Truth and fantasy

Completely at a loss what to play on Friday music night, was in zzzzzland just now trying to work out a name for the new book, the first now finished, called Truth.  Just had an idea to call it Fantasy, however, already gone 5 p.m. and no music up. Ah, here's one to keep us going for a few minutes:

Actually here's another one and one commenter writes, 'Actually, that was pretty good,' and that's just given me an idea:

And here's another idea to keep the idea going:

Time for an insta-essay, methinks, while the fish 'n chips are in the oven.  

That's what's given me the idea for the next book but whether I can make something of it or not - that's in the lap of the cat [the internet's fantasy].  Take an idea, a total fantasy for a plot in a book - I don't know, say the idea of a stunning Russian [everybody's rushing] femme fatale whisked off to Paris by a smooth talking English type, they first think of Frankfurt but then think nah, maybe Paris.  You see, she can do that, being an airline hostess.

So they go there and have all these adventures which seem exotic, even getting into a hidden compartment at Versailles, wining and dining where the French waitresses crowd around them and he writes to his Californian mate stationed in Germany and the mate's wife says it's the most romantic thing she's ever heard, which puzzles me because I've just finished telling off this stunning Russian and anyway, what's the big idea about Paris anyway, it's just down the A2 past Thurrock lakeside and across the ferry from where I lived - hardly exotic.

Exotic to me was smalltown America, meeting various Walter Mittys who were interesting.  Anyway, it was back to Russia for us, dream over and back to work for me, stuck in a room teaching a dozen Russian girls around nineteen [imagine the smell] for an hour and a half at a time.  I wrote that to a mate in England and he said I was putting him on. 

So this concept of doing something pretty ordinary in our eyes but to someone else, it's a fantasy - that might make a good plot. I mean, just look at DR, of our N.O. 'family' and the exotic dishes he eats in France while we freeze here or else are pelted with rain.  Someone else says, 'Ooo, what I wouldn't give to be pelted with rain.  I dream of being pelted with rain.  Think you get the idea.  

Andy goes to a ye olde English pub and a NZer drools, Woodsy misses it while Andy drools over the snow capped mountain skiing of the south island around Christchurch ... and so it goes on.  Tahiti's not that far away from there.

By the way, I had no post thirty minutes ago, now I do. Fantasy.  I'm lying, fantasizing - don't have any post up at all.  Last thing - deciding between Rebecca and Michael Winner's The Big Sleep tomorrow evening.  Ersatz Chandler v real Hitchcock.

Ersatz - that might be the name of the new book - currently called Lemmings on the strength of a cute picture.