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Follow the Author
Cheerio, and thanks for the apocalypse Kindle Edition
- ASIN : B07H2MRJX9
- Publication date : November 3, 2018
- Language : English
- File size : 1636 KB
- Text-to-Speech : Enabled
- Screen Reader : Supported
- Enhanced typesetting : Enabled
- X-Ray : Not Enabled
- Word Wise : Enabled
- Print length : 153 pages
- Lending : Enabled
- Best Sellers Rank: #3,912,752 in Kindle Store (See Top 100 in Kindle Store)
- Customer Reviews:
About the author
Top review from the United States
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The book is raw humor, purely British, and so full of political satire that by 4:00 this morning I was wishing I could have a pint with Mr. Hutson in an English pub. The book is the definition of delightful. I smirked. I nodded. I chuckled. I laughed aloud. I am thankful for the years I lived in England. It gave me an understanding of true British humor. Any American wanting to enjoy an afternoon or evening in an English pub should read this book first. It will turn you on to the wonderfully understated and often overstated humor of a warm and welcoming people.
Anyone with a sense of humor can enjoy Hutson's writings. Anyone who loves tasteful and not so tasteful sarcasm and occasional cynicism will fall in love with the author, just as I have. This book only reaffirmed everything I thought about Mr. Hutson from reading his narrowboat adventures told on his blog. He is a genius. Or, he is a madman. I am inclined to think he is a bit of both.
A most enjoyable read, filled with humor so well told that laughing aloud in a quiet room is okay, even if everyone turns to look. In fact, I rather think Mr. Hutson would enjoy that.
Top reviews from other countries
The end of civilisation, the nobility, and most of London at any rate, takes a direct hit from Europe’s nuclear temper and the 4 minute warning sees the dithery PM saved in the nick of time by the proximity of No 10’s very own nuclear bunker. Her only companions other than Boris Da Silva Spoone and Right Honourable Tony Lyrelyre-PantsonFyre (ex-Prime Minister) and a handful of other Honourables, is the common people serving her at the time, notably Bazza (of the Police Special Protection Unit), Gazza (a plumber), Shazza (the tea-lady), Tom (the Government Duty Nutritionists), Dick (an aide-de-camp) and Harry (the Prime Minister’s hairdresser). In this not too complimentary look at British Politics (or what’s left of it after a severely hissed off Europe lets rip) leaves the PM worrying about her majority in a post-Apocalyptic England; can she rebuild a stable government with a mismatched bunch of disparate people? With the door to No 10 still standing and the downstairs toilet intact, but still blocked, it looks promising at least; only time will tell as they set out into the radioactive wasteland of England as described excellently as usual with a lack of finesse and in a total irreverent fashion by the author. It’s not so much an adaptation of ‘Ten Little Indians’, as a medley of pork recipes for healthy eating – naughty but nice!
Buttercup Towers and The Pams of Peace
Post the human collapse of civilisation Clarence finds himself in Buttercup Towers a Sanatorium of the NHS ilk – Where once it had been for the insane it was now, post Apocalypse, a place of refuge for the sane, where they can be protected from the remains of civilisation’s fall out and here where Clarence nurses his over active brain. This is an irreverent look at health provision and by not introducing double beds, missed opportunities of laundry savings and budding romance attachments. Whilst Clarence battles with his over active brain, occasionally defending the sanctuary of Buttercup Towers from the masses trying to invade, the rest of the survivalists go about the same maddening manic existence proving that nothing changes after change changes everything. The author’s wit and observation is beyond funny.
A Better England
It’s election day and the day before Harold is due to retire from Dawlish-Dangerfield Dingbats Ltd, he and Marjorie do their duty at the polling station, after which whilst Harold slumbers, Marjorie knits and contemplates the future with her husband at home all day. Harold too has his doubts as he lies back and fakes sleeping. His long awaited Employer retirement presentation takes on a strange turn of events now he is considered to be a non-productive employee and they both discover that their future is about to take a turn for the worst.
This is a tongue in cheek look at retirement in an aging population, with its ritual send off after fifty odd years of dedicated and loyal service in making other people wealthy - a bit like shunting a steam train into a dead end buffer to be left to rot - whilst people carry on to make A Better England without you. It gives you the time to ask that lurking question: What the feck was that all about? Although an amusing tale it has creepy undertones of plausibility in a society where living longer is seen as a major world problem and ‘entitlement’ slips neatly off the corporate agenda! But even people can be recycled in the new world order!
