Quote: Ben @ August 12 2010, 4:02 PM BSTNo advice sadly, James. I know very little about writing novels, so I may well be wrong about the overuse. I just get the impression that it comes across a bit thesaurusy at times.
I actually agree with you. I don't have a clue what any of the words mean.
The third chapter of my audiobook adaption of my thirty minute monologue A Matter of Principle is now online.
Below you will find the link to watch the video as well as the script.
A Matter of Principle - Chapter Three
CHAPTER THREE
Clive, wearing a plain black jacket and his usual well-worn lapis lazuli gloves, is sitting on a tree stump in a partially forested clearing. An icy frost is underfoot and cold needles are in the air biting the skin, keeping the body aware of it's surroundings. He's clearly been sat there for a while as his body seems almost adjusted to the milieu. The early morning is usually Clive's favourite time of the day as he has plenty of time to think about his life. This morning, though, thoughts about yesterdays events intrude and the expression on his face is every bit as frosty as the weather. He looks around him and tries to conjure up happier memories.
"I remember coming through here as a boy. Holding me mam's hand." He said aloud, the memory animating, a wistful smile transforming his face. "Used to love the park. The greenery, the open air, the space. Quiet as well. I suppose looking back on it I was quite an..." Clive struggles to find the right word but eventually plucks one out from obscurity "Isolated child. Me mam looked after me well enough, you know. Me dad..." Again he seemed to search for the words "brought enough money in, you know. I was happy enough but I was always at, at me happiest when I were at the park. Even then I thought wouldn't it be great just to spend all your time here. With the animals. They consider them vermin some people. You know, the pigeons and the squirrels. But I don't see them like that. That's the problem nowadays. If it doesn't fit in with their plans, they're just got rid of." He said bitterly, not really thinking about the squirrels "Well, I like the old ways. It's quiet enough here. It's... nice. That's it. Nice." He said letting the surroundings calm him once more. "They're not vermin anyway. It's nice to see, you know a bird tweeting away and a squirrel foraging. I remember I used to play just over there." He points to a sparse bit of undergrowth "there's a little pond in behind, you can't really see it from here but... It was a sort of hide-away. I used to go down there, not many people knew where it was. All the other kids were in the playground. Well, concrete slabs, swings? No thank you! I'd rather go on the green. What's the point of coming to a park if you're not going to go on the greenery? I was over there the other day. Had a little sit down, you know. A little think, it's nice to do that every now and again." he said wistfully preoccupied as he pondered into the middle distance aware of his own mortality and his insistence to live his life in a manner of his own choosing. "Looking through the paper, seeing about this credit crunch that's come in. They're saying they might need to make cut backs in certain areas. They're saying about local employees, council and the like. Some of them might not be needed. Aye! What a load of rubbish. I've lived through worse. Depressions come and go like Prime Ministers. It won't mean our area of course." Said Clive sounding more confident than his troubled expression would suggest. "It will be those secretaries or people in suits will that will the be first to go. They'll be fools to cut back down here. People like coming through this park. Saw a kiddie the other day. Come though with his mam. Looked happy as Larry. It still brings a smile to people's faces. If it doesn't... what is it they say ... If it ain't broke don't fix it. That's it. That's my motto. Well, things are changing now." Clive suddenly sits up, straightens himself out and bellows in Churchillian manner. "Not here though, not in this park. We shall never surrender." And at that moment the orangey glow of the sun, sailing clear of the cold white clouds overhead bathed the clearing, dappling the rimed ground with flecks of golden light as it filtered through the branches of the surrounding trees. Clive smiled and took it as a sign from above. "See that? That nice!" he said. "The suns coming though the trees there. You couldn't pay for that view. Beautiful!" He takes another look and begins to squint as he see's the sun gleaming through the autumn leaves, glimmering as it goes across the stagnated pond. Clive smiles gleefully but a slight crack appears in that once happy smile like an emperor looking out on his empire on the eve of battle knowing full well the outcome. Clive's voice cracks slightly when he utters his last goodbye to his safe haven that will now be open for all to plunder and pillage his hard work and dedication lost under a mire of sickly greed and pestilence "absolutely beautiful."
