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To begin at the beginning:
on 12 September 2009
It is autumn, bookless night in the small town, wordless and bible-black, the duvet silent and the hunched, knees-and-ankles tent billowing invisible down to the ... oh, you know how it goes.
This is THE MOST GLORIOUSLY FUNNY set of stories I have had the pleasure to read for a long time - some a bit weird, but mostly laugh-out-loud and all with echoes of the future Under Milk Wood.
Here is a bit from "Four Lost Souls" (after the thinly disguised protagonist has been led to take his clothes off, get in a bath and drink eau-de-cologne). He is in a bar and a little confused, so in an aside, the narrator says "I have put these facts down clearly because the scent I drank in the bath is still troublesome and people will not keep still". (Come closer now. Listen, you can hear Richard Burton slur the lines)
And then in the wonderfully reminiscent "Child's Christmas in Wales", one small boy says "Were there Uncles like in our house?", to which our hero replies with the immortal "There are always Uncles at Christmas" - which (in my recollection) was ever true - including mad Uncle Peter (who thought his mini van was the Lunar Module [it was the late '60s].
And as the man says "from where you are, you can hear their dreams"...