Free downloads of The Freebie

(See what I did there?)

Musical wannabe Billy Freeb’s fifteen minutes of fame are upon him. Fame, alcohol, sex, drugs, and lots of curry await. Will he survive?

Download a Kindle version of this short story from Amazon or contact the author directly for your personally delivered ePub file.

Through Friday, October 18th.

(The Freebie is included in the collection of short fiction Un-Tall Tales, so if you’ve read that you won’t want this.)

I’m learning how to do the ebook giveaway thing on Amazon and starting with this one story. Soon I’ll be doing more of this. Watch this space!

By the way, do you like the cover? I’m a bit proud of it.

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Another Perfect Day in Fucking Paradise — new novel out now

Ben seems to be the only living person on the planet and the dead are really getting on his nerves.

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But then he discovers he may not be alone.

Can Ben find love among the dead or will death find him first?

Another Perfect Day in Fucking Paradise is the fifth novel (or first novella) from Chris Page and is a blend of high farce and low horror.

You can order this book and all the others from Amazon. To save money on shipping you may want to order from your regional site, but here’s the link to Chris Page’s Amazon author page to get you going.

A free Kindle ebook version comes with each paperback of Another Perfect Day in Fucking Paradise.


Statement: In distributing my work through Amazon, I do not endorse or approve the company’s working conditions, tax strategies, or monopolistic practices. I hope that Amazon will listen to its customers and users on these matters in order to create a genuinely good brand experience. 

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Brexit will not be Photoshopped

brexit bull not moved_3678roast chicken corbyn johnsonIMG_3679

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An Etonian wank fest: those Cummings and goings on

Of course, what we all want now is for Dominic Cummings to be caught in flagrante in a sex-death act so bizarre and depraved that it’s details, immediately leaked to the world, will smother the Tory cabinet in reflected slime and bring the whole lot down, chased out of the House in tar and fetish underpants.

Of course, that’s not going to happen.

Scummings has the means of keeping his peccadilloes on the leash — a black leather, leash studded with the teeth of missing children. He will have only the rarest silk restraints and bespoke butt plugs, protected with superior safe words crafted by masters of the dark arts in Saville Row. He has the means to copy his personality and project it deep into the most crepuscular depths of the dark web to please himself in immaculate privacy with homunculi and pigs, in which the screams of the shaved hamsters will resonate chillingly, but from which they will never escape. 

Safer still, he will have access to the most secure bunker for his kind ever devised, the editorial offices of the Daily Telegraph, where he can indulge himself in front of the whole newsdesk in the sure knowledge that no word will be breathed other than in the hacks’ own fevered masturbatory fantasies, which, as of today, might include rubber chickens.

Buy shares in Kleenex now. You heard it here first. 

No, Cummings is still with us, his secrets more or less locked down. What we have to console ourselves with is the spectacle of Johnson and his cabal floundering in their plan for national Dominic-ation.

It would be folly to believe that Johnson’s three defeats in two days this week and the loss of his parliamentary majority, and the lack of filibuster by his men in the Lords, spell the end for his campaign. It is however, hard to shake the feeling that we are witnessing the Machiavellian merchants of slime finding themselves on the back foot after their call for a general election was rejected. 

Has the opposition ever rejected an election before? Well, it’s happened to Johnson and Cummings.

But we can be sure they have a Scumming plan, and it sure ain’t over until the fat bastard has left the House. 

While plan A may have been stalled by hiccups, there will be plans B through Z, with a few contingencies besides, that involve poisoning the whole population. 

Schemes and plans are what Cummings is, and without dissembling and duplicity, he simply wouldn’t be. 

We would do well to remember that the main plank of the Johnson-Cummings strategy (or should I say the Cummings-Cummings strategy) is the trashing of order, of procedure, of his own party, of parliament, of democracy, of sense and reason itself, and perhaps of his own partner’s living room, to get his way; to force an election on a population made so paranoid, disoriented, and panicked, that they would vote for Conan the Barbarian if they thought he could slay the scary beasts — but what they are more likely to get is Onan the Old Etonian with his dripping handkerchief. 

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Arron Banks lost in a sea of shit

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In memoriam: Baron Wanks, who is drowning in a sea of his own shit.

This week, Brexit bankroller Arron Banks wished a 16-year-old girl, environmental campaigner Greta Thunberg dead.

No comment is necessary.

But I’m going to comment anyway.

This is what Brexit, UKIP, the Brexit Party, the Conservatives and all their supporters are about. Death threats and actual murder (Jo Cox).

That’s it.

No, that’s not it.

There is an intimate relationship between Brexit and the climate crisis. A certain demographic in the world of money wants the destruction of all regulations on labour, human rights, the environment and so on, to enable unfettered money making. They are consciously creating a world in which corporates can shovel up even more dosh from us. They see the EU and environmental campaigns as inconveniences and obstructions to their ends.

This is not a new project: it has been in progress for decades.

