Evil Brew

A tale of camaraderie that lays bare the delicate sinews of the human condition, as Albert Hoffman’s bastard sons go mad in a remote seaside town, perched upon the very quivering tip of Scotland. Danny is one messed up puppy and there’s no turning back, as each aspect of his reality dissolves into a kind of hellish internal monologue that takes on a deranged persona, smirking back at him like a melon on peyote. Brace yourself, then, for a faceful of human disaster, paranormal commotion laced with personal downfall and death, along with a large portion of déjà vu for pudding. Danny Texas is caught up in a psychedelic quest that goes terribly wrong, as he and his cronies step into an absurd lost vagueness of the avant -garde; an hallucinatory enigma of unreality that mutates into a cacophony of mother ships, reptilian bar staff wearing plastic bunny ears, giant brown slugs, cheap lager with the texture of grated glass, mystics in Daffy Duck boxer shorts, the ghost of Dowpy Duncan, and the bad juju of a severed rabbit’s head that haunts Danny’s waking nightmare, all played out to the soundtrack of Trout Mask Replica by Captain Beefheart and his Magic Band. Oh, and not forgetting those (Evil) gate-crashing mothers of pandemonium, The Banana Splits, of course . . . How far down the bunny hole can Danny go?

I'm a slightly confused Irish-Scottish blend, born in Kettering, England, but brought up in Thurso, Scotland. After leaving school in the mid-eighties I drifted about in Glasgow, then moved to Bristol and stayed there for thirteen years. I have a BA Honours in Philosophy. I'm now living with my wife and three kids in deepest darkest Cornwall working as a writer of dark humour.