NGLND XPX

NGLND XPX was written to grab you by the ankle and drag you screaming into a world of funny and not so funny scifi-ish fiction, a soupcon of some dashed fine adventure and a spot of Ealing-esque farce.Rub shoulders with robots carrying teddy bears issuing tablets of Commandments to chaps wandering out of the desert. Squirm in a grandstand seat during an Industrial Revolution completely re-written just to see the new-fangled steam trains running over well-intentioned children (no real harm done). Recognise your neighbours - polite English zombies coping with the dystopian hell of a socialist victory in the General Election. Man up, madam, and do your OAP National Service during the pensioner wars with an insect species. Watch in awe and not some little discomfort as Queen Elizabeth does the dishes for Europe and the Ministry of Defence quietly saves the world from a rogue comet.No caricature is left unused. The science in the fiction is quite splendidly silly. This is a book to be read with tongue in cheek, preferably your own tongue and one of your own face cheeks unless you are very limber. The characters are as deep as summer puddles and the plots are as complicated as two planks of wood. Reality leaves the room on page one and farce enters just one chapter later. As literary feasts go this book is a paper bag of humbugs. It is the most fun that you can have with a librarian in the room without getting your ticket suspended.The title NGLND XPX is a text message nod to Admiral Nelson’s splendidly rousing signal, sent just as a bit of a rumble that we now call The Battle of Trafalgar was about to begin in 1805 - ‘England expects that every man will do his duty.’ Admiral Nelson appears nowhere in this book.The contents:* The Model-T Virgin* Begging your pardon, my lord, but Cook’s been eaten again* Robots knitting with rubber needles* Je pense it’s all going very bien* Footloose, en pas de basque* iG-Zero-D* In which Mr Cadwallader shampoos his parrot in the rain using some very dated popular science* Diary of a National Service chap* Blood-curdling screams and the Whitworth screw-thread* The Day the Earth took tea.