It has been exactly a week now since I first started my blog. My goodness what a giddy time it has been! I’ve been interviewed by Maurice Boland himself on Radio Europe about my new book, Recollections of a Racketeer, as well as a receiving a most positive book review in Zoo Magazine. I’ve also made a host of new celebrity friends from the Trebuchet inventor to the Hollywood model in Zoo. Just thinking of the new direction my life as a famous author is taking has got me all of a flutter. It will be a non-stop round of publishers’ parties. Whenever will I have time to write?
I asked my wife what she thought of my new celebrity friend, Amii Grove, from Zoo Magazine.
“No need to worry about her drowning” my wife said. “She’s got her own flotation devices.”
I wasn’t sure whether to interpret that as approval or not. Women are funny creatures and hard to read sometimes.
I asked my agent Andrew what he thought.
“She’s certainly an improvement over your old college friend Alan Green” he said.
“You mean because she hasn’t got a bushy, straggly beard?” I said.
“Not that you know of” he sniffed.
“Not in any of the photos that I saw” I said.
It’s been a stressful week and I need to relax. I think I’ll just sit in the garden and read my Zoo Magazine review again. “Dull? Never … Gripping? Always!” I love it! Maybe just a wee glass of cooking sherry while I study the sober judgment of my peers.
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
My First Literary Review!
My book Recollections of a Racketeer has been on sale for more than a week now and yet I still have not received a single review. That is one of the reasons my agent, Andrew Lownie, instructed me to write a blog. "Create a buzz" he said. "Start a following. Maybe they'll end-up buying your book just to shut you up." Always a joker that Andrew!
I had my doubts of course but, within two days of starting my blog, I was invited to appear on the Maurice Boland show on Talk Radio Europe. For those of you who are unfamiliar with the jet-set lifestyle, Radio Europe is based in Malaga and is broadcast all over the Costa del Sol. A giddy opportunity indeed and my first venture into international show-biz stardom.
But it wasn't a book review. As a creative artist I need the recognition and accolades of my fellow writers. I need the sober analysis of my work by my peers; and I need it publicly expressed, on paper, in writing - for the ages. Exchanging sophisticated banter with Maurice Boland and his guests on the radio, while socially satisfying, is only a temporary affair. Once the radio is switched-off, only the silence remains. (Unless you have the TV on as well or live in a noisy neighborhood of course.) But a printed book review lives on forever. It is something that my grand children can bequeath to their grandchildren; a family heirloom.
That is why I am so proud today to announce that the first review of my book has finally appeared and I can now savor and enjoy the acceptance and praise of my fellow professionals. The review appeared in an English literary journal called Zoo Magazine.
Zoo is a Literary Academic Discussion Society magazine or, as it describes itself, 'a lads magazine with all the latest videos of hot babes, topical jokes, sports stuff and photo galleries of Madison Welch, Imogen Thomas and all the other ZOO girls every day.’ What is especially gratifying to me is that Zoo Magazine is not one of those elitist, ivory-tower journals that nobody reads. In fact it has a readership of 632,000, many of whom are employed, or at least plan to be when they get out. Nor does Zoo limit itself to academic or literary reviews but tackles a wide selection of contemporary issues. The following Zoo Magazine interview by CBBC presenter Kirsten O'Brien with my fellow celebrity, Amii Grove, is fairly typical. Unfortunately I was not present at the interview but was captivated by the artistic photographs which accompanied it.
What was it like having her interview you while you were naked? Well, Kirsten doesn't like taking her clothes off, so she's the complete opposite to me! But she's an amazing girl and she was shit hot, to be honest. At the end of the day, when you're naked you're just in your birthday suit, aren't you?
Is this TV appearance likely to be the start of a new career path for you? I can't say too much, but I am working on some projects at the moment that are even bigger than my boobs! It's all a big secret. All I can tell you is I'm working with a big music producer - and not on my own. Watch this space!
