50 shades of black comedy

It's been a long time between ciders for the folk of Windy Mountain, the fictional location of my novel Apples in the 1990s.  But I’m going back there in my new novel. Lots of people have lots to hide in this story of mysterious deaths, mistaken identity, elusive Tasmanian tigers and a lottery to end all lotteries.

  •  If you can’t wait for the book, check out my blog, my book reviews or my columns, where you find all kinds of wisdom, like these:

I knew other blokes who often came back from the tip with as much as stuff they had taken there. This explains why you believe you've seen that same deer head on that wall somewhere else. You have. In someone else's house. Fred didn't bring it back from a hunting trip. He found it at the tip and now he lies about it.

How much more memorable would Neil Armstrong’s utterance have been if he had taken a smartphone and a portaloo to the moon? He could have tweeted One small poop for man and still had 118 characters left.

I quickly decided that I would not iron my underpants. I decided this somewhere between working out how to unfold the ironing board that first time and heating water in the steam iron to make a cup of coffee (the kettle was broken and I pride myself on my ability to improvise).

DUNNO DISCLAIMER: This site has nothing at all to do with www.dunny.com.au, so if you came here by accident now's a good time to go there. I flog shithouse novels. I imagine they flog novel shithouses.

© John Martin