For the most part I'm a comedy writer with four books on Amazon, my most recent being 'Shit my History Teacher DID NOT tell me!' in which I look at events from history with the sole purpose of taking the piss out of everyone I can find - philosophers, heroes, kings, religions, you name it. Nobody's safe. Another of my favourites is 'Calico Jack in your Garden,' although for some reason a number of reviews seem to revolve around people wetting their knickers when they read it; "Anyone who is a bit saucy, is very fond of boobies and doesn't mind peeing slightly when they laugh too hard," "I got kicked out of bed TWICE for laughing so hard. This is, by far, one of the funniest books I've yet read," "Best not to read this book on the train if you have a full bladder." "I have to admit that I wet myself twice while reading it but this may in part have been due to my age and a couple of bottles of a fine St. Emilion." And it goes without saying that those who hate it, hate it with a passion, but I'm okay with that because if all I write about is kittens on biscuit tins and roses in scented gardens then I'm not being controversial enough. What's it about? For me, life is an open book. It's my observations on life, ranting about the general public on the London Underground, politics, boobs and .... well, everything else. Take a quick look at it. It's free to click on the cover and take a peek inside. However the book that seems to catch everyone unawares is 'Grit - The Banter and Brutality of the Late-Night Cab Driver.' I drove cab in both London and South-Central L.A., home to the infamous Bloods and Crips. As a white London boy, driving cab in what is arguably one of the most violent areas in the United States I had some pretty scary run-ins with Gangstas. Some of the reviews I've had for this book are phenomenal, so huge thanks to everyone who's taken the time to read it; "Wiggins talks to you with all the confidence of a man in touch with his own reality, in a voice which is seasoned with the hint of a world weariness that is so telling of a writer who has written what he knows and written it with disarming fearlessness," "The hook of course is his characters. You can hear them, see them and in some instances, you can actually smell them. They leave their stain on you as indelibly as vomit leaves its stain on upholstery," "For me the book's strength lies in the British characters. They are so addictive that by the end of the section which covers Karl's cabbie career in the UK I found myself pining for them as we set off Stateside. The American characters were intimidating and I could not frame my mind around them with the same familiar ease that I embraced the Brits. I could relate to guys who used their fists and their wits, I could laugh at their humour and get their jokes; it was the thugs with guns and no soul who unsettled me. I suspect that could be a clever devise employed by Karl. He wants you to be scared of them; and I was." I've also recently been invited to contribute a weekly newspaper column in New York, and I'm having a great time connecting with the people over there. I won't bore you with war tales from my own existence. Suffice to say I've been kicked around a bit by life and I guess that's what's given me my "great humour and a world-weary shrug of the shoulders." I'm finding other people do a better job of describing me and my writing than I do myself. I would love to hear from readers, whether your views are positive or even if you hate my books, please review the books once you've read them. It means so much to a struggling scribbler. You can also find me on Twitter at @hobokarl. I ALWAYS make every effort to reply back to everyone. Thanks for taking the time to read this. God bless!
Calico Jack in your Garden
Grit - The Banter and Brutality of the Late-Night Cab Driver
Shit my History Teacher DID NOT tell me!
Words are our Sorcery
Dogshit Saved my Life
I absolutely loved this book. I shouldn’t, because I’m a bloke and the story’s told from the girl’s point of view, but I fell in love – or maybe it was lust – with Tansy immediately. I think it was her description of herself as ‘Rubenesque’ that endeared her to me; “Rubenesque is overweight but shaggable because of it. That’s my definition anyway …. Lying down naked on a chaise longue, a hand discreetly placed across the crotch, partially draped in a black silk sheet with plump red lips, come-hither green eyes, sumptuous, grabbable boobs and long red hair.”
Nicola Yeager has it right. Blokes don’t really fancy birds who like Gandhi. We want something to grab hold of!
So why do I like this book so much when it’s written from the female point of view? I think it’s because for some reason I’m the bloke women come to when they’re having problems with their own men. There’s a danger I’ll get the blame when other couples split up, but women seem to trust me. My wife thinks I attract certain types of women as friends, and that may be true, but I do enjoy their company. I would love having a few drinks with Tansy every now and again. We’d get drunk and she’d share her secrets with me while I’d try and catch a sneaky peek at her cleavage. She’d catch me looking, of course, but she’s the type of girl who’d be flattered, and we’d part with a hug, knowing her confidences are safe with me. And I think that’s why I like the main character here. Yeager has cleverly characterised her so you feel she’s your mate.
Tansy is clearly a little nuts, demonstrated by her stalking of Dr. Jason Campbell – “All of this sounds like I’m stalking ….. what I’m doing is definitely not stalking. Not yet, anyway. I’m not mad” – although when the doctor’s taking her shoe off to inspect her injured ankle I’d have expected Tansy, after several Aperol Spritzers, to raise her knee a little higher than necessary to allow the good doctor, who is behaving in an impeccably professional manner, to catch a glimpse of that little white (or black or sky-blue satin) triangle.
Tansy is incorrigible, you see, and that’s part of her appeal.
I was surprised at her choice of spag-bol in the Italian restaurant for her first date with Francis. Tansy, for all her kooky ways, is a thinking girl’s flirt and she’d be unlikely to choose something with the potential to get messy. I think she’d pick a boring item off the menu, even if she didn’t enjoy it, just to ensure she doesn’t get anything stuck between her teeth or, worse, end up spitting food across the table at an inappropriate moment. Not that there’s ever an appropriate moment to spit food across a table, but you know what I mean.
When alls said and done and you wake up one morning to discover Tansy lying naked under the covers besides you, and you’re both a little bit embarrassed because you’d agreed your relationship was purely platonic, you both realise that’s no reason not to have one more shag before climbing out of bed and facing the day.
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