You're not going to do anything crazy like give up topless modelling, are you? I'm looking to conquer Hollywood and I'm doing lots of singing and acting but I love this job - nothing beats getting your boobs out! I'm sure they're growing. On this shoot, everyone has been saying, 'Wow, they're even bigger!'
Finally I have a celebrity friend I can invite to one of Andrew's smart publishing parties!
I had my doubts of course but, within two days of starting my blog, I was invited to appear on the Maurice Boland show on Talk Radio Europe. For those of you who are unfamiliar with the jet-set lifestyle, Radio Europe is based in Malaga and is broadcast all over the Costa del Sol. A giddy opportunity indeed and my first venture into international show-biz stardom.
But it wasn't a book review. As a creative artist I need the recognition and accolades of my fellow writers. I need the sober analysis of my work by my peers; and I need it publicly expressed, on paper, in writing - for the ages. Exchanging sophisticated banter with Maurice Boland and his guests on the radio, while socially satisfying, is only a temporary affair. Once the radio is switched-off, only the silence remains. (Unless you have the TV on as well or live in a noisy neighborhood of course.) But a printed book review lives on forever. It is something that my grand children can bequeath to their grandchildren; a family heirloom.
That is why I am so proud today to announce that the first review of my book has finally appeared and I can now savor and enjoy the acceptance and praise of my fellow professionals. The review appeared in an English literary journal called Zoo Magazine.
Zoo is a Literary Academic Discussion Society magazine or, as it describes itself, 'a lads magazine with all the latest videos of hot babes, topical jokes, sports stuff and photo galleries of Madison Welch, Imogen Thomas and all the other ZOO girls every day.’ What is especially gratifying to me is that Zoo Magazine is not one of those elitist, ivory-tower journals that nobody reads. In fact it has a readership of 632,000, many of whom are employed, or at least plan to be when they get out. Nor does Zoo limit itself to academic or literary reviews but tackles a wide selection of contemporary issues. The following Zoo Magazine interview by CBBC presenter Kirsten O'Brien with my fellow celebrity, Amii Grove, is fairly typical. Unfortunately I was not present at the interview but was captivated by the artistic photographs which accompanied it.
What was it like having her interview you while you were naked? Well, Kirsten doesn't like taking her clothes off, so she's the complete opposite to me! But she's an amazing girl and she was shit hot, to be honest. At the end of the day, when you're naked you're just in your birthday suit, aren't you?
Is this TV appearance likely to be the start of a new career path for you? I can't say too much, but I am working on some projects at the moment that are even bigger than my boobs! It's all a big secret. All I can tell you is I'm working with a big music producer - and not on my own. Watch this space!
You're not going to do anything crazy like give up topless modelling, are you? I'm looking to conquer Hollywood and I'm doing lots of singing and acting but I love this job - nothing beats getting your boobs out! I'm sure they're growing. On this shoot, everyone has been saying, 'Wow, they're even bigger!'
Finally I have a celebrity friend I can invite to one of Andrew's smart publishing parties!
Better Class of Friend
Now that I am an internationally well known author, my agent has suggested that I improve the quality of my friends. “If I didn’t know better” he sniffed, “judging by some of the people you hang-out with, one would imagine that you had spent much of your life in prison or mixing with common criminals.”
He has made it very clear to me that if I am ever going to become part of the smarter publishing world; mixing with copy-editors in little black dresses and spaghetti straps, eating delicate canapés at intimate little parties and sipping sherry that does not have the word “cooking” on the labels – I will need to sell more copies of my book and enhance my social image.
“But Dylan Thomas displayed no social niceties” I objected “and he regularly threw-up on other people’s furniture. And my brother-in-law, Howard Marks” I continued “he says ‘shagging’ a lot and he hasn’t combed his hair in years. But they are always being invited to trendy publishers’ parties.”
“One is dead, one is rich and they’re both Welsh” my agent sniffed “so it doesn’t count.”
