So, on leg one of our journey, we have arrived in Koto Kinabula, the capital ‘city’ of Malaysian Borneo. I use the word city in inverted commas because, whilst it sure looks like an Asian city – grimy concrete high-rises everywhere you look, crumbling pavements and constant gridlock – you can walk across it in about five minutes.

This isn’t exactly a bad thing though, as a miniature city like this is a great way to prepare us for the more dramatic capitals later on in our trip – like Beijing, which I have to admit to being a bit scared of.

We’d booked to stay at the ‘Summer Lodge’ – or at least, we thought we had. When they never showed up to collect us at the airport, I convinced the Tourist Info guy to give them a call. Yup,  they’d never heard of us. So we jumped in a taxi and edged our way through 40 minutes of standing traffic to get there.

The first room we were offered was so dingy I half expected to find Terry Waite in there chained to a radiator. We went back to the desk and asked if they had anything less squalid. So, for only a few dollars extra, we got to climb an extra two flights of stairs, to a room that, allegedly, had ‘a window’. Oh yes! Make no mistake, we were upgrading!

The second room – complete with window – also was not the Hilton. But we took it anyway, because we were dripping with sweat, knackered, and hadn’t slept in two days. So we paid cash, braved the stairs once more, and collapsed onto the hideously stained mattress.

The rest of the evening was one of discovery. First we discovered that the window didn’t work (it was covered with a blind which ripped out of the wall when Roo tried to raise it to look out). Then we discovered that the toilet leaked. Then, around midnight, we discovered that, had we been able to look out of our window, it would have offered us a view of the open-air karaoke bar directly below. That place seemed to heat up around 1am, but didn’t really kick off until 3. Murdering the hits of Lady Gaga and Katy Perry at 500 decibels turns out to be a popular pass-time here…  It was in this way that we discovered the vibrating walls of our room – including the exterior one, housing our foot-square inoperable window – were made of thin plywood. Now, you kind of expect this with internal walls. Sure, it means you can hear every burp, scratch and fart for ten rooms in every direction, but that’s pretty much par for the course. But external walls? This was an eight-storey building, and we were on the sixth floor. I was kind of hoping it was built of concrete, or something similarly sturdy. Closer inspection (of the cracks in our walls, through several of which we could see daylight) revealed the truth. The frame of the building was concrete – great beams and columns in a grid pattern. But the walls in-between were filled in – not with bricks, or more concrete, or high-spec glass – but with plywood. If a shabbier high-rise exists anywhere in the world – well, I don’t want to stay there.

Think I’ve found our window!

Nevertheless, stay we did. After a brief jaunt around the night (fish) markets, where scores of locals were eating (fish), we returned to the room to wash the (fish) stench off our weary bodies. This was when we discovered the drains also didn’t work, so that showering created an ever-rising pool of water in the bathroom that quickly became ankle-deep. It stayed there for as long as we did – which, to our shame, was three whole days. Not because Kota Kinabalu (or ‘KK’) was so enticing, but because we couldn’t seem to get out of bed. I know what you’re thinking – inappropriate! But no – we were just dead tired, both of us – and we spent more than half our time in KK fast asleep.

The Bathroom…

…submerged!

Being the terribly organised types we are, neither of us had given much thought to where to go once we actually got here. But in our bizarre state of exhaustion, we bravely made the decision to head for the beach…

And now, here we are! As different an experience as it’s possible to have, from the cramped, depressing room in the filthy, claustrophobic city, to where we are now… which is paradise!

A jungle lodge built out of sticks, in the traditional style of the native Rumpus people, and, a mile away – the kind of postcard-perfect beach that everyone dreams of one day discovering. Oh, and it’s EMPTY! Yes, this is the undiscovered bit of Borneo, right at its northern tip – and the only tour operator here is a bloke called Howard. We’re staying in his lodge, and eating in his beachfront restaurant right now – all built himself, staffed by locals to whom he pays a fair wage – and never have I found a more secret, tranquil slice of paradise on the planet. Believe me – you really wish you were here! As of course, do I. :0)

The only fly in the ointment – apart from the flies, and the lack of any kind of ointment – is that we’re both more sunburnt than we’ve ever been! At this point we put two and two together, and figured out our malaria meds were to blame. ‘Increased sensitivity to sunlight’ and ‘lethargy’ being two of the potential side effects… but holy shit! Both of us were wiped out for 12 to 14 hours a day, and we got so burnt from walking to the bus station we can hardly lie down! So, out went the malaria pills, damn them. And out went any chance of kayaking, sunbathing, taking long, leisurely swims or strolls on the beach…

The upside of this, is that a six-month supply of doxycycline just about fits into a shoe box, giving us a bit of space in our rucksacks to play with. Consequently, Roo has started shopping for shoes…

I’m not sure if that qualifies as good news, or bad.

But anyway. Here’s a few more photos, to whet your appetites…

Enjoy!

Now THAT is a big jelly fish!

Every so often people ask me if it’s true – all the stuff I write about, about my amazing ability to be in the wrong place at the wrong time – or just to be doing the wrong thing.

My answer is always the same: come and live with me. See for yourself. Although you might end up regretting it…

Case in point. I decided to get the wife to film me, sneakily, as I went to get my colonic irrigation. Why? Well, why not? I knew the people there would refuse to let me if I asked, so I went ahead and did it anyway.

And suffice to say, it wasn’t pretty.

But that’s not the strange part.

Oh, no!

What’s stranger than a grown man being filmed whilst enduring a rectal invasion paid for by his sister?

Well, it started like any other day. We stopped at the pharmacy to pick up our malaria pills, and there happened to be a special promotion on a product that seemed disturbingly appropriate:

No, I don’t know what it does either. But I can guess where it goes.

