For the last 20 years, I have lived in Clacton on Sea – and today it has a politically historic by-election. I also lived for the first seven years of my life in this constituency’s Walton on Naze, having been born there in 1948.
Matthew Parris, ex Conservative MP, controversially wrote an article in The Times about Clacton with relation to this by-election: speaking of a place where people are waiting to die, ‘a place of shell suits and death.’
However, there is a hidden aspect to Clacton that, through living there for a decade or two, will eventually be revealed to you. I have tried to adumbrate that aspect by means of this blog over the years, culminating in my recent article here.
This novel by DF Lewis was published by the acclaimed Chomu Press in 2011. It has something to do with Clacton-on-Sea in Essex, where the author has lived for 20 years.
Now Clacton is about to go BIG. Possibly not as big as the novel itself, though.
The text on the original back cover of the book:
You have been suffering with dream sickness, and a Hawler has suggested you take the sea air for a rest cure. Perhaps you have been strolling along the promenade by the sands of Clacton-on-Sea, wondering whether your life is a dream, and if so, whether it is a real dream, or merely a dream of a dream. You put your face in the space of a seaside cut-out board and on the other side you see… a giant carpet in the wild spiral of a tornado burrowing into the earth, the weave of its multidimensional design revealing the capering of carpet apes, the things that haunt ceilings, the places where poultry becomes meat… You remove your face and find yourself back in the same day as before, with both sides of the cut-out board the same dream or unimaginable reality. But now you and everything else have together become completely nemonymous.
For the full treatment, insert your face in the space of Nemonymous Night by veteran Weirdmonger D. F. Lewis. Let the captain of this earthcraft take you from the left foot of man-city to the nemo of the ‘no me’. On a guided tour of the under-carpet of Inner Earth, decide for yourself if Greg is Greg or really Mike, if Beth is actually Susan, what it is the Hawler does to cure the dream sickness, and whether Mike or Susan might, in fact (or fiction), be you.
The whole lower promenade between here where I live in the bungalow house on the borderland and the route to Frinton at Holland Haven is now fenced off, as the groynes and rocks I have photographed for years on this site are altered or destroyed.
A visionary scene, even by sunlight, of Hodgson’s Night Land.
Giles Watling was appointed last night as one of the conservative candidates for the forthcoming historic Election of Clacton, a receptacle of Essex…
It seems apt he is most famous for Bread during Thatcher’s Britain, a protestant among catholics, one small p, two small c’s.