He has already bullied me into writing a blog to promote my book Recollections of a Racketeer and now he insists that I improve my circle of friends. I did meet two celebrities recently when I was interviewed by Maurice Boland on Radio Europe and I have discreetly encouraged their friendship and asked my agent to invite them to parties with me.
One of them is famous for developing a trebuchet – a sort of automatic catapult – that fires buckets of animal feces at potential burglars. Unfortunately he does tend to take his work home with him and some of the girls in spaghetti straps suggested that he didn’t smell very nice. The other celebrity friend is famous for firing his wife across the River Avon from a cannon. Unfortunately the safety net on the far side of the river was strung too tight during his most recent endeavor and so she bounced off the net (after a most successful crossing) and landed back in the river. My new friend, understandably, felt uncomfortable exchanging witty repartee at a publisher’s cocktail party until he had at least located his wife.
Which leaves me, much to my agent's ill concealed dismay, with my old college friend Alan Green; back where I started.
I was so close to improving my social circle … I could smell the canapés and hear the low murmur of witty repartee. The spaghetti straps were within my grasp. "Just when I thought I was in, they drag me back out!"
He has made it very clear to me that if I am ever going to become part of the smarter publishing world; mixing with copy-editors in little black dresses and spaghetti straps, eating delicate canapés at intimate little parties and sipping sherry that does not have the word “cooking” on the labels – I will need to sell more copies of my book and enhance my social image.
“But Dylan Thomas displayed no social niceties” I objected “and he regularly threw-up on other people’s furniture. And my brother-in-law, Howard Marks” I continued “he says ‘shagging’ a lot and he hasn’t combed his hair in years. But they are always being invited to trendy publishers’ parties.”
“One is dead, one is rich and they’re both Welsh” my agent sniffed “so it doesn’t count.”
He has already bullied me into writing a blog to promote my book Recollections of a Racketeer and now he insists that I improve my circle of friends. I did meet two celebrities recently when I was interviewed by Maurice Boland on Radio Europe and I have discreetly encouraged their friendship and asked my agent to invite them to parties with me.
One of them is famous for developing a trebuchet – a sort of automatic catapult – that fires buckets of animal feces at potential burglars. Unfortunately he does tend to take his work home with him and some of the girls in spaghetti straps suggested that he didn’t smell very nice. The other celebrity friend is famous for firing his wife across the River Avon from a cannon. Unfortunately the safety net on the far side of the river was strung too tight during his most recent endeavor and so she bounced off the net (after a most successful crossing) and landed back in the river. My new friend, understandably, felt uncomfortable exchanging witty repartee at a publisher’s cocktail party until he had at least located his wife.
Which leaves me, much to my agent's ill concealed dismay, with my old college friend Alan Green; back where I started.
I was so close to improving my social circle … I could smell the canapés and hear the low murmur of witty repartee. The spaghetti straps were within my grasp. "Just when I thought I was in, they drag me back out!"
Monday, April 27, 2009
Remainder Bin
I was contacted by Alan Green last night, an old friend from college. I assumed he must have heard me on the Maurice Boland show being interviewed about my latest book, Recollections of a Racketeer.
“Maurice who?” he said when I asked.
“No. I saw your book in my local bookstore, in the remainder-bin”
Now that I am a published author, I am supposed to be an expert on the publishing industry and so did not want to display my ignorance by asking what a remainder-bin is. I assume it is some sort of marketing device; perhaps where they stack all your books, prominently displayed, facing the main entrance of the book store. Possibly the book display will be centered around a large cut-out photograph of me. I must visit the store and have a look – (remember to wear dark glasses and maybe a large floppy hat so as not to be mobbed by fans.)
“So did you read it yet” I asked Alan.
“No – I’m waiting to get a copy from my local library” he said. “I saw your photo on the cover though; you’ve aged a lot since college.” There was a pause while he thought about it. “Life can’t have been very good to you” he concluded.