Belphegor and the six-inch nail
Cryogenic Stasis isn’t what it used to be, or maybe never was; the discovery of a six inch nail through the brain of David 49 63 6b 65 requires a bit of urgent ingenuity and the borrowed brain of Margaret 54 68 61 74 63 68 65 72 and who would spot the difference?
To a defrosting David, with intermittent flashes of a mushroom cloud and no time to think about imminent death, he wakes to a feeling that he is not alone, that something else is inside of him. That part of David that he did recognise, the Englishman, was present by the need to whisper ‘sorry’ at every opportunity, and welcomed the hot sweet Typhoo tea and the ginger nut biscuit recognising his ability to dunk and time it to perfection, although the other ‘him’ in there somewhere recoiled in disgust.
Three cups and a packet of biscuits later he is sent for by God who isn’t in an awfully good mood since the extinction of the human species, but manages to offer more tea and biscuits and a celebratory birthday cake for the human species - 100,000 years old. David is invited by God to blow out all the candles, but only manages to catch himself alight in the process.
David is mortified, or would rather be, when Mr God informs him he needs him to help bring about another civilisation and one this time devoid of advice from experts because he is just an average human being. David decides to allow the other occupant of his brain, Margaret (after all she was once Prime Minister and married to Dennis) to influence Mr God’s new civilisation. Margaret applies herself to the task, as only she could in designing a civilisation where workers are exploited for the benefit of the elite (nothing new there then).
Margaret now commanding most of David’s head having rendered him ineffectual does what she always did best, shouted down her opposing speaker beating god into submission rendering God obsolete using rhetoric and philosophical debate as her weapons. This is a splendid story more horrific in its truthfulness, although not offering much hope for any future civilisation.
Elizabeth, Warrior Queen
Informer Benedict’s classes in the new order of things were largely based on finds dug up from the old order of things – inevitable one might say – but based on the maxim ‘A human society that fails to learn from its past is doomed to repeat its past, including all of the errors, terrors, nightmares and manifold collapses of former civilisations.’ He sees History as showing what we think happened leading up to The Great Atomic War For Peace and archaeology as the evidence to prove it, in order to prevent them from making the same mistakes again.
This is an in depth but amusing look at life we live today as seen through the eyes of future civilisation without the accepted transmitting of culture from generation to generation and a great deal of assumption has to be made to understand it. This is the author’s forte and the best satirical prose to be found anywhere.
And they think that I’m insane
Albert found God a bit demanding once again wanting his and the villagers undying love; he was feeling observed when all he wanted to do was sit and contemplate how wonderful English fruit and veg were. Visited by Lucifer stomping around with cloven hooves on his lawn and complaining about God was a distraction too far.
Things were going from bad to worse with God reigning down lightning on the Devil when the Archangel Gabriel appears to make matters worse forever making declarations about the rules and what is expected, which Albert finds a trifle annoying especially when none of them apply to him and when all that he really wants to do is fry his chips and egg and make his meal.
An hilarious view of Heaven and Hell that defies sensibility, it’s a bit like retirement, you don’t know what you’re going to get until you get there although it would appear that God and Satan perpetually vie for souls in the recruitment process; nothing is fair and anything goes it would seem!
Space, Time, and Pipsqueak
The “Patent Pipsqueak-Survival Device” invented after its namesake Pipsqueak was the forerunner of the expandable lead for dogs; a necessity given the unfortunate dog poop that lead future archaeologists to spend most of their lives trying to interpret the barren areas where Pipsqueak had been before. Interpretation of their pattern and deposit much the same as those of crop circles, just someone’s interpretation. Pipsqueak’s owner Professor Redbrick taken short in the wildness of the moor, takes a leak in much the same way, battling and buffeting against the wind, learning the truth of ‘pissing in the wind’ whilst Professor Oxbridge dances around peering at an unfolded map flapping in the gale looking for the shelter of a cave or outcrop.
It is Professor Oxbridge who literally falls through the undergrowth and finds the cave they were looking for but not expecting it to be the home of an imprisoned Genie capable of granting all three of them wishes.
This is a delightful story, extremely amusing and carries a moral element: be careful of what you wish for, for surely it will come true. We can’t always tell especially where grand civilisation gestures occur, that everyone will view it the same way.
Ian Hutson writes with an excellence that I find breath-taking, his knowledge alone of British society, politics, history, human relations, Royalty and theological teachings is exceptional and only surpassed by the humour and wit they come wrapped in. At times I do wonder when his descriptive prose peaks (like in the last of these short stories) whether there is a serious storyteller imprisoned, like his genie, condemned by a curse and wanting to be freed. For my first, second and third wish I request it be set free – ‘let it be so!’ Pat McDonald British Crime Author.