About oscarsparrow

Oscar Sparrow was born in Winchester UK in 1949, apparently thanks to the American Marshal Aid programme to re-build Europe after the war. As the colour red leached its way out of the map of the British Empire, Oscar attended a die-hard Church school designed to create noble savages to serve what was left of the savage Nobles. The Eleven Plus exam revealed that he could not even count to eleven and he became a mechanic, labourer, truck driver, boxer and poet. He read Wordsworth and Ford Cortina manuals in a lorry cab near both Oxford and Cambridge Universities. He married a kind forgiving woman who eventually forgave herself for that one big mistake. He has several wonderful children and hopes that one day they will all meet. At the age of 25 he heard the music of Edith Piaf and learned to sing all her songs. A few years later he realised she was French and that he was an ugly swan not a beautiful duckling. The shock propelled him to London where he joined the Metropolitan Police. Car chases and riots followed but he did not take it personally. He spent his spare time touring the Art galleries, singing Piaf and learning Italian. Eventually The Authorities fell for the con and gave him a desk job in the Art department of Interpol London at Scotland Yard. One day a few years later, the lure of the wild swept him away to the roads of Europe as road gipsy trucker. His love of fried battered fish eventually drew him back to England where he drove sewage tankers and set up a taxi business. Throughout all this time he was a would be poet, short story writer and novelist.

Book Launch. Tough Trucker Confesses To His Life In Lace.

75242186_422851461740232_2307704082967560192_nThis is the day. As the ocean of human life rages against the rocks and sands of time, poets dream and toilets flush. This day “My Life In Ladies’ Knickers” enters the Amazon solar system, like a giant asteroid of dark matter sucked from the blocked drains of infinity. Some cold puritans untouched by human insight and the intoxication of physical lust, look to the heavens and see one star. Others who have known both humiliations and triumph, who have known the visceral passion of the mind and the theatre of the hot curry after-burn, see five stars.

Comrades, I need you. I need your 99 cents worth of literary dedication. If you’ve ever been down, have ever wanted to write a book, have ever had any dream that everyone dismissed, have ever had a stalker, have ever fallen in love or sat on a toilet, this book is for you. If you’ve got a Kindle Unlimited account on Amazon, the page reads are FREE.

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Wrinkly Old Sparrow sings for his supper

This book is something of a confession. In my other life I really really am a best selling “female” romantic novelist. I really really suffered an obsessive stalker,  I really really was a suck truck driver and boxer. (Yes, that nose was not created by Hollywood cosmetic surgeons). The tag line sales blurb reads “Its blokey, it’s jokey, it’s porn hokey-cokey.” Ladies – you achingly seductive succulent ribs of Adam, if you think it’s not for you it will be for your adoring lover. This book will get him home from the bar/fishing lake/ball game/work etc, and fired up to love you in the way you deserve. This will get him reading, loving and laughing again. Therefore, also available in paperback. Put one in his Santa’s stocking or put a lacy stocking or other sexy item, in between the pages and brace yourself for love.

Get your copy here: http://www.books2read.com/GetKnickers

Comrades, as always I love you for your struggles, your frustrated talents and desires. They are always my own. We can do beautiful things together.

This week great events will expose themselves on my Facebook page (Live readings, competitions and giveaways). https://www.facebook.com/TheTurdMan

Don’t miss out. Turn your life around. This book is the U bend in your life.

CLICK TO HELP SPREAD THE NEWS:
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Don’t Fall For Autumn Gloom

Guys, we’ve got to break out. I used to think I could just serve my time but it’s getting too hot and crazy in here. In Europe there’s Brexit bust up with fears of a Champagne drought for City bankers. I only get the US news in French here, but it sounds like Ukrainians throwing peaches or some sort of stuff like that. Looks pretty angry. And you can’t stay neutral. You’re either a Champagne flute or a peach Melba with a mob of Climax protesters in the middle demanding a second coming. (My mate Emma Calin writes books which could help those guys).

