Good evening and welcome to my awe-inspiring aethenaeum of praiseworthy pamphlets…or as some ridiculous personages have dubbed it – my lovely library.
I am the ghost known as Perilous Wight and here in the bowels of the city of Lancaster, in the disused tunnels of an underground train system that never was, I have made it my mission to collect every book that our self-proclaimed ‘supreme ruler f the universe’ and his mincing minions have banned from the bookshelves of the new world.
But this is not a public thoroughfare! If you have wandered in here on the ill-advice of that incorrigible octopus and its unnerving Gentleman Friend, let me advise you not to be so easily lured into a parlour by strange creatures promising cake. Well, you will find nothing sweet and alluring down here; here there is only the dark and the damp, the flickering of candlelight and the ceaseless toil of a man who did not re-animate from the dead to be pestered by people wanting bedtime stories!
But wait…what’s that you have tucked away under your arm there? A bottle of Bruadar malt whisky liqueur eh? Oh…. well, yes perhaps it is about time I put my feet up for a while, pipe and slippers and a little drop of something, the day has, after all been a long one. And I suppose I could read a very little something,
like this perhaps… I have been tirelessly working over the summer, interviewing, stalking … I mean studying… the Hex Slingers of Lancaster, compiling an anthropological study of the lives of those who use magic illegally in the curated back-alley fight clubs – why and how have they come to their present situation? What are their stories? Well, here at least, is one of them…
TALES OF STEAMPUNK’D LANCASTER
SERIES 1: TALES OF THE HEX SLINGERS
Tale The Second By LESLIE SOULE
“Your writing – I’d like to see it,” he says, hopeful like a child getting candy. I don’t
want to open up that book and show him the horrors of a past I’d care not to remember – most of it I’ve already shared, but that book opens wounds afresh, even though I had to write it, to tear the little imps from my heart, force their tiny legs between the pages and stamp out their pokers onto the sheets of print.
It was part of a healing ritual, a ceremony, and maybe instructions for someone else who needs them. One never knows these things. But all I do is smile, and nod, in the way that you’re supposed to do, when confronted with such gestures of interest.
This fellow is my friend, a banker from the gentrified part of town. He rarely travels downtown. There is no tea, here. Maybe one day I’ll tell him the truth, or he’ll discover it. But for now, the coffee steams between us, and the silence speaks volumes, and I feel disheartened. I don’t want those imps to escape again, and plague my beleaguered heart anymore. It needs a rest.
“So what brings you here?” I ask, adjusting my knitted scarf. I see his eyes trace the tattoos on my hands as we converse.
“I have some business with Montmorency,” Christopher explained, sipping his coffee, and I watch those lips for a fleeting moment, hoping he doesn’t notice. I am reminded of the strange night we spent together, with kisses and cuddles, before he discarded me for getting too close to him emotionally, the way men do – the way they’ve always done, when it comes to me.
I nod, drinking my mocha as though it is the water of life that can save me, and mentally, I am far away, back at the hideout, hanging out with the rebel hex-slingers and talking shop with them.
I’d spent most of yesterday practicing martial arts with Delvan, admiring the bright blue eyes he pinned me with. It was my day off.
I look down at my watch, knowing that I have to be at work by 10am and put in a full shift, transcribing records onto the mega-typewriter in the Office of Records, and file them away into folders, and into drawers, into rooms.
What business can Christopher possibly have with Montmorency? It interests me, but I dare not approach the subject. I knew Montmorency to be a slumlord, directing his army of street-urchins selling their illegal lemonade.
Tea, cake, lemonade – the governments of Lancaster strictly controlled their use and prohibited their sale on the streets.
“Well it’s good to see you again,” I say to Christopher, and that was no lie. It really was good to see him – he tended to keep to himself and to his hobbies of making money and brewing beer. The government Wiz-goons hadn’t outlawed beer…yet. But give them time.
