Does Christmas always have to be a show? Or do you prefer it home alone? Do you dress for the after-glow? Or Is Christmas a bore and presents all a chore? Will Jesus ever come to the party? Can a homeless man ever be arty? Does the manger clip your wings? Or is it always time to wallow in seasonal sins? - M.T. Sands teases and delights with Ten Naughty Christmas Stories to lift the festive gloom and doom.

Is it acceptable to run out a team-mate? Should you bet on your Captain's downfall? Would you tamper with a cricket ball to gain an edge? Do you think girls can bat, or would you send down your fastest ball? Have you ever dreamed of hitting the winning run only to have your bails removed and your stumps flattened? Are you a pie chucker, or a natural tail-ender? Are you superstitious? Do you believe in the power of a mystical bat, or essential piece of kit? What would you do if a cricket ball kept landing in your greenhouse? Or someone messed with your box?

MT Sands teases and delights with Ten Naughty Cricket Stories that echo with summer laughter and the sound of leather on willow.

WHY READ THIS BOOK

Me and my Pommie mate, Beef wanted to say a few words about cricket. First off, even if you do not know anything about cricket, we think you should read this book because it tells you about life. To coin a phrase cricket is about life, and life is exactly like the cricket, innit. Secondly, Mary Sands writes like she plays cricket. She has all the best shots. She can hit you for six, or stroke you for four. Not only does she write funnily and well about the cricket, but she gives it all a wicked spin of her own. Finally, there is something magic about a cricket field whether it is a dusty strip in the African veldt, an Indian gulley or Jamaican Beach, the finest lawns of Melbourne or the lovingly trimmed squares of the English shires. We hope these stories will tell something about the magic and the love so many of us feel for this special game.

GO WELL,

Lance and Beef

Inside the drowned man, Hobbes found the whale. Inside the whale, Hobbes found nothing but junk.

***

Among the cardboard boxes and bin-liners, outside a restaurant called perplexingly Le Chat Noir, someone had dumped a manikin, which appeared to have been super-glued with angel wings.

A large black dog or possibly werewolf springs and snaps off its head. In the ghoulish celebration of the dismemberment of the manikin there is in fact no blood, just the crunching of prosthetic limbs.

Here in the junkyard it is often like this - moments of violence and high strangeness, followed by hours of what seems futile wandering.

***

Was it the junk that made him creep? Or something itching at his soul? No matter, there was no solution other than to trigger the gun. - On the brink of fame and fortune, Jimmy Quentin, poet maudit of the Q-tips, leaves it all behind and takes to the streets where his life continues to spiral out of control.

How will Kateryna woo Shevshenko? Will the Count elude confession on his death bed? Can a true Scot really appreciate a holiday in the Med? How will you grow old? Gracefully or with a bottle in your hands? Are you a Naughty Girl or Nice Girl? Have you ever encountered your double? Can you read the cards, or do you stick to the runes?

Carte Blanche is a collection of naughty short stories, a series of sly vignettes and comic tableaux, compiled and curated by best of friends, Maude and Mabel. - Why not become a member of the lazy book club, and get your news from nowhere (www.magickgate.com)? Carte Blanche is the indulgent companion for idle days by the pool, the longeurs of the airport lounge and the post-industrial metro of the modern world.- M T Sands

Any expressed wish that some form of adversity or misfortune will befall or attach to one or more persons, place, or object is called a curse Also called an imprecation, malediction, execration, malison, anathema, or commination, in particular curse may refer to such a wish or pronouncement called into being by a supernatural or spiritual power, such as a god or gods, a spirit or a natural force, or else as a kind of spell by magic or witchcraft; in the latter sense, a curse can also be called a hex or a jinx. Read this book at your peril. The numinous, the humorous and the unexpected converge in these tales of nightmare and revenge. - M T Sands.

