I have a new book out, another collection of essays of which most - but by no means all - have appeared on my blog, An Englishman in Texas during the final two years of the Trump administration. Re-reading the thing as I usually do prior to the sales pitch, I've been struck by how it inadvertently represents a record of its time given that this was also when the coronavirus pandemic hit, so I guess that's interesting even though it's unintentional. In addition to the material with which at least one or two of you may be familiar, Missing Words features around 167 pages worth of writing which I kept to myself rather than post on the blog - material written because I needed to get it out of my system and which might prove to be a source of contention should it be read by those I was writing about and who I couldn't be bothered to disguise with a pseudonym.
It's nearly six-hundred pages and could be used to stun cattle, or at least a large hound, which strikes even me as an excessive page count but I'm nevertheless pretty pleased with how the thing has turned out. If you enjoy reading what I've written, you'll probably enjoy this too, and as Christmas presents go, you could probably do worse - unless the person you're buying it for is a fucking moron.
It's available here.