“Have you ever thought about leaving the Office of Records?” Christopher asked. Well I’d certainly considered it – it was boring, repetitive work and not everyone could do this kind of job. But the real reason, was that I’d become addicted to the fights and the resistance, and the feeling of power that I’d get from those late-night street duels. I never fought alone. Eros, my morph corn snake who looked white with pink patches, always joined in, channeling the mystic power that emanated from my hands in neon rays.
No one asked any questions when I walked into the office bleary-eyed, and the Wizards hadn’t yet thought to look for resistance fighters in the Office of Records – and who would? What kind of danger would lurk in such a bland atmosphere?
“Yeah, I’ve considered it.”
When I arrived, my desk looked exactly the way I’d left it – pens sitting there in the wooden holder, notebooks stacked off to the right. My co-workers sat patiently at their desks, some of them sipping from mugs of coffee, waiting for the work bell to ring, and indicate the official start of the work day.
“Long night?” asked Erin, my blue-haired, bespectacled co-worker.
“Yeah,” I admitted.
You have no idea.
Last night, I’d found myself cornered in an alley, three Wiz-goons heading my way. One of them wore a pink carnation in his lapel. I wondered at that strange symbolism.
I didn’t kill them. I’m no murderer, though this is a war, and I have no love for the Wiz-goon overlords who rule our lives down to the very foods that we are allowed to eat, or not. And there was something strangely intriguing about that pink carnation – it didn’t belong there, on those smelly, authoritarian streets covered in cold lamplight. It took all I had, to project the aether toward this one and knock him off his feet.
In the end, I followed through, because that was the way of the world – we stood on opposite sides of a battlefield that neither of us created, but both had to fight on, this unfair chess board of life.
“I’ll be alright as soon as I get some coffee from the break room.”
The work bell rang. I seized my timecard and dutifully punched a hole in the correct spot, grabbed my nondescript white coffee mug, issued by the Office, and walked over to the break room. This place ran on coffee – the life-blood of office work, surely as gasoline runs a horseless carriage or water runs a steam turbine. I poured the coffee from its decanter, a feeling of completeness filling my heart as the coffee poured, black as sin, dark as the deepest confessions of my soul.
Armed with it, I walked back to my desk, opening its drawer, to search for a copy of the procedure manual that I’d forgotten to toss out.
Instead, I found a pink carnation, and a small card – From Your Secret Admirer, was scrawled on it, in black ink.
LESLIE SOULE Infamous Fantasy Author I am a fantasy/sci-fi author from Sacramento, CA. she has an M.A. in English and is currently working on the final book of her fantasy series, The Fallenwood Chronicles.
Good morning ladies and gentlemen, thankyou for joining us once again on the swelteringly sultry streets of Steampunk’d Lancaster as we attempt to sell bottles of illegal home brewed lemonade in a desperate bid to pay our rent.
At least that is our ruse for loitering on this street corner this morning, but shhh, step closer, we have something to show you…
If you’ve been with us for some time you’ll probably be aware that our mistress, Penny, as well as leading a secret double life as an incorrigible octopus and his unnerving gentleman friend (that’s us by the way and we’re not sure we care for the description!) also writes short stories, poems and prose with a far less frivolous flavour in the Mythpunk genre.
If you weren’t aware, you can read some of them here for free: PENNY BLAKE ON VOCAL POETS
Mahrime – Mythpunk For Monsters is a collection of mischievously mutilated and punk’d-up folk tales heavily influenced by Penny’s Rromani cultural heritage. Each poem, story or prose piece explores the themes of identity, power and love by putting the monsters, the outsiders, the outcasts, the ‘unblessed’ right at the heart of the narrative.
It’s available now to pre-order on Kindle, free with Kindle Unlimited or 0.99 without and also in paperback if that’s what you prefer (the paperback is full colour with black pages, white text and beautiful white mandala art work by ArtsyBee and comes with a free Kindle copy)
“And what is Mythpunk?” we hear some of you ask…
Mythpunk can be as simple as taking a traditional tale and re-working it to produce something fresh, inspiring and new , or it can be a far more complex synthesising of cultural and mythological evolution; a deep exploration into the cultural psyche or an unflinching dissection of archaic archetypes. A lot of Steampunk involves some Mythpunking along the way and a lot of Mythpunk has a decidedly Steampunk flavour.
