New house, new woodpile

Ah, autumn - time of mist, last fruit-stealing opportunities, precious moments of sitting in the sun, investigation of jumper drawer - on the whole depressing - leading to small flurry of buying replacement jumpers from Vinted; hot water bottles, and wood collecting/sawing/sorting. 

                                                The autumnal Loire from our road

The first thing we did on moving to the new house was install a wood burner - not a pellet stove; hunting down preformed pellets in the wilderness when society is sliding downhill . . . not great. I know I overreact; one cannot when one spends a lot of time describing the lives of characters at the end of this century. Also, when the seller of said stove came to fit it the fact that he said, you've made the right decision! I sell both types of stove but I wouldn't touch the pellet variety - a future too unknown.

There's just something very reassuring and incredibly pleasurable about sitting in front of a real fire, knowing you have collected the wood to ignite it, and not gone in the car to get a sack of perfectly measured mini-sticks from the nearest DIY shop.

Our old and massive garden was a wood collecting nerd's paradise, containing as it did about twenty ancient ash trees, fruit trees, birch, oak, etc. Collecting wood was a mere pace from the front door. Here, I'm exploring. There are a few failing trees in our small back garden which we will cut back and harvest the wood, but that's a limited supply. A few weeks back I noticed a large sweet chestnut behind the wall of the nearest vineyard yesterday of whose outer limbs had been suffering the heat/dryness of this summer and clocked it as a potential source. This morning I investigated and was rewarded with a large bag of super dry wood, and some surprisingly fat chestnuts. The other thing about autumn - nuts. This area is great for walnuts and chestnuts. 

A recipe we invented yesterday - roasted (or boiled) and peeled sweet chestnuts, mushrooms, onions, garlic, all sautéed with a tad of white wine, and served with a morsel of organic steak ( excellent bio producer in the market) and potato slices garnished with butter, cut up carrot tops/celery leaves.

 

Two more pen and ink glimpses into 2073

 Lady Thames, and Hoxton riding into Hackrovia on Kafka. Londonia, 2073.

Londonia revisited - in 2073

Having managed to grab a few days away from the routine at home - rampaging garden, B and B etc, I finally got down to doing some of my own work. Writing has been scarce recently but my objective was to start a series of pen and ink artworks to use for the Londonia crowd funding project.

Inspired by rivers, old boathouses, the sea and my quiet lodgings at a delightful 50s house in Quimper I faced the blank page, defeated the urge to watch re-runs of Masterchef and came up with several sketches to start off the series. 

Two sketches by Jarvis (a main character in the book and recorder of Londonia 2073 life via pen and paper - no cameras, iPhones, etc...)

my temporary art studio

Paperback writer

I am one!

Londonia has been made into a paperback following its earlier appearance as a hardback.

When I started writing the book about seven years ago, my invented London's dystopian future seemed a long way away; something dark, a climatically and societally complex time.

These last few years have clearly shown that our taken-for-granted human-made political, monetary and life support structures exist on a knife edge; that the planet and its climate can no longer take the constant battering we have been giving it for decades, and that we have to figure out, and very rapidly, new systems, and accept that never-ending growth is not the future, rather, a humble acceptation of de-growth while there is still time...

Oof... Anyway, Londonia is certainly not all dark, a genre I would term Dyst-hopeia, dystopia with warmth heart, humour and hope. 

The new paperback is available on Amazon, Blackwells or from Tartarus Press directly, as is the hardback and ebook format.

The follow-up book is at completion point and I am seeking new representation to carry forward the Londonia series.

“British author Hardy debuts with a dystopian yet enchanting novel set in the early 2070s…Hardy’s almost hopeful view of the world’s inevitably chaotic future lifts this entertaining and well-told tale.” Publishers Weekly

Londonia's book jacket intro:

Londonia, that’s where we are. A sprawl of a place surrounding The Cincture - all of it once London town. 

Some persons say we’re in the year 2073, others cycle 60 . . . who gives a creepin’ beetle where we are in the history of man. Fukked it up good and proper didn’t we – they, humankind generally. 

All I know is I got my shed, my friends and a little bit of an angle on stuff – visions, see inside persons, y’know. 

