A warm welcome to another new author to the Cafe and Bookstore – Ian Hutson who has a new release on November 3rd…on pre-order… Cheerio, and thanks for the apocalypse. Many of you will already be familiar with Ian’s entertaining and occasionally hair-raising stories of life on his Narrow Boat
About the book
It is seven disconnected tales of self-indulgent, self-deprecating, self-referencing woe, woe and thrice woe, Petunia, filling the pages in a most seriously unserious giggle-fest. Atom bombs rain down, there is some confusion as to who ought to be within the insane asylums and who ought to be without, and England’s pensioners are treated quite implausibly dreadfully. Life never ends, death isn’t forever and the afterlife, such as it is, is in chaos. The greatest thinkers of our time think awe-inspiringly vast, modern thoughts – and their dog makes them look like intellectual minnows swimming with intellectual sharks. This is not entirely unexpected though, since the dog in question, based upon a real-life dog of the author’s real-life experience, put Genghis Khan in the shade and was apt to make Charles Darwin spin in his grave, embarrassed by his demonstrably flawed theories.
England is neither Heaven nor Hell, but both are English Empire territories and you can see both from the White Cliffs of Dover without using binoculars. God often pokes an eyeball down through the clouds and the Devil is apt to leave hoof-marks in the lawns. The politicians in this book, all delicious one-hundred and twenty-six thousand calories each, are not loved and respected as are all politicians in real life, but are here portrayed simply as two-dimensional lying, self-serving, ignorant, shameless mediocrities. Further, the reader must be warned that London, the centre of the universe and beloved by one and all, the only portion of England that truly matters, is …brace yourself …reduced to black, powdery ashes. No, seriously, you ought not to laugh at that. Whatever would we do with the country’s tax income if London were not there to soak it all up?
Is ‘Cheerio, and thanks for the apocalypse’ a book of its time? Well, the author reckons that he’s caught the essential flavour of the present Establishment and of the rank and file, and caught it just moments before we all climb back into the trees and forget how to read and write, too. That much he claims as a success.
What then of the book’s failures? The author is, as are we all, a prisoner of his own constitution and can no more change his ways than fly. Flies are particularly known to not change their ways. The author hasn’t changed his ways since Poonah, in forty-three or forty-four, although it must be said that the charges were dropped then, and an out-of-court-martial settlement reached. Consequently, this book is old-fashioned, it’s verbose, and it’s certainly not subtle. It features strong male leads, mild political incorrectness, wilfully woefully little to no diversity, and yet, the author hopes, a laugh or three. The author, ever the optimist, ever the fool, casts this literary pearl before his readership*.
*Yes, we thought that too, but the man’s both desperate and unstable, so it’s best to just smile, nod, and hurry into your bomb-shelter.
You can buy the book on pre-order for £2.75 for November 3rd: https://www.amazon.co.uk/Cheerio-thanks-apocalypse-Ian-Hutson-ebook/dp/B07H2MRJX9
And Amazon US: https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B07H2MRJX9
A selection of books by Ian Hutson
One of the reviews for The Cat Wore Electric Goggles
The cat wore electric goggles is a collection of short stories in which I have learnt a great deal about space travel! The author uses space exploration as a medium where he explores (or is that ‘vents’ his spleen) about some of life’s more outrageous areas e.g. politics, religion, homophobia, the class divide, and the age old controversy of putting the milk in the tea cup first! I found his approach ingenious and for the most part funny; although he does have his deeper moments, who wouldn’t if you really want to drink milk?
The author had an amazing imagination that enthrals me – where does it come from? Most of the time during my nightly pleasure (sad life!) of reading Ian Hutson I find myself, thumb in mouth, relishing the nostalgic memories – Miss Rutherford is a particular favourite of mine – but I lived through some of the references and it all came flooding back to me! Another nightly story is like meeting an old friend for tea and cakes (at the appropriate hour of the day, of course!) If you haven’t read any Hutson you are sadly lacking in your life.
Then there is the cat, of course and not being a cat person I wondered what frightened me the most – the cat or what it saw……well that’s another story you need to read for yourself – brilliant once again Sir! He can’t write fast enough for me!
Read the reviews and buy the books:https://www.amazon.co.uk/Ian-Hutson/e/B00C6XFRBG
And at Amazon US: https://www.amazon.com/Ian-Hutson/e/B00C6XFRBG
Read more reviews and follow Ian on Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7043626.Ian_Hutson
About Ian Hutson
Born during tiffin in the sea-side town of Cleethorpes, England, at half-past nineteen-sixty. Whole family immediately moved to Hong Kong where Father worked for the Ministry of Defence, spying on Cold-War Red China by listening in to their radio transmissions. Hutson Minor spoke only Cantonese and some pidgin English and was a complete brat.
At the end of the sixties was to be found on the Isle of Lewis in the Outer Hebrides of Scotland. Still a brat. There finally learned to read and write under the strict disciplinarian regime of the Nicolson Institute and one Miss Crichton. Then spent a year living in Banham Zoo in Norfolk, swapping childhood imaginary friends for howler monkeys, penguins.
Followed, for want of something better to do and for want of a brain, in Daddy’s footsteps and found himself working for the British Civil Service in areas much too foul to be named. Was eventually asked to leave by the Home Secretary. A few years of corporate life earned some more kind invitations to leave. Ran a few businesses, several limited companies, then went down the plug-hole with the global economy and found himself in court, bankrupt with home, car and valuables auctioned off by H.M. Official Receivers. Now lives by candlelight in a hedgerow in rural Lincolnshire as a peacenik vegan hippie drop-out, darning old socks and living on fresh air and a sense of the ridiculous.
Dog person not a cat person. Favourite colours include faded tangerine and cobalt blue. Fatally allergic to Penicillin and very nearly so to Jerusalem Artichokes. Loves coffee and loves curry. Has tried his hardest all of his life to ride bicycles but simply looks like a deranged, overweight orang-utan on wheels. Favourite film Blade Runner. Uses the word “splendid” far too much.
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