ANOINT MY HEAD
How I failed to make it as a Britpop indie-rockstar
MEMOIR
‘Bland and inoffensive with a seriously over-acting singer” NME
It’s 1992 and Horace, 22, has graduated into a recession. He is pleased as this buys him time to pursue his career as rock god with his band the Pointy Birds before becoming an award winning film director and best selling author.
The only problem is his day job filing vinyl in a record store in Soho is stealing his time and energy, plus rival and inferior bands like Suede, Blur, Pulp and Radiohead are moving on to bigger and better things. But then someone called Ricky rings the shop offering his services as a band manager and at last the dream can start…
ANOINT MY HEAD is a comic memoir about the highs and lows of being in a band. It is a love letter to a bygone era and a snapshot of a moment in time that no longer exists. Underneath all of that, it’s a coming of age story about pursuing your dreams and what happens when reality gets in the way.
ANOINT MY HEAD – How I failed to make it as a Britpop indie-rockstar will be available to pre-order soon.
THE BOULDER
Parsley Bay book 1
FICTION
Crunching his way across dried gum leaves and twigs came Water Dragon. He was in a hurry and particularly annoyed with himself for sleeping in, especially on such a beautiful morning – thirty degrees and rising. Normally, he would take his time – tune in to the ambient sound of the cicadas and feel the glorious heat on his back. Or breathe in the delicate perfume of the Frangipani flowers carried on the gentle harbour breeze.
But not today. There was no time for that.
“Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! If he’s there again, I don’t know what I’ll do…”
On any other kind of day, he might pause by the waterfall and reflect on how lucky he was to live at Parsley Bay – he didn’t need the big surf and excitement of Bondi or Coogee, he preferred the calm and gentle waters of Parsley Bay. Or he might listen to the mud crabs scuttling about on the oyster shells beneath and ponder how many years the water dragons had been at Parsley Bay. (Was it two million, three hundred thousand and sixty-four, or two million, three hundred thousand and sixty-five?)
But not today.
As he approached his destination, he spotted two bathers coming down the path through the tea trees, on their way to the jetty below for a morning dip. He would have to speed up to make it, but alas, his foe had beaten him to it, and his cold blood began to boil…