We need sanity. And that’s just what I’ve got. We have twenty five YES 25 FREE books with enough comedy to make you laugh, smile or groan yourself sane. There’s books for romantic comedians, comic romantics, jokers, pokers, sticklers and ticklers.

All featured authors are independents. I mean, these guys are not suitable for corporate society. I’m guessing most of their CVs are like mine and read like a stand up routine. Think of us as buskers looking for a subway. You don’t have to throw any coins, even for my thin dog with the pleading eyes. All you have to do is:

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Click this link and choose your books.

And if you want to be really helpful click this link to share this post and get the chance to win a 20 dollar Amazon gift voucher or a paperback book by ME. (OK guys, I know that’s the clincher).

The only fossil fuel used in the making of this promo was me. Oscar Sparrow is powered entirely by wind and vitamins from solar sources.

My Life in Ladies’ Knickers. The Truth, The Hole Truth And Nothing Butt the Truth. Cover Reveal.

Hey, whaddayathink? The beast is about to be revealed, it’s straining for release and no elastic gusset can hold it back. I know you guys have always marveled at my cool sophistication and artistic demeanor. Now I’ve been able to pull myself together and project all of my wisdom and intelligence in one life changing book. All those smart editors and agents always told me I had to take myself more seriously.  I went away and did just that. And so at last – the truth, the hole truth and nothing butt the truth. Flowing to all outlets in hard, soft and noisy formats in November.

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If you’d like to win a free audio copy (performed by ME) click this link. Get extra entries by sharing.

Cinema in the Popcorn Fields of France

Affiches-rencontresComrades, Fear not the Brexit. Fear not the revenge of the European political elite – we can live through the punishment. The peasant and artistic people of Europe still understand and respect our shared humanity allied to our greatest talent for being foreign. This week-end a great honour and privilege was bestowed upon me. In my capacity as the official UK Poet Lorry-Park, I attended the Saint Savinien International “Metier du Cinema” Film Festival. To be honest I could not believe that I was in the presence of such people. Luckily I was accompanied by my partner – the best selling romantic novelist Emma Calin. Many people recognized her and were sufficiently distracted by her beauty, literary presence and sensual allure to allow me to drift into a quiet intellectual anonymity at the back of the cinema. She has also achieved local fame by producing the town’s Facebook page cover photo.

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Now, you have to know that Saint Savinien sur Charente is a long way from nearly everywhere. The concept of the festival was that industry professionals attended the showings and discussed their work with regard to a particular  film or director. Over the three days we were able to learn about costumes, logistics, production, screen play writing and music composition. These folk were happy to chat with ignorami like me who love film but have only ever made a few YouTube vids and performed a few audio books.  If you click the picture below you can see a videoetry I did with Emma a few years ago. The location is Saint Savinien Sur Charente.

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So a big thanks to the organizers and to all the guest speakers. French cinema is very much alive in rural France and equally importantly, in the hearts of the French people.

Screenshot from 2019-10-07 13-31-24

 

If I had a favorite film it was “La Tortue Rouge”. I had the great privilege to listen to Laurent Perez Del Mar,  the guy who did the music. I mean this is a talented man. We dub all sorts of people with the word genius but people like this are very special. In fact all the creative folk I met were in a different league to regular Joe like me. The film itself was a joint production between Wild Bunch and Studio Ghibli.  I recommend this movie if you haven’t seen it. It is a parable of man’s relationship with La Nature but steers clear (mostly) of sentimentality. poet lorry park at film festivalIn an effort to appear artistic, cultured and elegantly poetic I dressed in all black with dark glasses which really are a pain at night.  No one asked for my autograph but a woman did come and tug my hair. “M’sieur, you ‘ave too many airs on your ‘ead for an old man” she said. I kind of felt validated.

Coming Out as a Gay Voice

Studio

Far more important than the microphone and audio computer stuff is the pint of beer. My glass is always half full. I’m not an optimist, just a pessimist with self knowledge and a fridge next to my desk.

