Spotlight on D.C.J.Wardle
About the author
D.C.J. WARDLE is the author of humorous novels ‘Trading Vincent Crow’ and ‘Vincent Crow: Export’. In January 2013 he was the author of the month on http://www.lovewriting.co.uk.
Holding post-graduate qualifications in development management as well as community water supply engineering, over the past fifteen years, he has worked in developing countries in Africa and Asia, managing emergency and development programmes.
About the book
Vincent Crow: Export
This is the hilarious follow-up to Trading Vincent Crow – in which we were introduced to Vincent, who was determined that he had to trade-up his life every three months for a new and better one. This meant a new job, new girl, new wheels, new pad, new threads – until he reached the top.
In D.C.J. Wardle’s new novel, Vincent Crow: Export, we re-visit Vincent – to see that his unique but ad-hoc approach to self-improvement has inspired him to journey east. He has the chance for a completely new beginning as he throws himself in to the unexplored depths of the Asian business world, with support from his unlikely benefactor, Jonathan Fairchild.
Inevitably, the cascade of disaster that permeates Vince’s haphazard approach to personal advancement means that this new chapter of his life in a foreign country is anything but straightforward. The challenge of starting from scratch in an exotic land, with no initial contacts or appreciation of the culture and customs, could be overwhelming for the most seasoned of entrepreneurs. However, Vince has the added complication of bringing his nan along for the adventure, which may not be one of the most astute decisions that he has ever made…
Excerpt from Vincent Crow: Export
Vince had only ever been to Wales when it came to being ‘abroad’.
When you’re about ten, and you’re comparing far-flung foreign adventures into the unknown with other compatriots of a similar level of life experience, then Wales definitely counts in the ‘abroad’ stakes. No doubt about it. When you’ve reached your twenties, however, and are suffering some backpacker’s tedious monologue of their egotistically mind-broadening ‘year out’, which included six-months discovering themselves spiritually in remote corners of Peru by banging on a drum with some other stoned teenagers, then bringing up Wales isn’t going count as proof of an equal footing. Even if you do have photographic evidence that demonstrates you were there for a whole week at the beach, and it didn’t rain once, the first time that had happened ‘in, like, ever’ (or at least since pre-Cambrian times).
As Vince stepped off the plane at Feiquon’s international airport, he decided that Wales really was a very different kind of abroad to the one he was in now. In retrospect, he now realised that the conversation he’d once had with an arrogant young returnee from Peru at the bar in the Carrot and Jam Kettle, where he defended the notion that a weekend camping in the Mumbles was a comparable adventure to a trek through the Peruvian rainforests, was based on a marginally floored hypothesis.
The wall of Feiquon heat and humidity that engulfed him on the steps of the plane was a shock to the system. He was mopping the sweat from his brow before he’d even descended to the tarmac. The uncomfortable stickiness was almost worse than working in the kitchens at the Carrot and Jam Kettle on a busy Friday night in the summer, stench of chip-fat aside.
Behind him Natalie was liberally applying her new duty-free perfume, and behind her his nan was standing in the oval doorway of the plane with a lighter in one hand and a cigarette in the other. The limited pace at which her aging frame could propel her forward in a straight line meant that the distance from the aeroplane steps to the door of the immigration lounge was definitely at least one fag’s-worth.