Now that I’m a successful published author and a celebrity, I really do need to reassess my friends. I don’t want to sound shallow or callous, but I need to ask myself – and I have to be brutally candid here – is Alan somebody that I could bring along to a smart publisher’s party in Chelsea or Sloan Square? More to the point, would he be comfortable? Would it be fair to him? He would probably prefer to be drinking a pint of stout and throwing darts with his mates than exchanging witty repartee and expensive cocktails with sophisticated writers and ravishingly svelte publishers’ assistants.
I need to start acquiring new friends who would blend more easily into my life as a celebrity. I should contact my fellow guests on the Maurice Boland show; that chap who makes the trebuchet thing perhaps, and the other one with a cannon. Maybe he can bring his wife – if she was ever able to swim back across the river.
“Maurice who?” he said when I asked.
“No. I saw your book in my local bookstore, in the remainder-bin”
Now that I am a published author, I am supposed to be an expert on the publishing industry and so did not want to display my ignorance by asking what a remainder-bin is. I assume it is some sort of marketing device; perhaps where they stack all your books, prominently displayed, facing the main entrance of the book store. Possibly the book display will be centered around a large cut-out photograph of me. I must visit the store and have a look – (remember to wear dark glasses and maybe a large floppy hat so as not to be mobbed by fans.)
“So did you read it yet” I asked Alan.
“No – I’m waiting to get a copy from my local library” he said. “I saw your photo on the cover though; you’ve aged a lot since college.” There was a pause while he thought about it. “Life can’t have been very good to you” he concluded.
Now that I’m a successful published author and a celebrity, I really do need to reassess my friends. I don’t want to sound shallow or callous, but I need to ask myself – and I have to be brutally candid here – is Alan somebody that I could bring along to a smart publisher’s party in Chelsea or Sloan Square? More to the point, would he be comfortable? Would it be fair to him? He would probably prefer to be drinking a pint of stout and throwing darts with his mates than exchanging witty repartee and expensive cocktails with sophisticated writers and ravishingly svelte publishers’ assistants.
I need to start acquiring new friends who would blend more easily into my life as a celebrity. I should contact my fellow guests on the Maurice Boland show; that chap who makes the trebuchet thing perhaps, and the other one with a cannon. Maybe he can bring his wife – if she was ever able to swim back across the river.
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Damned Woman!
It’s that damned Susan Boyle again! She’s distracted the whole country.
It was a beautiful Sunday morning and I sat at the kitchen table with a big mug of coffee and a crisp new copy of The News of the World looking forward to reading the review of my book “Recollections of a Racketeer.” I was not so crass or egotistical as to rush straight to the literary section, instead I slowly worked my way through the newspaper, just like an ordinary member of the general public – in fact I even removed my dark glasses. Just as Marcel Proust deliberately read through Le Figaro so that he would stumble ‘accidentally’ across the article he had written, so too I perused the News of the World pleasurably anticipating the ‘accidental’ discovery of my book’s first review.
Hard as I tried to focus on the news, as I read about the “TV star’s secret sex party shame” and “Love-rat dating Emma behind Gallacher's back”, I could not help thinking about the review and wondering what they might have said about me. “New literary sensation … roll over McEwan and Faulks … the new Shakespeare? … witty, sophisticated page-turner” Finally, my curiosity could be denied no longer and, ignoring “model Lauren Budd’s topless revenge photos,” I turned to where the literary reviews should be.
Nothing! There was no review. No mention of my book. There was not even a mention of my appearance on the Maurice Boland show. The whole literary review section was devoted to Simon Cowell’s concerns about virginal singing sensation, Susan Boyle. Damn that woman!
Yes of course there was a certain amount of personal disappointment in not having my own book reviewed, but my concerns go way beyond the personal. I am worried for the future of English literature as we know it. If the public are no longer able to rely upon the News of the World for literary guidance – where else can they turn? If authors can no longer anticipate having their work reviewed and promoted in its pages, then why bother to write? If there had been no News of the World literary reviews, would this country have produced Chaucer, Milton, Alfred Lord Tennyson or Lord Jeffrey Archer? When potential literary giants are ignored, the future does indeed look bleak.
