Like this one?

If you should unfortunately kick the bucket I'm sure Godot's Mum will get your Moominthingy published, a la John Kennedy O'Toole.

[DevonDeathTrip 2,358]

Literary agents. You can't sell a novel without an agent and agents aren't taking on new people. That's Catch 22. Not that they'd take that on either if it had been written today. Bastards.

Take some solace from this, Godot.

These are all the lucky (or persistent) buggers who got over the hurdle. It's no fun to be standing on the other side of the wall looking up. I'm reminded of W H Davies, the poet who hawked his poems from door to door then burned a load of them in despair. I bet there has been a lot of good stuff that has never seen the light of day.

How's about a few juicy excerpts, Godders old fruit? We're all literary critics here, you know.

 

I'm still cut up about how few people on god's green earth have yet to have the pleasure of hearing any of the Winterset oeuvre, but hey.

 

How about a public reading to generate interest? Maybe just a chapter or two to whet the curiousity of a publisher or two, and cut out the pimp middleman? It's kind of ironic that you have to jump through hoops to find someone to take 25% of whatever profits you make.

 

And here's another vote for a few juicy excerpts.

What? Like this one?

If you should unfortunately kick the bucket I'm sure Godot's Mum will get your Moominthingy published, a la John Kennedy O'Toole.

 

Dying might help. It's always a bit of gamble, but your tragic demise, tempered only by the discovery of your final masterpiece, etc, etc.

[Guest Guest]

Literary agents. You can't sell a novel without an agent and agents aren't taking on new people. That's Catch 22. Not that they'd take that on either if it had been written today. Bastards.

Take some solace from this, Godot.

These are all the lucky (or persistent) buggers who got over the hurdle. It's no fun to be standing on the other side of the wall looking up. I'm reminded of W H Davies, the poet who hawked his poems from door to door then burned a load of them in despair. I bet there has been a lot of good stuff that has never seen the light of day.

How's about a few juicy excerpts, Godders old fruit? We're all literary critics here, you know.

 

I'm still cut up about how few people on god's green earth have yet to have the pleasure of hearing any of the Winterset oeuvre, but hey.

 

How about a public reading to generate interest? Maybe just a chapter or two to whet the curiousity of a publisher or two, and cut out the pimp middleman? It's kind of ironic that you have to jump through hoops to find someone to take 25% of whatever profits you make.

 

And here's another vote for a few juicy excerpts.

What? Like this one?

If you should unfortunately kick the bucket I'm sure Godot's Mum will get your Moominthingy published, a la John Kennedy O'Toole.

 

Dying might help. It's always a bit of gamble, but your tragic demise, tempered only by the discovery of your final masterpiece, etc, etc.

 

 

Don't be cheeky, lad.

[Madame Defarge 21]

Literary agents. You can't sell a novel without an agent and agents aren't taking on new people. That's Catch 22. Not that they'd take that on either if it had been written today. Bastards.

Take some solace from this, Godot.

These are all the lucky (or persistent) buggers who got over the hurdle. It's no fun to be standing on the other side of the wall looking up. I'm reminded of W H Davies, the poet who hawked his poems from door to door then burned a load of them in despair. I bet there has been a lot of good stuff that has never seen the light of day.

How's about a few juicy excerpts, Godders old fruit? We're all literary critics here, you know.

 

I'm still cut up about how few people on god's green earth have yet to have the pleasure of hearing any of the Winterset oeuvre, but hey.

 

How about a public reading to generate interest? Maybe just a chapter or two to whet the curiousity of a publisher or two, and cut out the pimp middleman? It's kind of ironic that you have to jump through hoops to find someone to take 25% of whatever profits you make.

 

And here's another vote for a few juicy excerpts.

What? Like this one?

If you should unfortunately kick the bucket I'm sure Godot's Mum will get your Moominthingy published, a la John Kennedy O'Toole.

 

Dying might help. It's always a bit of gamble, but your tragic demise, tempered only by the discovery of your final masterpiece, etc, etc.

 

 

Don't be cheeky, lad.