So, on to the Perth Colon Wellness Centre, where I planned on having gallons of water pumping into my areshole. Just for, you know, shits and giggles…

So the lady behind the desk was very nice. She got me to fill out all the paperwork, and sign a disclaimer informing me that “I am responsible for the insertion of my own rectal tube”.

I was quite relived about that.

Then I was shown into the room with a big plastic bed, designed to keep you in a position most familiar to women who have given birth. I was shown the pumping apparatus. It was all very scientific.

Then I was given a lollypop stick full of anal lube, and left alone to apply it.

Awkward – especially with the wife not only watching, but actually filming the process (discreetly, of course) – but I managed, and hopped up onto the machine.

Then I very gently, very, very gingerly – pushed the probe into my bottom.

Apparently I made some odd faces during the process… but luckily I’ve decided to spare you all from the sight of such things. You lucky, lucky people!

Anyway, the nice lady wandered back into the room and turned on the water. At this point was braced for anything from a tickle to agonizing pain – but felt nothing. Nothing. I told the lady – so she twisted the valve a little further.

And was rewarded with a face full of bum-water!

“Ugh!” she moaned, recoiling from the spray.

“Is that… supposed to happen?” I asked.

“Ugh! No!” she said, wiping her face on her sleeve. “It must be… broken!”

And it was.

“I didn’t do anything, I promise!”

“No, it’s okay. The lady before you has MS. I think she might have kicked it.”

She put her hands between my legs, and fiddled with my nozzle.

“Yes, your nozzle is broken, I’m afraid.”

I guess there could have been worse news. “Oh. So is it fixable?” I tried to keep the hope out of my voice. Couldn’t have her think I was actually terrified of having this done.

“I think we can fix it,” she said. “Hang on. I’ll just get Gerry.”

She nipped back to the front desk, and suddenly there were two of them, stood “oohing” and “ahhing”, as I lay there, legs akimbo, arse in the air.

“Have you had a look at it?” Gerry asked – presumably referring to the broken nozzle, rather than my exposed undercarriage.

“Oh yes,” came the reply – and then both of them had their hands down there, tugging back and forth on something, up to their elbows in the trough between my knees.

At least ‘Gerry’ was another lady. I half expected some paunchy, bearded maintenance bloke in steel toe-cap boots to come and have a rummage beneath my towel.

“We’ll just get you to hop off,” said Gerry. “We’ll leave you in privacy, of course…”

And the two women disappeared, allowing me the small mercy of de-impaling myself with only my wife watching. I can’t decide who had the more disgusted look on their face – her, or me.

We retired to a small adjoining lounge to wait, while the two women re-emerged armed with a variety of adjustable spanners and wrenches.

“Do you need a hand there?” I offered.

“Well, yes, actually…”

And so it came to pass that I spent the better part of an hour on my back underneath the shit-sucking machine, attacking the underside with a pair of spanners.

Poor Roo ended up there too – just as the staff had given up, and were on the phone to Jim the repair man – the faulty nozzle gave, and came out of the machine. I screwed a new one into place, and hey, presto! Fixed.

I was rather proud of myself, in a smug, masculine kind of way.

Until the ladies reminded me that now I could get back onto the thing.

And they left me another lolly-stick of lube…

Thankfully, the rest of the procedure went as planned.

Apart from the bit where, just as I was thinking ‘Thank the Goddess, it’s nearly done-“ – they returned to demonstrate their gratitude for my patience and assistance – by giving me an extra-long session.

Oh MAN, was my colon cleansed by the time that was done!

And for those brave (but foolhardy) few who have ventured thus far throughout my narrative – as kind of a reward/punishment…

Well, you’ve got to be curious, right?

I know I was.

So here it is – the (carefully edited) footage.

Of me.

Having what little remains of my dignity well and truly stripped away.

So to speak.

Enjoy!

:0)

Yes folks, here it is – my first ever video blog! Please don’t judge it too harshly – I feel like a proper plonker as it is, just from talking to the camera. You know when I said I was crap at acting? Well, I wasn’t lying… I hate seeing myself on film. Partially because my nose is bigger than most peoples… um, noses… and… well, other things. But before I put you off with too much whining, go ahead – check it out!

Please do let me know what you thought of it in the comments!

All the best,

Tony

As some of you may know, a few weeks ago I did the unthinkable; I turned traitor. Yes, folks, I broke my solemn vow, taken at the end of 2009, to never again work for anyone else – and I got a real job.

Well, kind of.

In my defence I’d like to say that, firstly, I thought it was a voluntary position when I applied for it, and secondly – they’re paying me a shitload of cash for the privilege!

Now, you could be forgiven for wondering, just what it is that I do at this job.

As it happens, I’ve been wondering the same thing myself.

I’ve been working on the show for three weeks so far, and I still haven’t got a clue what I’m doing. But it does seem to involve a lot of rice.

Basically, I’ve been hired to be part of the art installation ‘Of All The People In All The World’, created by British theatre company Stan’s Café. Quite how I landed a job as an artist is a matter of debate. I’d just like to point out that at no point was I required to sleep with anyone. For any reason. Unfortunately.

So this is what happens: we use one grain of rice to represent one person (whether it be you, the Prime Minister, or Michael Jackson). Then we build up piles of rice to show off different numbers – the population of Australia, for example, is represented by a large mound containing twenty-two million grains of rice!

It’s very nearly as big as the pile representing all the registered gamers of World of Warcraft…

It’s this kind of juxtaposition of different statistics which makes the show what it is. Once you can see a hundred million of something in one place – and with a grain of rice in your hand as ‘you’ for comparison purposes – you can actually understand something about the scale of these numbers. Otherwise, I find any number containing a big string of zeroes to be a sort of abstract concept. I hear it, on the news for example: ten million people… blah blah blah… and I think to myself, “Wow, that sounds like a lot.” But without the ability to visualise it, a number that big doesn’t really have much meaning to me. Now, after not only seeing ten million grains of rice in one place, but actually counting the damn stuff out – I can fully appreciate how big these numbers are.

