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author
Jim Warren
Jim Warren was born under an erratic star on St. Patrick’s Day, March 1952, to unconventional parents. He was not educated at Goathurst, Enmore, Hemyock, or Wool primary schools, w...view moreJim Warren was born under an erratic star on St. Patrick’s Day, March 1952, to unconventional parents. He was not educated at Goathurst, Enmore, Hemyock, or Wool primary schools, where he attended. At Wool Primary, he received frequent bashes to the head from the blackboard rubber as he sat at the back of the class; he has never been the same since, and hence this book. He made a valiant and final attempt at obtaining (for the seventh time running) that rather essential, yet elusive, qualification: O-level English language. He was trying every examination body in the land; normally, he just tried everybody. And despite occasional allegations to the contrary, for him, there was an alarming consistency in their marking. True to character, it was achieved at long last while he sat under a glazed roof in the Royal Horticultural Hall. Normally, he was just looking out of the window, but this time, he was completely under the table during a freak heat wave that cooked his noodle back then in June 1976. The next day, however, this turned out to be the last straw for his English tutor, who immediately disowned him, and not because of his noodled condition. Now a broken reed, he promptly went down the pub to drown his sorrows. Some thirty-five years later, by which time the author had sobered up, there was still to be no sign of his old English tutor, upon which he became frantic. The author pleaded with the heavens, demanding, “Please send me a sign!” Having to admit finally (while at the same time soberly realizing) that, at long last, he was clearly on his own and wasn’t going to hang around either. Subsequently, The Lulworth Triangle Trilogy, one of England’s spot-on recollections of postwar pre-adolescent plots, was born; collections of some of the truest and daftest stories were drafted, some tall while others were short on acumen, but mainly short on acumen. One of Dorset County Council’s sexist road panels then fell on his head, proclaiming the obvious: “Danger, men at work!” It was a warning sign of the times.
So here it is at long last, the first book of absolutely atrocious grammar [oy, watch it! –ed.], a special trilogy including some words newly created, some old words uncrated, yet others uncreated—nothing less indeed than the long-awaited book that nobody’s been waiting for.
Welcome to the world of Wumps: Shadow-Wumps, Chuckle-Wumps, Chatter-Wumps, Mug-Wumps, and Magi-Wumps, who all live on the island of Wumpland along with those strange Fumps and Gumps from foreign lands somewhere on planet Earth.view less