A Boat For My Potplants


My nautical project took me to glorious places, metaphorically speaking. There were parties on board. There was The World's Smallest Pirate Radio Station. Of course there were plants. And one day even a gorilla.
The boat also became my 'Writer's Retreat'. I decided to become an author, writing my debut novel aboard the boat. The book, called MUDDY WATER, was naturally set in Wivenhoe. Amazingly, several local people paid good money to have their names appearing in the book, and a lot of cash was raised for worthy charities - the RNLI, MIND, The Samaritans, and The Royal British Legion.
Now, my next multi-singular selling novel, FLORIDA KEY, is in 'production', due for publication in October 2017.
I'm sure to be visiting writers' block along the way, as well as euphoria, self-doubt and inspiration.
See how my book goes through all the stages - from initial concept to final print. I'll take you with me on my personal journey as I work on the words, on the cover, on the marketing, and on the publishing.
Maybe it will inspire you too to have a go at bringing out THE BOOK IN YOU. Everyone has a story in them, just waiting to be told, and after all, if I can do it, anyone can.
(Click on the tabs below to see more about the Writer's Retreat In France, the old Boat For My Potplants, Tallulah the Motorhome, Alfonso the Car, and Jane the Woman. And to find out more about MUDDY WATER the novel, click the cover to be transported to its Facebook page)

Sunday, 19 August 2012

Radio Ga Ga

It was just a slip of the tongue when I announced 'the next record is Radio Ga Ga', when I meant to say 'Lady Gaga' - but I think I got away with it. When my friend Neil offered me his father's boat to renovate, I didn't envisage this happening. Or perhaps I did.

On Friday evening, The World's Smallest Pirate Radio Station went on air for the first (and very possibly the last!) time. The Jolly Rodger was hoisted up on the aerial mast (actually my decorator's pole from B&Q), on top of the newly named Los Amigos.

'Good evening the World. It's six o'clock in England, one o'clock in Montreal and nine o'clock in Moscow'. We were off.

I had one of those "Oh, F**K" moments when I glanced up from my "studio" inside The Boat For My Potplants and saw literally hundreds of people on the quay who had gathered to witness The World's Biggest Cock-Up. The next time I have a bright idea, maybe I should keep it to myself, I thought.

But in fact it all went swimmingly well, and the four-hour show went by in a flash of mayhem.

Able Seaman Martyn sauntered around looking for nice ladies to interview on his roaming microphone.

Jerry from Radio Wivenhoe kept things steady-as-she-goes inside the "control room" on top of the kitchen (er, galley) sink inside the cabin.

Folks sat at the pub's tables with their transistor radios adorned with skull and crossbones stuck to their aerials.

And 'Erindoors became 'Eroutdoors, as Jane went round with the bucket, doing a fine job collecting money for The Wivenhoe Royal British Legion, as people paid for their favourite song to be played.

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