I can honestly say – they’re really, really big.

Maybe even bigger.

So, I pour rice. I started off by carrying and stacking sacks of it (which weighed 25kg each) – in assorted pyramid shapes to form the largest piles of the exhibition. It was bloody hard work, and I sweated so much I decided to wear underpants the following day. So it didn’t look quite so much like I’d pissed my pants, y’see.

Eight hundred and six million grains of rice.

And no, I didn’t count them one at a time…

I counted the bags though. 348 of the buggers! And one trip to the chiropractor, to get my spine to bend the right way again afterwards. It’s been through so much, it’s got more kinks than my Dad’s CD collection.

Anyway. With the stacking and the pouring mostly taken care of, my job has devolved to that of a sweeper. I constantly roam the piles, seeking out dust and dirt to remove (as no-one wants to get a face full of fluff when they crouch down to appreciate the number of people who had plastic surgery last year).

I hunt spiders; I talk to the public, explaining why they would benefit from spending half the day staring at huge piles of rice. I occasionally caution a bad-mannered child, or tackle a drunk who is convinced that underneath our rice is the only place he can hide from the government helicopters…

But most of all, I walk around and around the hall, approaching pile after glistening pile of rice – and sweeping away all the pubic hairs.

Pubic Hair On Rice: Not even popular in Asia…

Yes! Where the hell do they come from? Well, to be honest I’d rather not know. But someone is distributing them, fairly evenly, around the entire exhibition – day after day after day! They’re short, black and curly (the hairs, I mean) – and any more than that, I shall not say.

Other than to wonder – to marvel, really – at how this can possibly happen, in the middle of a wide-open public space, without anyone noticing.

But if you’re reading this, and it’s you that’s doing it – please, please bugger off! Or at least, go trim yourself in the privacy of your own home. And dispose of the evidence in a similar fashion.

Because I don’t care what anyone says – it’s just not art.

I also remove footprints from the otherwise pristine white paper on which the rice piles are placed. No-one ever walks on it while I’m looking, but every bugger in the place must be tap-dancing on the stuff as soon as my back is turned, given how many footprints I get rid of every day. For this task I use my trusty eraser – and I can honestly say I haven’t done so much rubbing out since I worked as an assassin for the British government.

What? No, I mean… um, let’s just forget I said that.

[PICTURE 'Tony-mid-assassination/uploads/facebook.jpg' HAS BEEN BLOCKED BY THE OFFICE OF THE DIRECTOR GENERAL]

We (by this I mean, my fellow pube-sweepers and I) get asked a variety of questions each day, but there are some that crop up fairly regularly. Like: “What do you do with the rice afterwards?”

The answer, of course, is that giant betentacled robots descend from the heavens and annihilate it with bolts of pure anti-rice from their navel-lasers. Oh, but we get to eat any bits that they miss.

We also get asked, “Has anyone ever taken a running jump into the rice?”

The answer, of course, is “No, of course no-ooOOOOOOOOO!”

*CRUNCH*

Because a four-year-old child had chosen that precise moment to do just that.

And so, out came the brushes.

Luckily enough he didn’t dive head-first – because, as I have a habit of pointing out to people considering it, rice is actually quite dense. Not to mention, most of the piles are cunningly constructed from those fully-packed 25kg sacks, with just enough loose rice drizzled over the top to maintain the illusion. So, diving into one of our piles is rather similar to diving into a large pile of bricks.

But no damage this time. Other than to the OAP population of Europe, which took a beating… I’ve never seen pensioners move so fast. The culprit survived with a vicious tongue-lashing from his mother. His friend, nearby, was distinctly unimpressed.

Working on the show has also given me chance to ponder many of the more sobering statistics we showcase. Like how each day, nearly twice as many people are born in the world as die in it – making it disturbingly obvious just where the our population is headed.

And then there’s the positives; like when weighing out 3,327 grams of rice to represent the planet’s 200,000-person population increase since yesterday (scary, eh?!) – I had a ‘YES!’ moment.

I opened a sack and tipped a load onto the scales – only to get it exactly right, to the grain! In one go!

I looked around in excitement for someone to share my triumph with – only to discover that no-one was watching.

And even if they had been, they still wouldn’t give a shit.

But it made me very happy nonetheless.

And on that note, I shall leave you with a couple more pictures of Megan Fox naked. No? Really? Sorry, my mistake. That’ll be more pictures of piles of rice then… you lucky, lucky people!

And please, use the comments box to exercise your very best rice-based puns, because I hear so few of them. Go on – I dare you!

:0)

Dunno if you can make this one out, but it’s a fascinating insight into the nature of religion in Australia. In that, the sixth largest religion (according to the Census) – is Jedi. Both Roo and I are in that pile…

Well, we’re all going to die tomorrow!

So in the spirit of ‘Must End At Midnight!’ -  I thought, I’d have a little sale to celebrate it.

(At this juncture I’d like to point out AGAIN, that the ancient Mayans never made any sort of doomsday prophecy about the end of their calendar. I’d say it only ends when it does because the guy doing the calculations got bored, or ran out of paper, or dropped dead in his Cornflakes. Or all three.)

Anyway, here in the western world, the most important thing to do when The End Is Nigh is, of course, to buy stuff. Shop ‘til you drop, people!

Y’see? Capitalism DOES work.

So, I’m having a ‘Whole-Planet-Is-Going-Out-Of-Business’ sale – by reducing the eBook of ‘That Bear Ate My Pants!’ to 99c/99p.

