A SUITABLE SUBJECT FOR A BEST SELLER!

The following article is about the strong desire to begin writing but agonising over the subject matter that actually gets you started.

Everyone has at least one book in them so it is said. I myself have several which in the past have been so deep in me they have failed miserably to get out.

The closest I have yet come to producing my masterpiece was when several years ago I researched thoroughly the 1902 Cricket Season during which Gilbert Jessop crouched his way to a lightening hundred against the Aussies and Wilfred (Rhodes) and George Herbert (Hirst) "got em in ones".
Strangely enough when I mentioned the subject matter to my friends few shared my enthusiasm for that particular cricketing year which I found odd. So the writing was shelved.

My literary ambitions were stirred again some weeks ago however when during post match analysis and recriminations which take place every Friday afternoon following our weekly tennis doubles one of our number announced that he was writing a book.

The subject of his book is dear to his heart. The very heart that will soon stop functioning because of the subject of his book i.e.; The Full English Breakfast' .His remit is to eat the said meal at every establishment serving it from the small Yorkshire Dales Spa town where we reside up the A65 to the Lake District. My spread bet is that his arteries will clog up somewhere between Gargrave and Austwick.

Fired with enthusiasm and a spirit of competition engendered by my friends undertaking I ruminated over the subject of my own best seller. Obviously obscure Cricket Seasons were out as were slow suicides in greasy spoon cafes (that's been cornered).

What about an epic built around the Friday doubles; it has everything drama, passion, a cast of unusual characters. However the potential sales figures of four were a little off putting. It could be five as Leverite fills in when Spicer is away in Dubai, Hawaii, Thailand or for the weekend in Rome or Barcelona or when Simcock is on his cycling holiday to Sheffield.
Spicer is a Dentist and Simcock is a Teacher, which is a career note for any youngsters reading.

Another week went by and Friday arrived. After another high energy, exciting and skilful display of tennis, the group before us left court and we trudged on. Three tardy sets later we maintained our incredible fitness levels with several pints of John Smiths Bitter and some reassuringly expensive imported lager for Spicer, the name of which no one can pronounce.

Biddercome our intrepid author brought us up to date with his battles with the eggs and bacon and the riders of a tandem that ran over his foot with both wheels as he emerged from The Naked Man' caf in Settle. Don't ask.

I determined to sort out my own literary venture before the next Fridays tennis encounter, why should he have all the fun. A subject, a subject I needed a subject.

Monday I was back at work but was distracted by the thoughts of my literary subject requirements. However as the days tasks consisted mainly of reviewing horse racing matters on various websites and scrutinising the Racing Post with At the Races' on the TV in the background my wife didn't actually realise that I had gone back to work. My job often takes me into the world of horseracing and my stupidity often takes me into the bookmakers maybe this could be a subject matter. I added it to the list. Well, in fact, I started the list with it and subconsciously gave odds as to where it would finish.

Tuesday and I was still struggling for that elusive subject. I spoke to my business partner on his mobile .He was somewhere in the West Indies, he holidays almost as much as Spicer. Amongst other things we do marketing for various racecourses and trainers and manage a couple of racing clubs. He is Barnsley born and bred proud as punch of his native town and South Yorkshire roots.
He buggered off and bought a mansion in the heart of hunting Leicestershire at the earliest opportunity. We met over twenty years ago when he joined the company for which I worked. I was given the responsibility of training him. He tells everyone that I taught him all he knows.
He is now a multimillionaire and I am in hiding from the milkman. He suggests a book about Barnsley Football Club. One rum punch too many I suspect.

Wednesday. I still needed a subject. I was a bit distracted by having meetings on and off most of the day. I did manage a quick visit to my accountants though. Fred Done (turf accountant) I often tell people that I am at the accountants as it gives the impression that I take business very seriously. Similarly Spicer's patients think he must be the best-informed Dentist in the country as he instructs his staff to explain to them that he is on a course every Thursday.
The course in question is Shipley Golf Course, Otley Golf Course or Headingley Golf Course.
There was a thought, a golfing book perhaps a possibility. I added it to the list. All had been sports orientated thus far perhaps this was the route to go, after all my wife insists that I am so sports obsessed that I would watch kids playing tig. Which is ridiculous, however grown ups playing tig is different and surely I'm not the only one to miss Kabadi on Channel Four.

A drive to Scotland on Thursday gave me time for more contemplation on the elusive subject of my literary debut. I like going to Scotland. My good friend Fat Al is from Glasgow though he has lived in England for about thirty years. Like all Scotsmen however he hates the English when it comes to anything to do with sport. This is something that myself and many of my other friends cannot understand because if Scotland or a Scottish team are playing in any game not involving England then we always support them. Obviously I have to admit that none of us had an ancestor slaughtered at Culloden or Bannockburn but my father once almost choked on an Arbroath kipper and an excess of Dundee cake made Spicer's uncle obese. What about a book on Scotland or Scottish food '32 Recipes for Battered Mar's Bars'. Catchy title added to list.

Friday arrived and my target of having a subject for my entry as a published author was no nearer. The feeling of frustration was not helped by Biddercome's book having entered the critical stage of Sausage evaluation at the Little Chef' in Kirby Lonsdale. Still my determination was not dashed and if no other subject sprang to mind then the new book would have to be about the frustrations of having nothing to write about. Now there is a challenge four hundred pages of nothingness but I suspect that that has been done many times before.