Do You Want Chips with That?
by
Book Cover & Preview Text
5-45 a.m.
I am rudely awoken, at some ungodly hour, by the strange sounds of activity in my kitchen. I am about to investigate, with the assistance of a brass carriage clock which, if a burglar had been foolish enough to wander in here, he might have been about to find embedded in his head. As I realize that the disturbance is Mother assaulting my ovenware in the kitchen, like a demented drummer in a steel band, the alarm on the clock is somehow set off. This causes me to jump out of my wits, drop the clock, (which shatters into an infinite number of pieces), and almost pass a large brick of personal effluent into my underwear, though not necessarily in that order. Mother is drawn to the noise, like a moth to a flame, and castigates me, in a loud stage whisper, that it is early, and I should have more respect for the neighbours. I would like to boast that I told her that she was the one making all the noise, and who caused the whole scenario anyway, but I can’t, because I didn’t. I tamely got back into my sleeping bag and went back to sleep, as I was told, (“like a good boy”).
7-30 a.m.
I am unaccountably propped up on my sofa-cum-bed with a tray…
Where the hell did that come from? I don’t OWN a tray.
… precariously balanced on my lap. A mug of tea and a round of buttered toast, laden with enough marmalade to feed Paddington Bear for a fortnight, are even more precariously balanced upon it. There was a pungent, (hurrah!), odour of bleach permeating the flat, and my eyes began to water profusely.
“Come on! Get it down you! Time you were up and about! That’s all the food there is in this flat! What do you live on for God’s sake?”
Why is it time I was up and about, you silly woman? And stop shouting, I am not deaf!
I know! I only said it inside my head! I wouldn’t dare say it out loud. I admit it!
“OK Mother, gimme a minute,” is the censored version of those thoughts that is voiced!
Now, I am not opposed to having breakfast brought to me in bed; in fact, I could very quickly get used to that, but 7-30 is a bit much! And how am I supposed to tell her that I don’t need to be looked after? She is in her element, beavering away in a good cause, as long as she can have a good moan along the way! Anyway, I am still reeling from the verbal lambasting I received at the hands of her very sharp tongue yesterday afternoon…
If tongues can have metaphoric hands!
…even my dad flinched.
Talking about tongues, I read somewhere once that a Chameleon’s body is only half as long as its tongue. Oh my God! My mother is a Chameleon. No! She can’t be, otherwise she would blend into the background, and I wouldn’t be able to see her! Ha! Ha! I wish!
Talking of yesterday’s events, I was accused of placing the entire neighbourhood at risk from Salmonella poisoning, merely by leaving the window open, so that the spores of the mould, evident upon the unwashed plates and cups in the sink, could “migrate all over the area.” I hadn’t the heart to tell her that Salmonella is a bacterium and totally unrelated to moulds of any description! Also, I value my life more than that!
She harped on that she had never even SEEN so much mould, in such a variety of colours. My mitigation, of being unable to walk, simply played into her hands, and I could have bitten my tongue off, chewed it up and spat it out!
“Well I’m here now!” she beamed, “I’ll look after you until that leg is sorted out!”
No one was allowed to eat or drink anything, until she had cleaned the kitchen thoroughly, from top to bottom and, in her words, fumigated my entire crockery and cutlery collection.
Formats
Book Details
About the Book
“I could write a book about it!” I had often said.
“So you keep saying,” replied my mother, “But up to now I haven’t seen any evidence of it!”
My mother is a constant source of witty retorts and funny actions, mostly without realising it! I learned at an early age that survival required my being able to compete with her and occasionally win one! As a student of irony and paradox, I guess my ‘hero’ was always going to contain a large portion of myself, and the novel, a large portion of Mother! She has read the book, and thought that the mother was awful! Ironic, isn’t it? – Malcolm Scott
“Do you want Chips with That? Is a very witty, often laugh-out-loud funny book. Its diary format ensures a reader friendly style driving the reader to want to read on and find out what will happen to Ben and his associates. The owner of a kebab van, Ben’s, observations on life, the universe and everything are sometimes obvious, once pointed out, and you wonder why you didn’t notice some of them before. He makes you laugh and think in varying proportions throughout. Scott’s characters leap off the page as complex, but very real people, and the protagonist’s life is full of irony, which he deals with in a very humorous manner. Most amazingly, he writes female characters with an uncanny realism rarely seen from a male author. The storyline is compelling, and surely there must be a sequel! A most excellent read.” - Professional Reader –
About the Author
Malcolm Scott was born in
Malcolm worked in Sales and Marketing for most of his working life, including the greetings card industry, and was Sales and Marketing Director of a company in that field before starting and running his own business in the fast food industry, thirteen years ago, which has inspired many of the humorous episodes in the book, many of which almost actually happened!
Malcolm has written for BBC Three Counties Radio Website and the