And people wonder why I drink!
It was a beautiful Sunday morning and I sat at the kitchen table with a big mug of coffee and a crisp new copy of The News of the World looking forward to reading the review of my book “Recollections of a Racketeer.” I was not so crass or egotistical as to rush straight to the literary section, instead I slowly worked my way through the newspaper, just like an ordinary member of the general public – in fact I even removed my dark glasses. Just as Marcel Proust deliberately read through Le Figaro so that he would stumble ‘accidentally’ across the article he had written, so too I perused the News of the World pleasurably anticipating the ‘accidental’ discovery of my book’s first review.
Hard as I tried to focus on the news, as I read about the “TV star’s secret sex party shame” and “Love-rat dating Emma behind Gallacher's back”, I could not help thinking about the review and wondering what they might have said about me. “New literary sensation … roll over McEwan and Faulks … the new Shakespeare? … witty, sophisticated page-turner” Finally, my curiosity could be denied no longer and, ignoring “model Lauren Budd’s topless revenge photos,” I turned to where the literary reviews should be.
Nothing! There was no review. No mention of my book. There was not even a mention of my appearance on the Maurice Boland show. The whole literary review section was devoted to Simon Cowell’s concerns about virginal singing sensation, Susan Boyle. Damn that woman!
Yes of course there was a certain amount of personal disappointment in not having my own book reviewed, but my concerns go way beyond the personal. I am worried for the future of English literature as we know it. If the public are no longer able to rely upon the News of the World for literary guidance – where else can they turn? If authors can no longer anticipate having their work reviewed and promoted in its pages, then why bother to write? If there had been no News of the World literary reviews, would this country have produced Chaucer, Milton, Alfred Lord Tennyson or Lord Jeffrey Archer? When potential literary giants are ignored, the future does indeed look bleak.
And people wonder why I drink!
Saturday, April 25, 2009
Bugger!
Bugger! I don’t understand. I’ve carefully read the whole of People magazine from cover to cover and there was not a single mention of last Thursday’s Maurice Boland show on Radio Europe. More specifically there was no mention of Maurice’s interview with me on the subject of my latest book Recollections of a Racketeer.
There was not even a mention of my fellow guests on the show: the man who shot his wife across the river Avon from a cannon, nor of the man who is combating crime with trebuchets of horse manure.
I don’t know what People magazine is coming to; they really need to improve their standards if they wish to regain their position as the nation’s number-one news source. Personally I blame that frumpy Englishwoman Susan Boyle, I think she’s got everyone distracted. I can only apologize to those people who spent their hard-earned money on People magazine anticipating an in-depth report on my interview with Maurice Boland. Trust me - I feel your pain.
Good Lord! Look at the time; almost 4:00PM. Time for some cooking sherry. Tomorrow’s another day. To be more precise, tomorrow is Sunday – the day that News of the World hits the newsstands. Maybe they will have a review of my book in their literary section.
There was not even a mention of my fellow guests on the show: the man who shot his wife across the river Avon from a cannon, nor of the man who is combating crime with trebuchets of horse manure.
I don’t know what People magazine is coming to; they really need to improve their standards if they wish to regain their position as the nation’s number-one news source. Personally I blame that frumpy Englishwoman Susan Boyle, I think she’s got everyone distracted. I can only apologize to those people who spent their hard-earned money on People magazine anticipating an in-depth report on my interview with Maurice Boland. Trust me - I feel your pain.
Good Lord! Look at the time; almost 4:00PM. Time for some cooking sherry. Tomorrow’s another day. To be more precise, tomorrow is Sunday – the day that News of the World hits the newsstands. Maybe they will have a review of my book in their literary section.
