Hellloooo! Guten Tag! Bonjour! Hola and er….Helloooo!
Sorry for spamming you with another post. Especially so soon after the release of The Undead Twenty Four: Equilibrium. And thank you so much for the wonderful feedback on that book. I’m honestly humbled.
Anywho. I just wanted to let you know The Worldship Humility is out today on Kindle. It was exclusive to Audible as an audiobook for 4 months, and thankfully, has done brilliantly with them – thanks to the awesome narration by Colin Morgan. But yes! It’s now out on Amazon for Kindle.
I really hope you like it, and as ever, please do let me know what you think.
Love hugs and kisses
Rich (The letter thingy below has no connection to the book, I just fancied writing it!)
Dearest Darling,
I am writing to let you know I am leaving to start a new life as a seashell seller on the seashore. I know this will come as a shock to you, and you thought I was settled as a Goat Keeper.
But seriously, Goat Keeping is no longer the vocation it once was. And I’m sorry, but it’s just more than I can deal with. Peter – you remember Peter don’t you darling, the sweet little Pygmy with the odd socks – Well, he got into the south-west corner of the rear paddock to eat the lush grass and oh my gosh, the uproar from the Angoras! You should have heard it. They were incensed. Peter couldn’t grasp why of course. He had absolutely no idea of the Great Grass War of 19. The Angoras told him. They said “Peter, you cannot eat this grass. This grass is solely for the consumption by the Angoras.’ “But why,” said Peter. “This grass is lush and green, and I want to eat it. And I shall eat it.” And you know what Peter is like. The little sod carried on munching away and then, of course, the blasted Toggenburgs toddled by, as they do, given how nosy those bastards are, and naturally, they saw Peter the Pygmy eating the lush grass and a very great hubbub went up. “Hey, you Angoras!” cried the Toggenburgs, which, if I am honest, was mainly Terry the Toggenburg, and you will remember what a pedantic prick Teddy can be. “You are feeding your designated grass to a non-Angora.” “We are doing no such thing,” said Andy the Angora, who had that thing with Terry’s sister behind the winter sheds when Teresa was in season. Andy and Terry never did see eye to eye after that. They did make beautiful babies though. Anyway, I digress. “We are doing no such thing” cried Andy. “We did not give consent to Peter to eat our grass.” “Peter, is this true?” demanded Terry while more Toggenburgs toddled over. “Peter, you must tell the Toggenburgs we gave you no consent,” Andy said as more Angoras ambled into the gathering. Now Peter is a sweetie, he really is, but he’s a wilful little scamp at the best of times, so he just chewed away without a care in the world. And why wouldn’t he? Peter wasn’t even alive when the first battle for the south-west corner of the rear paddock was fought. And what a day that was too! Oh, the blood. The carnage. And do you remember when the Angoras retreated and how the Toggenburgs rejoiced in their victory only to realise it was a tactical withdrawal to gain space to deploy the Hybrid Bex? And what a thing to do! The sight of the Hybrid Bex all marching in line with their heads down and those huge spiked horns presented at the Toggenburgs. That stopped the rejoicing. Let me tell you that. But of course, you were there and will recall how the Toggenburgs cried foul. “Hey, you Angoras! This isn’t on. You can’t get the Hybrid Bex to fight for you.” “Fuck off out of our grass then,” the Angoras shouted back. We thought it was over at that point. Do you remember how we both said we thought it was over? “Is it over?” I asked you. “I think it is,” you said. “The Angoras have made a pact with the Hybrid Bex and now the Toggenburgs are retreating. Shall we go and have a sandwich?” But it wasn’t over because Terry came back with the Anatolian Blacks! Everyone knew the Anatolians had a grudge with the Hybrid Bex which went back to that time Sue the Hybrid shit on the head of baby John the newborn Anatolian. “Sue shit on my little John’s head.” Agnes the Anatolian Black cried out. “I didn’t bloody see him!” Sue the Hybrid Bex yelled out as they hooved and snorted until some bloody fool yelled CHAAARRGGGEEE!