Hi James,
I'm no expert but the punctuation and grammer don't look right to me, I am ofthen wrong though.
Some things that struck me as I read:
Clive, wearing a plain black jacket and his usual well-worn lapis lazuli gloves(do we need to know his type of gloves? really?), is sitting on a tree stump in a partially forested clearing (can you have a partially forested clearing? Surely its either forested or clear?). An icy frost(What other kind of frost is there?) is underfoot(where else?) and cold needles(cold needles of what?) are in the air(how? why?) biting(Needles can't bite, they puncture) the skin, keeping the body aware(the skin senses, the mind is aware) of it's surroundings. He's clearly been sat there for a while as his body seems almost adjusted(can you be almost adjusted? surely you are or you're not? Unless you are in the state of adjusting) to the milieu.
Sorry for being such a dick, it is just what came in to my mind as I read.
Good luck with it. 
Quote: jacparov @ October 24 2010, 11:38 PM GMTSome things that struck me as I read:
Clive, wearing a plain black jacket and his usual well-worn lapis lazuli gloves(do we need to know his type of gloves? really?), is sitting on a tree stump in a partially forested clearing (can you have a partially forested clearing? Surely its either forested or clear?). An icy frost(What other kind of frost is there?) is underfoot(where else?) and cold needles(cold needles of what?) are in the air(how? why?) biting(Needles can't bite, they puncture) the skin, keeping the body aware(the skin senses, the mind is aware) of it's surroundings. He's clearly been sat there for a while as his body seems almost adjusted(can you be almost adjusted? surely you are or you're not? Unless you are in the state of adjusting) to the milieu.
Sorry for being such a dick, it is just what came in to my mind as I read.
Good luck with it.
I've only just spotted your comment so sorry for my tardiness.
The type of gloves is an added detail which could perhaps be removed.
Yes you can have a partially forested clearing. I've seen many. Some of the trees are cut down with just there stumps remaining and some have not yet been cut down as it is with any job involving work men.
An icy frost is said just to give the added impact of how cold it is.
When I say needles I won't take that literally.
Well exactly he is in a state of adjusting.
Thank you for you detailed feedback.
Quote: jacparov @ October 24 2010, 11:38 PM GMTI'm no expert but the punctuation and grammer don't look right to me, I am ofthen wrong though.
Exactly 
Quote: James Cotter @ November 13 2010, 5:07 PM GMTYes you can have a partially forested clearing. I've seen many. Some of the trees are cut down with just there stumps remaining and some have not yet been cut down as it is with any job involving work men.
James you really need to take these points on board, you can not have a partially forested clearing - think about it, what is a forest what is a clearing? - You can have a forest with clearings within it but not the other way around.
Edited.....
CHAPTER ONE
In an almost perfect park, silence filled the late, afternoon air and as the sun set in the distance, it cast an orange glow upon the worn out frame of Clive Dundhill a man in his early fifties. Wearing a pair of spectacles, a blue, bobbled, woolly hat and a well worn, dark, blue cardigan, a beard that was tinged with the occasional speckle of grey; he strolled painstakingly towards a park bench and sat down.
He began to survey the park which was in pristine condition and boasted an assortment of flowers which took pride of place behind the rickety, park bench that he now occupied.
Fatigued from his days work, he caught his breath and uttered to himself, "It's a relief to sit down really, I've just finished the lawn; that shouldn't need doing for another week or two. I'll properly head off in a minute. Done all I can this week."
A self-satisfied grin appeared across his face.
"The place is looking champion though. Done myself proud as always." He proclaimed to himself as he gazed upon the greenery of the park.
"It's weird to think I've been here ten years. I wonder if they'll put on any sort of 'do' for me?"
Clive began to enjoy the idea for a split second before reacting in mock annoyance.
"Oh! I can't be doing with all that. Surprise party. No thank you."
The very idea seemed to sit well with him, even though he would never admit to it.
"I wonder if they will though?" Mused Clive as he contemplated to himself; then incensed by the blatant disregard for his work.
