DON'T SMELL THE FLOWERS! THEY WANT TO STEAL YOUR BONES! ​BY DUNCAN P. BRADSHAW: BOOK REVIEW

Don't Smell The Flowers! They Want To Steal Your Bones! ( hereby known as DSTFTWTSYB, bloody hell Bradshaw the whole point of an acronym, and I know technically it's an initialism, but you started this, is to make it easier to type something out, seriously what the hell is DSTFTWTSYB?), is the latest offering from the damaged beyond repair mind of Duncan P Bradshaw (hereby known as The Bawheid). As you can probably guess from this opening paragraph, neither one of us is going to be taking this too seriously. Well, he might if he doesn't like this review, and if that's the case, then he can go and write another book to drown his sorrows. (Christ I hope you all realise that this is all a joke, the last thing I need is the unwashed masses coming at me like Cleopatra, see Bradshaw we can all do this sort of thing, thought you were a smart little puppy didn't you?)

Only an idiot would even begin to attempt to dissect this novel fully. On the most basic of levels this tale of loss, retribution, revenge and evil bone sucking plants, takes the notion of the cosy, quaint, murder mystery in a small Eglish village, and sticks all two fingers while borrowing a couple of extra fingers from a pair of conveniently placed midget skellingtons (that's how is spelt in the book, so it's good enough for this dyslexic reviewer) and shoves them so far down the throat of DCI Tom Barnaby (no relation to the Barnaby of the book, well I don't think so, it's not the job of a book reviewer to check literally lineage), that Jim Bergerac can taste what everyone had for breakfast.  

After a rash of obscure and weird Alien-like possessions of the townsfolk by a new species of plant, disgraced and scantily clad detective Harry Surge is brought back on to the force, to get to the bottom of this most mysterious of mysteries. Hard, arrogant, slightly psychotic, and utterly unaware of his own stupidity ( just get him to ask you for a dirigible, or his opinions on books), Harry is the pure distillation of every cliched cop every to prance about the pages of a book or across the screen at your local cineplex. He doesn't follow the rules, probably because he can't read the rule book. He will use anything in his possession to bring the person behind this, or at least someone that he can beat a confession out of in the interview room at the back of the police station that doesn't have a camera in it. His investigation will bring him into contact with a cast of characters that no one in their right mind would ever include in any book ( let alone bring them all together like a half-drunk Pied Piper of Horror), we have the sauve well-dressed expert on plants and history. This man is so cursed with bad luck, even his girlfriend caught fire ( and if you think what he goes through in the opening of this book is terrible just you wait and see what Bradshaw does to him throughout the book, dick is the word that springs to mind). A talking bear trap, a psychotic doctor, an ever more psychotic witch, gang warfare between tea lovers and coffee lovers, and so much more you will hardly believe your eyes, or your ears if someone is reading the book to you.  

DSTFTWTSYB (Jesus wept if it weren't for copy and paste I'd be writing a very strongly worded letter to Bradshaw for making me type that) will take you on a journey from a murder mystery right up to and beyond the.... (hey I've given away far too much of the plot of the book already, stop reading this review and just go and get a copy and see where this book goes. I bet you a gazillion Jimmy Dollars that you can't*) 

Congratulations you have made it this far in the review, and you probably deserve a wee break, so let's get serious for a minute. There are two classes of people in the world, those who have read Duncan P Bradshaw before and love with every fibre of their being what he does (heads up I am one of them), and those who haven't yet read, who is in my humble opinion the finest writer of comic horror ever to grace the shelves of your nearest large multinational bookselling corporation. If you ignored be above, go and buy this book or any of his other works of genius (don't make me repeat myself a second time, or is that a third time, does the initial saying of something count as number one or zero when you say that phrase?)

His writing is absurd, some might call it Bizzarro in terms of genre, but as someone who has never gotten on with that genre, I'd say that it is a bit of disservice to lump it in with them. No, Bradshaw's writing, is quintessentially British, with distant echoes of Spike Milligan, The Goon Show, Monty Python and even The Young Ones, Bradshaw sinks his roots deep into the fertile soil of British comedy and uses it to grow his unique brand of comedy fruit. 

It's stupid, rude, crude and at times rather disgusting, but Bradshaw's confidence in what he is doing brings all of the stupidity and silliness together into as a coherent narrative as you can expect from a book like this (what he really means is there is the first page a middle page and an end page, hey if Jim can do this then so can I, fuck I'm the star of this book, I'm Harry Surge for fuck sake)  

But seriously, this book is a riot, in these crazy times of generation lockdown, DSTFTWTSYB is a perfect antidote to the pent up feelings we are all experiencing. You cannot read this book without becoming drowned in its sense of fun; you will genuinely laugh throughout the whole length of the book. They say laughter is the best medicine, which means DSTFTWTSYB is the magic cure-all bullet.  

One of the highlights of this book is the irreverent way in which Bradshaw treats the standard forms of narrative structure. You've all heard of the fourth wall, well Bradshaw doesn't so much as break through the fourth wall, he smashes it repeatedly like a coked-up hulk. Now, this should, in theory, get boring after the third time in the book, let alone the bazillionth time, but you play along with it and actually look forward to the next time either Bradshaw or one of the characters in the book breaks it. Hell, there are even parts where the characters break it just to tell the author he's an idiot. See what I mean, it is in theory bonkers and should have you screaming at random passers-by in anger in the same way that Joe Pasqualles book did, but it doesn't, not once.

DSTFTWTSYB is the natural progression from the author who brought us Mr Sucky and Cannibal Nuns from Outerspace, and I cannot sing its praises enough, gut-wrenchingly funny, stupid, self-deprecating, and quite possibly the most bonkers book you will ever read.  

*currency conversion rate 1 Gazilion JimmyDollars = 5p (did you really think I have any value after reading this review?

Don't Smell The Flowers! They Want To Steal Your Bones!
by Duncan P. Bradshaw

The sleepy village of Charlton is under assault. Not from crazies, zombies or radioactively enhanced mutants, but from locally grown flowers. These devilish orchids lure people in with their favourite smell, before rendering them unconscious, just so they can pilfer a piece of the victim’s skeleton.
As doctors and paramedics are pushed to breaking point, it’s down to scantily clad detective, Harry Surge, to root out who’s behind this unconventional attack. To nip this in the bud, Harry is going to have to call in old favours, investigate the history of the village, leave no leaf unturned, and commandeer as many different vehicles as he can get away with. Even ones he doesn’t know how to spell.
Brace yourself for a peculiar hike through rural England, bring a packed lunch if you get peckish, but whatever you do, DON’T SMELL THE FLOWERS! Cos, ya know, THEY WANT TO STEAL YOUR BONES!
Damn, I’m good. Never thought I’d be able to get the title into the synopsis. Ten points to me, none to you. You’ve got a mountain to climb now, loser.

Book 3 in the GoreCom Series is a cautionary tale about the folly of smelling flowers without considering what they might want from you in return. The silliness ante is well and truly raised, and the fourth wall broken.

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