So, now that we know exactly what we’re letting ourselves in for , lets take a little sneak peek at just some of the things inside the cover…
Mahrime means ritually unclean / unblessed in Rromani language, it is akin to the word Unseelie in Celtic lore but it is applied to people. The title story in this collection draws heavily on the experiences and mythology of Rromani People and explores the historical out-casting of certain groups and types of people who are branded as ‘monsters’ because their existence is at odds with a dominant cultural or religious ideal. It also goes deeper to hint at the aspects of self which we choose to lock away because we believe them to be unlovable or unacceptable.
The Road Back Lost
This Mythpunk’d version of The Company Of Wolves is a response to the ideal that we all have both an internal and external collective of wise guiding voices who can teach us our culture, our heritage, our purpose and our place in the world; these voices, intuitions, bodies of lore, family, elders, clan-folk etc are supposed to teach and guide us safely through the wild woods of life and all the dangers therein but what if we don’t have them? What if our family or culture or bodies of lore or even our parents and home have been lost to us? This is the situation for many people today as war and poverty tares children away from their families and cultural white-washing tares culture away from people and places it in the hands of the fashion industry. So what can we do? Try to go back? Try to move forward? Or stay and become the wolf?
Damao means ‘to overcome’ ; the final piece of prose in this collection echoes the hopeful thought that is embedded throughout the book – with solidarity and support for eachother we can overcome the problems inherent with being labelled ‘outcast’ or ‘monster’, we are not alone and we will endure.
So there you have it, Mythpunk for Monsters, we hope you enjoy it, and now I think we will just sit back on this soap box here and sample some of our own lemonade, this day is far too hot to be doing any work and my tentacles are wilting despite the negligee we borrowed from Nimue Brown and her Hopeless Sinners yesterday I think what I really need is a parasol…
Thankyou for joining us on the street corner today, hm? What’s that Max? You think YOU ought to write a book? Honestly, I really don’t think ANYONE is going to be interested in anything you have to say… well alright then I will ‘wait and see!’ … and who exactly do think will publish such an atrocity? Hm? …. oh you’ll ‘find a group of marvelous monsters as mad about tea and tentacles as you are’ will you? Well good luck with that my friend! I shan’t be holding my breath…
While we wait to see what, if anything, comes of Max’s new ambition, let me thank you once again for joining us today and for supporting our endeavors as always and whatever kind of monster you happen to be please, do remain always,
Good Morning Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to the sweltering summer streets of steampunk’d Lancaster! You find us this morning still trying to sell enough lemonade to keep our sinister landlord off our proverbial backs (and our actual backs, in fact – he has recently fitted his walking cane with a morning star.)
So, can we interest you in a delightfully delinquent and relentlessly refreshing bottle of fiz? Brewed by our own fair tentacles? …. What? Oh, hold on a minute, who’s this?
Well strap me into a corset and call me Susan, it’s our dear friend Nimue Brown! What brings you to this street corner, my darling? (Max, stop being rude and ridiculous)
N: This is what I get for borrowing a pair of trousers from Professor Elemental. At least we now know where and when I am, which is progress…
Well we are very, very glad the trousers went wrong because we have been simply dying to get our tentacles on a copy of Sinners – the newest release in your Hopeless, Maine Steampunk graphic novel series! Please, do tell me you have some Hopeless Sinners tucked away somewhere about your person?
N: I’m like some kind of non-seasonal, less than perfectly masculine Father Christmas with a really dodgy sack just now. I’ve got all the Sinners. Hopeless Sinners.
The very best kind of Father Christmas then by all accounts! Thankyou! (Max take your mits off it you’re getting it all sticky) we will certainly be reviewing that over a nice cup of tea in the parlour shortly, but before we get it home and out of its negligee (Hm? Oh it’s called a ‘dust jacket’ is it? Sorry…) a-hem… do we get a little teaser as to what’s inside? From the cover it looks like Sal has grown up a little!
