Milton Keynes: Alternative intro

Not a huge amount in this passage; an alternative introduction to Milton Keynes and the wonderful world of kettles, and potential introduction to the original comic fantasy vision.


The Reliable Electrical Company truck rumbled along the traffic-ridden suburban streets, one of the heavy tyres bursting a child’s football that dared encroach on the narrow road. The diver swung the wheel with wild, extravagant movements as he squinted into the low winter sun, oblivious to the craping sound of his tailgate against a badly parked Vauxhall, desperately looking for number 42. He counted down the numbers as he negotiated an uncomfortably tight corner, only the most unlikely stroke of luck keeping him from taking out a pillar box on the way.
Forty-eight, forty-six, forty-four…
Now where the hell was he supposed to park a seven-tom wagon, he asked himself.
With no answer immediately forthcoming, he did what any self-respecting electrical goods delivery driver would do in the sircumstances: put the hazard warning lights on and left it in the middle of the street.

“Hi Merthyr,” the driver said as his sister-in-law, Welsh movie star Merthyr Tydfil, opened the door.
“Hello Milton,” she replied.
“I can’t stop long - my truck’s blocking the street,” Milton added, as a handy excuse rather than a pang of conscience.
“I made afilm in a truck once,” Merthyr said. “Have you got time for a coffee?”
“Not really,” he lied, pretending to look guiltily out at his truck. “I was passing on my way to a delivery, so I thought I’d pop by to thank you for the Christmas presents.””Oh, that reminds me,” Merthyr said (Milton’s brother was the quiet one, can you tell?). “I found something else for you the other day.”
“Really?” Milton said.
“It’s not much,” she called from the next room. “It’s just kind of a joke really, but I didn’t come across it in time for Christmas.”
“Well, thanks,” Milton said to fill an awkward gap while she was out of the room.
“Here it is,” she said, coming back with a thin paperback book.
“One hundred and one things to do with a kettle,” he read. “By Steve Trower.”
Merthyr smiled at him expectantly.
“Never heard of him,” he said.
Merthyr’s smile faltered at the thought of an unwanted gift.
“I’m joking!” Milton said, noticing it. “You must have known,” he added. “I’ve got a truck load of kettles parked outside!”

Milton Keynes dragged his truck back round the endless corners of the suburban estate, revving the powerful diesel engine to pump out a mist of choking black smog, and made his way to the Loworth Hardware and Electrical Store, which was unexpectedly locked.
“Great,” Milton muttered to himself. “Now what am I supposed to do with a truckload of kettles?”


Merthyr Tydfil is a heavily sanitized version of the original character, 'mucky film star' Luscious Freelove. Luscious had a lot more comic potential, but tended to take over the story and lead it astray into quite inappropriate territory... As she couldn't be controlled, we had to let her go.

Comic Fantasy vs. Surreal Road Trip

Digging out some Milton Keynes old adventures has got me wondering...

Some of his stuff, and some of the extant scenes from my comic fantasy may be interchangeable. Experiments are currently under way to see whether the two can, in some form, be combined; this cannot be done without losing some good stuff from each, however if I have enough good ideas to hand, it may be that something good may arise from the combination, leaving one or two worthwhile ideas in the 'unstarted projects' file for possible future use.

The problem at the moment is that the two stories as they currently stand require two entirely different worlds in order to work, and some of the ideas in progress will only work in one of the two.

So the question is which world do I want to work in most, and which ideas have the most potential for a saleable comic fantasy.

A further sub-question relates to the existence or otherwise of some form of moral purpose to either story. As a Christian I want to reflect my faith in my writing, and one of these two potential stories does indeed have allegorical potential. However, for now I think I shall let this question go, and if the opportunity arises for a spiritual theme to be tackled without forcing the issue, I'll tackle it later.

Another of Milton Keynes' aborted adventures tomorrow.

