Fifty-Two of the Best: Highlights from Rod Fleming’s World
Fifty-Two articles from the popular site Rod Fleming’s World, covering Travel, Sex, Politics, Religion and Humour. A bumper bundle of fun and comment. The articles have been carefully chosen to remain fresh and the book is illustrated with original photographs and artwork. The ideal holiday read!
Print ISBN: 978-09572612-6-6
Buy the eBook! It’s on special offer, just pay however much you think it’s worth when you buy through my bookshop HERE:
A Little Shop of Horrors: Scottish Macabre is a chilling collection of Gothic horror stories by Rod Fleming. This book will definitely keep you awake at night!
Most of the stories are set in genuine Scottish locations, mostly in and around Edinburgh, so they are replete with local colour and history. The tales bring to life the Gothic charm and mystery of the ‘Florence of the North’ and will be loved by both aficionados of the horror genre and of Scotland and its unique ambience.
Croutons and Cheese: French Onion Soup 2 is the second in Rod Fleming’s hilarious series of memoirs about his life in France. Filled with anecdotes about aviating cats, the Bull in the Back Passage, what to do about ex-pats, transporting the cheese to Scotland, it’s a laugh a minute.
With the lovable and roguish characters you first met in French Onion Soup!, this book will keep you entertained all right, so much you’ll come back for a second read!
Available now in paperback: ISBN: 978-0-9572612-4-2
I wrote this piece about a sea-monster in 2008 and always liked it. It was aimed at children and those with young minds. I hope you enjoy it. It’s about the right length for a bedtime story too.
The monster Geewaha-nalior cruises the endless blue sea once again.
Long, long years he had slept, resting on a coral beach. His head lay on the sand and his body and tail stretched for miles out into the sea; and as men began to navigate the world, again and again ships crashed into the scales of his back, wrecking themselves.
Read more fiction like this in the epic trilogy The Children of Aldebaran
When I was a child, madness was the most terrifying affliction I could imagine. The idea that I might not be able to control my own life was bad enough. But to think that I might be controlling it, yet in ways that my conscious mind would never allow, was enough to give me nightmares. The irrational unknown inside me was terrifying.
The notion that I might be someone other than the sane person I thought I saw, when I looked into the mirror, was simply horrific. The idea of losing rationality and, with it, my central core of me, that hub around which my life revolves, has always been more frightening than anything else I can think of.
I’m at the local motorcycle repair shop where Sherwyn, a most competent mechanic and pleasant cove, is replacing a brake master cylinder on the Blaze. He first thought to replace only the seals, but he can’t find the right size. A new cylinder is 400 pesos, just under six quid, an unwell encephalopod. I just tell him to get on with it. Sherwyn works in the open space outside a motorcycle parts shop, where he seems to buy most of his stuff, although, as today, sometimes he has to go further afield. While I wait I sit on a wooden bench in the shade and observe the street life. Baklas soon begin to appear; it’s like they’re in the woodwork.
Christmas 1981: Europe is in turmoil, the Human League is top of the charts, it’s pissing stair-rods in Paris and Johnny Macmaster has just got back from Damascus with a load of smuggled blood diamonds he wants rid of fast.
The first book I completed, which nearly got lost but hey that’s another story.
Don’t you want me baby? Don’t you want me ohhh
Harry, the most notorious fence in Paris, offers Macmaster a special surprise: Hermann Goering’s gold-plated 9mm Luger, along with his Blue Max and a wad of cash. Johnny accepts the deal and goes back to the bar to pay his tab. He gets another surprise: a round from a suppressed Ruger .22. That’s when his world explodes. Calling on his ex-lover Irene, Johnny goes back to work. The plot line criss-crosses Paris to a spectacular climax.
This book contains scenes of violence and sex. Plenty of them.
A hilarious romantic comedy, by Rod Fleming, set in a tiny village in Scotland. Follow the adventures of the protagonists as the they fuddle their way through to a climactic finale.
Spring is coming to the village of Auchpinkie on the east coast of Scotland. With it, women’s minds turn to romance and men’s to something else — poaching. But it turns out these are actually very closely related. A charming romantic comedy set in a world full of larger-than life characters.
French Onion Soup! tells the story of a mad Scotsman (me) taking his family to live in France.
It’s full of hilarious anecdotes as well as lots of useful information that you’ll need if you are planning something similar. Most of all, perhaps, there is lots of humour…because moving to a different country will make you laugh or cry, and laughing is a lot more fun.
Brilliantly funny tales of the life of a mad Scotsman, his wife, children, two dogs and a cat, who escaped the rat-race to live their dream in a country house in France. In 1993, photographer, journalist and Francophile, Rod Fleming and his artist wife bought a house in France. French Onion Soup! is the first in a series of books describing their life in France.
Ladyboys are like hobbits; they have big feet. Although, and fortunately, not usually hairy.
My dearest and truest friend, my distant confidante and beloved adopted sister, Andie, is sitting on the brown vinyl sofa in my rented condo in Pasig. She has delicately hoisted the hem of her long floral skirt with one hand and with the other she is holding one of her slippers — flipflops in Filipino — against her leg.
‘Ugh,’ she says. ‘You see? My feet are longer than half the length of my shin.’
She drops the slipper and the hem and takes to regarding her feet with evident distaste, elbow on knee, chin cupped in her hand. She wiggles her toes.
‘I could possibly cut them off,’ she muses. ‘I should cut them off.’