He was a 'mature student', though maybe not as mature as he would like to think, looking back.Īfter which, he moved down south - mid 90s - and eventually further still to the South of France for a few years, where he taught English. In time, he fell in love with the idea of languages, French in particular, and went on to get a BA Hons in French Language and Literature with subsidiary Spanish, at The University of Sheffield. His academic education came much later, from scratch, in a sense. It's around this time and place that his novel is set - 'Wood, Talc and Mr. Spent - or misspent, whichever your viewpoint - the majority of his 'young' years on the Northern Soul circuit. Read moreīorn and bred in the city of steel: Sheffield. Beneath the pier encounters with the opposite sex, et al… set against the birth of Scargill and Thatcher feuding. The book progresses through myriad dream sequences, interwoven song-themes, a father’s philosophical ramblings, ever blackening wit, leitmotif – or seemingly recurring scenes is someone laughing at our hero? And Phillip’s own, lyrical, strut-like, black or white manner.ĭancehall adventures via train rides to Heaven, scooter cruising almost coast to coast. And all he’d deemed important was only ever an illusion, his reflected image included.Ĭoming full circle by way of loss and more loss, you would hope lessons are learned. With a little imagination, he might realise things midweek aren’t that bad: there’s the loving family, the secure job amid mass unemployment, a relationship with the perfect young woman… Or maybe he realises too late. He longs for the weekend, or a greater, permanent escape from the daily grind of factory life in an industrial town. When not doing his ‘thing’ in Wigan’s Casino Club – voted ‘The Greatest Disco in the World’ by Time Magazine – Phillip hates the world. Phillip sees life in a simplistic if passionate way: up or down, us and them, black, white and nothing in-between. Without the rose-tinted spectacles, but with hindsight and humour, and with poignancy and affection.

Wood, Talc And Mr. J by Chris Rose