by Mike Steeden blog
‘An Unusual Take on Life and Social History from the 1950’s Onward‘
In a perfect world I’d have been rich and famous thus deemed worthy of penning the story of my own life. In reality I am a content ‘nowhere man’ with a vast chronicle of all things bonkers to pass on to anyone who cares to take the risk and read this factual tale I’ve pieced together.
I wrote this ‘new’ book nearly a decade ago yet did Sweet Fanny Adams with it. My line of thought was logical for two debatable reasons. Firstly, I’d heard tell that for one’s first stab it was best to write about something one knew inside out, in other words ‘me’…besides I knew little of just about anything else, save perhaps thinking obtusely throughout my waking hours, and playing the game of love as it remains the only sport I’ve ever been passionately interested in. Secondly a contradiction, namely that why on earth would an inconsequential idiot pen a book about self? It felt rather pompous in hindsight. Surely, in the global plan of things, I was, am and always will be, about as important as, put coarsely, a one legged man in an arse kicking contest. Regardless, I had presumed the remnants of that first book were lost to the ether. Then came the day when the wonderful Kim from Druid Land who had, all those years gone by, read much of this tome’s original A4 manuscript. She asked me what, if anything, I’d done with the book, adding, “I was very taken with it.”
I explained that it, most probably, no longer existed. Even so, unknown to her, Kim had got me curious. Good fortune smiled, when I came across an old external hard drive and bingo, for within its stored away multiplicity of pure drivel I stumbled upon this conceivable treatise, ‘An Only Child & His Mum’s Amazing Germ Phobia’…all 170,000 words of it!
Of course, all this time tucked away, I just had to pore over its long forgotten content. What I was to discover was the autobiography of sorts, of a self-deprecating, gentle nutter delivering his personal, almost accidental take on the social history of the period of time he had lived in. Moreover, adding a little spice, my dear deceased mother’s all-consuming germ phobia was at the very root of my farcical mediocrity in life. In general terms, the times I refer to in this book began in the 1950’s yet essentially relate to the late 1960’s into the 1970’s, then some.
Whatever, a proper book it now is featuring my bizarre tale of the memories of a confused child, growing into an equally confused adult, along with the ‘ins and outs’ of love, hate and all things in-between, all the way down to life styles, drink and drugs, flower power, love, dementia, death, opinions, the evils of racism and sexism, and…naturally…a pinch of sex, and much more to boot!
Should any of you fancy an audacious mix of lunacy and history then either the book in print or as Kindle is available via the link to Amazon that lurks below.