confessions-from-a-holiday-camp

I try and immerse myself in my book (Terrible Hard Says Alice)
but even the multiple talents of Christopher Wood fail to wrest my uneasy mind from the thought of Sherlock and Big Eyes grappling over the tea table.


‘Kiss Off’. Oh, Christopher Wood. I read one of his: ‘Terrible Hard says Alice’. It’s very good. Have you read it? It’s all about the army in Cyprus.
— 

Timothy Lea, aka Christopher Wood, Confessions from a Holiday Camp

(authorial self-references)

During our tea and fag breaks (‘ Have a go and have a blow’ was the motto) my fellow workers would regale me with stories of the Second World War: ‘Very clean people, the Germans’, or of throwing Irishmen through pub windows (men who had apparently crossed the Irish sea in hard times and were prepared to work for less than the locals).
—  Timothy Lea, Confessions from a Holiday Camp
He and I were partners in a window cleaning business until he got a bit too close to a girl I was thinking of getting spliced to. In fact “a bit too close” is putting it mildly. He was so close he was touching her in about half a dozen places. In her dad’s garden shed, too. I still get a red flush every time I think about it. Mum and Rosie, she is my sister, don’t know about that little incident, though I keep the threat of revelation dangling over Sid’s nut like the sword of Dan O’Kleas.
—  Timothy Lea, Confessions from a Holiday Camp
At this point I would like to try and step back from the narrative and say to you frankly – Ladies and Gentlemen, if you have never had it away on the floor of the 15.00 to Newcastle ring up British Railways tomorrow. You do not know what you have been a missing of. A B.R. Diesel churning it out at 80 m.p.h. beats any theme music put together by Mantovani, I can tell you.
—  Timothy Lea, Confessions from a Holiday Camp