lost elation


Tag: joseph ridgwell

Fiend de la litt a continué

Continental lit fiends gather round. The December edition of Tra Ver Sees – Issue 82 is out now! And inside are 7 Ridgwell pomes. That’s right 7, so turn off the Jacques Brel, put down Madam Bovary, stub out the gauloise, and get thee to your nearest independent Parisian  or Brussels book shop to order a copy or better still, several. There are some giants of writing inside including Emily Dickinson and one of my fav writers, who is also strangely enough named after me – JR Helton! Check out the pics below for a peep!

UK Islander folk – do not fear if like many of your fellow country men and women you can’t read French. Get thee to the Eurostar for verily beside each French translation is the original in Anglais!

And before you ask, no I don’t know if you can purchase this literary gem online. You probably can but I don’t know how or why or even if I care. Anyway, what are you a recluse!

A special honourable mention must go to that young bastard – Poet Tom Buron – who did an excellent job translating my poems into French. Vive La France!




Milk race rascals – stay put. For here it comes. Prepare to be spellbound. Una dos trios, – here we go round the mulberry bush…




Lit Fiend mail continued…


Lit Fiend Mail…Don’t cha just love it!

If any of you fiends want one of these Poems For All Saturday Night Specials then get in touch via the contact page of this site, or email, or shitter, or some other way. Just don’t go turning up at the door of Ranchlette Ridgwell as, like Greta Garbo, I want to be alone.

Just in case some of you fruits are not hip to the size of these fuckers then see the pic below which will give you a little illumination, via a size contrast. I mean, some of you might think they are an eight hundred page weighty tome, you know like the ones the mainstream keep pumping out at the moment that nobody reads! Mainstream, we, the readers just do not have the attention span or even the capability to read such lengthy books. You should have learned that from Moby Dick, or Clarissa – the History of a Young Lady – by Samuel Richardson. Just one look at those meaty fuckers is enough to induce instant myopia.

Anyway – here’s the pic…


Milk Race Fanatics. I’ll admit I’ve starved you bunch of perverted wankers. But keep with me and stay sane. Now, check out this Super 8mm eyeball cruncher!


Lit Fiend Mail Continued…

20160823_115214Long ago and far away… That’s how it seems anyway, my days, years, spent in Kings Cross, Sydney NSW. All those streets I walked not so long ago… Anyway, after a few weeks respite, Dave the Postie once again arrived at the door of Ranchlette Ridgwell grumbling all the way…

‘More books Ridgwell, always books.’

‘Better than bills.’

‘I could get a slipped disc.’

‘Six months off on full pay, you’ll be laughing.’

Strangely Dave didn’t laugh at that, no sense of humour, but he did hand over several packages. And yes, as you marinate in your lonely wood louse infested bedsits, you’ve guessed it my fellow bibliophiles – more lit fiend mail.

This time, the third and final instalment of my novel – The Cross – arrived courtesy of Martin Appleby’s Paper and Ink Magazine and obtainable by clicking on this link – The Cross Part 3. I know fiends have been waiting for this mother to arrive on their doormat with thee old baited breath. And will it let them down, will it fuck! Adorned with classic Cross photography by Abbie Foxton part 3 finds the walls closing in on the three main characters and as the end of the century approaches Kings Cross is about to witness events that will change the glittering half mile forever! Just remember that the Cross is a state of mind!!

Next up Miss Urchin Belle’s – The Sunlight Pilgrims – follow up to her debut smash – The Panopticon – word on the lit vine is that shooting of the Panopticon is due to start within weeks! See stop press for further details. The SP’s is a disaster catastrophe end of the world identity-crisis combo, with all of the Belle’s trademark literary stye and verve – dealing with both the ugly and the beautiful in this world. Some hack referred to the book as possibly belonging to a genre known as Cli-Fi! No disrespect to the hack, but Cli-Fi sounds too close to Clit-Fi. What is it with these numptys, always having to pigeon hole shit. Lord give me the strength! Anyway the book is a killer and available from all good book stores. Pick up a copy el pronto is my advice!


