From the Author
Just a quick note to say that I have foreseen (remembered?) the future, and
not to worry. There was (will be) no collapse of civilisation; no devastating
plague. No nuclear holocausts or environmental disasters, for that matter.
Absolutely no invasion by space aliens. And no techno-nightmares, such as a
take-over by sophisticated neural-net computers. In fact, everyone was carrying
on quite normally. Science fiction got things wrong.
But if your present is my future, you already know this. Unless, of course, you live in one of those alternative universes...
About the Author
Neil Robinson, a fortysomething househusband, once read that fiction writers
tend to be exhibitionists who don't go out much. He decided then that being a
novelist would be the ideal occupation for him. Subsequently the stacks of dirty
dishes have climbed steadily toward the kitchen ceiling and piles of laundry now
spill alarmingly from what used to be the guestroom. His children never get
their dinners on time. In fact, Neil has dabbled in fiction for many
years, but life kept getting in the way. For ten years he worked as a reporter
and sub-editor on various East London newspapers. And it was while he was
exploring the East End world of dodgy geezers and their dodgy motors that he
discovered the Apocalypse has already happened; but most of us haven't noticed
yet. In the mid-1990s he gave up work to look after his two sons. He has a
degree in philosophy and literature and lives with his wife and children in
Essex. Neil enjoys letting dust settle on his collection of Jamie Oliver cook
books while he watches Nature turn his suburban garden into juvenile woodland.
Oliphan Oracus is technically his first novel, though he is rumoured to have
others stashed in a bottom drawer.