The Write Stuff
As many of you will know, I have taken a bit of a bash at writing. My first attempt is not a book to be tossed aside lightly. It should be thrown with great force.
I am a hypergraph, love writing. Whether any of it is any good or not remains to be decided.
A friend of mine was said he was all in favour of keeping dangerous weapons out of the hands of fools. He suggested he started with my keyboard.
Humour is not lost on barmen. It was once said that Charles Dickens walked into a bar and asked for a martini. The barman replied “Olive or twist?”
James Joyce later walked into the bar and ordered a Guinness. The barman said to him that Charles Dickens came in earlier. Joyce kept drinking. The barman then told Joyce that Dickens asked for a martini, and he asked whether he wanted an olive or twist? Joyce took another sip of Guinness and said ‘that was a rubbish joke’. Ernest Hemingway later came in an ordered a drink, the barman said ‘Charles Dickens came in earlier… Hemingway says “I saw Joyce not too long ago, it’s a rubbish joke. Now sod off and leave me alone”.
Mark Twain later walked into the same bar, and ordered a drink. The barman, by this time a bit despondent, once again said “Charles Dickens came in today, and asked for a martini. Twain interrupts and says: what? Olive or twist hahaha. The barman simply cried.
Out of many of the authors I have read over the years, Mark Twain is one of my favourites. I was once asked on a dating site by a young woman if I could ask five people from any period of history, who would they be and why? I naturally chose the Philomath Stephen Fry, a Renaissance man in the true sense, but to add a character with an aptitude for wit and incisive satire; I chose Samuel Clemens aka Mark Twain.
Everyone knows Mark Twain wrote the Adventures of Tom Sawyer & Huckleberry Finn, the later being regarded as the ‘great American novel’ or perhaps the politically satirical Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court; but he was a man who counted presidents, royalty and industrialists amongst his friends.
His life was one scarred by personal tragedy, and financial misfortune, but his ever present humour came out even in his nom-de-plume. Mark Twain was a riverboat captain for many years, memorising well over 2,000 miles of the Mississippi River in the process. A riverboat needed at least 12 feet of water underneath it to safely navigate. In old money, 12 feet was known as ‘2 fathoms’. Twain is an archaic way of saying ‘Two’ so when a captain shouted out ‘Mark Twain’ he was asking someone to take a depth reading.
Working on that premise, if I were to write a humorous recollection of my time in the army, I would probably give it the title of ‘Get a Move On’, writing under the pseudonym of Stan Still.
I once wrote a series of travel reviews for the Innkeeper’s Lodge group after winning a writing competition. On a weekend away, I found myself in quite hallowed ground. I was staying at the Hawes Inn up in Edinburgh, literally in the shadow of the Forth Railway Bridge, where Robert Louis Stevenson once frequented, and came up with the story for Kidnapped, setting many scenes within the pub – it must have been the abridged version.
Coming back via EasyJet, I was clearing security when I was asked whether I had anything sharp on me. ‘only my wit’ I replied. There’s nothing like a bit of incisive satire to lighten the mood during an awkward moment. Thankfully, this was the one guard with a sense of humour. I might even take a stab at writing about it.
