Well, what a night! I fear I will be in the doghouse with Princess Ruby for quite some time. She told me that it would be the last time she frees me from police custody.
It all started when Shehanne Moore returned from white water rafting and insisted that Findl Nettlecrusher come to the village tavern with us. This was playing with fire, if ever there was. The gnomes are generally forbidden from fraternising with guests, and certainly not usually allowed in the tavern! Shehanne was most insistent, and my protests went unheeded.
To cut a long story short, what proceeded was one of the most raucus nights I have ever witnessed. It started with a drinking contest where great big jugs of whisky were quaffed in seconds. Poor Findl barely stood a chance. Next, we had a display of Highland Dancing on top of the bar in front of a crowd of astonished Rambling Club members. Somehow a whole hog roast ended up in the fire, and the whole evening culminated in Findl being hurled head-first through a window, into the Mayor's prize-winning flowerbed.
I asked romantic author and humourist Shehanne a few questions yesterday, not long after she arrived:
We are extremely pleased you have journeyed to us in the Karkonose, Shehanne. Can you tell us something about the place where you usually dwell and your background?
I am a miserable creature, oh mighty lord of the citadel, dwelling on wine in the miserable lande of ye Scots, north of ye Englande, north of ye sun...miles north in fact, where ye people dress in kilts, live in castles, eat ye strange dish called haggis and say ye hoots mon, for the benefit of ye tourists. Ye aisles of ye shoppes are stocked with garden furniture of every description, instead of gloves and hats, ye beer-bellied men ponce about ye supermarket car-parks in ye shorts and ye open-toed sandals, at ye at the first hint of sun. And ye young demonstrate their drinking skills on ye streets on ye nightly basis. Mountainous, so ye climb here has been nothing. There dwell I in a house where you would be lucky to get a biscuit and ye younger daughter complained that last week she found a potato plant growing in a kitchen cupboard. So you cannot imagine how glad I am to come here, oh master.
ML: There are many similarities between your home and ours methinks.
Are you enjoying your visit to the Citadel?So long as Gnome Nettlecrusher understands when it comes to white water rafting he is looking at a being who nearly drowned in six inches of water. I am sure it will be very satisfactory. But if this tavern you speak so highly of, serves turnip ale, I think you will find my clog dancing skills are better. Especially upon the nearest table. You have karaoke?
Tell us what is happening to you at the moment as a writer.
Well, what is happening is that I am writing out a character and her clan for my second book. To think they survived hundreds of years of warfare, massacre and clearances, to meet with ye ed’s red pen. But she is brill so...
A night out in ye
Gnome throwing. Definitely. Short of that make them go stand in someone’s garden with their rods for an entire afternoon. Their fishing ones that is. That will quieten them down. Either that or they will get nicked, then your problems will be solved.
Oh just send her back. You know all she does is complain and want you to count turnips anyway. He is a curmudgeon. She is a curmudgeon. This is a match made in heaven.... Think of who else you could have, oh mighty master. My own heroine would but require you to change two letters of the name Ruby.
My wife Ruby says I spend too much time in the local village and not enough time counting turnips for her. How can I keep her happy?
Well, you’ve asked me and all these other writers on here. What more is there?
ML: You could be right about this one.
How can people find you on this Internet thing-a-me-jig? Do you have a web address or other ways that lovely book fans can read more about you?
ML: Findl is still missing. What have you done with him?