A picture of the author anticipating the current weather conditions!

When you're up to your ankles in water, you might need CRUTCHES FOR DUCKS

Yes, yes, I know - how low will he sink in order to promote his books?  Well, not too low, obviously, otherwise I would get my ears wet ;-)

You can dance...if you want to!

Taken from Steady Past Your Granny's

I’ve recently been on one of those adults-only holidays that are increasing in popularity.  For the more depraved amongst you, whose thoughts are now filled with visions of wild nights and rampant orgies, I’m afraid I have to disappoint you (and me).  These ‘adults-only’ vacations tend to be populated by those for whom a game of short-mat bowls and a flyer at Bingo represent the epitome of excitement.  As a relative youth, just in my middle age (I will have no sniggering at the back there, I fully intend to live to at least 98) I can watch events unfold with a certain detached (or perhaps semi-detached) air.  It was only whilst I was stomping about to the sounds of a Spanish band murdering Spencer Davies’ ‘Keep on Running’ and watching the convulsions of my fellow dancers that it occurred to me just how excruciating the scene must be for anyone aged under 30.

Its not that we dance any differently now than we did in our younger days, always allowing for a certain loss of flexibility (and, unaccountably, rhythm).  When we were young we had the arrogance of youth and the way we danced was one way of defining our independence from the embarrassing flailings or strict-tempo struttings of our parents.  Now, our children have redefined their dancing so as to be as far removed from our beat-driven twitchings as physically possible and we are now too ‘sad’ to be seen on the dance floor except at family events (where the embarrassment of one’s children is an important rite of passage) or on one of these holidays.

I can vividly remember the first time that I danced ‘in anger’ as it were.  It was an end of summer term school disco at Anglesey Secondary Modern in Clarence Street.  It was my first disco and I suppose I was about 13 or 14 (by which age it seems that most of our current generation have experienced just about everything that life has to offer).  I hung around with a group of similarly inept friends, enjoying the music and desperate to move to it but not really sure how to, or with whom.  Eventually, driven by the urge to dance, I commenced a sort of syncopated embarrassed foot shuffle (if you’ve ever had embarrassed feet, you’ll know what I mean), which, to my amazement, was seized on by my compatriots and we all shuffled, more or less in time to the music, in our boys-only grouping.  Dancing with girls was, of course, a hoped for but entirely unrealistic goal.  In case you think this a little odd, it may help to mention that Anglesey Secondary Modern had separate Boys and Girls entrances to the building (which were pretty rigidly adhered to) along with separate playgrounds for the sexes.  The genders only came together in class and then only to hurl insults at each other.  Any burgeoning relationships always consisted of girls in our class going out with boys from classes two or more years ahead of us.  We were condemned as immature, spotty herberts and consigned to our rhythmic shuffling in the corner of the dance floor.

For reasons that I will never quite understand, Anglesey decided to try to throw the genders together (in a civilised way, of course) by introducing ballroom dancing lessons in the lunch hour.  I find it even more difficult to understand why I attended them given that I was painfully shy and looked like what happens if you don’t eat your greens!  I can only blame raging hormones and an addiction to embarrassment.  As far as I can recall, the content of the session was usually a waltz, a St. Bernard’s Waltz and something energetic like the Gay Gordons.  As I shuffled around the Hall floor, sweaty palmed and heavy footed, my dragooned partner would stare stoically into the middle distance, hoping against hope that this misery would soon end.