People Magazine
I woke-up early this morning; it’s Saturday which means there should be a new issue of People Magazine. I called my agent, Andrew Lownie, to see if he could get me a copy but his assistant told me he was “busy blogging.” It was Andrew who had first told me that I needed to blog if I hoped to sell any copies of my book, ‘Recollections of a Racketeer’ so I was pleased to see him practicing what he preached. Sharon, my normally helpful publicist at Mainstream Publishing, was equally elusive; her assistant told me that Sharon was busy ‘twittering’. Unsure weather this was a new form of Eastern mysticism or a solitary form of sexual pleasuring, I told her I would call back later.
That meant that I would have to get my own copy of People Magazine and once again venture out in public. Thank goodness for dark glasses! As an added precaution I dressed in saggy sweat-pants and crocs so that nobody would ever guess that I was a famous author. The expedition was a success and I returned safely to the house without being recognized. I was even able to pick-up a couple more bottles of cooking sherry along with my magazine.
I don’t usually drink alcohol before noon - well, seldom before 10:00AM anyway, but I think today is rather a special occasion. It’s not every day I am featured in People Magazine. I’ve just poured myself a glass of sherry and I shall take my magazine into the garden to savor the full and detailed report of “Radio Europe's Maurice Boland interviews famous author Patrick Lane.” (I do hope there are no photographs of my underwear.)
That meant that I would have to get my own copy of People Magazine and once again venture out in public. Thank goodness for dark glasses! As an added precaution I dressed in saggy sweat-pants and crocs so that nobody would ever guess that I was a famous author. The expedition was a success and I returned safely to the house without being recognized. I was even able to pick-up a couple more bottles of cooking sherry along with my magazine.
I don’t usually drink alcohol before noon - well, seldom before 10:00AM anyway, but I think today is rather a special occasion. It’s not every day I am featured in People Magazine. I’ve just poured myself a glass of sherry and I shall take my magazine into the garden to savor the full and detailed report of “Radio Europe's Maurice Boland interviews famous author Patrick Lane.” (I do hope there are no photographs of my underwear.)
Friday, April 24, 2009
Clean underwear
The problem with wearing dark glasses all the time is that I keep bumping into things, tripping over and exposing my underwear. This must be a problem that all celebrities face and I am now much more sympathetic to my fellow celebrities like Lindsay Lohan and Brittany Spears.
Despite the dangers and underwear-exposure risks of dark glasses, I must say they certainly do the job. Nobody has recognized me as a famous author since I started wearing them. I visited the local supermarket today to stock-up with more cases of cooking sherry and despite my worst fears and apprehensions not one person accosted me and said
“Oi. Weren’t you on the Maurice Boland show last night? Aren’t you the bloke that catapults buckets of horse-shit into his neighbor’s yard?”
Obviously I would have responded: “No. I am a famous writer – the author of ‘Recollections of a Racketeer’ and on excellent terms with all my neighbors – except for Bill over the road, but he's a Canadian anyway.” However, thanks to the dark glasses, nobody recognized me and the question never arose.
Had I known more about the pressures of fame, I might have thought twice before starting to write my book. I now certainly better understand my mother’s repeated admonitions to make sure that my underwear was always clean.
Despite the dangers and underwear-exposure risks of dark glasses, I must say they certainly do the job. Nobody has recognized me as a famous author since I started wearing them. I visited the local supermarket today to stock-up with more cases of cooking sherry and despite my worst fears and apprehensions not one person accosted me and said
“Oi. Weren’t you on the Maurice Boland show last night? Aren’t you the bloke that catapults buckets of horse-shit into his neighbor’s yard?”
Obviously I would have responded: “No. I am a famous writer – the author of ‘Recollections of a Racketeer’ and on excellent terms with all my neighbors – except for Bill over the road, but he's a Canadian anyway.” However, thanks to the dark glasses, nobody recognized me and the question never arose.
Had I known more about the pressures of fame, I might have thought twice before starting to write my book. I now certainly better understand my mother’s repeated admonitions to make sure that my underwear was always clean.