Comrade Suckers, Dear me – a few days ago I came out as supporter of democracy – you know all that old fashioned one man one vote stuff. Sure didn’t please everyone. Most decent right thinking people have worn out their unfriending buttons. So no incorrect words or thoughts from now on.

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Here is a picture of me looking old and harmless with a cat. So, how about this? Did I ever tell you all about my experience as a gay man? Well, it was actually more interesting than that. I was two gay men and they were both fantastic guys. At this point I’d like to point out that my natural sexuality compass is a tad south of Boris Johnson but well north of Jeremy Corbyn. Very clever people often write about gender and sex politics, so I guess they mean that sort of measurement. No – not that sort of measurement….oh dear me – put that thing away….. (How I love Frankie Howerd).

Beyond my past life as an Interpol art comrade, stand up poet and sewage truck operator I also do audio books. If, like me, you are an aspiring tormented undiscovered literary genius, maybe you do your own audio books while waiting on the corner for a bus on the route to Riches Corner and Recognition Boulevard. Well, I’d settle for twenty quid. (And a Big Tasty with fries).   Over the past few weeks I’ve been slaving at the mic’ doing the audio versions of “The Cover Up” and another book I can’t discuss cos’ I’m a pretentious prat author type and you have to make the suckers wait…..

Now, I know you’re only waiting for the gay icon angle. Well, there’s this outfit called ACX and it ties up narrators and writers to produce audio books. I auditioned for “The Gentleman and the Rogue” by two fabulous American writers Bonnie Dee and Summer Devon. Hey, it’s a hot love story about two guys. One is a posh gent. The other is a proletarian type like me. I can ham up the posh gent OK so I got the job. I learned quite a lot. As for love – no one ever learns about love. Love doesn’t teach at the front of the class. It’s the bad kid at the back you’d like to smack, would like to be, or long to be with. Love is like the human face, same stuff but a zillion expressions, only half of them the truth.71497177_477122726476072_7975626020948541440_n

So, I did the book and loved every minute. As an author it’s a real privilege and insight to perform someone else’s work. You realise that the writer probably never did this. Just maybe you’re finding nuances and meaning that the creator merely swept over on the way to their concept of the overall story. (Even if that’s a load of arty farty bullshit did you like how I can fake that stuff?) Now, in those days I was still in my sixties and very shy so I adopted the name “Jasper de Montfort.”  Now the ball game’s nearly over and I’m just kind of loitering near the exit, clutching my gold coin to avoid the rush for the ferry.   Anyway – it’s only between us and we’re friends.

One tip if you are doing a third party audio work. Read the book first!!!!!! Do not get half way through and realise that the character you’ve been doing as a Jamaican is a Scot. You’ve been warned. Och Aye – dat am dee pits. My other tip is to give yourself plenty of room to wave your arms. Then go for it. Now you know everything I know.

Dear me, I’m going on again. Look, if you’ve been so kind as to have read this far, here’s a chance to get that audio masterpiece as a prize. 

There’s going to be chances to gain extra entries by sharing this giveaway. Good luck.

Coming Out To Be Counted

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Comrades, one day, we will have to repair our society if we don’t pull out of our dive towards its destruction. I could throw thousands of words at the matter of Brexit. I could pose on social media with a cat wrapped in an EU flag and good PC people would respond to my virtue signal. Many people post tendential features to reflect their own opinions but few are prepared to state their own position for fear of criticism and ostracism.
Until this week I have remained somewhat agnostic about the EU.  Essentially I am a selfishly pragmatic Remainer. It is common sense to cooperate with other folks in all areas of human endeavour. However, a time has come when I cannot duck the issue any longer.
From now on I will actively struggle for freedom from the EU and freedom from the distant Neo-aristocracy who run it. I have always been a Labour voter (but abstained under Blair). I attended anti EU rallies with Jezzer and Tony Benn when I was a young idealistic Socialist Worker and GMB shop steward. I have never voted Conservative. There are only two choices now. Stand with the majority of people in the belief that all voters are equal in a democracy or stand against the majority believing that my vote somehow was more important than theirs.
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I am not too worried about the long term EU project. All empires over-stretch, become corrupt and decadent at their centres. The EU has no connection with its working class peoples. When they rise, the liberal elites will have to find the stomach to crush them or be defeated. We’ve seen the Greeks clubbed, gassed and impoverished. gilets

