Joel Golby

Brilliant, Brilliant, Brilliant Brilliant Brilliant


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      Mudlark

      An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers

      1 London Bridge Street

      London SE1 9GF

       www.harpercollins.co.uk

      First published by Mudlark 2019

      SECOND EDITION

      Text © Joel Golby 2019

      Cover and chapter illustrations © Bill Bragg 2019

      Cover layout design by Claire Ward © HarperCollinsPublishers 2019

      A catalogue record of this book is available from the British Library

      Joel Golby asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work

      All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

      Find out about HarperCollins and the environment at www.harpercollins.co.uk/green

      Source ISBN: 9780008265427

      Ebook Edition © January 2020 ISBN: 9780008265434

      Version 2019-12-16

      This book is dedicated to Sacha Fernando,

      who gave me an iPad once. This is the deal.

      We are even now.

      CONTENTS

       COVER

       TITLE PAGE

       24 STORIES FROM THE MIDDLE OF THE DESERT

       SWOOSH

       PCM (PER CALENDAR MONTH)

       HOT SAUCE CAPITALISM

       WAYNE ROONEY IS THE MAIN ANTAGONIST OF MY LIFE

       THAT TIME I INVENTED SITTING DOWN

       I HAVE THE MONOPOLY

       HALLOWE’EN ’96

       I WILL NEVER BE AS TOUGH AS PITBULL

       THE TAO OF DOG PISS

       WHY ROCKY IV IS THE GREATEST EVER ROCKY FILM AND THEREFORE BY EXTENSION THE GREATEST FILM IN HISTORY: AN IMAGINARY TED TALK

       EYEMASK: A REVIEW

       I WENT TO BARCELONA AND ALL I GOT WAS THIS HANDJOB FROM A SEX ROBOT

       HEY: AM I A LEATHER JACKET GUY?

       ALL THE FIGHTS I’VE LOST

       AT HOME, IN THE RAIN

       MOUSTACHE RIDER

       RUNNING ALONGSIDE THE WAGON

       FOOTNOTES

       ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

       ABOUT THE PUBLISHER

      My parents are dead and all I can think about is how to sell this house that they left behind. It’s me and my sister in a room without curtains – we had to take down the curtains to decorate, so the sunlight is pooling in, and nothing looks more naked than a house stripped and moved around when the person who lived in it died, and no more is that so than in the cold, white light of the day – and we are painting every wall in this fucking place white, because my mother went decoratively insane before she died and discovered the Dulux colour-match service and went absolutely ham on that thing. And we’ve had three separate estate agents come in, with blazers that bunch around the buttons and a clipboard or iPad, and a special laser tool to measure the size of every room, surveying the corpse with cool detachment and weighing each pound of flesh for gold, and they say – all of them, in turn – they say:

      ‘It’s going to be very hard,’ they say, ‘to sell a house with a pink kitchen.’ Which