Disappearances. Denial. Dubiously sourced meat.
A curiously understaffed company on an English trading estate struggles to conduct business as usual after a large conurbation in the Midlands goes missing. Meanwhile, the new owners upstairs and their shiny assistant appear to be working on a project of their own.
I’ve written my first full-length novel. It’s called Jeremy is Stuck
The Kindle version of Catbin Fever is now nice and cheap at £1:53 in the UK, so that you can buy more stamps and cigarettes. The price is similarly reduced in the US and elsewhere, so that those people can afford to buy more of whatever it is they like. Pizza, perhaps. If you don’t have a Kindle, you can probably get a free Kindle app for your phone or tablet, or alternatively use the Cloud Reader web app in a browser.
Catbin Fever is still available in both hardback and paperback from www.lulu.com. The paperback can also be found at Amazon
Things said about Catbin Fever on the Twitter
Here is a seasonal extract from CATBIN FEVER. Merry Xmas (if applicable).
17
FESTIVE
On the phone before I came over, Brenda said her goddaughter had been spending the whole day ‘playing with her wee in the living room’. I said nothing because firstly it’s not my place, and secondly I wasn’t in the least surprised. However, I walk in now to find her dancing about in front of the telly and waving some bits of plastic around. She says you can play all sorts of games with these things. I suggest ‘fetch’ and moments later she’s out in the back garden trying to find them.
In the kitchen, Brenda shows me another drawing her goddaughter has done. I can tell the blue circle with the red circle balancing on top and lines coming out of it is Brenda, because she has explained once before. The small yellow circle with a red circle on top, and yellow scrawl over that, is Brenda’s goddaughter. But this particular piece of challenging art has a third mess of colour, next to the other two. It’s a big purple circle with a red circle on top, and a squarish mass of grey scribble haloing that. I ask Brenda about it and she tells me that it’s supposed to be me. I am furious, but I don’t say anything. Brenda seems to think it’s wonderful. She says I must be proud that her goddaughter thinks so much of me. I suppose it’s just possible that the drawing isn’t intended as an insult. She might just be pathetic at art. After I’ve studied the piece as a whole for a while longer, I decide to magnanimously accept that as the explanation until another, more obvious, personal attack presents itself. The back door swings open and in stomps the little madam herself with her bits of plastic. She looks up at me and grins. She is so difficult to read.
After we have all had some sandwiches made from turkey leftovers, Brenda gives me a small colourfully-wrapped parcel to open. It contains a red velvet box, and within that is a very nice delicate necklace with a silver pixie pendant on it. She says it suits my mischievous side. I don’t know what she thinks she means by that, but I like the necklace and wear it immediately. Then Brenda pulls a mischievous expression herself, and says that when she was at the jewellers, she just couldn’t resist buying herself a present as well. She shows me the present she has bought herself. It’s a watch. It’s a Rotary, with a white leather strap and a mother of pearl dial. It looks more expensive than my necklace, which casts serious doubt on her whole story about what she went to the jewellers for in the first place. Brenda is saying that the watch is water-resistant. She seems overly impressed with this. I suggest that she might have paid extra for a spurious claim. It probably says ‘flame retardant’ on the box too. I insist that the watch should be tested. Brenda follows me up the stairs to the bathroom, burbling about it not being important, that I shouldn’t worry myself about it, but I assure her that it’s no bother. The next couple of minutes are a blur, but the watch proves not to be flush-resistant. As we stare into the empty toilet bowl, there’s plenty of time to think about how I could have tested the watch in the sink instead, but in the heat of the moment things get missed. That’s just science. It’s certainly not my fault, but I can’t help but think Brenda is going to hold me responsible for this. I would give her a sad kitten card to cover it, but I’ve already used one as her Christmas card by drawing a festive-looking hat on the kitten and writing XMAS on its face. Hopefully that card will serve as some kind of example to her goddaughter with regard to drawing things properly. To cheer Brenda up, I remind her that she has yet to open her present from me. As we trudge back downstairs, I also point out that she has a perfectly good clock on the oven in the kitchen if she needs to know the time. In fact, she could just ask me what the time is, as I have a perfectly nice watch. I don’t want to draw attention to that though, as it may seem like I’m rubbing her nose in it. Also, she might ask me for my watch. That would be very selfish of her. I’d hate not to have a watch. That’s awful, if that’s what she’s thinking.
