Whether it’s fucking bugs, hatching them or eating them, it seems quite clear that arachnids and insects alike deserve to be recognised within the playlist. For this I suggest Mean Red Spider by Muddy Waters. It’s a fantastic Jazz tune, where the soulful voice draws you into the visceral romance between the narrators and their insect paramours. It’s also part of Muddy Water’s album Blues Essentials found on Spotify. For all readers, Sixties Jazz cannot fail to envelope you in the clearly dated settings.

For Spider Fuck, the mind-numbing brilliance of Willie Smith the Jazz player is referenced a couple of times and his tune Sophisticated Lady fits the playlist better than the narrator into his Diana. The shocking story pulls you in like a storm, throws you around and spits you back out; so with the help of these songs, they slow your reading down to the beat and throw you into the scene – whether you’d like to be or not – as you imagine the Jazz fan mounting his Diana. Finish this story with Little Queen of Spades by Robert Johnson, as a means of cooling off before the next mind melting story.
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Fear not if Jazz is not your cup of tea. For the more sinister stories, I recommend the album In a Time Lapse by Ludovico Einaudi. The classical intensity matches that of the language, helping you find a rhythm in Willie Smith’s stream of consciousness. If you find it easier to read without lyrical confusion, I can also recommend Michael Nyman and Philip Glass; their similar modern classical style, with piano leading you through this linguistic onslaught of Willie Smith’s short stories could make all the difference to setting the mood. But with the literary genius that is Willie Smith, I doubt whatever music you put on will distract from the short stories in Nothing Doing.

And if the music has whet your appetite for something with a hell of a kick, quench your thirst with a glass of absinthe whilst you satiate your literary needs with Nothing Doing.

Hannah O’Donnell

Cookies are used to feed the fairies that float around the internet carrying pixels, so that it works. If you don’t want cookies on your website, you must starve the fairies. When fairies stave their symptoms include pains in the fairy stomach, severe and painful fairy constipation, followed by uncontrollable fairy diarrhea, fairy faintness, fairy weakness, and fairy dizziness. The little fairies slowly become emaciated and drawn, although their little fairy feet and hands may swell with retained water.

As a rule, the cookies that feed the fairies help to increase your browsing experience, as each fairy feeding on a cookie will be able to remember what websites you’ve been on. However, if you’re scared, you can disable the cookies in your browser so that they starve to DEATH.

To disable your cookies, please consult your browser’s Help guide, or contact Honest Publishing Technical Support Team who will be happy to pass on their technical expertise:

fairy.constipation@honestpublishing.com

06:44 Wake up. Groan. Press snooze. Fall asleep again.

06:58 Wake up. Groan. Press snooze. Fall asleep again.

07:12 Wake up. Turn off alarm. Fall asleep again.

09:53 Wake up. Panic. Throw self from bed.

10:00 Make coffee. Become a little excited about what the day holds.

10:07 Switch on laptop. Switch on television. Stare at laptop for twenty-three minutes.

10:30 Note that Homes Under the Hammer is on. Watch Homes Under the Hammer.

11:30 Note that laptop has gone into hibernation mode. Press buttons and frantically rub mouse pad.

11:31 Realise that laptop is now turned off. Swear. Switch laptop back on. Check emails on smartphone.

11:34 Delete thirty-three emails from Groupon and online pharmaceutical companies.

11:35 Stare at laptop. Recall that secondary email account is linked to a freelance job site. Try to log into secondary email account. Realise have forgotten password.

11:36 Stare at laptop. Check Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest, Google+, LinkedIn, Tumblr, Pornhub, MySpace and Bebo.

13:14 Check freelance writers’ jobs boards. Apply for blogging job.

13:38 Post something funny on Facebook.

13:39 Lol

13:48 Make coffee. Smoke seven cigarettes.

14:00 Make lunch. Eat lunch. Smoke rest of cigarettes. Think.

14.59 Check emails on phone. Cry.

15:07 Hear phone ring. Dive off sofa onto phone. Wrestle with phone. Answer phone. Note that it is mother and not a potential customer. Feel disappointed and bad about self.

15:15 Give self a talking to. Offer writing services to fifteen people on Gumtree. Apply for job as a train driver.

15:34 Start writing a novel.

15:35 Imagine self receiving Orange Prize for Fiction.

15:38 Imagine self spending rest of life with Robert Downey Jr.

17:01 Start writing a short story.

17:02 Start writing an article.

17:03 Start writing a poem.

17:04 Start a character table and timeline for novel.

17:05 Research magazines that buy short stories. Focus particularly on required word count.

17:06 Do word count on own short story.

17:07 Start inventing new board game.

17:08 Have a bath.