"Argh! No. There's a kid over there, he's left his litter on the lawn. I'll pick that up before I go." His thoughts were more in frustration than anything else.
"Can't they see there are bins? They're not just there to look at you know?"
He paused and shook his head.
"They need to be taught. There are people employed to go around picking this stuff up, we've got better things to do with our time. I've got to attend to the lawns, water the plants..."
He tailed off and sighed then continued his attack on today's society.
"No respect nowadays. Back in my day, there was. It's the parents you see. Too lazy. They all go back to work as soon as the kids are born; parents, you know? They used to call them yuppies. Don't know what they call them now."
He stared into the distance, and contemplated on the down fall of British manners and respectability.
"Wonder what I'll have tonight? Might do that steak and kidney. I like that, steak and kidney. You can rely on it."
A smile sweetened his sour disposition and all seemed to be right with the world once again.
Edited..........
CHAPTER TWO
Several weeks had passed since the relative calm of the late Summer evenings. And though there had been a nip in the air back then, it could not be compared to the start of what would turn out to be a frosty Autumn. Frosty indeed in more ways than one, for Clive Dundhill.
Inside a small, wooden summer hut which had a roof but only just; Clive took respite from the chilly weather. It was enough to keep the rain out at least and the biting wind. It was like an old cricket pavilion only smaller and when mid-afternoon arrived, it only meant one thing to Clive; lunch time.The hut was a perfect spot for a good sit down and a bite to eat. Unfortunately for Clive, Autumn had arrived with a vengeance. A flurry of leaves danced in the air, constantly, circling the pavilion whilst the feeling of the damp and cold prevailed.
Clive lent up against the small, wooden frame of the pavilion, with his rake beside him, he watched with an air of gloom, the dancing leaves. The start of Autumn always meant more work for him.
"Winter's always difficult in my line." He proclaimed despondently as he unwrapped his cheese and pickle sandwich.
"A never ending pile of leaves to shovel up. Mess. Mess. Mess." He scowled and took a bite of his sarnie.
"Don't get me wrong - Mother Nature may have many suitors but I am not one of them. I love nature and I love Autumn but what I don't like are leaves blocking up drains!" He gestured with his half eaten sandwich as if to emphasise his point.
"It's the busiest season for me as it is."
He took another bite, chewing over the cheese as he chewed over his thoughts. "The park looks quite sparse at the moment with the lack of foliage. Lack of it on the trees at least. Take that one over there now," he gestured proudly to a bare tree in the distance. He pictured it when it had been in blossom, and this filled his mind with a joyous, gleaming pride, about the years of care and consideration he had given to the tree.
"That one, when it's in full bloom in the summer, Aye! It's champion. But where are the leaves now? I'll tell you where they are, cluttering up the park and blocking up the drains."
Clive chomped on his sandwich and poured himself a cup of tea from his trusty, old vacuum flask. He took a sip and his frown deepened; he put the cup down and agitated by his thoughts. "This new boss, Mr. Wexford he's called," he thought dismissively.
"Don't know his first name, he doesn't like to get personal," he says.
"Fine!" He said, spitting out the word, his expression indicating that it was in fact anything but.
Clive Dundhill prided himself on being a good judge of character and made up his mind about a person almost instantly, sometimes before that person even so much as uttered a single word. Though Clive had kept his true feelings relativity hidden, he didn't like to judge anyone too harshly, even if that person was the type of pen pushing, official Clive had always tried his level best to avoid. His frown deepened further as he cast his mind back to the first fateful meeting, when Mr Wexford demonstrated how apt he was in the skill of talking down to someone without any one else in the room noticing, apparently. A skill Clive would have almost admired if it wasn't being practiced on him. "He gave a team talk the other day," he said waving the remains of his sandwich in the air.
"I thought, hello, we're not at the football. I don't know who he thinks he is but..." Clive trailed off chuckling to himself like he'd got one over on the man already.
"Said to me that he wanted to discuss team morale if you please!" He snorted at the idea of it.
"Well, it's never been a problem before, no-one's ever brought it up before. That's half the trouble I think. People are not aware of team morale and all this stuff. It's only when it's brought up and scrutinized. Then you start realizing. Then the problems start to occur, people get singled out..." Clive took a moment to compose himself.