I’ve left my presents in the car, as I thought Brenda’s goddaughter wouldn’t be able to resist opening them immediately if I’d brought them in before lunch. Children are very greedy, especially at this time of year. I go out and bring them in while Brenda brews some tea. I put the two parcels down on the coffee table, and Brenda’s goddaughter immediately stops dancing around in front of the telly, puts down her plastic things and comes over. I tell her to try to guess which one of the parcels is for her. She giggles and says both of them. Typical avarice. As Brenda comes in and puts the tea tray down on the table, I point out to her goddaughter which present is hers. She grabs it and greedily rips the brown paper off on the floor. She starts thanking me effusively when she gets as far as the packaging, which she tears apart in seconds, and comes up clutching the Clubstaz Stella doll I have bought her. Now that I see her out of the packaging, I am regretting it. Stella is dressed like a little whore, in a tiny crop top and a skirt that’s barely more than a belt. It’s disgraceful. I had seen the Clubstaz dolls advertised on the telly. It said they had attitude. It seems to be a bad attitude. Stella was the only one they had at the supermarket, and the packaging assured me that she was suitable for ages three and up. Mind you, it also assured me that she was a choking hazard, and I can’t see her strangling anybody with those tiny hands. In fact, it doesn’t look like she moves on her own at all. She is a pointless little slut. Realising that I have said this out loud, I explain to Brenda that I am talking about the doll, while she mops up the tea that she has just spat out. Her goddaughter is in hysterics.
Once Brenda has cleaned herself up, I hand her parcel over for her to unwrap. Her goddaughter is playing happily with her prostitute doll. She says she can’t wait for it to meet Rachel and Bruce. Rachel is one of the other Clubstaz dolls from the telly. I assume Bruce is their pimp. Brenda takes ages over unwrapping her present. She is the complete opposite of her goddaughter in this respect, patiently picking at each bit of tape and carefully unfolding the paper. Is she planning to keep the paper? If I see it wrapped around my present next year, I won’t be best pleased. Finally her gift is revealed. It’s a lovely novelty salt and pepper set, modelled after Dracula and Frankenstein’s monster. The monster is the salt, and Dracula is the pepper. If I was making them, it would be the other way around, but I’m not sure why I think that. There is a hesitancy in Brenda’s thanks, so I assure her that it’s exactly the sort of thing she likes. She informs me that they are just like the ones she has out on the dining room table right now. I tell her that this is probably where I got the idea. She says I bought her those ones as well. And the ones from the year before that. This is starting to smack of ingratitude. I remind her that I have, and use, ones just like them at home. I do. I have another six boxed sets left. I only wanted to get the one pair originally, but it had been my first go at buying things from the internet and I had got the quantity wrong. Brenda closes the box and says ’never mind’, and with that, this ugly witch hunt appears to be over.
Brenda’s goddaughter’s face has just lit up. She’s remembered something exciting. She goes to the cupboard under the stairs shouting that she has ’something for you’ behind her. At last, a present. I don’t quite understand how she didn’t remember this as soon as I gave her the plastic tart. She returns with her coat, beaming, and rummaging through the pockets. Finally she finds what she is looking for and deposits a tiny bundle of tissue paper tied with a ribbon on the coffee table in front of Brenda. One small present. One. And it’s for Brenda. I don’t say anything, of course. It’s not for me to point out the injustice at work here. Brenda makes lots of cooing noises as she carefully unwraps the small package. She produces a tiny porcelain figurine from the tissue paper and extravagantly thanks and hugs her goddaughter, saying how lovely it is. She hands the figurine to me for confirmation of how lovely it is. The next thing I know, I’m stood in Brenda’s porch promising to help her find it once the snow eases off a bit.
***
It’s later in the evening and I’m being festive. I’ve just thrown a snowball at Brenda’s goddaughter. Brenda is refusing to pour me another one.
CATBIN FEVER OUT NOW
‘I have momentary aberrations. We all do.’
It is also available in paperback from most on-line retailers, including Amazon
Here is an extract from CATBIN FEVER. Chapter 2, in fact.
2
OUTING
Today is the day of the church social outing. We’re visiting the medieval market town of Shrewsbury. God alone knows why. Brenda can’t make it, but I visit her for a morning coffee. She hands me a card with a sad-looking kitten on, and the word ‘sorry’ in gold script. She suggests this might be suitable for the gnome situation. She says she’s bought me a whole box of them. I’m not at all sure about this, but I take the cards so as not to hurt her feelings. While the kettle is boiling, Brenda shows me a picture on her fridge that her goddaughter has done. I don’t say anything, but I do hope she’s been punished for it. At least I know now that Brenda isn’t doing those pictures herself. Originally I had thought it to be some kind of cry for help. Poor Brenda is very put-upon by her goddaughter’s mother. When a person agrees to be a godparent, I’m sure the last thing they expect is to be burdened with a child on a regular basis by its bewildered owner when they should be going to Shrewsbury. Brenda is a saint to put up with it all, she really is.
We have a lovely cup of coffee, but as soon as Brenda pops to the little girls’ room to powder her nose, I tip the remainder of mine down the back of her telly. I’m already regretting this as she returns. I hand her one of the sad kitten cards as I leave for the coach station.