 

No, I read that one. I meant another.

[Godot 149]

…….It was dark on the inkly wastes, just the inky chinkyness mirroring the mordant moon. Crump yelped at his reflection, cringing in to the nearest thicket, clawing among the foxgloves and the friendly nightshade, snuggling against the prickly thorns of the hideaway tree.

 

The crud in his trumpet ears, bubbled and frothed in response to the thin notes of a prowler, ghosting across the marsh. Crump watched the limpid, misty form stretch and fetch around the puddles and hollows, searching, searching for the peel of a naked orange. Crump felt the bump in his pocket and comforted himself in the knowledge that his fruit was fully clothed.

 

But the Oogum Biglows were close now, sniffing and hiffling in their foraging clumps. He heard their hash, hash, hashing, mustering for the mashing and in spite of himself he quivered. It was the slightest of squeaks, the sound that a mouse might make at the sight of a harvest blade. The hashing stopped. Crump’s nervous spindly claw squeezed his orange until the rind split, exposing scabrous pith, releasing a powerful scent that crinkled his snozzle and burnt the acid in his eyes.

 

Oooooo! The shreik was rampant in the reeds. Only an Oogum Biglow in full cry could muster such a fridling frightful cry; an Oogum Biglow with one thought weaving within its churdled mind, the prospect of a mashing in the marsh…...

[harrymcnallysblueandwhitearmy 1,689]

…….It was dark on the inkly wastes, just the inky chinkyness mirroring the mordant moon. Crump yelped at his reflection, cringing in to the nearest thicket, clawing among the foxgloves and the friendly nightshade, snuggling against the prickly thorns of the hideaway tree.

 

The crud in his trumpet ears, bubbled and frothed in response to the thin notes of a prowler, ghosting across the marsh. Crump watched the limpid, misty form stretch and fetch around the puddles and hollows, searching, searching for the peel of a naked orange. Crump felt the bump in his pocket and comforted himself in the knowledge that his fruit was fully clothed.

 

But the Oogum Biglows were close now, sniffing and hiffling in their foraging clumps. He heard their hash, hash, hashing, mustering for the mashing and in spite of himself he quivered. It was the slightest of squeaks, the sound that a mouse might make at the sight of a harvest blade. The hashing stopped. Crump’s nervous spindly claw squeezed his orange until the rind split, exposing scabrous pith, releasing a powerful scent that crinkled his snozzle and burnt the acid in his eyes.

 

Oooooo! The shreik was rampant in the reeds. Only an Oogum Biglow in full cry could muster such a fridling frightful cry; an Oogum Biglow with one thought weaving within its churdled mind, the prospect of a mashing in the marsh…...

Kind of a Tony Parsons thing, then? The Oogum Biglow looked at his son and thought, one day you could be a macho-yet-sensitive ludicrous rock hack like me, as they put another Goodfellas pizza into the trolley and headed for the Morrisons checkout...

[Madame Defarge 21]

…….It was dark on the inkly wastes, just the inky chinkyness mirroring the mordant moon. Crump yelped at his reflection, cringing in to the nearest thicket, clawing among the foxgloves and the friendly nightshade, snuggling against the prickly thorns of the hideaway tree.

 

The crud in his trumpet ears, bubbled and frothed in response to the thin notes of a prowler, ghosting across the marsh. Crump watched the limpid, misty form stretch and fetch around the puddles and hollows, searching, searching for the peel of a naked orange. Crump felt the bump in his pocket and comforted himself in the knowledge that his fruit was fully clothed.

 

But the Oogum Biglows were close now, sniffing and hiffling in their foraging clumps. He heard their hash, hash, hashing, mustering for the mashing and in spite of himself he quivered. It was the slightest of squeaks, the sound that a mouse might make at the sight of a harvest blade. The hashing stopped. Crump’s nervous spindly claw squeezed his orange until the rind split, exposing scabrous pith, releasing a powerful scent that crinkled his snozzle and burnt the acid in his eyes.