"We had to play a team building game if you can believe it."
I said to him, I said. 'I've got the leaves to do out there'. I said 'there's half a dozen drains blocked up." I said 'they won't do themselves you know'.
He said 'Clive' and I thought 'who's getting personal now. It's Mr. Dundhill to you'.
He said 'Clive, you've got to learn to co-operate within a team'.
I said... 'no I don't!'
I said, 'I know Caroline and I know Steve and George over there. I get along but in my area ... there's no call for it.'
I said. 'I don't need to co-operate, I'm friendly..."
He said then remembers being interrupted.
"well... That's exactly your problem, you think you're friendly, you're not'.
I said. 'I am. How do you know, you've only just got here'. And what does he say to me? "
He said 'I can tell by your aura'."
I said 'what aura's this? Aura in-bloody-deed!'"
Clive chuckled at the memory of it.
"Well, he was like mystic bloody Meg over there." I thought, 'aura. I'm a bloody gardener!'
I don't need to know what my aura is. 'He's sticking his aura in and that's what I think of it all."
Clive sat and waited, not a word was uttered, a sense of real exasperation filled the air, like the fumes of bonfire wafting over to a once clean and sterile area, once occupied only by the pure blue skies and fresh and unpolluted air. Then like a phoenix from the flames, Clive once more came to life.
He said 'Clive, would you help the team build a little raft out of foam building blocks?'
I asked 'what's the point!'
He replied, 'it's all team building. See how you work together. I'll be watching'.
So, I went over, you know? I picked up the odd bit of this foam rubbish.
"Well I don't know where he gets his ideas from..."
Clive took another sip of his tea.
"He's properly one of those. On the old Duke of Edinburgh, you know? It's all scouts. And he thinks he can bring it in here." Clive slammed his tin cup back on the floor of the pavilion porch again.
"Well we're not kiddies for God's sake. And after a while he said 'lets have a look at what you have done'."
Clive pursed his lips and uttered disappointingly, "ooh! He weren't happy. I said what's wrong with it? It's built isn't it?"
He said 'yes but that's not the point'.
I said 'why did you set it then? Why ask us to build the blasted thing and then say that's not the point?'
He said it was all about the way you communicate.
Clive scowled again as if the word left a nasty taste in his mouth.
I said, 'the way we commune.. If we build it, we build it, we don't need to communicate.'
I continued, 'there's civil words between us and there's no nastiness here'. And he said 'well there isn't Clive, because you're raising your voice'.
I said 'I am not raising my voice!'"
He said 'Clive can you please calm down, take a seat'.
I gazed at him, 'you don't need to tell me to take a seat. It's you who's setting me off'.
'Well that's all communication and your getting it wrong Clive. No one else is arguing'. He replied.
And I said, 'that's because you're not talking to anyone else, you're not picking on anyone else apart from me'.
And he said 'I'm not picking on anyone Clive. You can't go around accusing people'.
That's rich seeing as it was him that was picking fights with me. So I stayed out of it. I sat there, watching him talk. He looked at me from time to time especially when he was talking about people not being part of a team. He saying about going down the pub one day. I said 'when?'
He said 'in the evening'.
I said 'I don't work then so I won't be coming in'."
Clive chuckled remembering his small victory.
"It will be bonding." He says.
I said 'how's that going to help me? How's that gonna help me mow a lawn?'
So he says, 'what about lunchtime then?'
So I got me sarnies out. I thought, 'I'm having lunch now before he takes that away from me."
He pulled his second sandwich from his Tupperware box as if to illustrate the point. He didn't like it but you know... He can lump it!
"Bonding." Clive said again reliving the memory. "How's that going to help me mow a lawn?'
He didn't have an answer to that, did he? No.
He said 'Well, we'll have to have words about this in the next review of you'. 'I don't need a review, I am not a play'.
He didn't have anything to say to that either. I walked out. Lunchtime. 'I know my rights!'
