• Skip to primary navigation
  • Skip to main content
  • Skip to primary sidebar
  • Skip to secondary sidebar
  • Skip to footer

Mo Fanning - British writer and comic

  • Home
  • My Books
    • The Armchair Bride
    • Rebuilding Alexandra Small
    • This is (not) America
    • Five Gold Rings
    • Talking out loud
  • About Mo Fanning
    • Mailing List
    • Support my writing
  • BLOG
  • BUY SIGNED COPIES

Dogs

It’s grim up north

September 1, 2009 by Mo Fanning Leave a Comment

Getting old by Mo FanningThis month, Manchester fails to charm, silly season gets too silly, I have an old fart moan about students and the book comes slowly together.

Decamping to Manchester

So, Mr. Fanning and I decamped to Manchester. The reasons are too tedious to go into, but we’d planned to use the visit as a chance to consider the city as a future home.

The flight out was the first sign the visit wasn’t going to be an unqualified success. The plane cabin was blisteringly hot. All around, people wilted while fanning themselves with dog-eared in-flight safety cards. After twenty minutes, the captain came on to say he knew we were expiring from heat exhaustion, but he couldn’t do anything about it. I have to say, I detected a hint of smugness and imagined him shirtless in the cockpit being fanned by dusky maidens. He promised that when he switched on (is that the right term?) the engines, the airco would kick in. Grim mutterings spread through the passenger ranks, but as the majority of us were British, nothing was said.

Next to me, clearly enjoying the sub-tropical hell, sat someone distinctly Mexican. By this I mean his hair colouring and skin tone suggested more than a passing familiarity with Tacos not made somewhere in the EU by old El Paso. He was smiling at the in-flight magazine and sniffing. Yes, you read that right. Sniffing. And what do we all know about anyone Mexican who sniffs? Swine flu.

Fashioning a makeshift mask from an eye mask and ignoring furious looks from Mr fanning, I settled back and waited for take-off. With a roar and barely a puff of cool air, we left Amsterdam and the sunshine and headed into grey, heavy cloud.

‘It always rains in Manchester, you’ll see,’ I joked with Mr F.

So now onto another beef. In-flight catering on very short flights. One question. Why bother? There’s barely time to throw something pre-packed at the passengers and offer a drink before the cabin crew have to wrestle it back and insist tray tables are put away for landing.

KLM and a general beef

KLM have developed an intriguing idea to pass the time. In the place of actual food, they’ve introduced a handy party game involving six cream crackers. The somewhat student-like challenge is to consume them with no drink. If you manage, you’ll earn a paper cup of clear hot water called ‘tea’ into which you can pour powdered creamer.

I’d rather have three or four euros knocked off the price to be honest.

As the plane approached Manchester, me laddo next to me put up his hand for a boarding card. I can’t help but notice his name is Jose and indeed he hails from Mexico.

That’s it, I think.

Swine flu is mine.

Our hotel was pleasant, if somewhat urban in design, but the staff were pleasant enough. What’s more it had the most fabulous bath – which when you live in a tiny Amsterdam flat with only a shower is a BIG THING.

I wasted little time leaping in.

And so, onto the city itself.

I lived there for four years, in the late 90s, and loved the place. It was vibrant, artsy and welcoming. But dire urban planning has ripped all of this away. The city centre felt dark with every street closed in by towering blocks hiding the grey sky. Chain pubs offered discounts and happy hours. Angry young men tumbled from their doors, ready to fight. You felt that looking anyone in the eyes might cause them to lash out. In short, I hated my time there. Hated it. It no longer felt safe and I wept at how its heart had been torn out. Perhaps I should have stayed away. Now I wish I had.

And it did rain. Every freaking day.

Stop this, it’s all too silly

This summer saw newspapers filled with mock outrage over the replacement of leather-faced embarrassing auntie at a birthday party Arlene Phillips with wall-of-teeth personality-free zone Alesha Dickson.

Strictly Come Dancing, they claim is being dumbed down (current fashionable media term) to appeal to ‘the kids’.

As if any self-respecting 18-26 year-old would spend Saturday night watching has-been zelebs (another fashionable media term, I’m all about being in touch with the buzz) hot foot it round a dance floor.

