and other stories by Jonathan Griffiths
The year is 
2217 and every intelligence agency on Earth is preparing for the reopening of the portals to Eden.
Earth’s population is nearly five billion, resources are running low and all the major powers are running out of places to store their radioactive waste.
This could spell the end of Eden as we know it.
The third book in the Eden trilogy, out now.
A beautiful woman, her older lover, her neighbour, her boss and her lover’s wife collide in three intertwined tales of misplaced love, lust and loyalty. A seductive, slippery and surrealistic slide into the slapstick of seedy suburban serenity.
Available now from In Case of Emergency Press: https://square.link/u/0xHWbTfC
Eleven-year-old Nelson Kidman is an only child with a complicated family that includes eight grandparents. His much-anticipated Gold Coast holiday is suddenly cancelled when they get news that his Grandpa Richard is dying and wants to see Nelson and his father urgently.
They take off for London, and so begins Nelson’s entanglement in a family tree distorted by multiple marriages.
Grandpa Kidman reveals on his deathbed that he’s amassed over £2,000,000 in his later years, which is to be divided unequally between his three families, leaving Nelson and father well rewarded but his cousin, Will, and his family much less so.
Money, Nelson learns, does grow on trees. Family trees.
Told through the eyes of a child growing into a young man, It Grows on Trees, is a story for young adults and old adults alike.
As I trudge along the bullock track
The sweat is dribbling down me crack
The sun so hot it burns me eyes
Just heat and dust and bloody flies
Me mate Kev pulls up in his ute
His sister’s with him, God she’s cute
She grins at me, you want a ride?
I’ll move my arse, you get inside
So she slides across and in I get
The vinyl’s warm and slippery wet
My sweat’s now spreading out in ripples
Her t-shirt’s clinging to her nipples
Kev drives a bit and then I spies
Glistening wet between her thighs
An ice cold bloody can of beer
That’s yours, she says, unless you’re queer
Oi, says Kev, you greedy swine
That’s the last can, mate, and that can’s mine
There’s another fifteen miles to go
Until we reach the bottle-o
As we bounce along that rutted track
And I sip me beer, Kev’s mood is black
His sister gives a little sigh
As she slides her fingers up me thigh
I tell ya I’m about to blow
When we finally reach that bottle-o
So me and sis race out the back
Of the bottle-o on the bullock track
And we root right there, on a slab of beer
Fosters, if me memory’s clear
Then we eat meat pies off an Akubra hat
You can’t get much more Aussie than that
JG April 2020
Most are also available on Kobo
