Simon Hugh Wheeler's Blog, page 5

No Partridges in Pear Trees, Please.

Have you ever really thought about that Christmas carol, The Twelve Days of Christmas?

Would you go weak at the knees on receiving a partridge in a pear tree? I mean, what the hell do you do with it? Not to mention that partridges are generally more comfortable on the ground - they're chubby wee things, so it takes a lot of effort to fly up into a tree.

It would seem then, that the first verse of the song actually reflects the insensitivity of men in giving women presents that are useless, unromantic and don't really exist.

By the fourth day, the poor lass is heartily sick of anything feathered and threatens her not-so-true love with a sudden, urgent need to go to the hospital if he, (or she) doesn't come up with something better. The threat must have worked its magic, since the very next day, five golden rings make their appearance.

Unfortunately, this carol foresaw the commercialisation of Christmas, with its heavily materialistic message. With that "I want" attitude, the protagonist deserved getting a bunch of silly birds. Whatever happened to giving the gift of true love? On second thoughts, could I get an iPhone X in a pear tree?

For a fun book about Christmas, check out my story, Santa's Night Off. When Santa is sick on Christmas Eve, who is going to deliver the presents? A merry, but mad, Christmas for all the family.

***FREE*** 6th - 10th December (Wed-Sun) on Amazon.

Santa's Night Off at Amazon

Is Santa really a WOMAN???

We have been deceiving children for years that Santa exists, but have we really been deceiving ourselves that Santa is a man?

The name Santa Claus comes from Saint Nicholas. If that is the case, he should be called Santo, which is masculine, not Santa, (feminine). If they want to shorten it, as they have with Claus, at the very least it should be San.

Are us men reluctant to admit that only a woman could deliver all the presents in one night? Are the traditional qualities of Santa, being kind, loving and attentive towards children, not more commonly found in women? Let the truth be revealed!

My book, Santa's Night Off, looks at what might happen if Santa was ill on Christmas Eve. Could Mrs Claus do his job just as well?

A comedy for kids, 10 years and up. A quick and easy Christmas present, from Amazon.

Santa's Night Off at Amazon

Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow

I'm getting to that age when my hair is developing a lemming mentality and taking a suicidal leap off the top of my head. It concerns me because I've actually got a really weird-shaped head, something I discovered when in one of those mad moments of youth, I decided to shave my head. I don't know if I was an unusually slippery baby and the midwife dropped me on my head, (I was 11 pounds - about 6 kilos, so possibly not surprising). A phrenologist would have a field day, or at the very least confirm some of the suspicions of my nearest and dearest.
The only light in this grim outlook, apart from that which is reflected off my thinning dome, is that the hair on the rest of my body is growing at a mutant rate, and although it's a pain to keep trimming, if not plucking it, I could take advantage of it by doing an extreme comb-over, coming up from the shoulders and going back from my eyebrows, or eye fringes as I'm starting to call them.
Finally, the Spanish say, as bald as a lightbulb, which seems a bit obvious, really, since have you ever seen a hairy one?
Must run and buy an economy size, 10 gallon drum of Brylcreem.

To see more of my written work, (or rabid ramblings!) go to my webpage

For Kids (Small AND Big!) - FREE Xmas Tree

You can download, free, from my website, a Xmas tree to colour in, cut out and fold into shape. They would make good 3D Xmas cards for the grandparents who should appreciate something that the grandchildren have made themselves.
Kids can be creative and put any design they want - I'm sure there will be somebody who will draw vampires or zombies. I just hope Xmas hasn't become so commercial that there are Hello Kitty or Barbie Xmas trees, yet.

my website

For the bigger kids, my book, Santa's Night Off, is a fun story about what happens if Santa is sick on Xmas Eve.

***FREE*** 6th - 10th December (Wed-Sun) on Amazon.

Santa's Night Off at Amazon

Beware - The End of the Word is Nigh!

Self publishers, or the much cooler term, Indie authors, have a bad reputation which isn't helped by bad spelling and grammar.
I stumbled across a book whose blurb begins: "After the end of the word, only a few survivors remain..."
After the end of the word comes a void, a region of absolute nothingness. Or more simply, a space.

Amazon Down Under

Amazon have started up in Australia. They've had to reprogram the Kindle readers to display books not only in portrait and landscape, but also upside-down for the Aussie readers.

Check out my romcom, Loosely Translated, which is on Kindle. Yes, I'm an Aussie, but no, I haven't written it upside-down.

Loosely Translated at Amazon

International Author?

At last, I have entered the realm of authors translated into a foreign language!
My book, The Last Tree, which is actually a Spanish story for kids, is now also available in Spain as El Último Árbol.
I'll celebrate cracking open a bottle of Coke - still can't permit myself to open champers yet.

The Last Tree is a fun, picture book about the importance of growing trees. It is based on the Spanish legend that (many) years ago, a squirrel could cross Spain without touching the ground, simply going from tree to tree. But now there remains just one and Anna the Squirrel needs the help of the other animals to plant more trees.