So the origins of my dancing technique did not exactly scream of early promise.  Enthusiasm for the music tended to overcome any incipient talent.  Eventually, I decided that the answer might lie with the more professional acquisition of ballroom dancing skills.  I joined a beginners class at Roy and Dorothy Moxon’s School of Dance back in the days when it was situated on the top floor of what appeared to be an industrial building by the side of the old railway crossing in Uxbridge Street.  This unlikely venue was the scene of weekly humiliation for me as I crunched my way over the toes of the team of poor girls retained at the School to partner inept charlies like me.  I never really understood the meaning of ‘seeing fear in their eyes’ until I lurched toward this group of girls at the beginning of each dance like a particularly clumsy but well meaning rhinoceros approaching a herd of tethered gazelle.  Twenty-six weeks later, I could just about master the basics of the waltz, quickstep, cha-cha and jive without causing serious injury or permanent disfigurement, which is a pretty fair testament to the teaching skills of Roy and Dorothy.  Twenty-six plus years later, I’ve forgotten everything I ever knew and I’m back to the embarrassed shuffling in the corner.

I fear that my days as a ‘dancing fool’ will now be limited to venues such as this one where consenting adults can jerk around (and I use the term advisedly) in the company of like minded, and equally physically challenged, compatriots.  Of course, even here I’m frequently driven off the dance floor not only by an outbreak of sequence dancing (what the dickens is a ‘saunter together’?) but also by the now ubiquitous, and almost compulsory, line dancing.  This is a sort of aerobics for the frail and halt, combining the happy discovery that you can cram as many people as possible onto the dance floor (whilst avoiding any embarrassing physical proximity) with the complete removal of any spark of originality.  Believe me, once this well marshalled geriatric juggernaut takes over the area, any independent choreography is quickly stamped out.

At least our ageing antics are spared the pitying glances and scornful remarks of our younger brethren.  We can dance, if we want to, but we must try not to scare the children (or the horses).  If it’s any consolation, just imagine your children, now greying and growing in girth, lurching nostalgically to Fat Boy Slim or an essential mix from Pete Tong.  Revenge is sweet – put another record on the jukebox, feet don’t fail me now!

There's a lot more of this sort of nonsense in Steady Past Your Granny's available at just 99p or equivalent for your Kindle or kindle-friendly e-reader, now.

An audio excerpt from A Kick at the Pantry Door

You can find an experimental audio excerpt from

A Kick at the Pantry Door

here

Audio Extract

and now on You Tube 

Talking to myself?

So how did the free book promotion go for Crutches for Ducks?

It's kind of you to ask.  Pretty well, actually.  Certainly better than I expected.  Over 350 copies were downloaded worldwide, which isn't bad for just a 24 hour promotion.

Where did all of those go to?

Well, 174 went to .com readers, 162 to .co.uk people, 8 were picked up at .ca and 4 at .de.  There were also odd copies downloaded at .it. .fr and .au.  So many thanks to everyone who did bag a free copy and I hope they enjoy it.

Was a bit surprised to see you offer your largest and most expensive book, for free!

Yes, me too!  In all honesty, it wasn't the original intention.  I had intended to offer the latest book, A Kick at the Pantry Door for free, but I hadn't allowed for the fact that you can't do that and run a Kindle Countdown promotion in the same period.  Curses!

What about Steady Past Your Granny's?  That would have seemed like no-brainer as a free promotion?

Yes, you would think, wouldn't you?  Unfortunately, Steady Past Your Granny's is still currently available on Smashwords (not that it has ever done any good on there), so it is ineligible for the Kindle Select program which rules out any free promotions, at present.

Have you seen any benefit from the promotion?

Oddly enough, yes!  Crutches for Ducks has been selling (modestly) both at .com and .co.uk.  A couple of copies have even been borrowed via Kindle Prime, and that's never happened before.  It was also (very briefly) at #1 in the Humorous Essays chart :-)

So, it was all worthwhile then?

Yes, I think so.  It was fun while it lasted (like so many things) and it generated a great 5 star review I might as well face it, I'm addicted to Phil Whiteland!  On the downside, I've realised that I've made a complete doo-doo of the whole thing.

Why's that?

Well, the main intention was to bring A Kick at the Pantry Door to the attention of the readers.  Unfortunately, I've now realised that none of my books have a link to this, currently, so I've snatched defeat from the jaws of victory yet again.