N: No, you were right first time, it was a negligee, I may have got a bit carried away with the ‘sinners’ part. I don’t think I’ve got any of the chained ones left…
Oh that is shame…
Yes, Sal is a bit more grown up at this point, but it’s still a passably child friendly read, if the child has no fear of demons, elder gods, monstrous sea life and whatnot. Funny things happen, terrible things happen, and we find out more about the people who live underground on the island.
Now that is what I call a tease! And where can our good friends here get their hands (or indeed tentacles) on a copy?
N: In theory, anywhere that sells books. In practice, you have to make an appropriate sacrifice at the full moon and pray to an elder God that the online store of your choosing will have copies and will not be charging an entirely random price for them! We’ve had issues in the pre-order period.
Well if anyone needs a potential sacrifice candidate we have a landlord we are willing to part with for noble purposes such as this so do shout…
Splendid! Now look here, Mrs. Brown, I don’t suppose you could help us sell a few bottles of this fiz here could you? My tentacles are drying out in this heat and Max’s so called ‘wit’ is driving the punters away in… ouch!… I mean, is perhaps not to everyone’s taste…
N:We could redeploy some of the negligees to protect those vulnerable tentacles, don’t you think?
Hm, this reminds of that pole dancing episode … Max get off that lampost people are starting to flee the street…
I don’t know any lemonade songs. I’ve got a lemon song, but I mostly use it for stuffing chickens with. It goes (brace yourself)
‘lemon up your bum, lemon up your bum, lots and lots of lovely lemons, lemons up your bum’.
Which might or might not sell lemonade, I suppose…
Well I think between the three of us we have managed to clear the docklands quicker than if someone had shouted ‘PLAGUE!’ … and now we may well be reduced to pole dancing again to make the rent this month, so may I keep the negligee?
Thankyou for joining us on the street corner this morning, we will be back soon with more splendid shenanigans and a super special announcement … or two… so, until then,
please be always,
Good Morning Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to the sultry summer streets of stemapunk’d Lancaster! You find us not at home this morning but peddling our home made Lemonade on street corners, trying to catch the eye of corruptible young ladies and avoid the attention of Her Majesty’s police force because, as you already know, Lemonade (along with every other sweet treat) is illegal here in the land of Ire.
But we’ve a lot to be cheerful about because although custom is slow this morning and the threat of not making the rent money looms over us like an enormous sinister landlord with a large stick … a-hem… the lull in foot traffic has given us time to kick our tentacles up on a soap box and enjoy a delightful book in the early morning sunshine…
There are so many things to love about the first book in Karen J Carlisle’s new series of cosy paranormal mysteries.
The detailed description drew us straight into the story and kept us there, fully immersed on a sensory level – obviously we humble Lancastrian tea fiends have never actually been to Australia but right from the first page we felt we were there, feeling the intense heat, the buffeting and scorching winds and the scent of eucalyptus and lemon butter, hearing each chink of china or enamel in Aunt Enid’s quaint kitchen and dated bathroom.
Sally is staying with her aged Aunt Enid when the sudden death of Enid’s dearest friend, Olive, hints at events which may put the safety of the entire world in jeopardy. As Enid and her friend Agnes begin to investigate, the secrets which Enid has been keeping from Sally are forced into the light – fairies, daemons and magic are real, so is The Dark ; an inter-dimensional force that is hungry for human souls, and so are the treasured gnomes in Aunt Enid’s garden…
We really loved the fact that the main characters in this series are mostly in the 50 – 80 age range and all multidimensional, feisty and streetwise with no aversion to high speed driving and late night poker sessions, or a spot of romantic intrigue!
Fans of Carlisle’s Viola Stewart series will lap this up like cream – it has the same delightful mix of thrilling suspense, heart-in-mouth action and charming characters and settings that we have all come to adore.