And with that Clive set about exercising his rights, finishing his sandwich, his cup of tea and casting a critical eye over the swirling leaves that continued to rustle and dance around his pavilion.
Edited.....
[P.S. what is lapi lazuli? I thought it was jewellery]
CHAPTER THREE
Clive, sat on a tree stump in a forest clearing. He wore a plain black jacket and his usual well-worn, Lapis Lazuli-blue gloves. An icy frost was underfoot and cold needles in the air bit the skin, keeping the body aware of it's surroundings. The early morning was Clive's favourite time of day, when he had plenty of time to think about his life. This morning, though, yesterday's events penetrated his thoughts and caused an expression on his face that, was every bit as frosty as the weather. He looked around him and tried to conjure up happier memories.
"I remember coming through here as a boy. Holding me mam's hand." He said aloud, the memory animating, a wistful smile transforming his face.
"Used to love the park. The greenery, the open air, the space. Quiet as well. I suppose looking back on it I was quite an..." Clive struggled to find the right word but eventually plucked one out from obscurity
"Isolated child. Me mam looked after me well enough, you know. Me dad..." Again he seemed to search for the words.
"Brought enough money in, you know. I was happy enough but I was always at, at me happiest when I were at the park. Even then I thought, wouldn't it be great just to spend all your time here? With the animals. They consider them vermin some people. You know? The pigeons and the squirrels? But I don't see them like that. That's the problem nowadays. If it doesn't fit in with their plans, they're just got rid of." He thought bitterly, not really thinking about the squirrels.
"Well, I like the old ways. It's quiet enough here. It's... nice. That's it. Nice." He said letting the surroundings calm him once more.
"They're not vermin anyway. It's nice to see, you know, a bird tweeting away and a squirrel foraging. I remember I used to play just over there."
He pointed to a sparse bit of undergrowth.
"There's a little pond in behind, you can't really see it from here but... It was a sort of hide-away. I used to go down there, not many people knew where it was. All the other kids were in the playground. Well, concrete slabs, swings? No thank you! I'd rather go on the green. What's the point of coming to a park if you're not going to go on the greenery? I was over there the other day. Had a little sit down, you know? A little think, it's nice to do that every now and again." He pondered and stared into the middle distance aware of his own mortality and his insistence to live his life in a manner of his own choosing.
"Looking through the paper, seeing about this credit crunch that's come in. They're saying they might need to make cut backs in certain areas. They're saying about local employees, council and the like. Some of them might not be needed. Aye! What a load of rubbish. I've lived through worse. Depressions come and go like Prime Ministers. It won't mean our area of course." Said Clive to himself, sounding more confident than his troubled expression would suggest.
"It will be those secretaries or people in suits will that will the be first to go. They'll be fools to cut back down here. People like coming through this park. Saw a kiddie the other day. Come though with his mam. Looked happy as Larry. It still brings a smile to people's faces. If it doesn't... what is it they say ... If it ain't broke don't fix it. That's it. That's my motto. Well, things are changing now." Clive suddenly sat up, straightened himself out and bellowed in a Churchillian manner.
"Not here though, not in this park. We shall never surrender!"
At that moment the orange glow of the sun, sailing clear of the cold white clouds overhead, bathed the clearing, dappling the rimed ground with flecks of golden light as it filtered through the branches of the surrounding trees. Clive smiled and took it as a sign from above.
"See that? That's nice!" he said.
"The sun's coming through the trees there. You couldn't pay for that view. Beautiful!"
He took another look and began to squint as he saw the sun gleaming through the autumn leaves, glimmering as it shone across the stagnated pond. Clive smiled gleefully but a slight crack appeared in his once happy smile, like an emperor looking out on his empire on the eve of battle; knowing full well the outcome. Clive's voice cracked slightly when he uttered his last goodbye to his safe haven that, would now be open for all to plunder and pillage; his hard work and dedication lost within a mire of sickly greed and pestilence.
"Absolutely beautiful."
Its a crystal BB, I think James means the colour of them which is blue I believe.
Yes.
Oh, ok
No problem James, and you're welcome on the feedback.