We’ve seen Macron against the working class Gilets Jaunes as a foretaste. The battered and blinded tell their stories as euroluvvies whimper and wince. (You won’t see much about this on the UK media). If we are lucky there will be sufficient residual national governments to invoke tribal loyalties to restore control. If the empire staggers on towards faux federalism lite, and there remains only the rotten core, the fruit will decompose into a brief feast for the fastest opportunists. Are you ready Vladimir?
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Having witnessed the spectacle of the Luxembourg empty podium stunt I was still prepared to swallow it as the arrogance of an over-inflated minor politico showing off in his own echo chamber. We’d already seen our prime minister sent to the corridor while the un-elected supremos quaffed their fine wines and chortled over their menus.

The events of this week have troubled me greatly. I will never accept the dictatorship of un-elected judges. I will never accept the dictatorship of the super rich and their bands of lawyers unless ALL CITIZENS can access the supreme court. I will never accept the tyranny of any performance poet Speaker of  Parliament.  I will never accept laws made by people not elected to the executive government.  I will never accept the transparent machinations of a ruling class determined to keep their snouts in the trough. I believe in the sovereignty of the people and despite my own vote, I support the referendum result. Does anyone believe that we would be where we are if the referendum result had favoured the elite middle class position of remaining? No – the peasants would have gone home and accepted the result, or in any event, would not have had access to any levers of control.

Yet these grave issues are peripheral. Far more serious is the fundamental divide in our society.  The truth is that we have no proper society or community. We have a ruling elite political and media class who despise all those who are not “people like them”.  We have technocrats who view us as a mob of low information morons, draping our white vans with England flags. The Russians control the way we vote. We’re fascists and racists. I have been called a Gammon because I believe the appointment of the president of the EU commission by secret ballot is not in the spirit of democracy.  And that was by people who had never heard of  Ursula von der Leyen. Yes, they call us Chavs, Gammons and Fascists. I am a non graduate and ended my working life on minimum wage driving a white van. There is no longer any genuine social mobility other than self defeating quotas. Meritocracy is hereditary because of inequality of opportunity.  I know who and what I am. My England flag is on its way.
This same elite class enforces a stifling political correctness upon us.  They ban our words and thoughts. They turn their wagons in a circle around their orthodoxies of infinite gender transitions and racial identity taboos. They see phobes and offence on every corner, in every crevice, in every pale stale male. No humour permitted here guys. These absurdities are their wardrobe of emperor’s new clothes. If you can’t see them, you’re a Gammon. Your vote or opinion doesn’t count. They still kind of believe we can’t see them or that they’re too clever for us to spot their devious brilliance.

One good thing has come out of Brexit. My level of person always kind of felt that the game of life didn’t play to our rules. The clever and wealthy wrote the rules. There’s no Davos for plebs.  We have no forums or representation. You get on, lift the heavy weights, shovel the shit, lay the bricks and drive the trucks.  You accept what the high and clever ones give you. You get nicked for no MOT on your old car cos you can’t afford the repair and have to get to work.  The law is for the rich man. The big pay cheques are for the bosses. You keep to the footpath for fear of the farmer. You cling on until payday and there’s jam tomorrow – maybe  postponed. But you stand for the anthem and sing for Ingerland. You watch the Eurovision Song Contest and accept the corrupt voting. You know that foreigners are not intellectually and morally superior even though the media class tell you so, you vile, obese, pill-popping, sugar eating, turkey twizzler gutting little englanders.

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Remember Emily Thornberry’s sneering attitude to an Englishman?

