So it is time to let you know why I called this ‘The Butter Mouse’. I appreciate this Is a strange combination of words. But they have stuck with me for over twenty five years.
The Butter Mouse originated in the Clifton area of Bristol, a city in the United Kingdom. I grew up there. Here is a link to the Wikipedia page with more information.
The most celebrated structure in this district is the Clifton Suspension Bridge, (please see photo after this paragraph). Some famous people grew up here too, like Tom Stoppard, and W.G. Grace. There are wide streets, lots of parks, shops, and a zoo where the lions roar all day long.
But for me Clifton will always be the home of The Butter Mouse.
He always wore a tweed jacket, matching tweed trousers, and a battered bowler har. A yellow felt mouse with wire whiskers peeked out of his breast pocket. The closest phrase to a description of his profession is ‘street performer’. However, this is not quite right.
The Butter Mouse used to set up a wallpaper table on a Clifton street corner, and cover it with packs of cards and thin paperback books. Although his primary aim was to sell these wares, he also juggled, sang, and recited poetry. This was not hustling, but a weird mix of theatrics and market stall banter.
Imagine walking past that on your way home from school, or going to scouts. No wonder he is still with me a quarter of a century later. This eccentric figure and his eccentric ways were the ideal inspiration for bringing together all my stories.
However, the reason I am telling you this now is not just for nostalgia’s sake, or to answer the question ‘What is The Butter Mouse?’
I found his book.
There is always a rich haul of fiction and non-fiction in Clifton charity shops, and it is well worth spending the time searching for something weird or valuable. I visited one a few weeks ago, and there, tucked into the occult/esoteric section, was his book.
The cover design reeks of pre-digital era self-publishing. There is a fuzzy black and white photo of a pack of cards on the front, and the letters ‘ThBrMsWlcSf’ along the top. No idea why. At the very bottom are the words ‘By The Butter Mouse.’ No sign of a real name.
I have read the book all the way through. There are some strange language choices, and in places what I can only describe as a Welsh patois. The whole volume runs in at less than sixty pages.
But the content is a remarkable. The Butter Mouse sets you twelve creative challenges, which you play out over the course of a year. Part ritual, part artistic exercises, they require as a minimum a pack of cards and a biro. Throughout the book he assures you that a reward waits for those who complete his quest.
With fifty-two stories to create this year, I thought his challenge was worth a crack.
So for the next year I will complete one piece of flash fiction a month, inspired by the writing exercises. These will sit alongside extracts from the book, and my experience in creating these works of fiction. You will also learn about myself, and my attempt to discover more about the Butter Mouse.
I begin today. The first task is to shuffle the cards for fifty-two minutes without stopping.
No joke.
The photo of the four of clubs will make more sense next week.
