Happy Saturday everyone! Now as I threatened you, I'm going to read you some of my poetry from this book. Now this is an anthology of stories featuring Iris Wildtime, Wildtime's on the 22, and I was lucky enough to pitch for this and have a story accepted in it. Only mine's not exactly a story, it's a poem in which Iris Wildtime meets Chaucer. Now the premise of this book is that Iris Wildtime's always been a bit of a name dropper, so in each of these stories, Iris meets a famous person in history, and these include Kate Bush, Fanny and Stella, going on the set of Star Wars, Jeffrey Chaucer of course, and a mysterious biographer known only as Mars. Now for those of you who don't know, Paul Mars is the creator of Iris Wildtime. Iris Wildtime is a character who, depending on the book you read, male may not be a time lord with her own craft which male may not be a tardis, which is stuck in the shape of the number 22 double decabus to Puttney Common, which is also slightly smaller on the inside than it is on the outside. My starting point for this is in the Canterbury Tales, which is Chaucer's most famous work. The idea is that while these people, these pilgrims, including Chaucer himself, are on a pilgrimage to Canterbury, each of them will tell a tale from their own lives, or from their own experience that has some sort of moral to impart to the reader, but not all the people in the pilgrimage actually get a tale in the finished work. Now, there have been theories as to why this is, these extra tales may have been lost, they may never have been written if Chaucer lost interest, these people may not have told that any tales. You know, they may have said, oh my life's not very interesting unless you want to hear about mud, you know, this was the Middle Ages. I decided then to have a look at who hadn't told a story, and I settled on the Habadashah, which becomes obvious as you read this, but I won't spoil why it's the Habadashah in particular. But then I decided why not make Iris' companion Tom into the Habadashah? And so that is what I did, and I'm going to be reading you an extract of this today. So to put you in the picture, this comes after the Parsons tale. So if you want to read the cantic retails up to there and then slot mine in, you can. It is in the form of poems because Chaucer generally wrote in rhyming couplets, and I've also written it in I Am Big Pentameter, which was an experience, let me tell you. And so as we join the poem, Chaucer has introduced Tom to tell his story, and Tom has told the pilgrims he's going to tell them about a journey he and Iris took to a place called Siri Minima, and that's where we join the story. You Mrs. Bath will be snuggly at home with the Minimums in their froth and their foam. The great Mardi Sard named Iris did land on Siri Minima for a drink, and because she wanted to visit an old flame, don't get excited, it's always the same. They're mad or she is, so it's left to me to sort which is which, but this time you see, we were wrong. Dead wrong. Her old friend had changed. Oh Iris, he cried. Are you really back? Then he was upon her, like lies are on crack. I tried to tell her, but she'd never listen, not when there's tall, dark bloats to be kissin'. She left the bar fast, vanished in the night. Now the Turvans patrons were a queer site. Queer than you lot, and that's saying something. Queer than me, and that's quite a rum thing. They all turned to face me as you do now, but Slackjaw would not need, like a herd of darts cows. Leilunge does one force, I fell off me chair! One touched my knee, well another my hair. Iris I cursed as she left me alone. You can't stop her when that dog's got her bowed. I slammed my dackery hard on her nose. The dazed heads tilted, their bodies now froze. I crawled backwards fast, the door out of sight, when a male voice spoke. Mellow and bright. Hello dear man, he cooed as he tilted. It looks like your friend has left you all jilted. Come sit with us till she's back if you please. We have wine to spare, some grapes and ripe cheese. I looked around the room and my stomach churned. No one else faced me and no one's eyes burned deep into my head, and I dreamed it. Looking to the voice, his smile slid with eyes enticing. So taking his hand, I was led to a table near the band. His name was Jeff Flick, a small snub nose, a green fedora, my interest rose. And the wine did flow with cheese a plenty. I knew in the morn. I'd need a venty. Jeff Flick kept my glass topped up and what's more, invins me to table, enter the floor. The minute slip by, Iris quite forgot. To be blunt dear pilgrims, Jeff Flick was hot. So when I noticed his hand on my knees, did I object? No chance, I let it be. The band played softer. My head found its rest. Jeff Flick's own developed pillowy chest. I spare no blushes of my tradesmen's friends. The wife of Bart is aware of my ends. She is not alone, so pick up your jaws. Pilgrims, I kissed him and tightened my claws. If Iris was to leave me abandoned, I would leave with my horizons expanded. I'm not sure if I could have done that. Now it gets a bit wrong here from there, but there's also a bit of a threat later on, as you might have guessed. Now you can buy this book from Obverse Books. The details are listed and linked in the description. It's a really great book. And if I have to pick out one of the other stories that really touched me and I really enjoyed, it's the Kate Bush one. I do recommend you read that as well. But yeah, there's Prince George, there's Andy Warhol. Do yourself a favor and get this book. It's not all laughs, there's real heart, there's real jeopardy and real danger. If you're a Doctor Who fan and you've never heard of Iris Wild Time, this is a great book to start on. Listed and linked downstairs, and I will see you tomorrow for a rapid randomizer review. Thank you very much for watching.