This excellent article by George Monbiot is a great place to find out more.

Re-posted from PageFolio.

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On the further incompletions of the current story

Damn! Bugger! And blast!

I recently crowed in this space that I was into the endgame with the current story as I launched myself into the task of polishing to make it presentable to the world. 

Well, in the task of polishing I think I uncovered a lot of crud. 

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I was tweaking sentences and punctuation when I realised two things. One, the voice is horrible. Second, I’m hitting the reader over the head with the themes as if they were frying pans.

The alert reader (Hi!) will see immediately that these are two huge things to be wrong with a story, going right to the tone and heart of the thing. 

Oops, as they say. 

My first reaction was to pretend I hadn’t noticed, hoping that the reader will not notice for real. But, of course, the reader will notice. Unlike the writer, the reader is not privy to what the story was supposed to be like, or what the writer hoped it would be like, or what the writer desperately pretended was otherwise. The reader has only the words on the page to go on, and if they aren’t up to snuff, then there is disappointment. 

And embarrassment for me. 

So, back to it. A wall-to-wall rewrite. 

At this point I ought to be discouraged. Will this bloody thing never get off my hard drive? Perhaps I ought to follow the masters like Tolstoy or Gogol and petulantly burn my manuscripts, put on a hair shirt, and join a doomsday cult. 

But no, I feel oddly excited. The pulse quickens because I know what I need to do to correct the story, I think I know how to do it, and best of all, if I pull off the changes, the story will be all the better for it. 

It’s an odd feeling, and, I suspect, a mad one: Who gets an adrenalin buzz from something so pedestrian and nerdy as sitting in a chair and making shit up? Well, pedestrian nerds that’s who. 

Talking of readers, I am also sure that it was the interest people showed in the story following my last update, and the nice things that people have lately said about earlier stories that stimulated me to take a harder, more critical look at this effort from the point of view of a reader. It was a bit like some of you were looking over my shoulder, making me self-conscious to the point I paid a bit more attention to what I was doing. 

So thank you for that!

Meanwhile, excuse me — I think I may be about to hyperventilate. Lucky me!

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Announcing the incompletion of Chris Page’s latest novel

It was supposed to be a light story with a fun and silly premise but it has somehow turned into a festival of gore, dismemberment, spilled brains, and leaky bowels. 

From jolly japes to blood, darkness, and despair at a keystroke. 

And I was going to write my happy story in three months. That was 13 months ago when I started to compose the thing. Or 19 months since I decided I was going to write it.

And for 13 months of work, the story weighs in at a skinny 36,000 words, about half the length of each of my previous four novels. We might call it a novelette. 

So what have I been doing with myself? How did all that happen — or not happen? 

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A hint of the terror waiting in the new story — out soon!

Without wanting to cry in public or beg pathetically for sympathy, the last two years have been one of the most difficult times in my life. 

I guess during the process of composing, reality leaked in and soaked everything in its own grimness. 

I am impressed, if I want to toot on my trumpet rather than blub in my beer, that I have managed to move the story along or get anything done at all. I’m impressed I’ve managed to keep dressing, feeding myself, or breathing. Yes, I think the real-world travails may have coloured the story. Standing back and taking a more distant look at the story, I see that it might be teetering on the brink of autobiography — especially the stuff about bowels. 

At one point in the composing I wrote a note to myself in the text: Where is the humour? The humour is there if you find death and decay funny, and I recommend you do. 

So, lightness didn’t happen, but it is a tale of every day horror that you may recognise. You may even be a participating character in the real world.

Like a novice nurse having their first encounter with bowels, I have been taken aback at the grotesque things coming out my imagination, which points to some kind of unguessed at facility for the grotesque. Perhaps the signs were there in the last story, Sanctioned, with its dangling corpses. But the arc has continued into the depths of the abattoir — all clanging chains, screams, and sudden sprays of blood.

This suggests a career development. Perhaps I could become a surgeon or a police officer or a middle manager. Or perhaps I could write blood-soaked genre fiction under a butch pseudonym and get lots of money.

Perhaps, if I ever sorted out my life the inclination to horror would disappear and I would get back to sweet stories about lollipops and unicorns and cushions and things, and wouldn’t you be happy at that. 

The current story — title to be decided — will be out some time this summer. 

If it doesn’t kill me. 

