In today’s blog I had planned to tell you about yesterday’s trip to see GANTOB at The Manse, Badenoch. This was going to be combined with some musings on five letter words that contain two occurrences of the letter K (for Wordle type games, before you ask).
However, after a long exchange of messages with GANTOB this morning, escalating to a slanging match by phone this afternoon, I have had to change my plans.
GANTOB is not happy with yesterday’s blog. I typed it up as soon as I returned to my Edinburgh flat last night, just missing the midnight deadline. I mentioned Kreative Tyranny early on, as previously agreed with GANTOB. It certainly felt that I was pushing my limits. At 82 years of age, after travelling approximately 260 miles by bus in a single day, without my usual frequency of refreshment, and far from adequate toilet options, I would have much preferred to go straight to bed. But I wrangled with the website and filed my copy.
GANTOB is not persuaded. Her background in sales, and her current obsession with Curt Finks, means that she wants strictly defined parameters. She was adamant that I choose a number and stick with it. She would not accept a range. After what seemed like hours of wrangling we agreed that I will stick to exactly 400 words per daily blog. Luckily, I am not bound by very rigid Finks-style criteria (e.g. the specified count of each letter and number that he imposed on himself for 20 years). And neither are there Ernest Vincent Wright-type rules on the letters that I cannot use (see Gadsby and the missing letter “e”).
Which leaves me just about enough words to explain how GANTOB and I met.
You might have read GANTOB’s pamphlet “The Houseguest”. The short answer is that I am the Reverend K_____.
Don’t worry: I am long retired, and no longer “do” religion. You are not going to be subjected to a Finks style sermon.
What you might also know is that GANTOB sometimes writes two versions of her pamphlets (see, for example, Antiklimax).
After GANTOB’s shock discovery that I had worked out her identity in The Houseguest, we exchanged a series of emails and established something of a rapport. These emails became an unreleased version of GANTOB’s The Letter. How I identified GANTOB’s identity in the first place is another story.
I am sorry for the late hour. I will polish this up another time, but for the moment Kreative Tyranny calls, as GANTOB might say if she were in a fit state to say anything.
I have just arrived back from an unexpected trip to Badenoch to see GANTOB (the person) and retrieve her book. If you haven’t heard of GANTOB before, check her Instagram page or X feed. Though it appears that for the time being I will be taking care of that as well.
I have not written a blog before. I am going to have to do some scene setting, because a lot has happened in the days since you last encountered me in GANTOB’s writing. Not that you would necessarily know that, unless you have read the GANTOB Kompanion.
GANTOB had called me yesterday, distraught. Everything had seemed to be going to plan, until that morning. Her consignment of books had arrived on schedule on Friday 22 September, and she had worked until the early hours of Saturday morning making up packages that included the book, some Little Grapefruit bookmarks, a reproduction of a Curt Finks Edinburgh Fringe flyer, and an interactive version of a Curt Finks short story. She had signed and numbered each copy, and worked out how to print addresses on labels to save time. The numbered copies match up with answers to questions that “applikants” sent in asking GANTOB how to improve the rest of 2023. Having discussed some of the questions over the past couple of weeks, and the life changing situations they referred to, GANTOB and I agreed that we must meet the promised deadline of 23 September.
On the Saturday morning GANTOB caught a lift with her neighbour into the village and lugged two full bags of parcels along to the shop that doubled up a convenience store and post office. There was a modest queue. She shuffled along with her 41 packages. The minute hand seemed to accelerate as they headed for closing time, which was set by the time the post van passed. She might be able to post at least some of the books. But the van arrived before she had a chance, and there was nowhere to store parcels until Monday. She would have to take the two increasingly heavy bags away with her. With the Highland transport links as they are, there was no way that she would be able to get to Aviemore or Kingussie before closing time. If only she still had the company car.
So GANTOB called me up. Let’s call me The Benefaktor for the moment. We’ll see how that works. I had another name in the GANTOB Kompanion. I will explain more as this blog progresses. After I heard her sorry tale, I packaged up the complementary copies of the GANTOB book that had been sent to me as funder of the project. I printed off sheets that GANTOB emailed me, folded and cut them following her instructions, and packed them up in card backed envelopes. I hurried to the main post office in central Edinburgh and managed to post packs to a couple of GANTOB kompetition applikants from England, and one from Republic of Ireland. I messaged GANTOB to let her know that the mission was accomplished, if we accepted that posting at least some copies of the book on 23 September was enough. I agreed to use some of my remaining copies for local deliveries, and persuaded one of the food delivery cyclists you see dotting around cities nowadays to make deliveries to Stockbridge and Leith. A little later on I also had a consignment ready for The Tillerman and The KLFRS Board, delivered in a fish and chips bag. That felt like a healthier number of copies delivered on publication day.
But that still left the problem of completing the rest of the deliveries. As the day had progressed GANTOB was becoming less communicative. By the evening her husband Ali described her in a fugue state. I agreed that I would do what I could to retrieve the situation. I will describe today’s activities in tomorrow’s blog. To summarise briefly, it involved a lot of free bus travel (owing to my age), word games from the Sunday papers and then on my phone, a surprising number of words with the letter K, travel sickness, negotiations (successful in spite or perhaps of the desperation) and a race to catch the last bus back to Edinburgh.
On the way back home tonight (keeping GANTOB’s parcels as dry as I could in the downpour), I realised that there is still road in the GANTOB story, including my role.
With 99 days left in 2023, I commit to writing ~400 words a day about my contribution as The Benefaktor (GANTOB imposed the spelling) on this blog. With the 400 words of new story that I have persuaded Ali to relinquish, that will make at least 40,000 words by 31 December.
Tune in tomorrow to hear more about today’s exploits as an elderly gentleman in Badenoch, but not The Elderly Gentleman as I feel compelled to highlight having read GANTOB the book.
GANTOB blog 