Some 'Clout' in the Lake District

Writing a book like this is ALL about having fun, and having even more fun caricaturing/hyperbolising what the storyteller finds ‘too quiet/beige. It isn’t about how many copies can be sold, although that can be a nice positive experience if the person is ‘positive’ and, has their mind under control (human minds can be wild creatures). Otherwise the mind just gets to feeling bad if the number doesn’t grow rapidly; that’s failure.
I, Frankie, grew up in the lakes, or actually in a little town, Millom on the fringe. As soon as I mention that fringe town phrase, the picture of fish in my dad’s strawberry nets comes up as we were near the sea and the tide was a problem. If, for instance, my parents wanted to play croquet on the lawn with their friends. All things lawn-ish had to wait until the waters had dropped. So you see then? I can’t help but see the wonderful Lake District like that (or anything actually), my mind just does it.
But, YOU are aware enough to see the normal picture behind the upgraded one?

The Lake District is fabulously beautiful and the people who walk/run the fells like my old mate Joss Naylor are a real fabulous bunch when you get to know them. When I left Sellafield back in 1990, I said to Joss who got changed next to me “How do I get a bottle of beer to you Joss when I make it big? What kind?”
“Brown ale Frankie. Just address it to Joss Naylor, the Lake District.”
That’s fame, or ... everyone knows everyone else in the Lake District ... that’s bloody Paganism.
I didn’t send him beer, instead I sent him the script for ‘The Atomic Shepherd’ in which I told the truth about him but told the World’s Biggest Liar people that it was actually a lie.
I think I’ll stop writing about the lakes now; I have a hernia from laughing.
Enjoy the stories, you deserve some amusement.