We shall be out here selling Lemonade throughout most of July and August but don not fear, we have invited some of our very favourite authors to come and give us a hand, some will be helping us sell Lemonade, some will be minding the parlour, and those who cannot be here in person will be sending in picture postcards from their exciting inter-dimensional travels!
Tomorrow Aunt Enid will be hopping in from Australia and minding the parlour for us so do please pop in and have a scone with her and until we see you again, please remain always
In the interests of Transparency, a note from Penny : I have the potential to earn a small amount of income through the Amazon Associates program should visitors to this site choose to purchase Aunt Enid – Protector Extraordinaire via the featured links in this article. This has not affected my review, I only review and recommend products which I genuinely think others will enjoy – Penny 🙂
Good morning Ladies and Gentlemen I hope you are all feeling extremely eleven o clockish because the time is, of course, eleven o clock and we are brim full of fizz here in the parlour! So please, pull up a crate and a cushion, kick your tentacles up on the table and let us lavish you with an extravagant list of extraordinary lemonade-based liquid refreshments.
But first, a little ‘heads up’ because our schedule is about to change somewhat, as summer creeps in and our evil, machinating landlord cracks the whip over our heads and Max and I are forced out onto the streets to sell this illegal lemonade and make enough money to pay the rent. This means that for the next few weeks, the parlour doors will be closed… hm? What’s that? Well yes I know it is only made of sack cloth but it is still technically a door… anyway, fear not! Because although the parlour will only be hosting a few disgruntled cats over the summer, we will still be around and you will still be kept up to date on our adventures (more of that tomorrow when I visit Mrs Baker in her soup kitchen). For now I hope it will suffice to say that we will be posting once weekly over the summer instead of thrice weekly until September when the lemonade season comes to a close.
But today the sun is shining and here we all are so, allow me to pour you something delicious…
We wish you all an utterly refreshing afternoon and I will see you tomorrow because I will be helping Mrs Baker in her lovely soup kitchen so until then please, be always
Good Morning Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome…pant…back…pant…to… oh I give up! This parched heat is not conducive to the comfort of us aquatic aboriginals, my tentacles are so dry they are beginning to crack and Max is being un-necessarily Machiavellian with the lemonade.
Still, at least we now have an enormous stash of bottles to sell and today and tomorrow we will therefore be sharing some amazing lemonade recipes for you to try yourselves, but first, let us find something splendid to read… like this…
Lightning Wolves is the second book in the Clockwork Legion series and you can read our review of the first book here. The second book follows the same key characters that we fell in love with from the first book , former sheriff Ramon and Persian healer / animal-empath Fatemeh, as they strive against the invading powers both of their own world, and others.
The Russians are still invading America and although some ground has been won with the help of the mechanical owls, parts of America are still under threat. Meanwhile, the influence of the mysterious alien entity Legion, continues to loom…
The plot is as gripping, complex and intense as the first book and we meet some new characters – mysterious samurai, wise old women and ex-bounty hunters – who carry on the welcome diversity and depth established in the first novel, this is a welcome refreshment from the ‘white-washing’ or stereotyped ‘tokenism’ of some novels in the genre.
Overall, this was another fantastic steampunk read for serious fans of the genre, filled with all the re-worked history, science-fiction, magic and fast-paced adventure you could wish for, we heartily recommend Clockwork Legion and can’t wait to find out what is going to happen in the next book.
But until then, you were promised lemonade and here it is… (just click on each picture to take you to the recipe)
ELDERFLOWER AND FROZEN BERRY LEMONADE
MIDDLE EASTERN MINT LEMONADE
There now, hopefully that has quenched your thirst on this sweltering summer’s day… pity me that my tight ar…er… fisted gentleman friend will not allow this poor octopus so much as a drip to wet his whistle. Pff.
We wish you a very moist and refreshing morning filled with zest and without any pitch in sight, and we will be back tomorrow with some news, some forward planning and lashings more luscious lemonade so, until then, please be always
Good Morning Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to Max and Collin’s luxuriously libatious and rigorously refreshing parlour located within the splendidly scenic city of Lancaster.
