Wotsit All About?

Writing a blurb about a book wot you wrote is harder than writing the flipping book.

Wot have you dunned today? That's harder than wot have you dunned over the last eight years.

For the last eight years I have been writing a book. Amongst other things, such as not writing. Such as eating a lot of savoury nibbles. 

Today, I tweaked a : and two ;s into 'is' and a ,. 

A day's work. 

But I think I have dunned the blurb. 

So wotsit all about? I've been asked this repeatedly and still it was excruciating squeezing out a coherent description without being cheesy. 

It's about the details. 

And now, I squint my brain at wot to put on the back of the book. This could take another two months. I want something original... I need more savouries to get the cogs working. 

I wish I had some Wotsits. They remind me of Saturday afternoon swimming. Specifically, the vending machine afterwards. Wotsits and a searingly hot hot chocolate in a criminally fragile plastic cup. Preparation for a wet walk home and an evening of still stinging eyes.

Now, Frazzles. They are a pub family room in Devon in which to spend the summer evenings with a pool table for my brothers and Don't Go Breaking My Heart on the juke box. 

Fangs were a free transfer of a funny vampire face I sent away for with tokens from the back of the packet and Mum ironed the image on a yellow flowery top for me. A funny combo, but it was a funny top - sleeveless but with a polo neck. Best accompanied by roller skates. 

Monster Munch, pickled onion flavour, were gaspilicious and to be devoured out of doors in raucous company, almost like an initiation trial. 

Hula Hoops tasted better bitten off fingertips. Getting ones to fit thumbs were trickier, but not impossible. 

Chicken Wickers tasted disturbing, like crusted burnt fat, but you'd keep eating them to confirm how inedible they were coz you could imprison your tongue in the structure before it disintegrated which was fun, like a mini jail break. The jingle still lives in my head. I'm liable to squeal 'They're terribly tongue-tickling' at inappropriate moments. 

Crisps, or maizey foodstuffs, seem to be important to me.  

While writing the book I ate my bodyweight in peanuts a thousand times over.

No wonder I'm so salty. 

Perhaps, instead of words on the back cover, I could infuse it with salt. Like a salt lick. Bet that's not been done before. 

So am I ready to publish? 

First edition, original flavour: ready salted.