Then that bloody rotter Andy the Angora sent in the Mountain Goats! What a stupid thing to do. He promised them access to the hillside grass and we all know how much the Mountains like hillside grass. Of course, the Anatolian Blacks were swarmed in minutes. “I think the Angoras might have won,” you said to me. “Give it another five minutes and we’ll get that sandwich…” “THIS DAY IS OURS!” Cried Andy the Angora, locking horns with Terry while Teresa held back, not quite sure which side to be on. Mind you, she was a pretty thing that Teresa. Oh but Terry. He was no fool. He saw it coming and right at the point they were going back he yelled out “DEPLOY THE BOERS!” “No! Don’t deploy the bloody Boers,” you shouted. But the Boers did deploy. Do you remember it? How they charged in all stocky and hardy. Big meaty rotters they are too. And heavy. ‘WE’VE ALMOST WON,” shouted Terry. “THIS LUSH GRASS WILL BE OURS…AND YOU CAN KEEP YOUR GOAT WILLY OUT OF MY SISTER TOO, ANDY.” “BUT I LOVE HIM!” Teresa cried out. “Terry! I love Andy…” “He’s an Angora,” Terry shouted. “You can’t love him.” “But I do! Andy, I love you…and I’m pregnant with your kids…” “WHAT THE FUCK!” Andy shouted. “You said you were on the pill. You did. I asked you. I said, are you on the pill? And you said, yeah course, it’s fine…” “Erm…” Teresa said. “Yeah about that…” “Oh fuck. I’m going to be a dad!” “Yeah, you are,” Teresa said. “In that case, we’ll need more grass!” Andy shouted. “BRING IN THE MADURAI!” Well, that did it. Who in their right mind invites the Madurai into a fight? “Andy! No!” cried Terry. “That’s too much!” “ANDY! DON’T DO IT,” Teresa said. Even the Boers looked worried. We all did. Do you remember how the whole paddock fell to silence as we all looked east and how we began to hear the hoofbeats sounding out. Like a drumming it was and the sight of them! Those shaggy necks and curved horns. “Andy. Call them off!” said Terry. “I’m going to be a father, I need more grass,” Andy said. And Terry, despite being a pedantic prick, knew what was coming and he looked to his sister and the love in her eyes as she stared at Andy. And he looked about at the other goats. At the Hybrid Bex. At the Anatolians and the Mountains and the Boers. And what he saw in that minute was they were all the same. They were all just goats. “WE CAN SHARE,” he shouted suddenly. “We’ll share all of the grass…the whole paddock…the corners, the hills…for all of us…” Well. That was a thing. Do you remember the shock that rippled out as they all realised that if Andy and Teresa could raise a family together it could unite all of them into one herd? “This might just work,” you said, and I remember the hope in your voice like it was just last month. And it was too. It was just last month. “ANDY!” Terry shouted, seeing the Madurai closing in. Feeling the fear in all of them. “CALL THEM OFF!” ‘PLEASE ANDY!” Teresa shouted. “BEFORE IT’S TOO LATE…” Andy fretted. He hesitated. He wanted the dream. We could all see it in him. That hope for a better future. For a better world and he looked at Teresa. At the mother of his unborn kids and to Terry and Sue and Agnes. “OKAY! STOP…We can all live together…” And he ran out to head the Madurai off. Telling them it was all a mistake. “It’s all a mistake!” he shouted, just before the Madurai kicked the shit out of him and everyone else. Because that’s the thing with the Madurai. They’ll attack anything.
“Peter,” said Andy. “You really cannot eat this grass. This was designated as Angora grass by the Alpaca peacekeeping corp after the Great Grass War of 19.” “Peter,” Terry said. “You cannot eat that grass. The Alpacas said it was only for Angoras.” “But it’s nice grass,” Peter said. “And I shall eat it.” “YOU CANNOT ALLOW THIS,” Terry shouted at Andy. “We shall not allow this!” Andy shouted. Knowing he had to act to stop the war starting again. Seeing the Boers and the Hybrid Bex and the Anatolians and Mountains all verging once more, ready to do it all again. “SOMEBODY FETCH FOR THE ALPACAS!” he cried out. “You can’t,” Peter said, still with those tufts of grass poking out the side of his cute mouth. “Why can’t we?” Andy demanded. “I locked them in the winter sheds,” Peter said, chewing away like a mischievous little scamp with his waggly tail. “Look behind you…” he added, as all the other goats looked around to the Madurai gathered silently behind them all. “They work for me now and this is my corner…you know, this really is the best grass in the paddock. Get rid of them, lads…”
Oh darling. It was awful, and far worst from the last time and I cannot find the bloody key for the winter shed anywhere. I’ve half a mind to think Peter has swallowed it. I checked his poo of course but no luck. I just cannot go on. Teresa has now left Andy for Mark the Madurai, leaving poor Andy to raise their kids. Sue and Agnes keep shitting on each other and I just cannot bring myself to tell Peter off for running a protection racket and being a gangster. He’s just so cute with that grass poking the side of his mouth.
So yes, I am leaving to start a new life as a seashell seller on the seashore. I’m sorry to leave it all to you, but honestly, Goat Keeping is really not what it used to be.
Please don’t forget to feed Albert the goldfish, you know he gets moody if he misses steak night.
I’ll write when I can. Oh and that new book is out. The one that was narrated by that Colin Morgan chap. The actor from Merlin and Humans. It did rather well as an audiobook. Bestseller by all accounts. It’s out on Kindle today. The Worldship Humility. I think you might like it.
Do give Peter a smack on the bum. But not too hard. He is a sweetie.
Toodlepip!
Linda the Llama xx