Monday, 6 January 2014

One achievement, after all...a book-shaped one. Cue TOTAL PANIC, and an unusually-bad bout of hiccups.

Is that actually how you spell hiccups, or should it be "hiccoughs"? God knows. (I don't.)

Honestly, my mind's going, what with all this stressful festive stuff and then trying to review my achievements for 2013, which resulted in the depressing conclusion that I hadn't achieved anything at all.

Anyway, I've just realised that I was wrong, for once – because I have actually achieved something this year: the book you've all been nagging me to write. (Never say I don't have a compulsion to give people what they want: it's pathetic.)

I've used a pseudonym – obviously. I'm not that stupid, no matter what the usual suspects think, but  Greg says I'm mad to risk it, even so. 

"Don't worry so much," I say, practising my belated New Year's resolution not to worry so much myself. "I have the perfect get-myself-out-of-book-related-trouble plan."

"What the hell is that?" says Greg, looking totally unconvinced.

"To deny the connection with Polly James until I'm blue in the face, if anyone ever mentions it to The Boss," I say. 

Then I march off to the kitchen to make myself a congratulatory cup of coffee. 

It's only while I'm waiting for the kettle to boil, that I think more deeply about what I've just said: that I'm going to deny the connection with Polly James until I'm blue in the face, if anyone ever mentions it to The Boss...

Or to Max?

Or to Johnny?

Or to...

OH, DEAR GOD! What have I done?



Okay, I've got a grip now, thanks mainly to the dregs of Igor's Christmas vodka. A book's supposed to be a reason to celebrate, isn't it, not an excuse for throwing yourself off the nearest tall building in a state of panic? And I'm probably supposed to want people to buy and read it, not pray they won't  – so here goes with the grand reveal:

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