True some have called it a refuge for Yellowists, where the company are all sour and full of bitterness and where the refreshments leave a nasty taste in One’s mouth, but we consider that such unadventurous individuals are not used to adding birds eye chillies to their morning Lady Grey … it is an acquired taste and one we discovered, quite by accident, in the depths of the Jentacular Jungle…
But I digress! Please, come in, step around the mountains of discarded lemon husks and… no, no don’t worry that is only sugar syrup, I’m afraid that making lemonade is an extremely messy business but you know these tentacles come in very handy and as you can see we have quite a mountain of bottles filled now and ready to sell.
But it is rather exhausting work so, I think it is time to kick our tentacles up on the table, pop on a brew of Lemon Meringue Tea from Post Tea and open a marvellous book, like this one…
“Jennings and Jennings, Paranormal Investigators, available for hire in the Home Counties. Are you plagued by supernatural goings on or troubled by fantastical events? We can help, using the most modern scientific advances, to rid you of even the most ancient of terrors. 3 pence an hour, double on Sunday.”
We have been gleefully following the adventures of Sir John and Marie Jennings via the online journal The Benthic Times for quite some time now so when we heard they were publishing their first casebook we simply had to get our tentacles on it at once!
This collection of four Steampunk Paranormal Mysteries stands out as something particularly special. The mysteries are real, intense and engaging – from ghostly apparitions to machinating mesmerists and ghastly fiends to mysterious missing treasures, there is an enthralling mixture of Victorian folklore and imagination brought together in each carefully crafted adventure.
In beautiful balance to this serious backbone, the over-enthusiastic Sir John, brandishing his alarming home made detecting devices, is called in to solve each case. Thankfully, his compassionate and competent wife, Marie, is usually able to use her ‘intuition’ to keep them on the right track and the resolutions are always both satisfying and surprising.
Fans of Mark Hodder are bound to appreciate this delightful mix of paranormal mystery and comedic Steampunk, and we certainly can’t wait for the next casebook to be released.
We wish you all a very marvellous morning filled with sweetness and spice in equal measure, and until we see you again,
please, be always
Good morning Ladies and Gentlemen! I hope you are all feeling extremely eleven o clockish because the time is, of course, eleven o clock and we are armed to the tentacles with refreshments so, step right in, carefully avoiding the empty glass bottles, mountains of yellow fruit, scatterings of sugar crystals, and the slightly sticky gentleman jibbering to himself in the corner, and take a seat on an upturned lemonade crate while I regale you with the results of my diligent research on the fascinating history of Lemonade ….
Lemons originated in India and it wasn’t until the twelfth century that they got bored and migrated (astutely procuring a ride in the baskets and barrels of hot-footing humans) to Egypt and the Mediterranean. The Persian poet and traveller Nasir-I-Khushraw provides us with the first written evidence that a heady and addictive mixture of sugar, lemon juice and water (known as qatarzimat) was being guzzled apace by the locals of these regions but it is safe to assume that this convivial combination had been enjoyed for many years in Asia before his observations were made.
By the thirteenth century qatarzimat was well established and market records from Cairo show the crowds just couldn’t get enough of it and in Mongolia the lushes were swigging it laced with plenty moonshine (well, it must have beaten the alternative drink of the day… horse milk…)
But why is lemonade so addictive?
Well, the scientists tell us that the secret is not so much in the sugar as in the lemons themselves! The sourness of this innocent little yellow fruit grenade stimulates saliva production – an effect which lasts for long after the lemonade has been consumed. The brain then comes to associate the lemonade with the quenching of thirst and so craves it, particularly when the we are a little dehydrated (which for us tea fiends is of course most of the time).
But I digress… by the 1600s limonadiers were selling the stuff on the streets of France with huge dispensers strapped to their backs and of course it wasn’t then long before the Brits caught on to the lucrativity of the lemon.