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Brexit ate our language

Alongside the comprehensive destruction of the national sense of self, unity, wellbeing, cohesion, self-esteem, international standing, and national credibility, language has been a conspicuous casualty of Brexit. In separating from all those other languages, we seem to have knackered our own

Second Referendum

When we talk of a second referendum, not only language but mathematics is defeated because we’ve already had the first referendum. The vote in 2016 was the second referendum. The first referendum was in 1975 when the UK decided to join the EU. What people now want is in fact the third referendum. Opponents to a second referendum are opposing something that already happened and in which they probably voted in contradiction to the result of the first referendum. These people say we cannot possibly have a second referendum, meaning a third referendum, because the people have already spoken in the first, not realising that the first referendum was the one that put us into the union, and we can’t possibly change our mind because that’s undemocratic, even though that’s exactly what they’ve done by voting to leave in the second referendum, the one they mistakenly call the first. So why can’t we have a third referendum, one people speak of as a second? Because that would be undemocratic because the people have expressed their will. But they did that in 1975, so what’s the difference? Well, time and new information the anti-second (third) referendum people will say. But, the pro-second (third) referendum people might say, what we have since 2016 is time and new information. The time being over two years, the new information being that the original leave campaign was based on lies and conducted with illegal spending. So what’s the difference? Why not a second (third) referendum. To which the answer seems to be ‘Because!’

People’s Vote

Referring to a third referendum as a second referendum is sufficiently painful to language and sense, but the loathing is compounded by the hypothetical event’s other sobriquet: the People’s Vote. Which demands the question, who voted the first (two) time(s) if not the people? Was it the dogs and cats of the nation? The voles and moles? We can be confident that it was neither the pets nor the wildlife because animals, being very pragmatic compared to humans will generally vote food and not opt out of the source of their dinner. Which is what a vote for leaving is: a vote against nourishment, a vote against nosh. A hard Brexit will mean the end to all sorts of food on which the UK is currently dependent. For example, it may mean the end of that very British institution: Danish bacon. Animals don’t vote against food. Animals are generally very much for food, so I think we can exclude animals. Or perhaps the result of the first (second) referendum spontaneously manifested itself from the ether without the intervention of voting people. Perhaps we all woke up one morning to suddenly find a referendum result had materialised out of nothing and, like an enraged Godzilla, was physically tearing the nation from its moorings off the coast of Europe. Which brings us back to food. 

Perhaps for clarification, the first question on a future ballot, irrespective of the main subject, might be: Are you, personally, a people? Only persons who can answer in the affirmative can continue to the main question: are you for or against food?

Leave Means Leave

‘Leave means leave’, they say. This is very helpful for people who thought leave meant ‘hedgehog’, or ‘bivalve’, or ‘bacon for everyone’. 

Keep Britain British 

A clear sentiment that must be a bit of a blow to the Leave campaign’s Russian sponsors.

Take Back Control

‘Take back control’, they urged, pleading for something they had never lost. At least, until they gave that control to the Tories who seem to have squandered it or left it on a bus somewhere. 

Believe in Britain

‘Believe in Britain’, they said, asking for faith over the existence of something that could be empirically confirmed, and using a grammatical structure that is identical to ‘believe in unicorns’. 

Meaningful Vote

But doesn’t the term ‘meaningful vote’ give the game away? Finally, they are owning up that every vote since Parliament’s inception in 1215 has been quite pointless. And to drive the point of pointlessness home, Theresa May is at the time of writing hammering away for a fourth iteration of a meaningful vote on a policy that has been meaningfully voted down three times already. That’s already once more than a more meaningful national vote we’ve been permitted. Perhaps a People’s Vote in which neither pets nor wildlife nor Russians participate is less meaningful than the nonsense we’ve been presented repeatedly in the house of fools. May says she is prepared to step down if her party supports her plan, but in each of the meaningful votes she has failed even to get enough votes to resign. Which pretty much sums up Brexit so far.   

One wag in the Guardian last week likened Brexit to the Cuban missile crisis being re-enacted by Teletubbies — which is doubly apt considering the Teletubbies’ masterful use of language. 

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More #BollocksToBrexit — another new design

ra,womens_tshirt,x1900,fafafa-ca443f4786,front-c,265,125,750,1000-bg,f8f8f8This is a great design for starting conversations with certain members of your family and complete strangers in public places.

ALL profits from this design on apparel, mugs, phone cases, etc. will go to People’s Vote or whichever group is doing the best to keep the UK in the EU at the time of making donations.

There are dozens of different styles and colours, as well as mugs, phone cases, and even throw cushions — though I’m not sure why anyone would want a political throw cushion.

Following the success of my recent campaign in which profits from sales of all merch and books is being directed to the cause, I decided to add this running campaign.

This offer will run and run, unfortunately, but I hope it will end when Britain is back inside the fold.

#BollocksToBrexit

Click here to go to the shop.

bollocks to brexit 04 full size

 

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I’m donating all profits to Remain for one week

bollocks shirts blog ad x180pxThis week, I will give all profits from the sale of my books, t-shirts, mugs, etc., to People’s Vote OR whichever group is being most effective in keeping Britain in the EU at the time of donation.

From January, Sunday 20 through Saturday 26 you can get your ribs tickled or clothed while helping to keep your bum in Europe.

Books: http://bit.ly/PageBooks

Tees, mugs, etc.: http://bit.ly/PageStuff

#BollocksToBrexit #Brexit #PeoplesVote

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