***
All the usual suspects are waiting as I arrive at the station. I buy myself a puzzle magazine and a juice carton for the journey and make my way to the back of the coach, as I enjoy making gestures to other road users. Having both hands free is a joy when you’re not driving. Almost everyone gestures back. The dual carriageway is like a mobile community. I don’t understand why none of the other ladies ever join in. At one point, Tony the driver asks me to turn round and sit properly, for safety. I stare at him in his rear view mirror as I have my juice, and he eventually decides that what I was doing was safe after all.
Maureen and Bernadette are giggling to each other behind me as we walk from the car park in Shrewsbury. They are very full of themselves because they were on that show on telly once, where people invite each other round for dinner and an argument. Bernadette only did a roast, and I have it on good authority that Maureen got all her pasta dishes from a local restaurant. Bernadette didn’t have it in her own flat, either. She’s in sheltered accommodation. They follow me into the first tea shop I come across, but we don’t share a table. I watch as they order a full cream tea with scones, despite Bernadette having claimed not to be able to digest cream on the programme. She is a liar. This is a stunning revelation. I would have expected this of Maureen, but not Bernadette. I only had her down as lazy before. And perhaps a little loose. I also have scones, but I never said I couldn’t, so there’s nothing wrong in that. The whole time we’re sat in the tea shop, I look daggers at Bernadette and mouth the word ‘liar’. Once or twice I scoop a bit of cream onto my middle finger and show it to her, so she knows what I’m talking about. She knows. She must know. It’s written all over her face. It clearly affects her enjoyment of the scones, and they leave before I do, with their tails between their legs. As I’m waiting at the till to pay, I remember that it was a different woman from Stoke who couldn’t have cream.
***
I’m back on the coach before anyone else. If they don’t want people to do what I’ve just done in the gallery, then they shouldn’t sell marker pens in the gift shop. Feeling indignant.
Feeling a bit lonely.
I’ve done quite a few puzzles from my book by the time the coach fills up again. I’ve used the windows and the back of the seat in front for workings. I am surrounded by numbers, and feel like a brainy mathematician. This perks me up a bit as the coach moves off.
An hour later, and we are waiting for a relief coach at the services because some of the tyres were flat when everyone came back from their toilet break. I can feel several of the church social ladies staring at me. Maureen and Bernadette are whispering. It’s plain rudeness.
When I eventually get home, her from across the way comes over shouting the odds, looking for her wind chimes. I tell her I don’t have them. I don’t. They’re on her roof, where I threw them. I think she’s some kind of new age hippy, but she certainly doesn’t seem very peaceful. She is some piece of work, coming over here, making nasty insinuations. I wouldn’t put it past her to be doing black magic over there, I really wouldn’t.
Number 35 has even more milk outside her door now. There’s no excuse for it. This is a nice neighbourhood, and some people are just dragging it down.
I’m a bit surprised Brenda hasn’t rung this evening, what with her telly being bust. You would think she’d want the company.
CATBIN FEVER OUT NOW
‘I have momentary aberrations. We all do.’
It is also available in paperback from most on-line retailers, including Amazon
‘You’ve all been very understanding, loves, and this book is my way of saying “thank you, now help me pay for what somebody did to Brenda’s downstairs lavatory”. Ignore the name at the top. It’s all my work, he just wrote it down. I’m sure he wasn’t even listening half the time.’ – CBL
CATBIN FEVER OUT NOW – Hardback – Paperback – eBook
‘I have momentary aberrations. We all do.’
It is also available in both hardback and paperback from www.lulu.com. Once read, either makes an ideal gift for a loved one, or even a friend’s inexplicably-favoured goddaughter. Please note that the paperback is printed in the UK, so it’ll get to you much faster than the hardback and be cheaper on the P&P if you’re UK-based. But then, the hardback is very nice. Choices.
The paperback will also be available elsewhere in a few weeks.
Please enjoy this book!
eBook - Hardback - Paperback
CATBIN FEVER is based on, and from the creator of, the hit Twitter account @CatBinLady as seen on Channel 4 News. It is a tale of momentary aberrations, friendship, jealousy, fraud, marriage and betrayal. Praise for @CatBinLady :- “...the pleasure she has afforded us all is a marvellous thing...” - India Knight, The Sunday Times. “...a huge online hit.” - Andy Crick, The Sun. “Whatever you do, follow @CatBinLady” - Claudia Winkleman. “You all already know this, but @CatBinLady is one of the funniest/best conceived things I’ve seen on Twitter.” - Chris Addison. “Everything about her is great.” - Graham Linehan. “Well funny.” - Jason Manford. “We love you CatBinLady” - Adult Swim UK. CatBinLady was among NME’s 25 best Twitter moments of 2010. CatBinLady won the 2011 Loaded LAFTA for Funniest Twitterer.
CATBIN FEVER 