17:45 Set alarm. Have a nap.

18:45 Press snooze. Fall asleep again.

18:52 Press snooze. Fall asleep again.

18:59 Press snooze. Fall asleep again.

19:06 Wake up. Dismiss alarm. Make coffee.

19:13 Check time three times. Check to see if sun is over yard arm. Pour large glass of wine.

19:20 Check emails. Note email from print company offering discounted business cards.

19:21 Design business cards.

19:56 Order business cards, flyers, pens, keyrings, baseball caps and notebooks.

20.02 Pour large glass of wine.

20:07 Check writers’ jobs boards again.

20:12 Apply for three blogging jobs.

20:23 Pour a vodka. Drink vodka.

20:32 Frown at empty cigarette packet.

20:33 Consider going out to buy more cigarettes.

20:35 Search in all drawers for emergency cigarettes.

20:56 Find discarded electronic cigarette.

20:57 Clamp electronic cigarette between lips. Inhale. Sit down and stare at laptop.

21:04 Exhale. Cough. Flick through the electronic TV planner.

21:09 Turn off TV. Stare at laptop. Inhale.

21:10 Exhale. Cough. Pour a vodka.

21:15 Note that head is nicely fuzzy. Go outside to look at night sky. Feel creative. Consider insignificance of mankind in relation to universe.

21:19 Go inside. Pick up fountain pen.

21:20 Scribble three pages of illiterate prose. Feel smug.

21:29 Start building a website.

23:45 Decide to finish website-building tomorrow. Look at online preview of business cards.

00:00 Note typo on business cards. Order more, plus car sticker, appointment cards, chocolate bar wrappers and canvas bags.

00:06 Check online bank account.

00:15 Find old books. List them on eBay.

00:34 Open a new Word document.

00:35 Tap fountain pen on teeth.

00:37 Clean ink off teeth.

00:39 Open documents of all other work completed during the day.

00:42 Read then delete documents of all other work completed during the day.

00:45 Empty recycle bin to ensure documents will never be found.

00:47 Attempt to read illiterate mankind/universe prose in notebook.

00:56 Rip pages from notebook. Burn them.

01:04 Suddenly recall password for secondary email account. Log in.

01:05 Begin to scan through five hundred and forty-one emails in case one contains a job offer.

01:10 Fall asleep.

01:29 Wake with a start, due to email notification.

01:30 Check email. Delete email from Groupon.

01:31 Think of great things to do in the morning. Set alarm for 06:30

Karina Evans

Sometimes I just stare at my inbox waiting for an email to arrive. I don’t know why; even if it does it will probably be a company-contacting-me-occasionally-to-keep-me-up-to-date-with-their-latest-offers-that-I-can-unsubscribe-to-at-any-time. I will probably click on it too, have a little browse of the latest organic spray tan deals.

I should probably do some work now. But first let’s just have a quick check on Facebook to make sure I haven’t missed anything incredibly important relating to my friends’ boozed-up weekends or their latest children/pets. Just a little insipid relief before we get on with the important task of earning a crust.

But before I do I should click on that article someone’s shared about cats shaved like lions – that will pick me right up. But now I’m here, there’s loads of other articles about other important stuff, and some of them have thumbnails of semi-naked women – I had better click on those, see what’s afoot. Yeah, just as I thought, it’s some kind of article about something, but it definitely has a picture of a semi-naked woman – that’s for certain.  And it’s not quite porn so I can just about get away with it in the office.

There are more articles too, and they’re really similar to the one I’ve just clicked on, like someone knows exactly who and what they are dealing with; which dish to serve up next. I should try and cap myself at only 20 new clicks, as I have work to do. Kelly Brooke in her bikini on the beach; Kelly Clarkson in her bikini on the beach; Kelly Rowland…who the fuck are these people. Just 5 more to get through.

As soon as I’m done with these I will move straight on with what I need to do: click on that gambling advert offering me above average odds for the weekend’s football – that’s a bit of excitement. I seemed to have clicked on their social media buttons; now I’m back on Facebook. I Liked them. Might as well go back to the News Feed, see what’s afoot. There’s only been 2 updates since I lasted visited: one’s from a mate of mine in Thailand who I don’t really know, and the other’s from this damn gambling site offering me better odds than I just got. Only 2 updates in the last 5 minutes, lazy bastards my ‘friends’.