‘The kids’ will be glued to the mindless crud on the other side – namely the X Factor or Pop Idol or whatever they call it these days. The one that used to feature that annoying leather-faced embarrassing auntie at a birthday party Sharon Osborne before she was replaced by … Oh, wait. Now I see a pattern.

My point being, really, who truly cares about the shelving of Arlene? Sure a whole host of previous contestants (mostly out of work actors and past-their-sell-by presenters) queued up to rent quotes to the BBC-hating Daily Mail. But I suspect this was more to get their faces into the papers again and remind casting directors that were alive more than to express solidarity for a squawking harpy?

And while I’m on, what is the fascination with Jack Tweed? Why any newspaper or magazine can be bothered wasting words on someone famous for living off an ignorant racist is beyond me.

Then there’s Peter and Katie. They’ll be back together soon enough. Rumour has it, they’ve already recorded their Christmas single.

Mo is a moany old git

And now for students. I preface this rant by admitting I used to be one. I’m absolutely certain that when I was one, I was insufferable, boorish and an all-round twat. But I’m not one now – student that is. I may or may not be all of the other things.

In Amsterdam, they’re everywhere. The summer is almost over and as one group leaves, another arrives. Almost universally blonde, tall, thin, with knee-high boots over thick-knitted tights, short skirts and whacky t-shirts. Fatties, non-whites and the disabled need not apply.

It’s the soriety girls and they’re busy cramming their vacuous souls into ramshackle houses around town.

Then there are the boys: pale shirts with dark blazers, designer jeans and pointy brown shoes. They must all have collar-length mousy-colored hair and it absolutely must be greased back.

They all look alike, move as one and represent everything that’s wrong with Dutch society. The lack of accountability is something I’ve harped on about for many a year, but now it seems original thought and individuality have left the agenda. Gone the same way as tolerance.

All the things the rest of us thought the Dutch were good at.

I do wonder if my growing older causes my weary rolling-eyed reactions. Am I guilty of ‘in my day’ syndrome? I remember when a night out involved nursing two pints at the pub, then back to halls or someone’s house to share a bottle or two of Thunderbird or cheap cider. If you were flush, you might get a curry.

Amsterdam student houses have deliveries from breweries. Barrels of beer and professional bar taps are delivered and set up. Food comes in bulk from top stores. Some of these houses have staffed kitchens and cleaning staff. All the future Dutch high-flyers need to do is drag battered sofas and chairs onto the pavement, block everyone’s way and get drunk in comfort, while smoking spitty fags and treating the entire street to rubbish music.

Then there’s the hazing. Brown pacamacs and orange water wings don’t strike me as funny. And seeing groups of supposedly intelligent people making collective fools of themselves while travelling in packs and performing secret chants saps the very life out of me.

And these are the people who will secure the best jobs, understand the secret handshakes and fly through the layers of corporate Holland in years to come. White, middle class, over privileged under-achievers. It depresses me more than I have words to explain.

On the plus side, they’ll make wonderful characters for a novel and having spent hours observing the silver-spooned faces compete for attention, I think I’m ready to use them in something soon.

The Write Stuff

So to the writing. With a third draft finished and a few working titles rattling round my brain. I’m onto the next edit. This one is the vicious one. The first draft is the raw material. The second is to check logistics, timelines and make sure there’s no plot holes or people changing names, hair colour or personality. This draft is the polish. Now I’m printing it out and attacking it with a red pen.

This weekend Mr. Fanning and I drop out of the rat race for a week in Northern France. Miles from anyone, living in fields, surrounded by cows and horses. I can’t wait.

And a quick thank you to everyone who asked after the clumsy canine. He’s much better now. Three months on, he’s stopped limping and can manage stairs again. Now there’s just the hearing loss to worry over.

Filed Under: Amsterdam, Diary Tagged With: Amsterdam, Celebs, Dogs, France, Manchester, Strictly, Students, Television, The Dutch

My world is full of dead birds

July 5, 2009 by Mo Fanning Leave a Comment

British writer Mo FanningFSorry for the dreadfully irregular updates, but it’s been a dark and miserable time, which I hope I’m coming out of.

