August 2011

Hello! Well, I’ll be appearing at both the Big Chill (early August) and the Edinburgh Book Festival (late August), so I’ll be signing at both those events. But apart from that, my signings are few and far between this year. Man, I feel bad now. Tell you what. Why don’t you get in touch with Egmont with your details and we’ll arrange to get a signed book to your son. Cos, you know, I just can’t bear to think that your boy wouldn’t get what he’s after (I’m soft like that). ***TERMS & CONDITIONS: OFFER OPEN TO UK RESIDENTS CALLED PETER YOUNG WHO WROTE IN WITH THIS REQUEST ONLY. OFFER NOT OPEN TO PEOPLE PRETENDING TO BE PETER YOUNG. REMEMBER, STOCK VALUES MAY GO DOWN AS WELL AS UP. YOUR HOME MAY BE REPOSSESSED IF YOU DO NOT KEEP UP REPAYMENTS ON YOUR MORTGAGE. YOUR STATUTORY RIGHTS ARE NOT AFFECTED. YOUR COUNTRY NEEDS YOU. MANY A MICKLE MAKES A MUCKLE. A BIRD IN THE HAND IS WORTH TWO IN THE BUSH. NEVER TRUST A MAN IN A BLUE TRENCH COAT. NEVER DRIVE A CAR WHEN YOU’RE DEAD***

Yes, Leah, you can see a picture of me by DT (as I call him because I’m so cool) at the back of most of the books. You’ll notice I’m wearing a t-shirt with ‘WEEN’ written on it because, well, DT cleverly spotted that I usually wear a t-shirt with ‘WEEN’ written on it. You’ll also notice I’ve got two eyes, one nose and quite a lot of hair because, well, DT cleverly spotted that I’ve got two eyes, one nose and quite a lot of hair. You’ll also notice that there isn’t an ox sitting on my shoulder because, well, DT cleverly spotted that I never have an ox sitting on my shoulder. (Actually that’s not quite true. I sometimes do have an ox sitting on my shoulder but DT’s never around to draw me when that’s happening as he and the ox don’t get along since an incident at a Majorcan holiday resort.)

Smash the rainbow to pieces with a plank and make all the unicorns cry by telling them they don’t actually exist. Then he’d herd them all into a small grey room to watch Ant and Dec for hours and hours and hours. Unicorns hate Ant and Dec, they find them annoying

Actually I’m going to do some new stuff this time around. I’ll do some old stuff too but you’ll get some new stuff, don’t you worry. I think I’m going to read you a new mini-story called ‘Old King Thunderbelly and the Wall of Lamonic Bibber’. And I think I might also read you some bits and pieces that never actually made it into ‘Mr Gum’ books, so you can see that writing books is very hard and that sometimes you work on a bit of writing but it’s not right for a book. (But I won’t just read out rubbish bits that never made it into books, I’ll read out bits that are still funny, hopefully.) Then I’ll probably fall over, scare a small child with my impression of a desk and be sick into my own shoes. Come along, it’ll be fun and idiotic! Or at least idiotic!

Oh, garsh. I’ve been asked some really weird questions at events. A girl once put her hand up and said, ‘can you mend my key ring, it’s broken’. I said, ‘look, I’ve been stood here talking about books and writing for the last 45 minutes and all you’ve been thinking is, “this man looks like a key ring repairman, I must ask him to mend my key ring as soon as I get the chance”.’ So that was pretty weird. Another time, a boy asked ‘do you remember your first ever mug?’ I’ve got absolutely no idea what that one was all about. But perhaps the best and weirdest ever question was when a boy in Leicester (I think) asked me ‘how much does a time machine cost?’ I hadn’t even MENTIONED anything about time machines or time travel or anything like that. So anyway, that was pretty confusing. I told him, ‘um, I’m not a time machine salesman, you know’ and sort of had a laugh and everything. But THEN the question took on a life of its own, because that was the first year I went to speak at the Hay-on-Wye Festival. And this kid put his hand up and said, ‘are you a time machine salesman?’ So I said, ‘hang on, have you seen me before? In Leicester,by any chance?’ And he admitted he had. And then I went to watch Harry Hill doing a talk for kids at the same festival and lots of ‘Mr Gum’ fans went to see him talk too. And during the questions bit, someone put up their hand and asked him, ‘are you a time machine salesman?’ And it was the first time I’ve EVER seen Harry Hill look more confused and freaked out than his audience. He didn’t know what was going on. And ever since then, whenever I talk at festivals, from time to time some crazy little kid will ask, ‘are you a time machine salesman?’ And I never know if it’s the same crazy little kid following me around the country on some peculiar mission, or whether the question’s just spreading and spreading to hundreds and hundreds of other crazy little kids. And now that I’ve revealed this information here on ‘Ask Andy’, I bet even MORE kids will ask me the same question. So, actually, you can add that to my list of what I’ll be doing in Edinburgh – I’ll probably be answering the question ‘are you a time machine salesman?’ What a life.