 

Oooooo! The shreik was rampant in the reeds. Only an Oogum Biglow in full cry could muster such a fridling frightful cry; an Oogum Biglow with one thought weaving within its churdled mind, the prospect of a mashing in the marsh…...

 

It was the slightest of squeaks, the sound that a mouse might make at the sight of a harvest blade.

Delicious.

 

Of course, there's nothing like the anticipation of a good bog bashing to set the heart to pounding.

[Godot 149]

 

 

 

 

More fucking agents. Maybe they're right, maybe my book is a load of shite. Vaagheid, can I borrow your rope? Anyone got a rickety stool?

[Windsor 2,233]

Because this is going to work.

[Tuber Mirum 125]

Because this is going to work.

Gosh, and I thought Germany was up the creek.

[Windsor 2,233]

Because this is going to work.

Gosh, and I thought Germany was up the creek.

 

If these figures are true, I think for the first time ever we can accuse the Conservatives of being too honest.

I think that by being so brutally honest (assuming that there is no ideological agenda behind it), they risk putting the economy in further danger by reducing confidence, both at home and overseas, in the British economy. You need to bullshit some of the time.

 

The way this bunch of assholes are going, they may as well be asking people to back a dead horse, whilst emphasising that the horse is, indeed, dead. When Alistair Darling was flogging the dead horse, at least we were more inclined to believe it had a pulse and perhaps one good leg.

 

Anyway...I'm not an economist. Can you tell?

[Windsor 2,233]

This.

 

Its not like he said 'the one with the huge tits'.

[Six 23]

People who say ' of ' instead of ' have '. " I should of picked the blue one. "

 

Even worse are people who write ' of ' instead of ' have ' in a sentence, which happens quite frequently on Facebook if you have my family members as your friends.

[Godot 149]

Mouthy PRs who wear their mobile phones like over-sized earrings, who can't stop talking and never listen. There's one rabbiting in earshot just now. They say Cumbria's nice at this time of year.

[Godot 149]

Cowes - smells like a blocked lavatory.

[Godot 149]

Sitting in Cowes, listening to shit from mouthy PRs, smelling shit from the river, drinking coffee that looks and tastes like whatever they're pumping in to the river. I think it even says room 101 on the door. It should do.

[Magere Hein 1,400]

Mouthy PRs who wear their mobile phones like over-sized earrings, who can't stop talking and never listen.

Mobile phones belong in Room 101, or rather their users. I appreciate that mobile phones have their uses in emergencies and that mad people who spend the day talking to themselves loudly in the streets have benefitted greatly by removing the social stigma.

 

The problem with phones is that they turn even the nicest person into a sociopath. People find a ringing telephone much more important than real people. A few years ago I was in Amersfoort train station, buying a paper at the news stand between switching trains. A young man, whose task it was to sell it, was on the phone, judging by the sounds he made with his sweetheart. Putting the newpaper (a Volkskrant) on the counter had no effect, so I waved it in front of his eyes, which similarly failed to cause a reaction. Since he was using an old-fashioned telephone I could simply disconnect his converation by pushing the appropriate buttons on that infernal machine, give him money and extract change before he had time to realise what I had done. When he started yelling I was well out of the door.

 

Unfortunately this doesn't work with mobile phones. When you're in a conversation and your partner's mobile phone starts emitting its horrible ring tone you cease to exist until the call is completed, which may well take the rest of the day. A few weeks ago that happened in a business meeting I attended. When I politely asked the perpertator to switch the bloody thing off for the rest of the meeting she reacted with indignation. The thing went off again within a minute, and she again answered, which prompted me to walk out of her office. I met her some ten minutes later at the coffee machine, where she apologised and switched her phone off. We finished our meeting in relative peace.

 

I hate mobile phones. And yes, I have one.

 

regards,

Hein

[honez 79]

Mouthy PRs who wear their mobile phones like over-sized earrings, who can't stop talking and never listen.

Mobile phones belong in Room 101, or rather their users. I appreciate that mobile phones have their uses in emergencies and that mad people who spend the day talking to themselves loudly in the streets have benefitted greatly by removing the social stigma.

