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    A Hitman, A Chopstick And A Darlek
    A Hitman, A Chopstick And A Darlek
    A Hitman, A Chopstick And A Darlek
    Ebook58 pages56 minutes

    A Hitman, A Chopstick And A Darlek

    By Dan W.Griffin

    ()

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    About this ebook

    I once thought it would be fun to organise a hugely-exciting event with worldwide appeal. An extremely angry Hollywood movie producer did not want me to... and then a hitman arrived at my flat.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherDan W.Griffin
    Release dateDec 11, 2012
    ISBN9781301095209
    A Hitman, A Chopstick And A Darlek
    Author

    Dan W.Griffin

    If you have ever wondered what it would be like to crash a fairground ride, upset the Russian mob, humiliate yourself in front of two and a half million people, fall asleep on a push-bike, pole dance, be Santa Claus, be run out of town by more gangsters intent on snapping your legs like Twiglets, receive a VIP tour of The Whitehouse, forge an identity, be fired from the same job twice in as many days, make a movie with an Oscar-nominated Hollywood actress, have a crazed psycho break into your flat at 3am intent on causing you serious physical aggravation with a screwdriver, fleece a pensioner out of their hard-saved cash, be pursued by the paparazzi, simultaneously implode three companies, make weaponised plutonium or be normal...then you're no longer alone. Welcome to Danland.

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      Book preview

      A Hitman, A Chopstick And A Darlek - Dan W.Griffin

      A hitman, a chopstick and a darlek

      by

      Dan W.Griffin

      *****

      A HITMAN, A CHOPSTICK AND A DARLEK

      SMASHWORDS EDITION

      Copyright © 2013 by Dan W.Griffin

      PUBLISHED BY DAN W.GRIFFIN

      on

      SMASHWORDS

      Contents

      Introduction

      Mojitos and a mammoth... and not a single shade of grey

      Sean Connery was the best James Bond

      A hitman, a chopstick and a darlek

      About the Author

      Introduction

      Much like the sufferer of a cold would over time fill a hankie up with snot, so over time I have become rather familiar with the Revenue and Customs' termination of employment document, the P45. I received one after causing eleven thousand pounds' damage to a restaurant in Blackpool, and one after failing to adjust to a job on a production line staffed almost entirely by zombies. I saw another from a job ultimately resulting in my making the acquaintance of a particularly unfriendly gorilla-penguin, and at least five from a company from which I was fired not once nor twice but thrice. I am indeed No stranger to the P45.

      No stranger to the P45 is an hilarious anecdotal extravaganza chronicling the seventy-plus jobs and thirty-odd misadventures of my career thus far. This book, with its slothfully-thought-out title, A hitman, a chopstick and a darlek, features two more jobs and one absurdly-miscalculated misadventure in business, an opportunity that very nearly resulted in my death at the hands of a bargain-bucket hitman.

      No stranger to the P45 has been described as 'fabulously funny', 'crazy and bizarre but very clever', and 'totally engaging'. A hitman, a chopstick and a darlek is much better than that.

      Mojitos and a mammoth... and not a single shade of grey

      Had it been sixty-three minutes past twenty-five on the thirty-eighth and sixteen-twelfths' Sunday of the month, and had I ducked a winged pig as I hopped on a pogo-stick across a frozen hell, swung a cat the colour of snot about my head and launched it toward a mirror and a bag of salt as a pelican announced across the BBC news that the moon really was made of cheese, even then it would have been highly inconceivable to imagine myself ever meeting a beautiful art student with whom I would embark on something of a short-lived affair. Suggest the possibility her father would own a hotel in the Caribbean too, and that I would later go to bed with both her and her friend at the same time, then I would probably flap my arms as I ran in a circle squawking like an angry chicken, tell everyone I was a pickled grapefruit, and repeatedly hit myself about the head with a rusty wok. On the other hand, had it been predicted I would get a job in a pub that would last less than a week because I would be unfairly dismissed by a fat, balding pig-slug of a man smelling of feet, then I would probably have simply shrugged my shoulders, said, 'Yup, that sounds about right!' and continued chomping on a biscuit. Oddly, this could actually describe with something akin to accuracy my relationship with a pub known as The Boater in the beautiful Georgian city of Bath.

      The Boater was a deceptively-large pub set in a narrow Georgian building at one end of Pulteney Bridge, and back in the early late-nineties it was something of a spit-and-sawdust type of place, albeit with little in the way of sawdust. Its first floor was available primarily for playing pool and things, while at ground level the bar was often frequented by full-figured fifty-year-old women caked in make-up, tattooed, cider-guzzling builders, and a miscellany of men with beards. The Boater also had a bar in the basement orientated more toward the yoof, and in the summer months a door at the rear opened out into one of the city's largest beer gardens. Immediately beyond that, a raised platform in the corner served as both a cocktail bar and barbeque, and the remainder of the space featured a large number of long wooden tables enabling the kind of socialised boozing rarely offered elsewhere. I haven't visited The Boater in a very long time, and recently suggested to friends we go there. They said, 'No'.

      Anyway...

      In the early late-nineties and back in Frome, while working at The Wheatsheaf I met a girl by the name of Emma whose boyfriend was a regular in the pub. We became good friends, and about six months following our initial introduction she moved to Bath after winning a university place to study Art!

      As a student, I personally failed to study a great deal

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