EXTRACT FROM CURSES

Pungi's Curse

Mota was a fat, old snake sold to Kohli the snake charmer for a few miserable rupee. When Kohli got him to dance to the pungi, Mota could barely lift his hood. To the crowd the pungi was magic, but to the snake it was a curse. As he raised his hood, Mota wanted to spit venom. But the poison had long been drained from his fangs, and he was consigned to crawling on his belly back into his basket in defeat. The pungi player danced around the snake mocking him with the silent words of the charm. Listen, you fat old snake You have nothing left to give. Get back in your basket It will prove to be your casket Yet the music of the pungi was so maddening Mota was stirred out of his lethargy into a leap. For if Mota was not a boa, he had the soul of a constrictor. He clung to Kohli's neck and pulled him down to the ground and dragged the charmer towards the basket. Now the crowd understood what was meant by the pungi's curse.

How will Harry the painter escape from the bikers? Who is the mysterious hitcher in the frozen Canadian winter? Will the brat Kevin get his comeuppance? And will Anouk and Hans get away with swimming in the wild? Are you a sheep or a wolf in sheep's clothing? Do you like whips or quips? Do you soak it up, or dare you take it like a man? Or indeed a nun?

Carte Rouge is a collection of naughty, short stories, a series of sly vignettes and comic tableaux, compiled and curated by new best friends, George and Giorgio. For all members of the lazy book club (www.magickgate.com), Carte Rouge is the indulgent companion for idle days by the pool, the longeurs of the airport lounge and the post-industrial metro of the modern world.- M T Sands

From Vegas, gangsters, playboys and loan sharks, to Cairo, bi-planes and motorbikes, do you choose a smooth Egyptian gent, or a New Jersey self-made skunk? What other unenviable choices lie before grifter, Felicia Cleo Portman as she heads down the Felucca Ride in search of fame, fortune, and a Bastet cat.

Another story from the MT Sands stable that teases and delights, J. P.

In the wake of protest and revolution, Mario lands in London with a bag full of South American jewellery and trinkets. Will he make ends meet on the markets of Camden and Portobello? Will he find love and romance among the bartering locals? How will he fare with the emigres and the forgotten social elites of his own society? - How will he navigate the complex world of 90s London? - A world that seems to be on the tip of its own iceberg: protest, riot, petty thievery, scam and shenanigan.

Será posible el amor en Londres? O quizás en Ibiza, o más allá?

Podrán Danilo, Mario, y demás, sobrevivir en la gran ciudad vendiendo sus artesanías en las ferias de Camden y Portobello?

Cómo será su relación con los locatarios, y con la variada comunidad Latina?

Cómo navegarán los complejos tiempos de la década de los noventa: protesta, agitación, fiestas clandestinas, conflictos, romance y travesura...

Anibal Buonomo describes San London thus: El libro consta de catorce relatos diferentes que están interconectados a través de personajes, tiempos y lugares. Siete de ellos están escritos en inglés (Proctor) y otros siete en castellano (Buonomo).

The book is a mesh of interconnecting relations across time, place and character. Seven stories are written in English (Proctor) and seven more in Spanish (Buonomo).

Here is a short extract from one of the Spanish stories, Poll Tax, which describes a demonstration in central London against the Thatcher Government's unpopular tax in the late nineteen eighties:

Interminables columnas de gentes se dirigían hacia Trafalgar Square. Y policías, muchos cops, cientos y cientos de cops. En las escalinatas de la National Gallery habían formado un cordón... miró hacia el lugar donde siempre estaba el hombre que vendía salchichas, aquel hombre tosco, lacónico, que permanecía hasta la medianoche parado detrás de su prolijo carrito. (Él lo observaba cuando esperaba el bus nocturno, observaba cómo pasaba parte de su tiempo cocinando las rebanadas de cebolla, las movía sobre la plancha de aquí para allá, pedacito por pedacito y las miraba fijamente largo rato mientras quién sabe qué pensaba debajo de su boina). El hombre no estaba aquella tarde.

Los cops llevaban caras rígidas, tensas, sus ojos con agresividad. Lejos de la imagen de la postal donde el policía amablemente sonríe a los turistas, estos me recordaban a los de Sudamérica en tiempos de la dictadura- el sombrero aparte, claro.

Danilo is suddenly trapped by the police advance. What will he do? Will he escape?