I disagree with some of your arguments but its your work and the style is up to you. To me its like saying something like:
'the partially sighted blind man sat in the frozen freezer, which was really cold.'
RE: The gloves, I had presumed that was the make of them, some modern Italian brand that I'd never heard of no doubt. I and I doubt many people would know they are blue rocks.
I refer you to my signature 
Quote: bushbaby @ November 13 2010, 11:03 PM GMTAnd though there had been a nip in the air back then, it could not be compared to the start of what would turn out to be a frosty Autumn.
Reminded me of the great Goon Show exchange:
Moriarty: At last we've found a chink in his armour,
Bloodnok: These Chinese get everywhere!
Sootyj edit hope its useful!
Quote: James Cotter @ April 16 2010, 6:31 PM GMTCHAPTER ONE
Silence fills the late afternoon air as the sun sets in the distance in an almost picture perfect park, casting an orangey glow upon the weary worn out frame of Clive Dundhill a man in his early fifties wearing a pair of spectacles, a blue bobbled woolly hat and a well worn dark blue cardigan as he painstakingly strolls towards a park bench and sits himself gently down. Clive has a beard tinged with the occasion speckle of grey and is wearing a pair of holey gloves that are well past their prime much like the occupant of the gloves. Clive begins to survey the park which is in pristine condition with an assortment of flowers taking pride of place behind the rickety park bench that Clive now occupies. "It's a relief to sit down really" says Clive who is clearly fatigued from his days work. Clive then catches his breath and utters "I've just finished the lawn. That shouldn't need doing for another week or two. I'll properly head off in a minute. Done all I can this week." A self-satisfied grin appears across his face. "The place is looking champion though. Done myself proud as always."
The click of a safety catch being released startled Clive.
Sanchez, Esteban and Carlos the Wanker surrounded him. The barrels of their .45s glinted like train tunnels for the express death train, first stop hell."You, how did you find me?"
"It was easy signor Clive, or should I say Dirk Fist."
Oozed Carlos the Wanker.
"Si you always announce your intentions. You always say "It's a relief to sit down." followed by "Clive who is fatigued by his days work."
Tittered Carlos.
"You see your internal dialogue is more of a descriptive monologue muchachos. It doesn't reflect a narrative only a narration of events it....ouch!"
Carlos's face exploded in pain. Clive swung the petrol strimmer like a broadsword of good dialogue.
"Ow you batty man your plastic leaf cutting threads have cut my eyebrows."
Howled the international terrorist and drug dealer.
"Run he's mental."
Shrieked Esteban like the big girl he was.
And they fled like the cowardly foreigns that they were.
Clive returned to his beloved bit of park.
Clive proclaims as he gazes upon the greenery of the park and then begins to speak once more "It's weird to think I've been here ten years. I wonder if they'll put on any sort of 'do' for me?" Clive begins to enjoy the idea for a split second before reacting in mock annoyance "Oh! I can't be doing with all that. Surprise party. No thank you." The very idea seems to sit well with Clive even though he would never admit to it. "I wonder if they will though?" says Clive as he contemplates to himself then is incensed by the blatant disregard for his work. "Argh! No. There's a kid over there, he's left his litter on the lawn. I'll pick that up before I go." Clive exclaims more in frustration then anything. "Can't they see there're bins? They're not just there to look at you know." Clive pauses and wistfully shakes his head. "They need to be taught. There's people employed to go around picking this stuff up, we've got better things to do with our time. I've got to attend to the lawns, water the plants..." He seems to tail of and sighs then continues his attack on society today. "No respect nowadays. Back in my day, there were. It's the parents you see. Too lazy. All these go back to work as soon as they're born parents, you know. They used to call them yuppies. Don't know what they call them now." Clive stares into the middle distance seemingly thoughtfully contemplating the down fall of British manners and respectability then he mummers "Wonder what I'll have tonight? Might do that steak and kidney. I like that steak and kidney. You can rely on it."
But not as much as the bullets from a 3006. 30 of which Clive was inserting into the curved magazine of his Bren. The Bren which had seen off General Gaultieri, his 40 ninjas and the Belgrano.