I have now converted it into a video, so follow the link to it on Youtube: The Last Tree on Youtube

También en español: El Último Árbol en Youtube

Goldilocks and the Three Beers

Once upon a time, when writers couldn't think of more original openings to fairy tales, a little girl went skipping along a path that wound through the forest. It was a sunny day and the sun shone off her golden-blonde hair: hence her name, Goldilocks. Actually, she was called Britney - Goldilocks was just a nickname, since nobody would really call their daughter that, except maybe rich people who carry around a pet tutu-wearing chihuahua. It was then that she saw a quaint, wee cottage in the middle of a clearing. A few cats died as curiosity got the better of her and she walked up to the front door. Goldilocks knocked three times and since there was no reply, walked brazenly in, as only someone in a Hollywood movie would do.
She entered a living room where there were three chairs. The first was a very big, old, leather, reclining armchair. It had a remote control perched on the armrest and looked very comfortable, but as she sat down in it she noticed a couple of dodgy stains and a slightly whiffy smell emanating from it. Goldilocks went to the next chair, which was very clean and smelled lovely. She didn't feel very comfortable though, sitting in a chair that looked more like a work of art and couldn't relax in case she messed up the perfectly-fluffed up cushion and the lace doily on the headrest. She decided instead on the beanbag in the corner and wanting to make herself at home, took a running jump and landed arse-first in the middle of it. Unfortunately, she wasn't a wee toddler anymore and the bag exploded, beans flying everywhere. 'Oh, bother,' she remarked primly. 'That's no bloody good.' In that moment, she spied the three beers sitting on the coffee table. 'Cool!' She picked up the biggest beer first, naturally, took a sip and made a face. 'Ooo, much too strong.' She went to the middle-sized beer and discovered it was Budweiser. 'Ooo, too weak.' She picked up the last, tiny little beer and was even more disgusted to find it was nonalcoholic. 'It shouldn't even be called beer,' she grumbled. But they were beers all the same, and not being that fussy, mixed them all together and downed them in one go. Not surprisingly, she soon started to feel sleepy and staggered upstairs to the bedroom.
The first bed, like the chair, looked big and comfortable, but Goldilocks really didn't like the look of the stains on that one either. She went to the next bed which had so many cushions arranged on top, apart from the three pillows, that she couldn't be arsed moving them. With that, she collapsed into a comatose state on the littlest bed.
Not long after, the three bears came home. Rather than repeating obvious lines, since this isn't a fairy story targetted to sweet, innocent children, suffice it is to say that they agreed that someone had been in their house. They went upstairs to the bedroom and suddenly, not wanting to voice the question that sprang to Papa and Mama Bear's minds as to who had been sleeping in their respective beds, muttered some excuse and shuffled quickly and nervously downstairs. However, the littlest bear didn't mind and nine months later Goldilocks lived happily ever after with her son, Yogi.
Moral: Young girls should be warned of the perils of breaking and entering people's houses. Oh, and of course, beers and bears.
Check out another non-traditional story, my kids' book, Santa's Night Off. When Santa is sick on Christmas Eve, who is going to deliver the presents? A merry, but mad, Christmas for all the family.

***FREE*** 6th - 10th December (Wed-Sun) on Amazon.
Santa's Night Off at Amazon

The Truth About the Rain in Spain

The rain in Spain DOES NOT stay mainly on the plain. The highest rainfall in Spain is found in Grazalema... which is in the mountains. This is a shocking example of bad or lazy writing, where the author has a blatant disregard for the facts and just shoehorned in a word simply to make it rhyme. Off with the writer's empty head!

I did mention to my father, who used to work as an aircraft safety inspector, that if he was thinking of coming to visit us, not to fly with the Spanish company, Iberia Airlines, since all their aircraft are rusty... because the rain in Spain stays mainly on the plane. He had a fit and said that the authorities should ground the aircraft until the situation had been rectified. When I said it was a joke, he was not happy and said that it should be taken very seriously. The grumpy old bugger obviously hasn't seen My Fair Lady.

For a story about language and culture clash, check out my romcom set in Spain, Loosely Translated.
amazon.com

Cheesy Chat Up.

If a guy tried it on with a cheesy chat-up line, would you swoon with desire or disgust?

In my romantic comedy Loosely Translated, Mike isn't good with words and certainly not the romantic type. Could he possibly climb out of the huge hole that he digs for himself? Even the romantic situation of taking a relaxing dip in Arabic baths might not be enough to work its magic.

Mike was aware that if he didn’t act now, the moment would be lost. He didn’t have time to speak with his head. He had to speak from the heart.
‘You’re a flower.’
‘Eh?!’
‘Maybe not a rose –’
‘Thanks.’
‘No, what I mean is that roses are a dime a dozen. I can go into any florist and get a rose. They’re the easy choice for men with no imagination. They look good, give them a sniff –’
‘What?! Don’t even think about it.’
‘No, I’m saying that if you were a rose. Er, this isn’t coming out very well. Anyway, with a rose, you stick’em in water and after a couple of days they’re no good and you throw them out.’
‘Charming!’
‘What I’m trying to say, is that you’d be like an orchid. Something different; not so common; much more interesting. Special.’
Maria had her woman’s radar on full power, to detect any nonsense. She was amazed to discover that he was being completely sincere with her. She nervously waited for him to continue.
‘I’m bored with roses. And, uh...’
Without realising it, Maria had moved in closer to Mike until she was standing directly in front of him. She reached up and smoothed down two twisted locks of wet hair that stood up on his head like horns.
The gentle touch of Maria’s hand helped to unblock his feelings. Mike took a firm grip on his courage since he was about to express something that he’d never been able to say to a woman before.
‘I want to plant you.’
‘You what?!’ Maria burst out laughing. ‘You do talk complete rubbish at times. What are you on about?’
‘You know – I don’t want you to be a cut flower that’s gonna wilt in a few days. I want to plant you so that you’ll grow and put down roots and be around for years and I can water you every day and...’
His concept of romance was very strange, but it was the thought that counted. She had heard the essence of what she wanted to hear and now she needed to silence his lips.

If that sounds like your cup of tea, buy me a couple of beers - that's about how much the book costs, and you'll get that warm, fuzzy feeling of helping out an indie author. Cheers!

Loosely Translated at Amazon.com