But enough of that. Time to consider the strange things I’ve noticed this summer.

  • There are lots of dead birds around.
  • Hairdressers take holiday at the most awkward times.
  • My dog is accident-prone.

Oh and I’ve remembered how to write – though the mere act of mentioning this will most likely strike me with the most awful writer’s block before this blog is out.

Birds of a Feather

So first with the birds. I know nature can be cruel and it’s all down to survival of the fittest. Not to mention how everything happens for a reason. But hardly a day goes by that I don’t discover some pigeon, blackbird or other winged creature lying dead in a bush. A quick trawl through Google suggested people get kinda twitchy around deceased avian matter. Wiki Answers remains my source of truly mad folk – I recommend it highly for uninformed lunacy – it’s the stuff of great novels.

One poor soul recounted his story thus:

“I was working on a movie set when I saw the first dead bird… a week later I lost my job. Then my apartment flooded in the floods of 08 here in the midwest and I was forced to move, then my fiancee went to the hospital and stayed for a week due to a serious head injury.”

Now call me cynical, but that just sounds like being rubbish at your job, having bad luck and planning to marry someone who’s too much of a liability to be out on their own.

But Wiki Answers is home to some supremely barking people – many of them a tad on the religious side. ID1136157310 – it may not be his or her birth name – chipped in an opinion.

“That is called superstition, which greatly offends God because as long as we worship and exalt him, and stay true to the Virgen Mary, we will be protected. Superstition should be renounced and avoided.”

ID1136157310 also offers sage advice on why Martin Luther split from the Catholic church (he was a sinner) and the existence of Santa (St. nicholas is very real and should be prayed to by children, especially around Christmas.)

He or she might not be all that stable.

Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow

Some time back I talked about changing hairdressers. It’s a thorny topic and one close to many people’s hearts. After all, you put your life (or at least the next month or so of it) in their hands every time you sit down in one of those chairs that looks like something a dentist would have.

I’ve been through it. I’ve upped and moved and run into my former barber in a bakers with little more than a supremely awkward smile. Now comes the challenge for Mr Fanning.

For some time, we’ve been going to the same lanky fop. He’s nice enough, but a touch on the simple side with one of those botoxed brows and back combed 90s hair (sort of A Flock of Seagulls but without the blonde bit). His English isn’t so great and he asks the same stock questions every time. (Plus we got into something of a row over who recorded ‘The Lemon Tree‘ when it came on the radio. He insisted it was Sting, I insisted it was some German bloke who nobody has heard of since. For the record it was Fool’s Garden, a German band, who have struggled to repeat their early chart success, so I was mostly right). Anyhow, I digress.

There ought to be a law about when hairdressers can take time off. Summer is obviously not on. People want to look their best for their two weeks in the sun. Same at Christmas and New Year and for birthdays. In short, these people provide a vital service. They ought to be made to ring round their regulars and check when would suit. We all ought to have a vote on it. Or at the very least, they could mention it when you go to see them.

Said lanky fop did no such thing. And with Mr F. due to pay a visit back home, he called to make an appointment. Only to find our guy was sunning himself somewhere for two weeks. Did he risk having his hair cut by a total stranger (lanky fop senior) or go without and risk maternal tuts and sighs. He bit the bullet and made an appointment.

All day I sat at my desk, hoping he hadn’t made the most awful mistake. Then, at 5, he called: ‘I’m in the pub, come and meet me,’ adding, ‘I’m just inside, not out on the street.’

That doesn’t sound good, I thought. So, I pulled on my coat and went to find someone I hoped didn’t look too much like Sideshow Bob.

Surprise, surprise, it was a great cut. ‘The best ever,’ confirmed my better half.

And now he’s on the horns of the most terrifying dilemma. This wouldn’t be any of your usual divorcing of a hairdresser thing. He’d be leaving the current one for the current one’s father.

They work next to each other. It isn’t one of those big airy salons where you can hide behind a display of hair extensions or pick and choose the day when the one you want to avoid is off. they’re both there. ALL THE TIME.