There is however a post from someone I knew at secondary school that looked pretty boring before, but has now taken on a whole new semi-shine. I should check that out before getting on with a few things. No, I can’t remember this person. But I certainly hope I’ve become more successful than them. Best check my profile, see how I’m looking – yeah hair looks good, could do with a change of shirt, music preference and location. I’ll do that sometime, not now though. I’ve got stuff to do. Go on then, just one more…

‘click’

Daniel Marsh

Image from Buzzfeed.com

COMING OCTOBER 2013 – PRE-ORDER NOW

Take that whiskey bottle off the floor and stub out that cigarette on your arm. One Last Cigarette, Dockery’s second collection, is a bruising encounter with husbands, lovers and family, bodies and permanence. This is poetry with an edge; tender, harsh and bone-crafted words sifted through and pumped out of a nicotine heart, addict words, bleeding.

Bibliography

One Last Cigarette (2013)

‘I am currently out of the office. I am in Santorini. It will be very hot and very beautiful where I am going. When I return from holiday I might respond to your pleading request/s. It’s highly unlikely, though.’

I love a holiday, don’t you? Apart from the travelling, which is rubbish. But I adore the aimless walking around, the beer drinking, the sleeping, the visiting museums and pretending to read the plaques, all that. The beer drinking. The unique holiday moments when, after a few drinks, you come to the earth-shattering realisation of what you want to do in life. You want to be a Dolphin Trainer! Or an Ice-Cream Seller (in the park only, sunshine a must). Oh yes. Everything is beautiful on holiday. Even the rude, filthy locals who gaze upon your pale, sad features and spit. Holidays, what I would do for a holiday…

I get through work by thinking about my next holiday. Or the weekend. Is it a bank holiday yet? I constantly talk about holidays, compare holiday ideas with people who are equally holiday-minded. We talk dates, itineraries. It’s extremely fulfilling. What’s the weather like in Barcelona right now, eh? Should I go to Morocco or Cyprus or should I splash the cash on India? There’s nothing like a good holiday chat at lunchtimes to patch up awkward gaps in conversation. At home, the wife and I spend our evenings surfing the web for holidays. It’s all about the offer. The deal. The saving. Christ, it’s all about bloody Tripadvisor. Eventually, after several months of arguments, we decide. And we can go to work with a smile on our face and fill out the holiday request forms.

The problem is holidays last a week, or two, or whatever you can get the boss to agree to. Sometimes the boss is kind enough to grant an employee a month or more, if it’s that special trip of a lifetime. Whenever he makes crucial decisions, the boss wears that kind boss face, that understanding boss face. To give or not to give?

The trick, friends, is to link holidays. Public holidays, like Easter, or Christmas or whatever, are great. Free time = great. But they’re even better if you can get a week off either side so that a few days becomes a week and a half, or a week becomes three. Once you have it figured out, you have to get through the pre-holiday nightmare, when the whole world dumps their to dos on you. Everything, of course, needs to be completed before you go on holiday. Which means nothing will. Think of it that way, nothing will get done because you’re going on holiday. They’re monstrous morons if they expect otherwise.

After the holiday, you have the post-holiday catching up to do, days in which you can’t work because you’re catching up on stuff that others have not done. Remember this: it’s not your fault. It’s the other workers’ fault for not working hard enough while you were on holiday. If you do it right, if you’re smooth, you can make a one week holiday last three weeks. Twenty-five days a year, shove it up your…

Work. Boring. Boring. Boring.

No one expects you to work in-between your post-holiday and your next pre-holiday. It’s stupid for them to have these evil feelings. After all, they’re also thinking about their next holiday. They, like you, know that the time between holidays is like a void, a black hole of resentment. Perfect for the internet. Or for planning your next holiday. Don’t worry about your job responsibilities. You’re an adult now, going by the numbers. You know better than that.

Bogdan Tiganov

My love of book cover design has led me to pick up Penguin by Design: A Cover Story 1935 – 2005, an illustrated guide to the history of Penguin book covers, as found on a trendy coffee table near you.

I won’t bore you further, as I suspect most of you know the broad outline of the Penguin story, but here, very self-indulgently, are ten of my favourite covers featured in the title. (There are more than 500 in the full book, which I’d strongly recommend.)

N.B: The years I include indicate the date of the cover, not the date of publication.

1. The Train Was on Time (1979), Heinrich Böll (cover by Candy Amsden)
This is one of only two titles I’ve actually read in this list. It is a great book. I picked this copy up for £1 while sifting through one of Twickenham’s endless charity shops with Bogdan. I love the colours, the perspective, that invasive umlaut.

2. Tiger! Tiger! (1967), Alfred Bester (cover by Tony Godwin)

3. Island (1966), Aldous Huxley (cover by Ross Cramer)

4. A Plague of Demons (1967), Keith Laumer (cover by Alan Aldridge)
Just one of many Aldridge Penguin covers I greatly admire. I’m not a science fiction reader, but I’d collect these freak show marvels. I read that Penguin boss Allen Lane was no fan of Aldridge, deeming his work “undignified” and “titillating.”

