The Story So Far…



Miraculously my memory returned and with it my wayward identity. I could remember almost everything – that I was an artistic genius of unparalleled proportions; that I was from a tiny East Sussex village called Mogwash; and that my most recent artworks were visual representations of concealed emotional torment. Indeed, with my ‘Bottled Feelings’ I had revelled in the simultaneous expressions of concealment and revelation with a creative flair not witnessed in an individual since August 10th 1903. I also remembered that I was the highly intelligent, yet modest author, of the much loved ‘Wonky Words’ fiction blog that had garnered a cult following of Yahoo slurps, googlebots, and some important people in Washington… FBI bots…
Via my excellent website,, I had left a series of ingenious clues that would lead my faithful readers to a bottle known as ‘Bottled Greed’, a bottle filled with a smorgasbord of treasured trinkets and priceless family heirlooms – probably hidden somewhere within the vicinity of Luddley-cum-Mogwash.
Frustrated that belief in ‘Bottled Greed’ was minimal, I puzzled over the problem of convincing my readership of my sincerity…
There was only one thing for it…. I’d dig the damn thing up myself…. buy a new car, some new boots…. the Estee Lauder Beauty counter…. invest in some art…. if only I could remember where I’d buried the damn thing….

Desperately Seeking Sanity


Deja Vu

Dr. Clive Mutterfort, DGM, MRCOG, MClinPscychol, MFFP, DCH, PhD, GCSE, was a large rotund jolly gentleman in the same vein as a young Stephen Fry, all floppy fringed with a similar sense of humour.
‘As we can’t locate your previous identity and nobody seems willing to come forward to donate a spare one, then it may be wise to construct a new one for you…. er, the old one probably wasn’t working too well in any case, otherwise you wouldn’t have ended up in here,’ he chuckled warmly, as he started scribbling frantically on his prescription pad.
‘Voila!,’ he exclaimed as he tore off my prescription with an extravagant flourish.
‘Here you are child, this should sort you out, now run along….chop, chop…. what are you waiting for? You must start immediately . . . shoo, shoo . . . toodlepipski.’
I hastened out of his office into the reception area where I sank down into a battered leather sofa and read the following:-

Identity Construction, Stage 1

1) Begin writing a bizarre fictional blog relating vaguely to your everyday experiences.

2) Explore the nature of an everyday object such as the humble bottle, find a way to exploit its inherent potential as a receptacle for purely emotional material.

3) Read books of quotations and note down the ones most relevant to your current situation.

I was beginning to feel a peculiar sense of deja vu….

Rudyard Kipling 1865 – 1936 Quotations

‘Take my word for it, the silliest woman can manage a clever man; but it needs a very clever woman to manage a fool’ [Three and - an Extra]

‘For the female of the species is more deadly than the male’ [The Female of the Species]

‘But the Devil whoops, as he whooped of old: ‘It’s clever, but is it Art?’ [The Conundrum of the Workshops]




I t was perhaps several months later when I awoke to find myself in a hospital bed in Dorchester. I had forgotten everything – Mogwash, the bottle of greed, my dear friend Sebastian and the fact that I was merely a character from a fictional blog. The doctors spent many hours trying to help me regain my identity, all seemed hopeless… I had been found wandering, dazed and confused in The Booze Bucket – purveyors of fine wines and dubious ciders. Chillingly, I had a fatal head wound and a not unattractive limp.
Nationwide television appeals pleading for friends or relatives to come forward to identify me and take me home proved fruitless. It appeared that I had not been reported missing.
To pass the time I spent many happy afternoons in the hospital craft room teaching myself the ancient forgotten skills of calligraphy; hour upon hour would pass whilst I sat at a desk addressing colourful envelopes to imaginary people with made up addresses.
Dr. Clive Mutterfort, DGM, MRCOG, MClinPscychol, MFFP, DCH, PhD, GCSE,



seemed convinced that clues to my identity/hometown/bottle of greed were to be found in my inky scribblings, I had no reason to persuade him otherwise.

All About Art

‘The moment that an artist takes notice of what other people want, and tries to supply the demand, he ceases to be an artist, and becomes a dull or an amusing craftsman, an honest or dishonest tradesman.’

‘Art is the most intense mode of individualism that the world has ever known.’

Oscar Wilde (1854 – 1900) The Soul of Man under Socialism

‘They have degraded the visible arts into the obvious arts, and the one thing not worth looking at is the obvious.’

Oscar Wilde (1854 – 1900) The Critic as Artist

Dissociative Fugue…

Patient Name : Unknown

Sex : Male/Female

Age : Approx. 35 – 85

Date of Admittance :  22/06/2007

Patient Notes :-

Patient was brought to us on the evening of 22/06/2007. She was found wearing jeans, sweater [from Top Shop], and only one wellington boot.

Police were called after an altercation occurred in The Booze Bucket off-licence, Dorchester High Street, when the owner of the premises tried to forcibly restrain the patient from emptying bottles of Campari on the floor before placing them in the shop window.

The patient is now under observation at River Piddle Hall House, in the care of Dr. Clive Mutterfort, DGM, MRCOG, MClinPscychol, MFFP, DCH, PhD, GCSE.

Questioning reveals that the patient has no recollection of who she is or where she is from. Her description does not match any missing person records in our missing persons database.

Other than two minor injuries, a twisted ankle and slight bruising to the head, the patient appears to be in good health.

The patient becomes overly distressed and anxious upon seeing a bottle, whether in reality or as a picture in a magazine; although It has been observed that the patient is particularly peaceful when watching episodes of either Eastenders or Coronation Street – despite both these programmes having pubs as their social focus.

25/06/2007 The patient asked for a notepad and pen….

A Moment of Pure Farce (Tales from Luddley-cum-Mogwash, part 7)



Desperate attempts to engage my new audience fellow Mogwashians in darkly humorous Boltanski-esque projects, although brilliant, proved to be completely and utterly futile, the last of these projects almost fatally so.
One fateful day in May, I was once again attempting to enlist Sebastian’s help with what I considered to be an amusing artistic pursuit featuring a box of broken glass, a tube of superglue and three cryptic text messages. Sebastian later described my ‘peculiar activities’ to the East Sussex Constabulary as being, ‘gratuitously self-indulgent and devoid of any serious theoretical or philosophical merit’,



going on to claim that my, ‘continuous and ludicrous characterisation’, of him on my, ‘grubby little website’, had caused him, ‘significant embarrassment’.
My offer to bottle his rage, turning it into an eye-catching ornament for his living room had so overwhelmed him with gratitude, that in his haste to offer thanks he slipped and inadvertently bashed me over the head with an empty Campari bottle….as I sat by the river on my weather-proof jacket, trying to dislodge a stone from my Wellington boot.

21 June 2007