It’s a delicate situation and one I’ll be sure to update my dear readers on in the coming months,

Those Doggone Steps

I’ll end up the tale of a clumsy dog. He started the month by getting into a scrap with the vicious bastard of a dog who lives with a (hugely unpleasant) woman of restricted growth two doors down. She struggles. It’s bigger than her and looks like it would tear the face off anyone who so much as looks at it. Turns it that was exactly what it tried to do.

Luckily our boy held his own and escaped with just a puncture wound to the ear. The vet stitched it all up and he looked set to live another day. Then the clumsy sod went and fell down the bedroom stairs. Not just the bottom few. He went the full length, from top to bottom, landing on his back leg and tearing three tendons – which in case you didn’t know is really big deal in a dog.

Cue frantic calls to the animal ambulance (of course, this had to happen at the weekend) and a long wait in a room filled with a mix of almost dead and very much alive but angry dogs and cats.

He was given painkillers, but we’ve been warned it’s a long journey back to recovery, which started with Mr. Fanning and I having to carry 24 kilos of annoyed canine up and down ladder-like stairs.

He’s getting better and there’s already talk of mild therapy involving a rope and tennis ball. Hopefully a week in France will work wonders.

The Write Stuff

So last on the list comes the writing. After months of feeling totally unable to string together a sentence and wondering if I’ll ever do anything worthwhile again. I’ve gone back to an old story and given it a new twist and plot. Ghost Story remains very dear to my heart. It started life as ‘help’ almost three year ago and had been completed more times than I’ve had anchovy pizzas (about three, always by accident). It’s about to change title again as the whole concept is new and the characters hopefully more grounded. I’ll be posting extracts when I think it’s good enough to see.

It’s got ghosts, it’s got alcoholism, it’s got someone in an outfit that looks like three dusters tied together with shoelaces. And I hope you’ll love it.

Filed Under: Amsterdam, Diary Tagged With: Amsterdam, Birds, Depression, Dogs, Hairdressers, Writing

Resolving for change

January 6, 2008 by Mo Fanning Leave a Comment

wineJanuary is the time when the Fanning family makes their resolutions. Buoyed by cheap champagne and too much cheese, they agree that in the coming year things will be different. Much as I tell myself I don’t buy into hype, I’m always the first getting misty eyed and holding on to hope for the future as the clocks strike twelve and all around me people burst into song or jam their tongues down the throats of strangers.

This year, I started off January by lolling around on the sofa watching what TV programmes I’d missed during the enforced merriment of the previous evening. One show featured some talking head going on about living his life by the notions of karma.

He would, he claimed, make sure that every Friday he bestowed a random act of kindness for a complete stranger. What a jolly good wheeze thought I. Maybe if I help someone get their pram up the stairs into the post office or buy a copy of the Dutch equivalent of the Big Issue (just as dull, only with print that comes off on your fingers), maybe the karma will round on me and ensure that my next novel is not only published, but soars to the top of the best-seller list and becomes required reading for GCSE students across the land.

Imagine my shame when I reached home on the first Friday of the year and realised, as I settled to a soothing cup of tea, that I’d forgotten to bestow my generosity on a single soul. I’d been too busy dealing with a growling inner seething about everything and everyone around me. I can be a cantankerous soul inside this glacially efficient exterior.

I could blame it all on the raging backache caused by a trapped nerve that has blighted me since Boxing Day, but in truth I know it’s just my nature and try as I might, I am too old to change.

So my alternative New Year list is to rail against all those things that annoy the very life out of me.

  • People who stop suddenly in the street to meddle with their mobile phones
  • Actually people who meddle with mobile phones at any time
  • Actually mobile phones in general. I just don’t see the point.
  • David and Carrie Grant
  • Being asked directions by people who nod as I describe in detail how to get to places the quickest way possible, then ignore me the second my back is turned and ask someone else (I’ve seen you all, I never forget faces).
  • Cyclists who ignore red lights/ride on pavements/ring those stupid fucking bells every few seconds.
  • Students in general, but chinless rich boys with no individual style in particular.
  • Spoonerisms used in writing to get a cheap laugh
  • Those lists of the best authors of all time that come out now and then – not because they never feature me (nor will they ever), but because of the elitist way they’re compiled.
  • Kate Nash
  • People who reply to me in English when I speak to them in Dutch.
  • Dog walkers who are too frigging dopey to use a lead and then look at me as if it’s my fault when their dog almost gets run over charging across a busy road to greet mine.