El saxofonista se había ido de la entrada de Charing Cross Station. Ahora la música que se escuchaba eran las voces de protesta. Muchos manifestantes portaban carteles no muy grandes y bien prolijos que decían simplemente en blanco y negro NO POLL TAX. Danilo pidió uno y lo colocó al costado de su puesto. Algunos en el mercado hicieron una mueca de reprobación como no queriendo mezclar el business con la protesta. A Danilo le importó poco. Y de hecho eso era una gota en el océano porque muy pronto eran miles y miles de protestantes y miles de cops. Justo a un costado de la plazoleta, por St. Martins Lane, los canas bloquearon el paso a la muchedumbre y, a los pocos segundos el volumen de los cánticos se elevó; la tensión se elevó. Danilo y otros comenzaron a levantar el puesto, a guardar las mercancías. En aquel momento vio cómo una lata de cerveza levantaba vuelo por el aire, giraba un par de vueltas, se dirigía hacia la barrera policial, y ... Pum cayó con fuerza sobre la barrera. La reacción fue inmediata, una camioneta blindada de la policía arremetió contra la muchedumbre, y ese fue el comienzo.

It was a matter of some urgency: a wolf was loose in the woods. And being loose in the woods, he could get into the garden.

Whatever you do, said Dad. Don't go out the gate. You don't want the wolf to eat you.

Laila went out the door, but the wolf was already in the garden.

There you are! he cried. I was wondering where you got to.

What are you doing here? she cried. This is my garden.

Well, said the wolf, you're not in your garden. You're in my garden now.

***

Dreamy tomboy, Laila meets Cyril, a rebellious gnome and passes through a charmed gate into the Garden. Here she meets Mr Whizz and fulfils her dream to become a rider of cornies. When the shape-shifter Smarm and his army of loopy wolves capture her gnome friends and steal the magic strawbs, Laila and Cyril help the Mistress Dido win them back.

Is it acceptable to have sex when your husband can't watch? When does neighbourly affection go too far? No matter how charming you are, do you think you can get away with anything? What would you do if you see a monster in the ring? If you are always waiting for the right one, will you wait for ever or sacrifice yourself on the altar of never? Can you keep your dignity when things get out of hand? Is your father always right? Beg, borrow or steal, is it worth it for a deal? When revenge is a dish, is it best served hot or cold? Are you really good at what you do best, or is it time to admit you should be told? - Be wary of those who are led by their stomach... The unexpected, the cruel, the frightening and the absurd, M.T. Sands teases and delights with Ten Naughty Stories that makes us reconsider our human foibles and frailties.

Dreamy tomboy, Laila meets Cyril, a rebellious gnome and passes through a charmed gate into the Wolf Garden. Here, she does battle with the shape-shifter Smarm and his army of wolves. When Smarm captures her gnome friends and steals the magic strawbs, Laila and Cyril help the Mistress Dido win them back.

A Cautionary Note

When you enter the Garden, inevitably, and perhaps none too surprisingly, you will find that you leave something behind. When you are in the Garden, you may find - to your surprise or indeed unwittingly - something different. That something different you may take out of the Garden if you so please. Some people may be lost in the Garden. And yet some people may find themselves in the Garden. Others may leave the Garden and never come back. Not all people will remember the Garden. Although if they do, they may find they will be curiously, indeed remarkably enriched by having visited it.

From Mr. Whizz's Notebook: Concerning the Garden, a thing rarum.

***

It was a matter of some urgency; a wolf was loose in the woods. And being loose in the woods, he could get into the garden.

Whatever you do, said Dad. Don't go out the gate. You don't want the wolf to eat you.

By the way, said Mum, don't forget to take your apple.

She went out the door, but the wolf was already in the garden.

She turned tail and ran.

I must reach the Beech House, she told herself. It won't get me in the Beech House.

The wolf snapped at her heels as she scampered up the tree and onto the platform of the Beech House.

After a while, the wolf went away. She climbed down from the tree and ran back towards the house, but the wolf was waiting for her.

There you are he cried. I was wondering where you got to.

What are you doing here? she said. This is my garden.

It may be your garden, said the wolf. But once I turn you, you'll be in my garden.