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	<title>Short Fat Ugly Man &#8211; Nicholas Walker</title>
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	<description>Bestselling author, scientist, teacher, dance and karate instructor</description>
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	<title>Short Fat Ugly Man &#8211; Nicholas Walker</title>
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		<title>The Autobiography of a Short, Fat, Ugly Man: Everybody Loves Muriel!</title>
		<link>https://www.nicholaswalker.co.uk/product/the-autobiography-of-a-short-fat-ugly-man-everybody-loves-muriel/</link>
		
		<dc:creator><![CDATA[Nicholas Walker]]></dc:creator>
		<pubDate>Sun, 30 Aug 2020 01:25:14 +0000</pubDate>
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					<description><![CDATA[We had all three manhole covers off and were working away at the far one when Maldy came past carrying a crate of Guinness. Now Maldy was very fastidious, he would do virtually any job if he had the right clothes, boots and gloves on but he was very fussy so we didn’t involve him in our toils with the sewers.

‘Morning Nick…Mr Walker,’ he greeted us and went by whistling his merry whistle. We went on with our business, the plunger had become stuck and we were trying to work it free when suddenly the same thought came to both of us at the same time and we looked up. I leaped to my feet roaring out Maldy’s name so I was privileged to be in exactly the right position to view his downfall. He was merrily trundling along, the crate of Guinness blocking where he was treading, when he suddenly disappeared down the open manhole as neat as anything…one moment he was there the next he had totally gone. A plume of faecal filled urine shot in the air as Maldy went right under and it was just in time to splash down over him as he frantically clawed his way to surface again.

Poor Maldy. I pinned him to the wall with a broom while my dad sprayed him off with the hose but he didn’t seem to appreciate our efforts. Oh brother did he stink? For days he stank, I couldn’t let him in the restaurant, no matter how many showers old Maldy took the stink still clung. It definitely traumatised him. For over a week all he could say was: ‘Fell in the shit hole.’ That was it: Fell in the shit hole! At home, at work, even out with his mates. I remember my mother asking him to fetch a crate of wine up from the store, this was the conversation:

‘Maldy, could you bring me some of the Chablis please?’

‘Fell in the shit hole Mrs Walker.’

‘Yes. Half a case should do it I think.’

‘Fell in the shit hole…the shit hole Mrs Walker.’

‘Oh dear.’

‘Shit hole.’ Maldy turned and disappeared to fetch the wine. When he returned he unpacked it for my mother then stood there his face working desperately as he struggled to find the right words. Finally with an anguished jerk of the body:

‘Fell in the shit hole Mrs Walker.’ Then he pulled his jacket straight and walked with vast dignity from the room.

I liked Maldy.

&#160;]]></description>
										<content:encoded><![CDATA[<p>This is the second book in the series where Nick embarks on life as an adult. He drops out of Law School and starts work at a posh estate agents where on the very first day he meets the love of his life. Nothing, though, is ever simple for Nick and he has to battle with a mass of obstacles before he and Muriel are finally together: he confronts her husband, her parents and his own parents. He robs a petrol station, a tobacconist and a bank. He finds himself running the roughest pub in Wales with his new wife, then the poshest before they settle down to run their own restaurant in one of the most haunted houses in Britain! He tells of his growing interest in karate and his burgeoning career as a writer as well as his secondary career as an attempted murderer. All this is written in Nick&#8217;s customary tongue in cheek style, as always he is more interested in the marvelous characters he meets and the humor he can find in every situation rather than in the drama of the events that unfold.</p>
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		<title>The Autobiography of a Short, Fat, Ugly Man: The Making of an Author</title>
		<link>https://www.nicholaswalker.co.uk/product/the-autobiography-of-a-short-fat-ugly-man-the-making-of-an-author/</link>
		
		<dc:creator><![CDATA[Nicholas Walker]]></dc:creator>
		<pubDate>Sun, 30 Aug 2020 01:17:26 +0000</pubDate>
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					<description><![CDATA[I remember another incident much later on with Mr Griffiths. I sort of invented skiving off in about the third year but right back in the first year I stopped going to Geography. I hadn’t done a project as it was homework so as the teacher was very scary I hid in the toilets then I didn’t like to go back the following lesson and the more I stayed away the more the consequences piled up so the more I stayed away. I stayed away until the Fifth Form and then tragedy happened, Mrs Dark the teacher I was staying away from was tasked to write a report on me. She professed to having no idea who I was and I received the long awaited summons to Mr Griffith’s study.

He was standing there reading the report with a stunned expression on his face.

‘Walker,’ he said and now I knew I was in real trouble if he was calling me Walker.

‘Good Morning sir, and isn’t it a lovely one?’ I tried. He gave me a look.

‘You have been cutting Mrs Dark’s Geography lessons since the first year, correct?’

‘Spot on, sir,’ said I with nothing to lose.

‘I see. Well, as far as I can work out that means you have cut somewhere in the region of 348 lessons, yes?’

‘I can’t really help you there sir, I’m not very good at maths.’ I thought it better not to tell him I had recently been cutting Maths lessons as well.

‘Well, Nicknack…Walker,’ he said clutching at his forehead, ‘this leaves me with a bit of a problem. You see if a pupil cuts one lesson, they are made to copy up the whole lesson during detention.’

‘Seems fair enough to me, sir.’

‘Nicknack, shut up!’ he shouted losing it. He took a deep breath to bring himself back under control and after a minute continued in a more level tone, ‘For two lessons they are given the cane. For three they are put on home report.’ He lost it and started to dance around at this point, ‘I don’t know what the hell I am supposed to do about 348!!!’

I couldn’t think of anything to say that would improve the situation at this point. Now he seemed to have some sort of stroke and I watched him anxiously as he leaned over his desk fighting for breath, after all he wasn’t getting any younger. Gradually his bright red colour faded and he raised a trembling hand and pointed it at the door:

‘Go away you horrible boy!’

Like I said we all liked Mr Griffiths!]]></description>
										<content:encoded><![CDATA[<p>I cannot imagine why anybody would want to read my autobiography but I keep being asked so this is part one: Childhood, the Making of an Author. I urge you to read my other books first, they are much funnier and better written than this poor missive!</p>
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