Manuscript completion April next year, publication at the end of 2020.
Manuscript completion April next year, publication at the end of 2020.
I’m sure in 30 years time when we’re all burning up in post-BladeRunner 2020 dystopian furnace, we’ll all remember that at least we had that February week when it was 20 degrees and everyone was frotting around in shorts. What a time to be alive.
Except I’m barely alive because of this vile ‘flu which has crept into the house like a medieval pestilence. And I haven’t ridden my bike in four weeks. It’s possibly the longest lay-off in 15 years.
The only silver lining is that by not eating I have somehow lost a tiny bit of weight.
I neglected to update the details, but Alf is back in stock. We shifted about 1100 copies in three months, which was pretty amazing for an independent publisher and a niche, unmarketed book, aside from my slightly haphazard efforts.
I’m now embroiled in the details for my new book which is all about the insane, psychedelic horror and joy of the End to End. I’ve even managed somehow to get a literary agent to represent the book, which was definitely more luck than judgement, and I had the first of I’m sure many flat-out rejections.
Other things I have done:
I went to Champions’ Night and presented the Bidlake Award to Michael Broadwith, was theatened with legal action by Martyn Roach, ate breakfast with Michael Hutchinson. He said he liked the title. I got drunk and chatted with amazing people like Dan Bigham and Rachael Elliott and Dick Poole and Graham Huck and many many others.
I managed to convince my local bookshop to stock Alf and ACE. They took two, and sold them both in two days, so took four, then sold those, and then when I went back they’d taken to ordering it in from their distributor and were selling them too.
I hurt my neck somehow so haven’t been riding.
I sold my time trial bike.
My mum made a limited run of two pottery mugs with ‘I Like Alf’ on them. I gave one to Alf and it now has pride of place in his house.
If you want a copy you can still get one from Amazon, they have some stock from the distributor, but that’s it for now.
We’re reprinting right now, but it’s unlikely I’ll be able to send anymore copies this side of Christmas.
It’s been a slightly demented few weeks. From a standing start, suddenly a job lot of reviews dropped in, almost all positive. None were negative, I guess what I’m trying to say is some reviews weren’t very good as reviews. I think maybe there should be a threshold for people writing reviews; possibly starting with functional literacy, then moving on to reviewing the text, rather than the reviewer’s ego or ideas of what should be in a text that they didn’t actually write.
As per usual, some of the loveliest words of praise came have come from readers, who have been very open in sharing their opinions of the book. For this, I’m always grateful and it means a huge amount. Sometimes, in the dark of winter, when you’re trying to finish a tricky chapter and failing, all writing seems like a ridiculous exercise. By the time the book comes out you’re so close to it you can’t even see the words anymore, it all just seems like so much hot air, wasted paper. It is therefore lovely to be told otherwise, especially when people use phrases like, “a wonderful cadence”, or “lyrical, flowing prose”, or even better still, “a magnificent achievement”.
The best of the formal reviews has come from Feargal McKay; he’s very much the reviewers’ reviewer, by dint of the fact that he takes his time and gets into the book like an archaeologist, looking for layers of meaning. He’ll then tell you if it’s there or not.
There have been other reviews, but I’m not going to link to those right now, I’m sure they’ll come up in a google search. They are all fine. Simon Smythe at Cycling Weekly ran a super three page spread on Alf Engers, then linked it to my book with some really lovely comments. I’m informed it’s getting a second look this Thursday coming as well:
The Comic has stepped up a gear this off-season with a string of really well-written articles, including this week’s Michael Broadwith special. Highly-recommended, particularly for the brilliant photos…
William Fotheringham, The Guardian, author of “Put me Back on My Bike” and “A Sunday in Hell”, general cycling sage and good egg, tweeted about the book recently, which was a fantastic and formative moment.
And Herbie Sykes, author of Race Against the Stasi, a really great book, mentioned that it was on his Christmas list. What a treat!