 

The problem with phones is that they turn even the nicest person into a sociopath. People find a ringing telephone much more important than real people. A few years ago I was in Amersfoort train station, buying a paper at the news stand between switching trains. A young man, whose task it was to sell it, was on the phone, judging by the sounds he made with his sweetheart. Putting the newpaper (a Volkskrant) on the counter had no effect, so I waved it in front of his eyes, which similarly failed to cause a reaction. Since he was using an old-fashioned telephone I could simply disconnect his converation by pushing the appropriate buttons on that infernal machine, give him money and extract change before he had time to realise what I had done. When he started yelling I was well out of the door.

 

Unfortunately this doesn't work with mobile phones. When you're in a conversation and your partner's mobile phone starts emitting its horrible ring tone you cease to exist until the call is completed, which may well take the rest of the day. A few weeks ago that happened in a business meeting I attended. When I politely asked the perpertator to switch the bloody thing off for the rest of the meeting she reacted with indignation. The thing went off again within a minute, and she again answered, which prompted me to walk out of her office. I met her some ten minutes later at the coffee machine, where she apologised and switched her phone off. We finished our meeting in relative peace.

 

I hate mobile phones. And yes, I have one.

 

regards,

Hein

Fight fire with fire Hein. Simply wait for the imbecile to finish their call, then when they return to attend to you and the business at hand, simply raise your hand to an approximation of the "stop signal", raise your mobile phone to your ear and call your accountant, or agent, or dry cleaner or some such and shoot the breeze for a couple of minutes.

 

I recall one particular dipshit full of pomp and self import, speaking loudly on his phone in a lift. He was (obviously) very successful and important as he was instructing his broker to buy shares in this and that, and sell at whatever. His conversation was brought to a crashing halt when his phone rang, mid-megatrade. I and two others in the lift just burst out laughing as he quickly fumbled with it to get it to stop.

He couldn't get out of there quick enough.

I've seen him around a couple of times and he always avoids eye contact.

Ha. Twat.

[Madame Defarge 21]

Mouthy PRs who wear their mobile phones like over-sized earrings, who can't stop talking and never listen.

Mobile phones belong in Room 101, or rather their users. I appreciate that mobile phones have their uses in emergencies and that mad people who spend the day talking to themselves loudly in the streets have benefitted greatly by removing the social stigma.

 

The problem with phones is that they turn even the nicest person into a sociopath. People find a ringing telephone much more important than real people. A few years ago I was in Amersfoort train station, buying a paper at the news stand between switching trains. A young man, whose task it was to sell it, was on the phone, judging by the sounds he made with his sweetheart. Putting the newpaper (a Volkskrant) on the counter had no effect, so I waved it in front of his eyes, which similarly failed to cause a reaction. Since he was using an old-fashioned telephone I could simply disconnect his converation by pushing the appropriate buttons on that infernal machine, give him money and extract change before he had time to realise what I had done. When he started yelling I was well out of the door.

 

Unfortunately this doesn't work with mobile phones. When you're in a conversation and your partner's mobile phone starts emitting its horrible ring tone you cease to exist until the call is completed, which may well take the rest of the day. A few weeks ago that happened in a business meeting I attended. When I politely asked the perpertator to switch the bloody thing off for the rest of the meeting she reacted with indignation. The thing went off again within a minute, and she again answered, which prompted me to walk out of her office. I met her some ten minutes later at the coffee machine, where she apologised and switched her phone off. We finished our meeting in relative peace.

 

I hate mobile phones. And yes, I have one.

 

regards,

Hein

Fight fire with fire Hein. Simply wait for the imbecile to finish their call, then when they return to attend to you and the business at hand, simply raise your hand to an approximation of the "stop signal", raise your mobile phone to your ear and call your accountant, or agent, or dry cleaner or some such and shoot the breeze for a couple of minutes.