But the working class never knew just how much the ruling class despised them. They knew the papers hammed up the stories but they had some trust in those who informed them. A few years ago I would have fought on the streets to preserve the BBC. Not now. They are the voice of an elite class which has no connection with the majority of their audience. They represent no one beyond their own caste, locked in a virtue signalling loop of self-righteousness. This nonsense with Naga Munchetty is a case in point. She said what she wanted to say from her own view point. Good for her. I want everyone to have that freedom. As it is they sneer from behind their filters of correctness, perverting the news as an act of righteous goodness. The politicos and media look out from their circle and watch us with horror. They always expected to win.They were born to win and command.

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Oh I do love to be beside the seaside. Our forgotten people. Feel the disgust in this Matthew Parris feature on Clacton. This is tracksuit-and-trainers Britain, tattoo-parlour Britain, all-our-yesterdays Britain,” he writes.https://www.eadt.co.uk/news/poll-is-clacton-a-town-that-s-going-nowhere-1-3760753

Defeat was for the miner or fisherman picking up his last wage packet and trudging to the  scrapheap. Defeat was for the coastal towns. Defeat was for the gig waged zero hours guy washing  one’s 4X4.  Defeat was for the poor guy led to prison for not having a TV license.(They drag you to court and fine you first ).  Cameron believed the mob would tremble and grovel as the masters exposed their visions of poverty and hunger. He cannot have understood our character. Now, the gloves are off. There is still a hollow pretence of “People’s votes” because the plebs didn’t understand, or “standing up for democracy” by ignoring the biggest ever free vote in our history. When you write it down, you can’t really believe you’ve said that. It’s so absurd. It’s  really about any stunt or ruse to block the democratic choice of the people. For their own good. Only people like us have the minds to understand the world. Donald Tusk (President of the European Council put this so well to Cameron.tusk

Comrades, there was a referendum. No group lost and no group won. A majority decision of the whole People answered the question their parliament had delegated to them. We all share that victory if we choose to embrace it. The victor was our democracy and freedom. The victor was a people of all races and classes accepting a responsibility and seeing it through together.  That was and still is our only chance of re-finding unity.

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I would like to believe there could be a compromise but I know not from where or what it might arise. We are facing a determined adversary, emboldened by the support and efforts of many within our own ranks. There are those whose loyalties are only to their own caste. I believe police proscribe descriptive words attached to such individuals who conspire with foreign states against their own people.

To be frank I expect Brexit to be stopped simply because the elites have the levers of power, the cash and the control of media. The civil service and the judiciary are no friends of the powerless people and never have been. We can do nothing to advance them except pay our taxes and sign off their expenses. We are not comrades – we are a lumpen badly behaved problem.  Assortative mating ensures that social classes remain fixed and stagnant. No one and no political party speaks for the working class. The only thing around which we can unite is the democratic decision to leave. My fear is that the virtue signalling elite will get their way and tell us it was all for our own organic whole grain low fat good. Of course they will dress up some travesty surrender in the clothes of a deal.  They will send us home with triumphalist patronizing pats and sneers. They will imprison and demonize the more courageous dissenters. Most will trudge away and never vote again. The natural order will have been restored. We never possessed a weapon of mass destruction after all. Once again, Tony was wrong, but at least not so many died this time.

The alternative is to leave but with a truculent and uncooperative Establishment and media, working with foreign states, determined to make things as bad as possible for their own people. I can see the freedom loving righteous parliamentarians clustered around the speaker’s chair, wrapped in EU flags , brandishing placards reading “Told you so morons”.

I have chosen a ship and expect to go down with it.

 

 

A Manhole of Deplorables

Frankie cover

It’s getting tougher and tougher to write satire about our show biz soaked hysterical world. Most things I try to invent are immediately surpassed by the absurdities of politics and it’s bed-mate, the media.

So, I wrote a novella. I wrote it short and fast just to stay ahead of events. Even so, some of the fiction I wrote has already come true.

