Mungo Hovercraft
Who is he?
What does he do?
Adventurer, raconteur, lion tamer - just three things Mungo Hovercraft has never been.
Often described by those closest (by which we mean "spatially" rather than "emotionally" near) to him as "tedious", "smelly" and "who?", it is perhaps surprising that he hasn't been subject to a compulsory order for experimental pile surgery, or perhaps slap therapy.
With this unwarranted freedom, Mungo has chosen to create works of sublime beauty - so it is a profound shame he lacks the skill to transform such high aims into reality, taking to writing as a duck takes to moustache wearing, foisting instead this gibbering, meandering scribbling on an unsuspecting world.
What's wrong with him?
Is it revenge he's after, revenge against callous fate for rendering him such a grim aberration?
The disproportionately sympathetic may, on reading this piece, suggest that perhaps his heart has been wrecked by the loss of his one true love, and now stews in poisonous envy for those he sees traipsing freely on the earth, their dull minds coddled by the banal witterings of friends, colleagues and loved ones into a pale imitation of contentment.
Pragmatists may be closer to the mark in proposing that he is merely a "twit".
Engineer, musician, ex-musician - just three things Mungo Hovercraft has been. With the publishing of this book, can he now perhaps add "writer" to his short list of achievements? No - no, he can't.