 

I recall one particular dipshit full of pomp and self import, speaking loudly on his phone in a lift. He was (obviously) very successful and important as he was instructing his broker to buy shares in this and that, and sell at whatever. His conversation was brought to a crashing halt when his phone rang, mid-megatrade. I and two others in the lift just burst out laughing as he quickly fumbled with it to get it to stop.

He couldn't get out of there quick enough.

I've seen him around a couple of times and he always avoids eye contact.

Ha. Twat.

 

No need for eye contact if you have his email address. Just send him this link. There is actually an application called Fake-a-Call!

[Monoclinic 39]

Extremely praiseworthy discussion snipped for brevety

 

I'd like there to be a ban on mobiles at my work. Damn these illimited SMS bundles. I was helping out one of the students who needs a kick up the arse as far as productivity is concerned. He was texting merrily away without a second thought. I asked him to stop more than once before he focused on the work. Even then one of our group had phoned him on several occasions; we were in another building, so he was castrated from our other workshy compatriots. 26 and he can't work autonomously or think for himself or indeed respect us by listening to the warnings we give him that the boss isn't impressed.

 

I knew this would turn into a rant.

[time 8,599]

Extremely praiseworthy discussion snipped for brevety

 

I'd like there to be a ban on mobiles at my work. Damn these illimited SMS bundles. I was helping out one of the students who needs a kick up the arse as far as productivity is concerned. He was texting merrily away without a second thought. I asked him to stop more than once before he focused on the work. Even then one of our group had phoned him on several occasions; we were in another building, so he was castrated from our other workshy compatriots. 26 and he can't work autonomously or think for himself or indeed respect us by listening to the warnings we give him that the boss isn't impressed.

 

I knew this would turn into a rant.

Can't we just ban unlimited SMS bundles, whether used at work or elsewhere?

 

Why is it that whenever I receive a text message and reply to it, the originator wants to have a conversation via SMS? Why not bloody phone me if you want a conversation!

[Josco 49]

Extremely praiseworthy discussion snipped for brevety

 

I'd like there to be a ban on mobiles at my work. Damn these illimited SMS bundles. I was helping out one of the students who needs a kick up the arse as far as productivity is concerned. He was texting merrily away without a second thought. I asked him to stop more than once before he focused on the work. Even then one of our group had phoned him on several occasions; we were in another building, so he was castrated from our other workshy compatriots. 26 and he can't work autonomously or think for himself or indeed respect us by listening to the warnings we give him that the boss isn't impressed.

 

I knew this would turn into a rant.

Can't we just ban unlimited SMS bundles, whether used at work or elsewhere?

 

Why is it that whenever I receive a text message and reply to it, the originator wants to have a conversation via SMS? Why not bloody phone me if you want a conversation!

My colleague who sits behind me has unlimited texts and has downloaded an app on his Android that allows upto 100 messages to be be sent concurrently to one number.

 

When I received "Don't you find all this repetition annoying?" for the 30th time in 1 minute I nearly hit him.

[time 8,599]

Extremely praiseworthy discussion snipped for brevety

 

I'd like there to be a ban on mobiles at my work. Damn these illimited SMS bundles. I was helping out one of the students who needs a kick up the arse as far as productivity is concerned. He was texting merrily away without a second thought. I asked him to stop more than once before he focused on the work. Even then one of our group had phoned him on several occasions; we were in another building, so he was castrated from our other workshy compatriots. 26 and he can't work autonomously or think for himself or indeed respect us by listening to the warnings we give him that the boss isn't impressed.

 

I knew this would turn into a rant.

Can't we just ban unlimited SMS bundles, whether used at work or elsewhere?

 

Why is it that whenever I receive a text message and reply to it, the originator wants to have a conversation via SMS? Why not bloody phone me if you want a conversation!

My colleague who sits behind me has unlimited texts and has downloaded an app on his Android that allows upto 100 messages to be be sent concurrently to one number.

 

When I received "Don't you find all this repetition annoying?" for the 30th time in 1 minute I nearly hit him.

 

I admire your restraint.

[Achelous 61]

John MacEnroe. Somebody kill him. Please.