So if you know ANYONE who still hasn’t grabbed a copy – and I mean ANYONE! – now’s their chance! I probably won’t put it on sale again, because I’ve done it a few times already, it involves a boatload of hard work, and, well, we’ll all be dead anyway.

Rumour has it that Book Two is very nearly ready for mass consumption.* Don’t miss out – read Book One first, or you won’t have a bloody clue what’s going on when you get to the second one. Hell, I don’t, and I wrote the damn thing…

Here then, are the links to ‘That Bear Ate My Pants!’ on Amazon:

UK: ‘That Bear Ate My Pants!’ on Amazon.co.uk

US and Rest Of World: ‘That Bear Ate My Pants!’ on Amazon.com

And as always, reviews are VERY gratefully received! Even if you read the thing six months ago, and never quite got around to reviewing it – honestly, there’s no time like the present! Of course there isn’t. The world is going to end tomorrow.

Oh, deary me. Aren’t we going to look foolish when we wake up on December 22^nd? Particularly those of us who went to bed in a full radiation suit and night-vision goggles…

And no, that’s not me. What, you think I can afford night-vision goggles? I will, of course, be wearing my R2D2 onesie.

:0)

Sleep tight!

*Rumours that it is, in fact, already available, are almost entirely unfounded. So there’s absolutely no point in looking for it. At all.

Fear not, faithful readers! There IS news in here, but no flash – so, no animation that upsets your iPad, no strobing photography, and no pictures of my arse.

Okay, maybe one picture of my arse.

But the point is – I have NEWS!

This week I had an exciting delivery. Several actually, which is one of the benefits of buying all your own Christmas presents – no, don’t feel sad! Trust me – it’s better this way. I get exactly what I want, and friends are over-rated anyway, and… and… *sniff*

Um, where was I? Oh yes. A delivery.

I received the FIRST EVER PAPERBACK COPY of my book ‘That Bear Ate My Pants!’

Now, I was tempted to do a proof copy unboxing video, like the very awesome, uber-succesful indie author Hugh Howey does for his amazing ‘WOOL’ books.

(NB – if you haven’t bought the WOOL books already, you’re freakin’ crazy. Go get them ALL – right NOW. No! I meant after you finish reading my blog p… oh, what’s the point. You’ve gone already, haven’t you?)

Echo…?

ECHO…

But. No video. Because I’m too damn ugly. Plus I’ve spent the last week pulling 18 hour days trying to get my second book edited, so I’d look like hell even if I wasn’t damn ugly.

Instead, here is a pretty picture – of the book itself!

Oooh! See, I told you it was pretty!

Here’s a less-pretty picture of what happened to me last night during the editing process. I nipped to the toilet, and when I came back to my computer the ENTIRE FILE of Book 2 had been overwritten with bold asterisks?!?!

If I hadn’t just been to the loo, I’d have shit myself on the spot.

To cut a long story short, my trusty MacBook had spazzed out – probably because I haven’t turned him off in the last three months – and he was fine again after a reset. The document, however, was ruined, and I had to find my most recent back-up (from the night before) and re-do all that day’s edits.

So remember kids – ALWAYS back-up!

If I hadn’t, they’d be talking me down from the top of a tall building right now.

Anyway, before this gets too long, let me reiterate: ‘That Bear Ate My Pants!’ is now available in paperback! So for all those technophobes in your life, who refused to read it no matter how much you whined at them – now’s the chance! Get one for Christmas. If nothing else, the paperback version makes considerably better fuel for the fire than the electronic one…

Hm. I might start an ad campaign based on that. Buy my book – burn it – save a pensioner! (From the cold of course. I’m not suggesting you normally burn pensioners…)

Sorry! I’ve got lost again. Oh yeah. Buy my book! Because at long last, it’s a real book :0)

Amazon US: ‘That Bear Ate My Pants!’ Paperback

Amazon UK: ‘That Bear Ate My Pants!’ Paperback

And now that’s all done, I hate to leave a promise unfulfilled. So we might as well end on the bottom; literally, metaphorically, and in terms of tone. Not that it is particularly toned…

Oh, sorry! I meant to say: Look away now if you’ve got a weak stomach. Too late now, I guess…  :0)

Hi, everybody!

Now, you might have noticed that I haven’t written a blog for quite a while.

In fact, some people have even been complaining about my lack of posts.

To them, I must now offer a most heart-felt: “Screw you! What the hell am I, your bitch?”

In the nicest possible way, of course  :0)

Alas, t’is true though. I have been even slacker than my trousers, and those puppies’ll slide right off just by looking at them. Honestly. It happens all the time.

Most of my excuse is that I’ve had an extended sojourn, almost two months in England, saying good-bye to my Granddad; I’ll doubtless write about it at some point, but I’m not quite ready yet.

The rest of the excuse is that, for an incredibly lazy person, I’ve been surprisingly busy lately! I’d like to say I’ve achieved a lot, but that would be a lie.

Instead, it’s been a weird time.

It’s been a month of ‘almosts’.

As in, I almost wrote a blog post…!

I almost missed my flight back to Australia (whilst looking at an iPad).

And I almost bought an iPad (whilst almost missing my flight to Australia).

I almost bought an iPad again, when my poor Macbook unexpectedly almost needed $800 of repairs… twice!

Oh, and I almost bought a house.

Perhaps it’s truer to say, I flirted with the idea of buying a house – or more accurately, buying land, building a house – and then selling it on for a whopping great profit. The scheme was simple enough (because I thought of it, and I have a reputation for being a bit simple); there were some blocks of land on sale near us for just $70,000! (That’s about £45k for you pommies!).

