Book now available to purchase from Lulu.com

Great news! My book has now been published and made available in paperback format as well as a downloadable ebook. To get your hands on a copy, all you do is click the title of this post or click the icon to the right.
Before you do, however, please take time to read the excerps from my book in the posts below. Its very important to me that you were convinced to buy the book on its own merit.

Here's the book overview:
The End is Nigh...Again is a book like no other. Its palpable enthusiasm literally scoops up the reader and guides them through a hilarious true life tale of a young boy called Douglas who, through no fault of his own, finds himself born into a fundamentalist religion. Discovering quickly that there’s no escape from his weird, nonsensical faith, he begins a quest to invent as many ways as he can to buck the system and to get through life with the least amount of trouble. Unfortunately for him, the harder he tries, the worse things get and the deeper into problems he sinks until finally, having no other option, his church decides to excommunicate him, ridding themselves of what they see as a truly bad apple.
With his tongue firmly in his cheek, Douglas Lee tells the story of his life as a second generation Jehovah’s Witness and of his experiences within this fundamentalist religion. He candidly exposes the web of sin that lies beneath the holier-than-thou facade they present to the world and takes the reader on a roller coaster ride of sex, incest, paedophilia, debauchery, wife swapping and a host of other jaw dropping and highly original sins.

A sample of the first chapter

Here is the first paragraph of the first chapter of my first book. I hope you enjoy it. Please feel free to comment on anything. I´ll be posting some more samples to give you a flavour of how I´ve approached such a delicate subject with the all the tact of a bull in a china shop.

Chapter 1,
Jehovah’s Witnesses, who the Devil are they?

On the 30th of July 1964 in the brightly lit delivery ward of a crumbly old pre-war hospital, I found myself struggling through my Mother’s birth canal with all the grace of a fat man swimming through tapioca. After much desperate pushing by Mum from one end and lots of optimistic pulling by the mid-wife, at the other, I finally emerged from the whole torrid episode, bloodied, knackered, and above all, absolutely furious. As I’m often reminded, I appeared that day as a little ball of fury, screaming blue murder. I cried, as all babies do, at the shock of having been forcefully evicted from my perfectly good home without any prior consultation, for having had my bottom slapped unnecessarily hard by a nurse who was obviously angry with me for having given her such a difficult morning, and because now I was in the real world, where emotions and pain took centre stage. I know now that in that moment, as I took my first greedy breaths of sanitised hospital air, if I’d been able to see what the following twenty years held in store for me, it’s likely that I would have kept on screaming and screaming; until such time as my mother felt obliged to give me away.