And last but not least. PUSH 22! Now, it doesn’t seem so long ago that PUSH head honcho Joe England called me and told me that he was thinking about putting a literary magazine together. I told him to stop talking about it and just do it, and the rest as they say is history. PUSH 22 is about as good as it gets, with some excellent poetry and fiction and a fascinating interview withMatt Johnson of The The. To purchase a copy, and you’ll need to start pumping those paypal buttons like a fiend possessed as those mothers sell out faster than you can squish another woodlice – go here – PUSH 22

Just one more thing lit fiends, word on the vine is that I’ll be reading at an event in September. (See poster for details) And see the fake book page. Absinthe & Anarchy You all know I hate readings, the sound of my own voice truly can freak me at any given moment, but every now and then I put on my smoking jacket and hit the road…


And of course, my dear little tug boat ultras. Would I ever forget you darling wankers. No way Jose. Check out this Super 8mm stunner from the Top Gun Room. One, two, three, when you go down to the woods today…


Educating Ridgwell

hp libraryA few years back a fellow lit fiend asked why there were so few books inhabiting the dusty bookshelves of Ranchlette Ridgwell. The answer was simple. Public Libraries. And one unusual PL in particular. Hale End Public Library. A direct excerpt from the prequel to my road novel – Burrito Deluxe – Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man – provides a perfect explanation to this libroless mystery.

‘I settled into a routine of sitting in this big old velvet armchair and reading. I brought different books to the shop each week all loaned from my local public library. I’d discovered this magic library in East London that specialised in counter-culture and cult writing. I unearthed a good deal of major writers in that library that would have a lifetime influence on my writing, Charles Bukowski, Jack Kerouac, Herman Melville, Jack London, Knut Hamsun, Richard Brautigan, John Fante to name but a few. I also discovered some of the ancient philosophers such as Aristotle and Plato – the Ethics of Spinoza – The World as Will and Representation by Arthur Schopenhauer and a huge tome by Bertrand Russell – A History of Western Philosophy. The collected works of Oscar Wilde, William Burroughs and Ernest Hemingway were equally devoured, along with a bunch of French writers who interested me greatly at the time. Charles Baudelaire, Jean Paul Sartre, Rimbaud & the best of the lot – Celine. So with the hours spent reading in the shop I was soon on my way to becoming well read.

Who the enlightened librarian was, I’ll never know, but I just can’t envision a teenager walking into a library today and picking up a hardback copy of Kerouac’s Vision of Cody and even more unreal a hardback copy of Bukowski’s The Most Beautiful Woman in Town!

So here we come to why I’m writing this blog. Readers or followers of my work will know that I’m not politically motivated. Politicians to me are all the same, out for themselves and to protect the interests of Big Business. Recent events in Britain make it clear that they have no interest in the ordinary man or woman and never have done. And yet sometimes even someone as apolitical as myself has to make a stand. I did it once before to save a pub in central London – the Nell Gwyne, hidden just off the Strand. We were successful that time and I aim to be successful again.

Get this fellow fiends. The bean counters and culture destroyers at Waltham Forest Council are trying to shut down my magic library. The library that inspired me to become a writer, the library that probably saved my life! They want to build some shitty flats and a supermarket! Fuck them! Without that library there would be no Joseph Ridgwell the writer. Now, some might say that’s a good thing, whatever – the library has to be SAVED!

All you have to do is click on the link below and sign the petition. They need 5000 signatures and already have over 3000. SO DO IT AND  DO IT NOW AND AFTERWARDS FEEL SORT OF SAINTLY!


Milk Race Fans. I, know, I know – I’ve neglected you wankers for a while, but check out this Super 8MM stunner from the Fourth Emergency Service’s Top Gun room. One, two, three – Bermuda triangle don’t go too near, don’t go too near!