I could go on, but so far I think I’ve counted for half of the western world, so it might be time to stop.

I wish everyone the very happiest year possible, with the exception of the mobile phone loving chinless student dog-owning cyclists who I trust will continue to live far better lives than me and remain in total ignorance about just how much they’re getting on my wick.

I know … it probably is just me.

Filed Under: Diary, Stress Tagged With: Amsterdam, Dogs, New Year Resolutions, The Dutch

Primary Sidebar

About Mo Fanning

Mo Fanning (@mofanning) tells jokes on a stage and writes commercial fiction. He’s the bestselling author of The Armchair Bride and Rebuilding Alexandra Small. Mo makes fabulous tea – milk in last – and is a Society of Authors member and cancer bore.

Join my mailing list

When you join my mailing list, you’ll get the inside scoop on all of my new books. You can find out about every book I publish as soon as it’s released and has made its way to Amazon and other online retailers.

By subscribing, you agree with Revue’s Terms of Service and Privacy Policy.

Follow me on Twitter

My Tweets

Secondary Sidebar

Rebuilding Alexandra Small by Mo Fanning
The Armchair Bride by Mo Fanning
this is (not) america
Five Gold Rings by Mo Fanning
Talking Out Loud by Mo Fanning
Society of authors member

Footer

  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • YouTube
  • Instagram

All content copyright Mo Fanning

  • Books by Mo Fanning
I use cookies on my website to give you the most relevant experience by remembering your preferences and repeat visits. By clicking “Accept”, you consent to the use of ALL the cookies.
Cookie settingsACCEPT
Manage consent

Privacy Overview

This website uses cookies to improve your experience while you navigate through the website. Out of these, the cookies that are categorized as necessary are stored on your browser as they are essential for the working of basic functionalities of the website. We also use third-party cookies that help us analyze and understand how you use this website. These cookies will be stored in your browser only with your consent. You also have the option to opt-out of these cookies. But opting out of some of these cookies may affect your browsing experience.
Necessary
Always Enabled
Necessary cookies are absolutely essential for the website to function properly. These cookies ensure basic functionalities and security features of the website, anonymously.
CookieDurationDescription
cookielawinfo-checbox-analytics11 monthsThis cookie is set by GDPR Cookie Consent plugin. The cookie is used to store the user consent for the cookies in the category "Analytics".
cookielawinfo-checbox-functional11 monthsThe cookie is set by GDPR cookie consent to record the user consent for the cookies in the category "Functional".
cookielawinfo-checbox-others11 monthsThis cookie is set by GDPR Cookie Consent plugin. The cookie is used to store the user consent for the cookies in the category "Other.
cookielawinfo-checkbox-necessary11 monthsThis cookie is set by GDPR Cookie Consent plugin. The cookies is used to store the user consent for the cookies in the category "Necessary".
cookielawinfo-checkbox-performance11 monthsThis cookie is set by GDPR Cookie Consent plugin. The cookie is used to store the user consent for the cookies in the category "Performance".
viewed_cookie_policy11 monthsThe cookie is set by the GDPR Cookie Consent plugin and is used to store whether or not user has consented to the use of cookies. It does not store any personal data.
Functional
Functional cookies help to perform certain functionalities like sharing the content of the website on social media platforms, collect feedbacks, and other third-party features.
Performance
Performance cookies are used to understand and analyze the key performance indexes of the website which helps in delivering a better user experience for the visitors.
Analytics
Analytical cookies are used to understand how visitors interact with the website. These cookies help provide information on metrics the number of visitors, bounce rate, traffic source, etc.
Advertisement
Advertisement cookies are used to provide visitors with relevant ads and marketing campaigns. These cookies track visitors across websites and collect information to provide customized ads.
Others
Other uncategorized cookies are those that are being analyzed and have not been classified into a category as yet.
SAVE & ACCEPT