Anyway, ain’t about me so much this book, more about Hoxton and her life. 

Within half a clockface I knew she was different . . . not so many damefolk would take over a church after waking on a bench with not so much as a gnat’s knowledge of what happened in their life before that moment. Got it sorted she has: a finder’s life for her – whatever you want: coffee, a shootstick, fresh meat, Zeitporn, snash, gnole . . . her ‘an Jarvis, they’ll find it – for a goodly trade, of course.

All sorted until a jaunt into The Cincture caused her to learn something that opened up a chink into the past; something that started the ultimate finding mission. 

Anylane, I’m getting ahead of meself here. Pull up that armchair to the fire, turn this over and start reading. I’ll put the kettle on if the watermec’s been. Jake’s the name – Jake the prophet.

 

 

Dyst-hopeia

My genre of writing: dystopian but with hope and humour. 

Highly visual portrayals of imagined futures, often set in London, towards the end of this century.

Elements of Atwood, Dickens, Kim Stanley Robinson, Douglas Adams, Emily St. John Mandel. 

Londonia the first book in the Londonia series was published by Tartarus Press in 2020 just before lockdown - timely for its genre . . .

Smithi, the follow up novel is completed, other companion works finished to good edit standard.

“British author Hardy debuts with a dystopian yet enchanting novel set in the early 2070s…Hardy’s almost hopeful view of the world’s inevitably chaotic future lifts this entertaining and well-told tale.” Publishers Weekly

Londonia's book jacket intro:

Londonia, that’s where we are. A sprawl of a place surrounding The Cincture - all of it once London town. 

Some persons say we’re in the year 2073, others cycle 60 . . . who gives a creepin’ beetle where we are in the history of man. Fukked it up good and proper didn’t we – they, humankind generally. 

All I know is I got my shed, my friends and a little bit of an angle on stuff – visions, see inside persons, y’know. 

Anyway, ain’t about me so much this book, more about Hoxton and her life. 

Within half a clockface I knew she was different . . . not so many damefolk would take over a church after waking on a bench with not so much as a gnat’s knowledge of what happened in their life before that moment. Got it sorted she has: a finder’s life for her – whatever you want: coffee, a shootstick, fresh meat, Zeitporn, snash, gnole . . . her ‘an Jarvis, they’ll find it – for a goodly trade, of course.

All sorted until a jaunt into The Cincture caused her to learn something that opened up a chink into the past; something that started the ultimate finding mission. 

Anylane, I’m getting ahead of meself here. Pull up that armchair to the fire, turn this over and start reading. I’ll put the kettle on if the watermec’s been. Jake’s the name – Jake the prophet.

 

 

                                                                                     

 

This blog

I've been writing it since 2009 - a lot of posts, a lot of life passed by.
Most of my current writing (novel) is set in post-apocalyptic 2073, and one of the reasons for the world's - or rather its human societies'- imaginary cataclysm is the internet's demise.
In my tale, this particular event occurs in 2038, mainly due to someone attempting to upload a half-hour film of their cat trying to open the fridge - the final straw, in effect.
I suspect that the denouement will be somewhat closer in time - not that I'm a pessimist, I think that nearly everyone must secretly harbour this thought . . .
Anyway, as an old git, and real paper/card/ink/leather, book enthusiast, I'd like to preserve my body of  blog-work into a graspable thing with pages. Not particularly to sell - from my tentative peeks so far, nine years worth of blog to paper is yeekly expensive - more as just a record of our lives in this place called the Hot-house; all the small, mostly unremarkable happenings - dogs and other pets homed, musical/art/writing triumphs and failures/ boy's progression through the various stages of school/art college; jam made, celebrations held/ sadnesses acknowledged and got over, love and laughter treasured, plants planted and passing seasons enjoyed.
So, big correction progress underway - I think my grammar has certainly improved over time . . . should have done! Photos re-jigged, a few posts discarded and forward to the grand loading-up onto Blog-U-Like or whatever site looks easy to use - before the cat and fridge episode is upon us.

                                 

Possibly my favourite photo of this year so far - direct line to God in a Toulouse church.