50's erot


Welcome to Jamaica…

Ok, I know what ya saying. Ridgwell’s taking the piss with all this lit fiend shit.He’s seriously starting to get on our nerves. Why don’t he just shut the fuck up and stop bragging? Well, what can I say, it never rains, but it pours! But Dave my beleaguered and overworked postie saved the best for last. And this time he refused to even knock on my door, but instead left the literary package with my neighbour, Stella. Now, I know what you’re thinking. Ridgwell’s neighbour is named after his favourite beer? But it’s all true!

So here it is – all the way from the a tiny little rock in the Mediterranean – Jamaica. Feast your eyes on this beauty and get turned on by a book! All other small presses’s look away now, as you don’t want to suffer an acute attack of the green-eyed monster blues.

Now fiends, start pumping those paypal buttons. To order a copy of this limited edition literary number go here: pig ear press



Jamaica – think Montego Bay – like rum served on a silver tray. Think Ronnie and yours truly having another mad adventure in an exotic location. Think also of Bobby Bloom and Glenn Gould who never went to Nice. Now check out this amazing video to get you in the Montego Bay mood! Obviously no expense was spared in the production of this film. Check out the funky dancers on the river bank. Far fucking out!

Milk Race Fans  – The Fourth Emergency Service is back in business. So you crazy screwballs zone your perverted optics on this super 8mm! One, two, three, strip!




Lit Fiend Mail Continued…

Fuck it, hardly a day goes by without more lit fiend mail arriving at Ranchlette Ridgwell, and more arrived today in the form of this handsome and most extravagantly produced journal. Copies of the journal are available in various art exhibitions in the People’s Republic of Derry or the Emerald Isle to you and me. Or you can go to their website for a copy, gratis, but also electronic. Abridged



Strangely not everyone is happy at this stream of never-ending mail. Dave the Postie for one.

‘My bag is getting heavier and heavier, have these people never heard of email?’

‘Dave,’ I said. ‘Email and anything electronic is anathema to these people. They deal purely in the printed page.’

‘Well, d’ya think ya might be moving anytime soon?’



Anyway, like I always say if ya don’t like your job then stop whinging and quit the fucker.Check the bio below to get some info on what I’m up to writing wise.



Milk Race Fans. Take a day off. Really you guys and girls are too much. Why not get out once in a while, get some fresh air. Maybe even take in a little Times Square action.

 Photos Of Times Square in The 1970s (13)



Lit Fiend Mail Continued…


This time I didn’t even let Dave the Posite put the fucker through the letterbox as I knew the contents of my latest Lit Fiend package contained a fragile item. As soon the footsteps and rustling of envelopes and packages hit my shell-like I jumped out of my festering pit and threw open the door of Ranchlette Ridgwell with a determined flourish.

‘No!’ I bawled.

Strangely, it wasn’t Dave’s hang dog countenance that confronted me but the pretty feminine face of Caitlin the Postess – (Caitlin filled in whenever Dave was hungover, again.) Is there such thing as a Postess? You know like how some women refer to themselves as a Poetess. To clarify – no there isn’t – too many S’s for one thing. Actress maybe or Air-Hostess, as these have a nice ring to them, but Poetess sounds absurd and so does Postess. Anyway, I digress, I grabbed the package from Caitlin’s startled hand.

‘Beat ya to it,’ I said.

Caitlin eyed me oddly. ‘Aye,’ she said.

I slammed the door shut and ripped open the package. Inside was Issue 10 of Nottingham’s Handjob Zine, including a spoken word CD. I’ve been monitoring the progress of Handjob from it’s very conception, and have been impressed and even illuminated by it’s rapid development. Hand Job has nothing to do with wanking – and I always wonder about the state of people’s mind if that’s the first thing that pops into them- It’s called Handjob coz it’s made by hand! And issue 10 is bang on! I won’t reveal the contents – for you can buy a copy here: Hand Job Issue Ten

Jim Gibson and Sophie Pitchford have gone all out with this issue, and no doubt more established zines will be looking over their shoulder and wondering what they can do to stop Hand Job’s irrepressible charge to the summit of the Lit Zine world!

Joseph Ridgwell



Milk Race Fans. Una Dos Tres. It’s party time!

party time