I'm bored. 2008 was going to be the year I read and wrote poetry. I'm bored with poetry, with writing it and reading it. To be honest with myself, I'm not very good at either.
2008 was going to be a fiction-free year. I'm bored with reading fiction, can't take it seriously. But what's left?
I went to the bookshop. What about an autobiography?
I bought a bestseller, Bill Bryson's childhood memoirs, The Life and Times of the Thunderbolt Kid.
What a boring book! What a smug bastard! And the advertising inside for his other books! I've never seen the like!
There are thirteen pages of arse-licking reviews. And the inside back cover has pictures of all his other books just in case you hadn't been brainwashed already.
I've got three more books lined up. Simon Napier-Bell's Black Vinyl White Powder. A Drink with Shane MacGowan. And Owning Up: The Trilogy by George Melly, as recommended by Arabella.
Can anybody recommend any other entertaining non-fiction/autobiographies? You'll be performing a public service.
In other news, tonight in the chemist's I asked the woman behind the counter who calls me "Geoff" if she knows me from somewhere.
"Only here," she said.
"Oh, you pick names up pretty quickly, don't you?" said I, slinking off into the evening air.
Happy Birthday, Mr. DeVice!
3 hours ago