When thousands of Europeans flocked over to America in the 1800s, the lemons saw their chance to make world-domination complete and lemonade swiftly became the choice drink of the gold miners due to its astounding ability to combat scurvy (did you know the humble lemon has more vitamin c than your average orange? Yep, you thought pirates were guzzling rum during their Golden Age? Wrong, they were glugging lemonade…. with rum in it ….)
But alas Lemonade Lucy (First Lady Lucy Hayes) and her Lemonade Brigade prohibitionists’ persistent pontificating on the virtues of lemonade vs the evils of alcohol lead to some bad press for our beloved beverage and today it is widely considered a drink for infants, invalids and the faint of heart.
So there you have it, a brief history of the rise and fall of the Lemonade Empire as it occurred in your dimension. Next week I shall be holding forth on how Lemonade came to be an addictive and highly illegal substance here in out beloved Isles Of Ire and furnishing you with some fabulous recipes for making your own. Would you like to see some photographs of antiquated lemonade vendors before you go? Please excuse the stickiness at the edges…
Lemonade vendor in Selanik, Ottoman empire, pre-1890
German lemonade vendor 1931
Charles W. Hamill Silver-Plated Lemonade Pitcher, Baltimore, Maryland.
Now then, perhaps I can tempt you with a bottle of the good stuff as we kick our tentacles up and tune in the spirit radio to something splendid…
Not one for the prohibitionists then! We wish you a delightful afternoon and invite you back to join us in the parlour again soon. Until then, please be always
Good Morning Ladies and Gentlemen! A very warm welcome back to Max and Collin’ s ravishingly refreshing and zestily zany parlour located within the splendidly scenic city of Lancaster.
True some have called it too piquant for their tastes, but we consider that such individuals are simply sour that they have not yet received an invitation.
Well you find us this morning safely returned from our inter-dimensional jaunt to MCM Comic Con in London (for some reason your London is not a clockwork city run by Land Pirates as ours is but nevertheless our tri-cornered hats, fake mechanical limbs and crys of ‘arrrr me hearties!’ did not seem to be out of place)
Unfortunately operating the photographic device we had brought with us whilst preventing our small hoard of street urchins from half-inching shiny things, assaulting aliens with their lethal balloon-swords and getting themselves locked up by the security team meant we didn’t actually take many photographs, but here is a small taste of some of the steampunk splendidness that was on show in case you weren’t able to make it there yourselves …
But now the excitement is all over and we are very pleased to be home and able to kick our tentacles up on the table with a splendid pot of Lady Grey tea from Mystic Brew Teas and an excellent book… like this one…
Katie is a 28 year old woman in crisis; her relationship (if you could ever call it that) has crumbled and she’s back at her father’s house popping pills and drowning her sorrows while her demonic step sister is trying to win the world’s worst tantrum award. But when the little brat falls down the stairs, breaking her neck, Katie is blamed for her murder and sent to Greystone Asylum… a dark and terrifying place where death stalks in a black hood and no one is quite what they seem. Who is the mysterious murderer? What secrets are the doctors harbouring behind their office doors? And will Katie survive long enough to find out?
To call this book a contemporary lesbian murder mystery would be accurate but not do it justice. The raw reality of Susanna Kaysen meets the gripping horror of Paul Hoffman in this dark and twisted tale which, amongst the sexual intrigue and the pervading tension, has at its heart some deep questions about humanity, our concept of self and our judgement of others.
Overall, a gripping page-turner which horror and mystery fans will adore.
Now our oracular cephalopterois is straining at the leash to tell us something so let us pop him into his teacup and what his far seeing spines have plucked from the aether for us this morning…
Oh ho! Well, that makes sense because it is indeed lemonade season here in Ire and our meticulously maniacal landlord Montmorency has been badgering us again about getting out there and selling the stuff so, for the next few weeks we will be All Over Lemonade; its history, place in Victorian culture and lots of luscious recipes for making your own.
So, we invite you back to join us tomorrow for some lusciously lemony elevenses and until then, please be always,