This wouldn’t have excited me, were it not for companies like Aussie Living that advertise all the time over here – and guarantee to build a complete house – 4 bedroom, with home cinema, games room, bloody everything you could ever want – for $160k. Amazing. Unbelievable! And you can’t buy a house in our area for less than $350k. So…

It was so simple, I could even do the maths in my head:

$70,000 (land) + $160,000 (house) + $that contingency think they always go on about in Grand Designs = Bloody great big piles of loot for me!!

+

including:

=

What could possibly go wrong?

Well, I could end up deeply in debt, and homeless – but then I’ve been in debt and homeless for most of the last seven years, and I’ve managed to stay cheerful.

I called my parents to ask if I was completely insane. They agreed that I was, in fact, completely insane. Just as I’d thought! This plan was a goer.

But when I  checked with a local bank to see if I could get a three-hundred-grand mortgage, and mentioned that I was a writer, the response went something like this:

“Hahahahahahahahahahahahahaha! (Draws breath) Hahahahahahahaha! (Sobbing), “Ah, for a minute there I thought you said… said… writer! BWAAhh, ha ha hahahahaha…”

I thought about protesting, and pointing out that in addition to me having the earnings from the book, my wife is also a part-time cleaner… but I got the feeling this wouldn’t help very much.

So. That was the end of that.

Never mind, I told myself. A house wouldn’t really fit into my backpack anyway, and if I did want to pay a mortgage I might have to do something a bit more serious than write daft stories about my adventures. Like, you know, get a job!

Oh Em Gee! Shock! Horror!

Realizing what a close brush I’d had with the world of gainful employment scared me a little; I had to take the rest of the day off and start drinking wine straight away (instead of waiting ‘till after lunch).

The life of a writer is notoriously difficult, but it does allow me certain little luxuries; like the ability to do sod all and get hammered, when the occasion demands it. Or, you know, just whenever.

Just My Luck…

So, after almost getting a job – or almost starting looking for one, at any rate – I rounded out the month by almost winning the Lottery.

It was the second Lotto ticket I’ve ever bought. The last one was back in 2008, and I didn’t win then, either, which discouraged me a bit.

This time though, with the jackpot at seventy-million dollars, there was a kind of fevered atmosphere gripping the country. It’s like being in London for the Olympics: I couldn’t not take part.

(Please note: The London Olympic Commission has seen fit to ban me from attending for this reason.)

Roo (my wife) bought the ticket and we dreamt of all the stuff you can buy with seventy million bucks. Pretty much the same stuff you’d buy with one million really, there’d just be a lot more change.

As the numbers came out, we got the first one. And the second one. And the third. When the forth came out, and was on our ticket in line with the others, I shit the bed. Just a little.

And then it was all over; no more numbers, and we’d won some poxy amount which we couldn’t check because the Lotto website was utterly overwhelmed and crashed. Still, four numbers out of six. We’d come SO close…

But no banana.

So on the upside, I am still writing another book. Because although it won’t help me to get a mortgage, it will at least keep me from having to get a real job.

Like, say, being a part-time cleaner.

Life is SO hard these days, eh?

I promise to work a bit harder from now on. At least when it comes to blogging… And possibly drinking. I’ll experiment with that too.  :0)

Oh, and one other thing’s been keeping me busy: since the last time I posted a blog, I’ve almost sold 5,ooo books.

So life, whilst occasionally hard, is also quite good.

In preparation for conquering the world – at least as far as book sales go -  I’ve been reading a fantastic book by John Locke called ‘How I Sold A Million Ebooks’. In it he advises authors to get to know their audience, and to write what their audience wants to read. Good advice. So I started to think about that.

Who exactly are my readers?

Well, based on the feedback I’ve been getting they’re of all ages (eight to a hundred and eighty eight) and genders (male, female, other), from a wide variety of countries (even Ireland! Who knew?). But they all have this in common: they are intelligent, sophisticated, highly attractive people – who love to laugh at me making an idiot out of myself.

So with this in mind, I trawled my archives (What? I can’t have archives now?) and looked for examples of me doing stupid things. I found plenty.

The result is this: here for your enjoyment is a short piece I wrote for a competition which I didn’t win, probably because I wrote the piece after the deadline had already passed. I know, I know. Always read the small print! Or, you know, any of the print…

Anyway. This happened while I was in Australia for the first time. Enjoy!

Field Day

    “Tony, wake up! Gotta get ready for work!” My girlfriend Roo was prodding me insistently – with the butt-end of a torch. Outside of our tiny tent darkness reigned and the civilised world still slept; but we had a new job to go to, on a sandalwood plantation, and one thing all agricultural work had in common was an early start. Damn it.

In fairness, this was the height of the Australian summer and our camping ground was in the far north. Intellectually I knew that by 6am the inside of the tent would be like a blast furnace. But I still loathed and detested 5am.

    Dawn found us sitting in a rapidly disintegrating minibus, bouncing along a knackered dirt track towards the plantation. The vehicle was in roughly the same state of repair as the road; there were holes in the roof; there were holes in the floor. It needed to be push-started every time, and was stopped by ‘natural breaking’ – ie, coasting until it either ran out of speed, or hit something. Or both.

Eight other workers were crammed into the torn vinyl-covered seats alongside Roo and myself, and every one of us was braced in position with arms legs and in a few cases, heads pressed against what was left of the dented metal roof.

“She’ll be right!” The boss had said, in true Aussie fashion, when I’d commented to him that only the paint was holding his van together.

After which he’d introduced himself as ‘Johno’.

Johno loved to drive that wreck of a van. He loved to drive it at speed. He prided himself on knowing exactly how to coax what he wanted from the ancient engine. He deftly slotted it between openings in the fence and shot across makeshift bridges over a network of irrigation ditches. He was grinning at me in the rear-view mirror, as if to say ‘See?’