When a badger gets Tuberculosis you don't wait for it to go after your cows.
You send a Jack Russell Terrier down it's set to blow that mother away.Clive formerly Dirk Fist formerly Lola Pineapples the highest paid lap dancer in Belize.
Clive was that terrier a Jack take no shit Terrier. And those mother f**king Badgers better be ready.
A smile warms up his usual sour disposition and all seems to be right with the world once again.
The forth chapter of my audiobook adaption of my thirty minute monologue A Matter of Principle is now online.
Below you will find the link to watch the video as well as the script.
A Matter of Principle - Chapter Four
CHAPTER FOUR
Another working day comes to end for Clive Dundhill who has been under the ever watchful eye of Mr. Wexford for almost a week now. Clive stands looking critically at a small, badly painted shed which has been clearly layered with a thick, mahogany brown coat of paint several times over the last few months. He lifts the old cast iron latch and enters. It is full to the brim with garden implements, a hoard of rusted treasure that should have been discard long ago but Clive could never bring himself to do it. He puts away a pair of large worn gardening gloves in a box filled with generations of its predecessors. As he does so he feels the familiar back twinge that accompanies his end of day clear away as much as it does his early morning start. He takes a moment or two to catch his breath and let the pain subside.
"You soldier on don't you?" He said with a small gasp. "A bad back's part and parcel of the job. When they took me on the old gaffer said to me, I want you to put your back into it lad, this jobs not for the faint hearted. And he were right I been putting my back into it man and boy for four decades." He rubbed his calloused hand on the small of his back and scowled."Soldier on, that's my motto. Specially with Mr. Wexford. He's got a sharp eye to go with his sharp tongue you ask me. And it's me he keeps that beady eye fixed on."
Clive could feel the venom almost bubbling up in him as he thought of the man. It was never in his nature to be spiteful but when it came to dealing with Mr. Wexford it was better to fight fire with fire. Clive straightened himself up again and he pondered on the source of his irritation. "He's never put his back into in a days work in his life I shouldn't wonder." he opined. "A suit wearer!" He spat the words out almost as though they were an insult.
"And he only seems to only have one at that. A horrible blue pinstripe number. Same socks, same shoes every day. It's a wonder if he ever takes it off. I told him before it's not appropriate for the park but he won't listen. He's keeping his distance sitting over by my pavilion, I can't even have my lunch in peace anymore without feeling his beady eyes fixed on me. Sitting there with his little clipboard. What's he go to be taking noted about that's what I want to know. This started a couple of weeks back, him keeping an eye. And I don't like it." Clive rubs his back again as if even the memory of the man with his clipboard inflamed his aching muscles every bit as much as they inflamed his anger. He continues to wearily stare at his usual cubby-hole while continuing to lament about Mr. Wexford but it seems like he himself is keeping a eye on any passers-by just in case they're in league with him. "Clive Dundhill gets on with his work, you know! So I don't pay any attention to him and his clipboard. But there's something rather odd about someone watching you from a distance. Like a hawk. No doubt he'll be there again tomorrow with that suit? Well let him. Like I say. Clive Dundhill gets the job done. He puts his back into it alright!"
He bent over to pick up a pair of shears and groaned out loud again as proof that he did indeed.
OK 'ere goes
'Seriocomic' usually implies there will be some humour along the way....monologues tell a story....but still (after four chapters) this thing has not moved an inch or made me smile once. And in all this time (and effort) I have gained no empathy for miserable Clive and his endless moaning.
The writing is heavily weighted down with descriptors - I get the feeling there is a thesaurus close at hand: things like 'lapis lazuli' (which you pronounce 'lapris loo' in the reading) do not add to the story, but detract. What exactly does 'rake proudly prompt' mean??
My mind wanders and stumbles over this, it's really an uncomfortable read. And -sorry to say- boring as hell to listen to.
the mispronunciations are the only comic relief I'm afraid - when you read 'ca-loosed' for 'calloused' it was hilarious yet endearing.
Eight more chapters? If the last four are any indication of the rest, I hope Clive gets strangled by a garden hose soon.
my suggestion: more research, major rewrite and edit edit edit