5. Ways of Seeing (1972)
Penguin by Design doesn’t say who did this (the image is The Key of Dreams by René Magritte), but I love the idea of a book’s text starting on the cover (though this cover is a trick. It’s not the actual text; the unnamed maker simply wanted the reader to believe it was). When the final proof of this was placed on the desk of Penguin’s Art Director at the time, Hans Schmoller, he apparently “hurled it down the corridor out of disgust.”

6. The Great Escape (1957), Paul Bricknell (cover by Abram Games)

7. Rabbit, Run (1964), John Updike (cover by Milton Glaser)

8. Tibetan Marches (1957), André Migot (cover by Stanley Godsell)

9. Switch Bitch (1982) Roald Dahl (cover by David Pelham)

10. Apeman, Spaceman (1972), Leon E. Stover (ed.) and Harry Harrison (ed.) (cover by David Pelham)

By Chris Greenhough

Hagi arrives in ’85

Away from the brutality of school, Hagi was the one reason I watched Romanian football. Sure, there were others, like Popescu, Lacatus, Dumitrescu, Raducioiu, Petrescu – those guys were all part of the Romanian Golden Generation. But there was only one Gheorghe Hagi. All English pundits feared and admired his talent. You never knew what he would do, an incredible pass, a trademark free kick, a bullish attack. But it was more than that. It was his presence.

Good effort for Real Madrid

Towards the end of his career, Hagi could be seen literally walking through games. It’s not that he was disinterested. He was storing up. Weighing up. Waiting. You could feel the expectations. He was a leader through his enthusiasm and drive and vision, was seen waving his players forwards, talking to them, putting his arm round them.

The maestro destroys Colombia in ’94

At Euro 2000, Romania had to beat England in order for Hagi to get one more game in the tournament. That was enough for the rest of the lads to push on for a victory – they wanted to give their idol one more game in the spotlight. There was such love and admiration for Hagi, that even at thirty-five or thirty-six years of age people still wanted to see him play one more match, score one more goal or produce just one more bit of magic.

Hagi bullies England in ’98

Romania, as a footballing nation, has not recovered since Hagi’s retirement. It’s almost impossible to find another Hagi, especially when the Romanian football academies have all but disappeared, but they’ve struggled to fill the void, to discover a suitable leader, someone with as much skill, talent, desire. Mutu has been about as good as it’s got for Romanian football in the last decade, with Chivu a close second. But, let’s face it, Mutu is not good enough to lace Hagi’s shoes. There is no point in waiting for another Hagi – there will simply never be another Maradona of the Carpathians. We all have our moments. We all have our heroes. And Hagi’s one of mine.

The Galatasaray legend

Bogdan Tiganov

It’s difficult. All the guidelines. Indent. Don’t indent. Double space. Leave some room. No attachments. Big attachments. Headers, footers, page numbers. Don’t let this put you off. Be positive. Perhaps you could follow my submission tips. Perhaps you could follow them to the letter. Perhaps.

1. Publishers, they like blood. Shows commitment, see. Cut off your fingers and post them with the submission. Undertake a recreational visit to the office first, check your fingers will fit through the letterbox. No emails please. They won’t believe a JPEG showing dismemberment. Cynics.

2. Promise the world. Promise champagne on yachts. Champagne from the actual Champagne region. Success, pet tigers, literary acclaim. Ingots of gold, medals, prizes, themed rides in theme parks, tiaras. Don’t go overboard.

3. Why are YOU the best person to write the book? It’s not good enough that you wrote it, that it is there; so brilliant; so now; so black and white. Justify your existence. Why were you born? What is the point of you? Promise more stuff from Point Two.

4. Marketing. You love it. Yes? You love it. You will infiltrate parties. Parties which are attended by people with a lot of clout. You know people, or at least you could get to know them. People asked you to write this book, remember? Or at least, they would have asked you. If they knew you. The Pope would have asked you, actors would have asked you, pop stars would have asked you. Of course, they will speak of your book to their fans. When you find these people. Then their fans will buy your book. Promise a few more things from Point Two.

5. Demonstrate that your interest in the publishing house is not due to sticking a pin in the Writers’ and Artists’ Yearbook 2010. Know everything about them. Names, addresses, spouses, children. Hostage-taking. Perhaps. Promise stuff from Point Two again.

6. Demonstrate correct usage of apostrophe. You are clever.

7. Genre. Similarities. Your book is similar to a book which is a bestseller. Pick a bestseller. Write a book which is similar. Everyone wins.

You may thank me later.

Karina Evans