Well done.  Finally, do you think you ought to be concerned that you're apparently talking to yourself?

No, not at all.  Of course, you probably should be.

Addicted to reviews!

I'm delighted that my 'duck' book has received this fantastic 5 star review from the lovely Brenda Perlin:

"The author has a clever way of delivering a book full of fun and laughs. "Crutches For Ducks" is such a lovely, easy escape that I found myself laughing out loud and just feeling joyful reading about these off the wall predicaments. These stories are light hearted and seems to make fun at just about any one possible. Even the author himself which is the most fun. I love how the everyday mundane things can be made into a hysterical situation. I am a true fan and have really enjoyed and have been entertained by all of the authors works.

This nostalgic adventure where we go back in time is so darn entertaining and the old photographs are priceless!. I could relate to some of the stories even though I am a female, not a male and from the United States, not the United Kingdom.

This book is filled to the brim with brilliantly witty quotes which makes it very difficult to share just one but here you go...

"I only fully realised just how much the telephone was now an essential part of everyday life when I inadvertently left my mobile phone in my car the other day. I was at the gym (yes, I know it seems unlikely but bear with me) and my wife had taken the car to go shopping, not knowing that my phone was on the back seat. I felt cut off from the known world. Goodness knows why, given that nobody ever rings me, and the only texts that pass backward and forward tend to be of the rather mundane "I'm here. I'll let you know when I'm leaving" variety. For my daughter and the generations following her, it would take radical surgery to part them from their mobile phones and I'm sure they could not envisage a world in which such things didn't exist, and yet it was not always this way.""

You can find the review here and find out more about the book at Crutches for Ducks

For one day only...

If you're interested, today (14th January, 2014) and for one day only, I have this never to be repeated offer!

Get the bumper collection of 'nostalgedy' stories that is 'Crutches for Ducks' absolutely FREE!

Go on, dip your bread in the water :-)

Crutches for Ducks

Counting Down To...?

This weekend I'm trying out one of these new Kindle Countdown promotions to see if this generates some excitement amongst the reading public!  This means that the latest compilation of stories, A Kick at the Pantry Door, is available at a hugely discounted price from now until Sunday, 15th December, 2013.  Why not take a look at this compilation which has consistently received 5* reviews since its publication earlier this year?  Give yourself a little pre-Christmas treat!

Welcome to the 'A Kick at the Pantry Door' restaurant. We have your favourite table ready and waiting and a selection of tasty and unusual dishes for your delectation and delight (but do bear in mind that the kitchen closes shortly as the Chef needs to go to his second job, rodding out blocked sewers). We have a few choice 'nostalgedy' stories for Starters, some meatier ones for your Mains, a selection of 'curmudgeonly rants' or keen observations (you take your choice) for Dessert, and something unspeakable to go with your Coffee and Mints.

What are the ingredients? Well there's: Our dog's unfortunate addiction to railwaymen - avoiding the great outdoors - how not to take a picture - unfinished business in woodworking - entries as an indicator of intoxication - mowing under pressure - Easter as a moveable feast - a regrettable incident at the Crucifixion. You won't find any E numbers, dodgy additives or nuts in our meals, unless of course you count the Chef.

Philip Whiteland tickles your fancy (it's not a crime yet) once again with this compilation of stories, often with a food-based theme, from today and yesterday. Pull up a chair and tuck in!

This is Philip's third collection of 'nostalgedy' stories, a sequel to the very popular 'Steady Past Your Granny's' and 'Crutches for Ducks'.

"Taking the interesting theme of the reader being a visitor to a restaurant, Philip sets out his book in a number of chapters under the headings of starters, main courses, desserts and coffee and mints. All the stories relate to his experiences growing up in Burton in the 1950s and 1960s…A flavour for the amusing content of the book is given in the first chapter, in which Philip recalls his childhood interest in eating dog biscuits." Derby Telegraph