Off to The Big Smoke to do official & propa writerly fings
Today I’m madly excited, you guys! I’ve got my first meeting at Random House, my publisher, in London this afternoon. It’s a publicity meeting. I now have my own publicist. I’ll repeat that, shall I? I have a frickin’ publicist. How ridiculous is that?!
We’ll be discussing me doing readings and attending literary festivals to talk bollocks and shite and doing interviews (HAHAHAHAHAHAWTeffingF!!!!!) and photos and all that crap. I’ll probably spend the entire meeting with my mouth hanging open, giggling inanely to myself every now and then, and they’ll send me out and ask where the real author of the book is.
I thought I’d make some sort of effort and wear something other than my usual jeans, so I’m all frocked up, chaps (maybe my GPOYW later: as sartorially). As it’s pissing with rain, though, I draw the line at removing my beloved leather Jack Purcells. I also have a hellish hangover headache which has been with me since last night, but I’m a brave writist and shall push on through.
Anyway, off I go. Wish me luck!
PS. A seagull emptied its bowels over my head and coat as I walked from the bus to work this morning. True story. It’s meant to be good luck, no?