When suddenly the world turned upside down and the seat in front of me took a swipe at my ribs. I twisted as I fell, and ended up lying on my face across the mud-encrusted windows.

Roo was lying on top of me. And at least three people were lying on top of her. The van was on it’s side, nose down in a ditch, and I was slowly being suffocated. This must be what it’s like to play the Aussies at rugby, I thought.

“I can get out the window!” someone called from the front.

“Yeah, me too!”

And one by one we squeezed out of whatever opening presented itself. After all, there were plenty of them.

Johno stood on the bank, counting heads as we crawled up to him.

“Sorry lads!” he said cheerily, ignoring the presence of several women. “It gets a bit narrow there.”

Apparently this satisfied him that the situation was back under control. He pulled out his cell phone and took a deep breath before punching a number in.

“Hey there Big Man! Yeah, we’ve, um, had a bit of a crash…”

He held the phone away from his ear for a few seconds while the swearing on the other end subsided. His mood deteriorated as the noise continued.

“Yeah… that narrow part, by the ditch… yeah, in the ditch. Upside down.”

There was a final blast of abuse from the speaker.

“Yes,” he agreed glumly. “Again.”

The voice did not sound impressed.

Luckily for us, the crash-site wasn’t far from the job-site.

Johno, eager to get back in the good books, led us straight into the field and got us started. ‘Weeding’ would be an accurate description of the job that ensued. Not that I was sure exactly what we were weeding and why, but the contrast with our last job picking pumpkins was unbelievable. It was just so… easy! After two weeks of straining, back-breaking toil hefting gigantic pumpkins into the back of a tractor moving at jogging pace, this wasn’t even work at all.

I strolled over to Roo, who was busily pulling a small leafy plant from the soil.

“This is incredible,” I commented.

“I know! Shh!” She was obviously thinking the same thing – we had to keep this job at all costs.

Another lazy hour drifted by. I wandered up another furrow, pulling up whatever came closest to hand. There was a certain dark green, very persistent weed that seemed to be everywhere. “Check this out!” I dropped a handful of the plants in front of Roo. These things are in every row!”

“That’s because they’re the support plants,” she hissed. “Don’t pull them out. okay? We’ll get in trouble.”

“Oh, really? Shit. Sorry!”

She herself was leaving a trail of remarkably similar looking plants uprooted.

“What’s the difference?”

She sighed. She always had to help me with stuff like this. I was never a particularly observant person. “These are weeds.”

I took the proffered plant and studied it.

“This is the support tree.” The fingers of her free hand gently lifted the leaves atop the stalk nearest to her.

To me, they looked identical.

“See?”

“Of course,” I lied.

“Good.”

“And what about this one?” I held up another of my recent victims. “We pull these out too, right?”

“That’s the sandalwood tree!”

“Oh! Now I get it!”

In spite of herself, Roo was starting to giggle. “How many… how many of those have you… ripped up?”

“Um, well… all of them. I think.”

She burst out laughing, but caught herself – with effort – after one guffaw. “Shit!” she coughed out between suppressed giggles. “Don’t… pick… any more!”

It was all I could do not to crack up myself. We were halfway through the day and I must have divested about a quarter of the field of it’s primary raison d’etre.

About to commit another crime...

We picked on in silence for the next half-hour.

“Woah!  Careful there!” It was Johno, stomping up the furrow behind me. “Don’t be pulling that one out, mate!”

I froze mid-motion.

“That there’s a sandalwood – just looks a bit different ‘cause it ain’t grown as much,” he explained.

I released my grip on the immature specimen.

“Phew! Glad I stopped you there!” And he strode past me towards the next keen plucker.

I stopped for a few seconds and mopped sweat from my forehead with a bandanna. “So those ones too eh? This job is harder than I thought!”

As Johno drove us home I couldn’t resist asking; “Is this job real? There has to be a catch? Like, deep underground you’ve got some super-secret weapons lab, and we’re just here to make it look innocent on the satellite photos? And you pay us eighteen bucks an hour to pick weeds so no-one rocks the boat, right?”

“Not quite that exciting!” He replied. “See, these sandalwood trees will be producing oil in a couple of years and that oil is expensive stuff. Some trees will make loads, some not as much, but when they’re mature they’ll be worth between three and fifteen thousand dollars each.”

There was a stunned silence. I couldn’t have spoken even if I’d wanted to. My throat had suddenly gone dry.

“F-fifteen? Thousand?” I finally croaked.

“Jeez,” one of the other workers exclaimed, “that’s crazy man! What if someone steals one!”

“Security. Whole place is fenced all around. Got cctv cameras on the fence posts. And our own fire station on site, in case a bush fire gets too close! Yeah, this field is worth something like eighty-five million dollars. They go all out to protect these babies.”

I felt vaguely sick. Whilst at the same time I had the hideous feeling that deep inside me was welling up a great big belly laugh. I’d worked here for one day. By rough estimate I’d done at least a million dollars’ worth of damage…

Roo was nudging me with her foot. I glanced over at her. Her expression was unmistakable ‘Say Nothing!’ it read. I was inclined to agree.

That's one pricey plant!

Back at the camp site that evening we discussed our options. Well more accurately, Roo discussed them while I fell around the place laughing. “It’ll take them a long time to get it out of my salary!”

“Come on, seriously!” Roo chastised me. “What are we going to do?”

I took a few deep breaths to calm myself and sat on the scrubby grass next to her.

“If we don’t go back it’ll look really suspicious,” I pointed out. “On the other hand, if we do go back and they spot my little mistake, it’s quite possible they’ll drown us in a ditch.”

“Or they could just put us in a car with Johno driving…” Roo added.