Hi! No, I’ve absolutely no idea who you are! And as for chicken noodles, well, I was pretty fed up of them, to be honest. But then I saw THIS...

Wow. That was actually quite terrific. I declare you the winner of the Chicken Noodle song. Your prize is a magic leaf which I have hidden on a tree in your street. You’ll know when you’ve found the right one because as soon as you touch it, you will be cursed with endless bad luck. Enjoy your prize, Chestibor! As for Aardman, I think that would be a good thing. And as for The Pogues, Shane MacGowan has even worse teeth than Billy’s. See here for proof.

Hey, Anna, that’s terrific! I’m going to make up a limerick for you in return. Let’s see... There was a young lady called Anna, who ate an adjustable spanner. She swallowed some mortar, bricks, concrete and water, and now has an internal manor. BA-DING!

Friday doesn’t much care for lemon meringues, Joseph. He prefers a good yogurt any day. But even though it’s yogurts that are his favourites, not lemon meringues, it would be no use him shouting out ‘THE TRUTH IS A YOGURT!’ because that just wouldn’t make any sense.

That’s quite a horrific story, I hope you carried on being cheerful even though you were going through such an ordeal. I have never had braces but when I was smaller I did once get stung by an angry grape. Does that count?

Mr Gum does have a first name, I just don’t feel like telling you lot what it is yet. But here’s a clue: it’s not Rumpelstiltskin. I also think that asking for someone’s first name is a bit rich coming from someone calling him or herself ‘Commander Stark’. I mean, really.

See, this goes back to me always wearing Ween t-shirts. I LOVE Ween and can’t believe for a second that the concert you saw was ‘the worst’. How dare you, sir?! (Note to kids: Ween are a brilliant pop/rock band but you shouldn’t listen to them ‘til you’re a bit older as they’ve sometimes got bad words in their songs, OK?) But anyway. I have sent two signed copies of ‘Here Comes the Poo Bus!’ to Ween, along with a couple of ‘Mr Gum’ books and a letter explaining how much I like them and why I dedicated my picture book to them. I haven’t heard back yet, but even if they never reply I will love them forever and ever, because they are Ween.

The problem is, it was a long time ago when Old Granny originally won the Olympics by running for the bus. These days they are a lot stricter about things and I have a horrible feeling that Old Granny wouldn’t be allowed to compete because she’d test positive for sherry.

Jeremy! If you read the forthcoming BUMPER BOOK edition of ‘Mr Gum in “The Hound of Lamonic Bibber”’ (out later this year), you will discover a BONUS STORY called ‘Young Master Gum Makes a Friend’, which is all about Mr Gum and Billy meeting for the first time, when they were just ten years old. And I think you’ll find that even as a boy, Mr Gum was not interested in teaching Billy to talk properly at all. In fact, you’ll see that it was quite the opposite...

Good guess, Yasmin – but I’m afraid she doesn’t. Polly’s schooling is one of the mysteries of Lamonic Bibber, along with what Mr Gum’s first name is, or why Friday O’Leary’s right leg occasionally swells up to the size of an oak tree and then two seconds later goes back to normal, except that it’s covered in tiny china doves and smells like vanilla for the rest of the day.

No, Olivia, but I do have an ox in my bathtub. From time to time he climbs out and sits on my shoulder and we have ever such a jolly time. Once we went on holiday together to Majorca. I didn’t have to pay for a ticket for him because he counted as hand luggage. When we got to the hotel, we found that David Tazzyman was there too but the ox pushed him into the swimming pool for a laugh, and DT didn’t really much like that and ever since then they won’t talk to each other. It’s horrible when your two best friends don’t get on, isn’t it?

Of course, Etienne. Everyone has a mum. Except the sea. The sea doesn’t have a mother or a father. The sea has no memory or fate. The sea has no regrets, Etienne. The sea has no regrets.

Mr Gum has plenty of secrets. He keeps them in a diary locked safely in Billy William’s head. And on that note, I must away! For ‘tis a fine thing, answering these questions all day. But ‘tis an even finer thing to stop answering these questions and go and lie down and listen to the new Fela Kuti album I bought and eat a small cake and get crumbs all over myself and then go for a bath to wash them off, only there’s hardly any room because there’s an ox in there, but never mind, life is life and oxen are oxen and there’s no arguing with any of it. See ya next time, folks! Have fun!