Stuffed shirt
I woke late with rather a thick head this morning.
Initially I assumed this was some strange consequence of becoming a celebrity, following yesterday's appearance on the Maurice Boland show on Radio Europe. My wife argues that last night's third bottle of cooking sherry is a more likely cause of my current condition but I suspect she is merely envious of my new found fame.
The Maurice Boland show is broadcast all over Spain's Costa del Sol - wherever British ex-pats gather and pine for a little homegrown culture. On yesterday's show, for example not only did Maurice interview me about my book 'Recollections of a Racketeer' but his other guests included a man who shot his wife from a cannon across the River Avon and a man who has invented an automatic catapult - or trebuchet – which fires animal feces at potential burglars when they attempt to enter his property at night. I feel that I have entered a new world of the intellectual elite where even the air is more rarified. Maybe that is why I have such a blinding headache this morning.
Maurice was charming and said he had already interviewed my brother-in-law Howard Marks several times as well as my sister Judy to discuss the film they are currently making based on her book ‘Mr. Nice and Mrs Marks’ staring Chloë Sevigny and Rhys Ifans. He did however sound surprised that the person playing me, Richard Harris’s son Jamie, was reputably very good looking. I reassured him that, on the set at least, he was reputably also very drunk – so that at least was in character.
I’ve been wearing dark glasses all morning even though my wife keeps saying “It was only a bloody radio show. Nobody will recognize you.” As I said, she’s very jealous. I called my sister Judy who lives on the Costa del Sol to ask her if she listened to the show and how I sounded.
“Like a pompous stuffed shirt” she said.
I think she was jealous also. I’m going to see if I can get one of those trebuchet things and a few bags of horse droppings.
Initially I assumed this was some strange consequence of becoming a celebrity, following yesterday's appearance on the Maurice Boland show on Radio Europe. My wife argues that last night's third bottle of cooking sherry is a more likely cause of my current condition but I suspect she is merely envious of my new found fame.
The Maurice Boland show is broadcast all over Spain's Costa del Sol - wherever British ex-pats gather and pine for a little homegrown culture. On yesterday's show, for example not only did Maurice interview me about my book 'Recollections of a Racketeer' but his other guests included a man who shot his wife from a cannon across the River Avon and a man who has invented an automatic catapult - or trebuchet – which fires animal feces at potential burglars when they attempt to enter his property at night. I feel that I have entered a new world of the intellectual elite where even the air is more rarified. Maybe that is why I have such a blinding headache this morning.
Maurice was charming and said he had already interviewed my brother-in-law Howard Marks several times as well as my sister Judy to discuss the film they are currently making based on her book ‘Mr. Nice and Mrs Marks’ staring Chloë Sevigny and Rhys Ifans. He did however sound surprised that the person playing me, Richard Harris’s son Jamie, was reputably very good looking. I reassured him that, on the set at least, he was reputably also very drunk – so that at least was in character.
I’ve been wearing dark glasses all morning even though my wife keeps saying “It was only a bloody radio show. Nobody will recognize you.” As I said, she’s very jealous. I called my sister Judy who lives on the Costa del Sol to ask her if she listened to the show and how I sounded.
“Like a pompous stuffed shirt” she said.
I think she was jealous also. I’m going to see if I can get one of those trebuchet things and a few bags of horse droppings.
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Maurice Boland Show
Just think: two days ago I was a complete unknown. I’d successfully written my memoirs and had them published by a proper publishing house that actually paid me real money instead of sending me invoices and Final Demand letters every month. But then what?
My book ‘Recollections of a Racketeer’ has been out almost two weeks and nothing has happened. I’ve checked the New York Times Review of Books, and The Guardian, the Economist, Loaded, The New Statesman, The News of the World – nothing in any of them – nothing, nowt, nada, zilch!
I’ve even got a bloomin' blog for goodness sake!