This book is offensive to many people. Transsexual vegans, people with sex fantasies involving vegetables, cross dressing cops and most priests should not read this book. OK – a celebrity ferret goes missing. A nation collapses into grief and public hysteria. Leaders, a range of toadies and the cops ride the wave. Superstars pile in to out-cry the howling mob while Russians plot to game the elections. A troubled messianic child has religious visions as ordered by her PR company. Thank Christ we don’t live in a world where things like this could happen.

This book is nothing but disgusting filth and mockery aimed at the righteous, selfless special ones who lead us towards their virtuous light for our own good. Maybe you folks are too good to read this. If you’re a dimbo like me and wrote Putin on your last ballot paper you might be OK. If you’re a vegan with a rump steak habit – this book could be your first step to recovery. Folks, again like me, who adore or who already smell like ferrets might be OK. Perhaps, if you’re British and elite types call you a Chav or a Gammon you’ll be used to abuse and bad language. As for the rest – nah, no one else should buy this. Really I should be no-platformed and sent for counseling. I’m pretty much a deplorable.

Here’s a universal link if you really do want to defile your mind with incorrect thoughts.

https://books2read.com/CoverUpThe

I’m giving away an e-book and a paperback so you can win the same shameful material if you’re the lucky type.

https://kingsumo.com/g/i6c0qa/oscar-sparrows-paperback-and-ebook-giveaway-of-the-cover-up?fbclid=IwAR2x-Lu3RVgGhANqRaiBOIjePvWpLbVRNT0jdMsNcXWL8xJw6OBdih7AWbs

Down The Hatch

writer's blockI used to be a regular trucker. I did the normal stuff, shipping containers, fridge trailers filled with food for supermarkets. The business went bust and I signed on with an employment agency. You guys know the score. Some days there’s work and some days there’s not. I used to sit in a run down shed waiting for the office guy to hand out some work. The old hands got the cream. One day the sewage suction company wanted a driver’s mate to haul the heavy hoses and jet wash some sewage filters. It was minimum wage but it was something. All the old class one license guys shook their heads. I took it and my life was never the same again.

I was keen to impress. I was only fifty two with my whole life ahead of me. I climbed up into the cab and we drove out to a farm where there was a manhole cover in a yard. We lifted it and tried to push the suction pipe through a hard floating crust on an old fashioned brick cesspit. Like I said, I wanted to impress. I jumped down onto the lunar surface. Neil Armstrong bounced. I didn’t.  The driver hosed me off, lent me some of his own overalls and shared his bread with me. His name was John.  I looked to heaven and knew I’d been baptized. The company kept me on. I became The One Who Sucks.

Classic toilet humour is not to everyone’s taste. My humour is more about guys who are on the bottom, who suck it up and do the biggest jobs in society.  Forget movie stars and pop idols. These guys are the heroes.

Watch this space for the higher forms of comedy from the solids on the bottom.

 

Spintegrity

liberty at the barricades

The passion and beauty of spin

Comrades – let me give you my take on the current miasma . We are looking at the same fundamental issue in many areas of political and societal affairs. At a simple level it is the demos against the élites. AND, the élites against the demos.

But, it ain’t that simple. The élites have the PR and the spin. A blurr of spin doctored conflicting medicine is poured down our throats by the axe grinding élite media. The laughable referendum came down to which spin you bought more of. The “democratic” will of the people is sovereign apparently to those who would destroy Corbyn despite his absolute democratic mandate to lead the Labour Party.

No Comrades, we are merely spectators as the élites do battle. Never has so much power been in the hands of so few. Everything you are told, everything you believe, everything you buy has only the weight of its spin. Energy and mass are interchangeable. Einstein’s theory of special advisor relativity has been proved yet again. Eu = messy squared.

Ah yes, wait for the Reflexit ticket at the next election. Remember where you heard it first and buy a poem. Well, maybe don’t go that far….it is uncharted land.

The best we can hope for is Spintegrity and the refuge of the convincing conspiracy theory. Is it not obvious that dodgy blonde hair anoints both Trump and Boris. Comrades – the golden masters are among us. At last something we can all believe in. Thank-you doctor.