101 Things to do with a Kettle

Milton Keynes sat behind the counter of the Loworth Kettle Emporium, staring glumly at the cordless Kenwood in front of him, willing it to fly. Demand for kettles in the village had declined somewhat lately, allowing Milton plenty of time for such psychic exercises. (He had started by willing a small filter kettle to disappear, but soon realised that this was probably not an ideal pastime for the area's premier purveyor of kettles.) He concentrated. Really hard. The kettle jiggled slightly, then rose slowly off the counter, held aloft only by the power of telekinesis. Or Kettelekenesis, as Milton called it.
The bell dinged as a customer entered the shop. Milton looked up, startled. A cordless kettle hit him sharply on the back of the head.
“Good morning,” said the man, ignoring this.
“Can I help you?” Milton asked, rubbing his head.
“Maybe I can help you,” the man said, smiling. “The name’s Hobbs. Russell Hobbs.”
“Have we met?” Milton asked, shaking the man’s hand; the name seemed vaguely familiar.
“Oh, no. I’m from the Kettle Marketing Board,” Hobbs smiled, gazing ecstatically at the vast array of kettles that surrounded him. “The most important invention since the wheel. Or at least, since medium sliced Hovis.”
Milton stared at the stranger, wondering exactly how many teabags short of a pot he was.
“Since the dawn of time mankind has realised the importance of good, hot water,” Hobbs went on, “for making tea, washing the car, and so on.”
Several, definitely, Milton reflected.
“The kettle was invented, incidentally, in 1583, by Henry Kettle of Lantern Marsh, Virginia.”
“Never heard of him,” Milton said.
“He has been largely unrecognised, since his invention was useless until the discovery of electricity some centuries later. The whistling kettle, on the other hand, was invented in 1854 by Sir Alfred Whistling-Kettle, a distant relative of his. But I digress. My point is this: the importance of hot water has meant that the kettle’s multitude of other uses have been woefully overlooked.”
“What other uses?”
“The most famous, the brainchild of a Mr Dudley Zoo, founder of the animal park bearing his name, is a visual gag featuring a caged kettle and the title ‘Water Otter’. A rival of his, Mr West Midlandsafaripark, was allowed to use the joke for a small fee. By the early 1970s Dudley Zoo had made millions by selling the rights to his joke. Now, of course, like most things that seemed like a bad idea in the 1970s, the joke is most commonly found at the lower quality car boot sales. But it illustrates my point.”
“Which is?”
“There are a hundred and one things you can do with a kettle,” Hobbs enthused.
He picked up a stainless steel kettle from the display with which to demonstrate. And put it on his head.
“Rubbish Dalek impressions?”
“It’s a cycle helmet,” Hobbs explained.
“Would that work?”
“Maybe that was a bad example,” he admitted. “But you could hang it on the end of your bed on Christmas Eve, put your toothbrushes in it, or make one of those surreal Polish animated films about it.”
“Aren’t there any more practical uses for a kettle?”
Hobbs opened his briefcase on the counter. From it he produced a selection of spanners and a ratchet screwdriver, which he dropped into another kettle.
“Tool box,” he said.
Into another he thrust a small bunch of carnations, also produced from the briefcase.
“A vase,” Milton guessed.
“Absolutely!”
“Why not a briefcase?”
“Why not indeed?” Hobbs grinned widely, pulling pens, notepads, and an electronic personal organiser from his briefcase and placing them into a large, squarish kettle. “Now you’re talking my language.”
Hobbs picked up the kettle and appeared to test its weight and balance, or something. “I’ll take this,” he said. “Thanks.”
Stunned, Milton took for the briefkettle.
“Don’t bother wrapping it,” Hobbs said merrily. “I’ll take it as it is.”
Once the stranger had left, Milton Keynes sat back behind the counter, staring intently at a slightly dented cordless Kenwood, contemplating the conversation he had just had. A hundred and one uses for a kettle meant you need a hundred and one kettles. Which meant more business for him – despite his better judgement, Milton liked the theory.
He picked up a notebook, tore out the page on which he had written ‘Ode to a Kettle’, and began to write:
‘One hundred and one things to do with a kettle.’

Short story based on the classic masterpiece, '101 Things to do with a Kettle', (C) 1994 Steve Trower.

Milton Keynes - Britain's Most Boring Man - is currently auditioning for the lead in a comic fantasy novel.

Rejected again...

You'd think I would be used to it by now. Still sucks though. (There's the writer in me, coming out with a succinct impression of how it felt.)

So the question remains... which work in progress to finish next? (I've just realised one of them bears a faint resemblence to some aspects of Lost... bandwagon-jumping, anyone?) Really I should just grab one of these fantastic ideas of mine and run with it, get it finished before some other swine turns it into the Next Big Thing. Or maybe I already have? I digress.

I'm going to drag some of that unfinished stuff up and post it here shortly. That way my vast readership can have it's say on what gets finished next... and also I actually put stuff on here more than once a month, in the vague hope that might attract a readership to start with... Erk!

Knowing my past record at keeping things going, I hesitate to say watch this space, but...