“So what do you reckon? Shall we look for new jobs?”

With a theatrical sigh, Roo reached for our cell phone. “I put Johno’s number in here, I’ll send him a text.”

I watched over her shoulder as she typed.

‘From Tony and Roo. Thanks for an amazing experience.’

Which I thought was quite generous. She paused for a moment, then shrugged. “Not much else to say,” she said. And added ‘We Quit.’

Roo's Revenge!

So, did you enjoy that one? I hope so! Let me know what you think in the Comments. And if anyone wants to be told when my next blog post comes out, please feel free to stick your email address in the box on the sidebar. It only sends you an email when I publish a new blog post, and I don’t do that too often – I promise you won’t be deleting stacks of emails from me! I usually manage to post about once every ten days or so. And I try to keep it amusing! Well, thanks for reading! You can also find me on:

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/TonyJamesSlater

And Twitter: @TonyJamesSlater

For them that’s wondering (and have been hiding under a stone for the last week while I’ve been shouting it from the rooftops) – the free promotion of ‘That Bear Ate My Pants!’ was a huge success. Okay, that’s not big enough; it was a

HUGE

success!

In total, 22,701 people downloaded a copy of the book – that’s Twenty-two thousand, seven-hundred and one for those who prefer text to figures.

I rose as high as no.9 overall in the Amazon.com free charts, and held onto the coveted no.1 spot overall on Amazon.co.uk for most of the day!

I’m over the moon. Obviously! Which is why I’d decided to write this post, thanking everyone who helped me to spread the word, and helped made this day the incredible trip that it was.

Here’s a screenshot I’m particularly fond of:

'That Bear Ate My Pants!' at No.1 in humour!

I took dozens of them! But this one, showing me at the top of the ‘humor’ category in Amazon.com – the world’s biggest bookshop – just blew my mind.

So, without further ado, here is the Roll of Honour:

Twitter Followers:

A MASSIVE THANK-YOU to everyone who mentioned, re-tweeted and followed me over the two days. Messages were flying back and forth, so it didn’t occur to me ‘till after it was all over to do a search for ‘That Bear Ate My Pants’ – and there were hundreds of Tweets in that list, all from people who don’t even know me on Twitter!

So here is my list of Top Tweeters, by no means an exclusive list – just a few good souls who seemed to be working hard on my behalf  :0)

@JoeVampireBlog (Steven Luna)

@fuentes_kate1 (Kate Fuentes)

@KatherynLane (Katheryn Lane)

@mad_gods (Athanasios)

@vickiejohnstone (Vickie Johnstone)

@emeraldkell (Allison Bruning)

@stantondaniel (Daniel Stanton)

@DavidAntrobus (David Antrobus)

@jacquehopkins (Jacqueline R Walton)

@unknown_templar (John Paul Davis)

@GerberMgerber (M.H. Gerber)

@FreeBookSy

@KristineCayne (Kristine Cayne)

@rennabruce (Renna Bruce)

@judith_price (Judith Price)

@christinenolfi (Christine Nolfi)

@roberto_baggins (Rob Powell)

@DavinaPearson (Davina Pearson) – Nomad!

@sandranorval (Sandra Noval)

@Flickimp (Imran Siddiq) – Nomad!

Please share the love by following these awesome people!

I’d like to say a specific thank-you to ‘Joo’, a reviewer and active member of the UK Kindle Forums, for being a one-woman promo army!

http://www.kuforum.co.uk/kindleusersforum/

Facebook Groups:

(that didn’t kick up too much of a fuss when I posted my link on their Wall! – please note, if doing this yourself – I checked all their guidelines and/or websites first, where I could find ‘em)

http://www.facebook.com/iauthor?sk=wall

http://www.facebook.com/pages/UK-Kindle-Book-Lovers/175617412524192

http://www.facebook.com/pages/Top-Travel-Tips/188870634488744

http://www.facebook.com/readingkindle

http://www.facebook.com/pages/IndieKindle/106911752752245

http://www.facebook.com/weloveebooks

http://www.facebook.com/eReader1

http://www.facebook.com/pages/Kindle-Finds/217115528350246

http://www.facebook.com/freeebookdeal?sk=wall

http://www.facebook.com/pages/Authors-on-the-Cheap/202517513144047

http://www.facebook.com/pages/Kindle-Author/168316526565998

http://www.facebook.com/earthsbooknook

http://www.facebook.com/allthingskindle

http://www.facebook.com/IndieBookLounge

http://www.facebook.com/kindle

http://www.facebook.com/TheKindleObsessed

And finally, the Big Guns:

(When these people say they’ll tell everyone – they really tell EVERYONE!)

Melissa Foster of the World Literary Cafe

Steve WindTalker of Kindle Nation Daily

Anthony Wessel of Digital Book Today

Phil Torcivia of the Kindle Daily Deal

Elizabeth Trudgeon Brown of the Frugal E-Reader

Ricci of FreeBookSy

Holly Bourque of Bargain eBook Hunter

Jack and Shaina of IndieBooksList

Sharon Rosen of Pixel Of Ink

Greg of Ereader News Today

And the team at Kindle On The Cheap

If you’re about to do a free day and you need the world to know – THIS is who you’re gonna call!

Thanks for reading folks. I know this isn’t my usual style of blog post – no swearing for starters, AND no pictures of me naked – sorry ‘bout that. Business shall resume as normal from next week  :0)

I love you all!

Tony

I’d like to thank the Academy…

And my Mum.

(The rest of you can bugger off).

No! Wait! Just kidding. I’m practicing my speech for the next time I win an award. I wasn’t quite prepared this time y’see, as I had no idea anyone was actually reading my blog, much less considering giving me one. An award, I mean.

So! I am now the proud recipient of the ‘Versatile Blogger Award’!