All in all, a great couple of weeks. I’m now fully immersed in a new project and have spent the past few weeks putting together a proposal for a new book. It’s done, and sitting on someone’s desk, leaving only the incipient fear of rejection. Someone will publish it. I think.
I haven’t made the annual pilgrimage to a bleak northern hillside for a few years now, so it was great to get up above Stocksbridge last weekend to see the National Hill Climb. The climb was a late substitution for a southern massif where some kind of confusion and delay doomed the event before it had even begun. There was much speculation as to the reason why, the usual armchair anarchists with their withered fingers pointing at various people in fits of incoherent rage, but as with most things, the truth is typically very simple and underwhelming.
So/Hwæt I found myself on a hillside, desolate. Although it wasn’t that desolate because the sun shone and it felt almost balmy. I had to take my coat off at one point. I observed the following things:
Fiona Burnie and Andrew Feather were the outright winners. Glyndwr deserves a mention for winning the vets prize. From a slightly biased point of view, it’s always a treat when the out and out climbers win this event.
Here are some amazing pictures by Martin Wilson of Rare Mags fame.
I took a roll of film with me, keeping it nice and old school. I opted to double expose. It came out with some lively juxtapositions.
Keith Bingham is one of the most legendary cycling journalists of the past 50 years. He wrote about everything, he followed the Tour, described and articulated what bike racing looked, sounded and felt like in the halycon days of the Comic. Since retiring he’s kept a blog. http://freedomcycle-bingers.blogspot.com/
He read my book. He said this:
“I Like Alf” is the untold story of one of the most talented, stylish and enigmatic of cycling champions ever to have dominated UK time trialling, London’s Alf Engers, winner of national titles from 1959 to the late 1970s. This is about “The King”, the man who wanted to win the Tour de France but whose destiny lay elsewhere. Officialdom found him too controversial to their liking, this when time trialling itself was controversial, with its reliance on traffic flow to produce fast times!
There were allegations of “white lining” – riding too far out in the road and so impeding traffic when he was often going faster than the traffic – of having following cars.Two East London officials in particular did their best to have him suspended from racing for the most spurious reasons and succeeded!
Notwithstanding such problems, Engers would come back and continue to make the headlines with breath-taking performances which saw him win the national 25 title six times and put competition record beyond reach with the first 30mph ride. He could do it all, time trial, road race, the track. He was a big draw at events.
But this book does more than merely recall how Engers came to unleash his undisputed powers on the domestic time trialling scene, taking on class rivals such as Pete Wells, Eddie Adkins, Derek Cottington, Dave Holliday, and Ian Hallam. Engers dominated like no other. It’s funny, too, with amusing stories that reveal his lighter side, with so many anecdotes about the characters among the clubs, frame builders and others of who shared in those heady days.
Chiefly this is about a man who overcame the odds stacked against him. Not the least being he worked full time in a bakery, late into the night. His triumphs on the bike brought him brief solace from his troubled memories of a father who had shown little interest in his son; and the ever present threat of disqualification from officials looking for any excuse to ban a guy who was simply different!
This is a riveting read by author Paul Jones who sensitively seeks out the darker recesses of Enger’s soul. I sensed, too, that Engers clearly found release in sharing his story, especially in revealing the unhappy moments from his youth. That should not disguise a cracking, good fun story, too, which revisits his personal triumphs still talked about today. For though his records have at last fallen, Engers exploits remain unsurpassed.
This is a joy to read. And it begs the question, is Paul Jones a pseudonym? Here is descriptive prose worthy of the late Norman Mailer! It reminds me of noted rock guitarist Jeff Beck’s stunned disbelief upon first hearing the mesmerising guitar riffs of Jimi Hendrix. “Well,” Becks is reported to have said to Eric Clapton, “we might as well pack it in!” Instead, of course, Hendrix’s style galvanised him.
The title of this book “I like Alf” says it all. Although cycling officials, the “Blazers” had it in for him, riders loved this colourful character. So did his rivals who were so often left behind in his wake! So someone produced stickers, proclaiming: “I Like Alf”.
I’ll take it. What a star.