I was so keen to get to work today that for the first time in my life I got to the British Library before it was even open. I rolled up at about 9.15am expecting to get in, but people were queuing outside - there was 15 minutes before I'd even be allowed in. What if I wanted to fill my brain with knowledge?
Weirdly the waiting people had been divided into two lines. A young man with a bit of a smirk on his face was holding up a sign saying "Men" on the left side of the front door and a young woman, who like her male counterpart looked like a student, was holding a sign saying "Women".
And responding to this written demand the forty or so people awaiting admittance had divided into lines based on gender.
I suspected immediately that this was some kind of social experiment of situationalist prank. There was no earthly reason why men and women should be divided up on the way into the British Library (unless they were planning to get all the men to give a handwriting sample so they could find out who'd done all the cottaging graffiti in the gents - no wonder Collings was conspicuous by his absence). But there was no way I could be sure because I had never been here this early before. Maybe this was a daily ritual.
The smirking man looked down his line (twice as long as his female accomplice's) looking very pleased with himself and occasionally taking photos. It was interesting that nearly everyone had gone along with this (presumably) new orthodoxy. Towards the back of the male queue a couple of women had joined on, but they were probably too far back to see the sign.
I decided I didn't want to be a part of it all and as I was keen to at least get on with my blog, which I could do anywhere, headed to the little cafe outside the library to get a latte and to do some work al fresco.
The man at the counter made me a coffee, but spilled a bit as he put the cup on the surface. He then tried to move the cup to clear up the spillage and knocked the whole thing all over the table and the floor. It was so early that even a man who works with coffee was not properly awake yet.
He made me another coffee and I went outside and looked at the lengthening queues, wondering if I should go and ask what was going on. I texted Collings (who is such a swot that he's often in first thing) and asked him if this was normal procedure. He told me it was not.
The library opened and they all went in the same door. The lines had been for nothing. Maybe some art student's project. Hey who am I to talk. I'm going to be walking around with a Hitler Moustache for the next fortnight at least.
Had another productive day, adding a further 5000 words to the manuscript, but I should make it clear that I am being helped in great part by the fact that I have this blog to pull stories out of. Though I am rewriting them to some extent that does help push the word count up. I was practically at 75,000 words at the end of the day and my editor can't read what I've done til Friday so I get a chance to tidy up some loose ends tomorrow. But it has been a very productive week, even if half of it gets cut by the editor, which seems inevitable. I am really enjoying working on it at last, though suspect that some of the revelations in the book may shock some of you. It is quite confessional. And I did some quite dodgy stuff in 2007 that didn't make it into the blog.
Funnily enough I was to see my editor tonight anyway as he was at Emma Kennedy's reading from her new book
"The Tent, The Bucket and Me" at Waterstone's Piccadilly. Emma was very good, but after she revealed that her parents had provided her with much of the material for the bits she was too young to remember and that her friend had translated some stuff into French for her, I zinged Emma good by asking, "Did you actually write anything in this book Emma!" Ha ha. Everyone laughed at her. For the only time in the whole dull reading.
If only that were true.
I have a copy of the book now and it looks cracking and very funny. Somehow the Emma Kennedy who used to submit rubbish sketches to the first series of "That Was Then This Is Now" has blossomed into a brilliant bloody writer. And from the sounds of the interest in her next childrens' book she's going to be the new JK Rowling too. I hate her so much.
And I love her.
And she loves me.
But as you'll discover if you buy my book, we shall never consummate that love.
Good to be putting out teasers now, before the thing's even finished.
Buy Emma's book and while you're at it
but this one too. It's by the brilliant Ben Moor, who is a man of comic skill and human genius. And he gives you badges if you buy his book. Which is more than Kennedy does.
Twenty one years ago we were all in the Oxford Revue together and now look at us with our books and our badges. Can you believe how long it's taken us? If we'd known we'd probably have given up there and then and gone and worked in a bank.
Emma got me drunk afterwards.
But not so drink that I could fancy her.
There's not enough drink in the world for that.
But if she becomes the new JK Rowling I might suddenly realise I do fancy her after all. Or maybe I should just hang on for JK Rowling.
Because I'd been drinking and not eating and been writing all day about the bad old days when I'd get drunk and depressed and eat fried chicken, I stopped off at Chicken Cottage on the way home to get two pieces and chips. It was so unspeakably disgusting I can not tell you. I used to be a terrible, terrible dick. It was good to be reminded of the horror though. I can no write about i with more resonance.