I have not been invited to any sophisticated publisher’s parties; I have not been approached by any attractive and sensual literary-groupies – or even ugly ones with hairy legs. I was beginning to feel that maybe, my wife’s fears of my literary success and the glamour of being a published author was all a myth.
But then Costa del Sol’s Talk Radio Europe called and invited me on the Maurice Boland Show. Now my name is being bandied about in every bar between Barcelona and Benidorm. I return from my interview, too giddy to continue, too excited to write a word more. Despite the guilt, I must abandon my Followers until tomorrow – forgive me – the cooking sherry calls. [More tomorrow]
My book ‘Recollections of a Racketeer’ has been out almost two weeks and nothing has happened. I’ve checked the New York Times Review of Books, and The Guardian, the Economist, Loaded, The New Statesman, The News of the World – nothing in any of them – nothing, nowt, nada, zilch!
I’ve even got a bloomin' blog for goodness sake!
I have not been invited to any sophisticated publisher’s parties; I have not been approached by any attractive and sensual literary-groupies – or even ugly ones with hairy legs. I was beginning to feel that maybe, my wife’s fears of my literary success and the glamour of being a published author was all a myth.
But then Costa del Sol’s Talk Radio Europe called and invited me on the Maurice Boland Show. Now my name is being bandied about in every bar between Barcelona and Benidorm. I return from my interview, too giddy to continue, too excited to write a word more. Despite the guilt, I must abandon my Followers until tomorrow – forgive me – the cooking sherry calls. [More tomorrow]
Talk Radio Europe
Perhaps not such a daft idea after all.
Less than 24 hours after posting my first Blog - I've been invited for an interview on Talk Radio Europe at 7:15PM BST, April 23, 2009. http://www.talkradioeurope.com/
Radio Europe is based on the sunny coast of Spain and broadcast to the thousands of British ex-pats attracted by the topless beaches, cheap cooking sherry and Watney's Red Barrel. According to a recent demographic study by The Economist, 87.3% of the ex-pats are retired bank robbers and ex-racketeers - my sort of market!
Better get a couple of glasses of cooking sherry inside me before Maurice Boland invites me to join him on the air. Can't come over as being too sober - got my reputation to maintain!
Less than 24 hours after posting my first Blog - I've been invited for an interview on Talk Radio Europe at 7:15PM BST, April 23, 2009. http://www.talkradioeurope.com/
Radio Europe is based on the sunny coast of Spain and broadcast to the thousands of British ex-pats attracted by the topless beaches, cheap cooking sherry and Watney's Red Barrel. According to a recent demographic study by The Economist, 87.3% of the ex-pats are retired bank robbers and ex-racketeers - my sort of market!
Better get a couple of glasses of cooking sherry inside me before Maurice Boland invites me to join him on the air. Can't come over as being too sober - got my reputation to maintain!
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Bloody daft!
That's how I feel. Bloody daft!
I've just written a book of my memoirs, Recollections of a Racketeer (published by Mainstream Publishing) and now I'm supposed to write a blog in order to promote it.
"That's the modern way" my agent keeps telling me. "That's how it's done. You've got to get with it or you'll show your age.
Well I'm not buying it. For a start - most of the blogs that I read seem to be written by grumpy old men - not young marketing hipsters. Anyway, the whole concept is wrong: I mean, if you write your memoirs - that's where you say everything. That's where you lay it out and tell it all.
In the bloody book. Not in a bloody blog.
I've just written a book of my memoirs, Recollections of a Racketeer (published by Mainstream Publishing) and now I'm supposed to write a blog in order to promote it.
"That's the modern way" my agent keeps telling me. "That's how it's done. You've got to get with it or you'll show your age.
Well I'm not buying it. For a start - most of the blogs that I read seem to be written by grumpy old men - not young marketing hipsters. Anyway, the whole concept is wrong: I mean, if you write your memoirs - that's where you say everything. That's where you lay it out and tell it all.
In the bloody book. Not in a bloody blog.
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