I think I deserve it. My blog might be rubbish, but I am very versatile. Not only am I waterproof, you can even wear me inside out and I’m a totally different colour…

This is the first award of any kind I’ve won since my university classmates voted me ‘Person Most Likely To End Up In Prison For Public Nudity’. Oh, I came close to winning a prize for outstanding customer service whilst working in the ski fields in New Zealand, only to be pipped at the post by a monosyllabic moron who only knew three words that weren’t ‘fuck’.

According to the rules of the ‘Versatile Blogger Award’, I must first thank the person who gave me one. (Sorry, did I do that joke already? Ah well, Think of it as a double double-entendre.)

Lara Schiffbauer

Lara Schiffbauer, step forward and be recognized! Thank-you very much for noticing my blog, and for liking it, and for telling others about it. Gratitude is very important in my life – I am one of the luckiest beings on the planet and am a big believer in thanking everyone and everything for the roles they play in that. It’s too easy to take it all for granted, the friends, the family, the millionaire lifestyle I enjoy (okay, that last is a bit of a lie). I try not to. So thank-you.

Lara blogs about the trials and tribulations of becoming an author over at: Motivation For Creation

Next I must tell you all seven strange things about me… Hm. Not smiling so much now, are we? Well, even though you didn’t ask for it directly, here it comes:

Seven Things I Hate About Me:

1)   I can’t tell my left from my right. At all. I used to hold my hand up to make an ‘L’ shape, until I discovered that they both do this, depending on whether the palm or the back of the hand is facing forward. Bit of a bugger, I thought. Go on – try it! Confused? Why yes, yes I am.

SEE?!?!

2)   I can’t cook. At all. I can manage beans-on-toast for one, but if you request cheese on top – something is going to get burned. I can, however, swear like the best chefs in the business.

3)   I have no sense of balance. At all. I’m doing classes at the gym 5 or 6 days a week now and inevitably, in every class there comes the stand-on-one leg bit. Whether trying to kick, step or lift weights I always do the exact same impression of a loose windmill being demolished by a bulldozer.

4)   Cars scare the crap out of me! True story. Not the driving of them – though I only learned to do that for the first time, aged 33, in November last year (and I haven’t driven since). No, what scares me about cars is how fragile they are. We’re driving alone (okay, the missis is chauffeuring me) and I hear a squeak. “Oh crap!” I think. “Is that squeak getting louder? I think it is… Oh God. Is that a $100-to-repair squeak? Or a $1,000 squeak? And how will I know the difference if the mechanic tries to pull a fast one… and… oh, SHIT! That knocking sound wasn’t there before…” Yes, unusually for a bloke, I am a paranoid wreck around anything with an engine.

This was more of a BANG! - of the $150 variety.

5)   I’m a perfectionist – about everything. Unfortunately I am also crap at most things, which leads to a rather ridiculous situation where I do something quite badly, over and over again, desperate to improve it yet not actually getting any better. See my book by way of an example.

6)   I get obsessed with odd things. For example, I WILL turn a perfect back-flip if it’s the last thing I do. Ask anyone who’s seen me turn a back-flip, and you’ll get one of two opinions; ‘It’ll take him the rest of his life to figure it out anyway’, or ‘if he doesn’t stop trying soon it probably will be the last thing he does.’ My back just doesn’t bend that way it seems – but why the hell would I let that stop me ? :0)

Me pulling a... something. Whatever it was, I don't think it ended well.

7)   I like being naked. Just thought I’d put it out there, for any new readers that have yet to suffer through such an ordeal. I love the feel of being naked. I read in the nude. I’d cook in the nude, if I could cook. I am also impossible to embarrass and a self-confessed exhibitionist, which makes life difficult for everyone around me – especially when I try to convince them to get naked too. Personally I can’t see a downside – except the fairly high probability that I will end up in prison at some stage – and prison is not a great place for someone who likes to be naked…

8)   DO’H! There isn’t supposed to be an ‘8’. But then I wouldn’t have time to tell you all that I only wear children’s sunglasses…

You can't beat multi-coloured dinosaurs!

Unless it's with fruit!

Or possibly Flower Power.

Nah, just kidding - Spidey's the best!

So there we go! All done for now – and I would like to nominate the following AWESOME bloggers for this reward, though doubtless they all already have it because, well, they’re AWESOME!

Here we go:

David Gaughran – In the last six months his name has become synonymous with… ah hell, what’s the word for ‘knows absolutely everything about self-publishing-before-it-happens’? There isn’t one? Right, well I think I’ll call it a ‘Gaughran’. Trips off the tongue quite well, that. Anyway, READ HIM.

Dave and Deb of ThePlanetD – fantastic adventurers with great posts, and I’d love to hear 7 random things about them! I can already tell you one though – they’re going to ANTARTICA! The lucky buggers.

The Displaced Nation – because these guys (and gals) RULE! Still blogging every week day, they recently asked me for a post about healthy eating. BWAH HA HA HA HA HAAA!!!! Commissioning an essay on dietary goodness from a guy who lives entirely on junk food… If that’s not versatile I don’t know what is!

Trailing Trekker’s Travels – Kathy Schmidt works harder on her blog than almost anyone I know, pushing out post after post of fascinating adventures. I don’t have the energy to do half the crazy stuff she does, much less write about it. Go have a look now!

Dan’s Adventures – I’ve just started following what Dan is up to – check out his recent post to see that he’s hand one hell of a year! And, poor sod, he spent some of it in Wales… :0) More to come in 2012 apparently. Stay tuned!

So there we go. Fun and foolishness! Your homework is to tell me at least one strange thing about yourself in the comments section – no point me being the only one baring my soul now, is there?

Bring it on!

Love

Tony