Several people had said I needed a celebrity to promote my books. Her Majesty didn’t even reply and the lesser Royals were decidedly sniffy. Richard and Judy laughed out loud. Oprah pretended not to understand my English accent and thought I was stalker. I could have had several soap stars who, for the payment of a suitable fee, would, without even reading them, endorse how terrific my dog thinks my books are (The one with dogs in it is a particular favourite).
It made me realize why soap stars and other celebrities are paid so much. They are telepathic. All of them. And it only requires money to induce this power. But, my £2.73 was apparently not enough, despite a firm promise of a chicken pie and mushy peas plus a year’s subscription to the Derbyshire Times. I find this refusal to trade almost incomprehensible. The mushy peas are worth an endorsement alone and who could refuse a chicken pie that has the exciting prospect of containing genuine chicken, if you get a good one.
So having been turned down by a chap who once played ‘man in bar’ in an episode of ‘Neighbours’ and a lady of the evening who was drinking sherry in the park but had once been an intimate friend of a relative of Sir Larry Olivier before her fondness for sherry put the kibosh on a potentially profitable relationship, I was left with only one alternative.
I decided against selling my organs – which are not in saleable condition anyway -and instead dropped the price.
Halloween, or All Hallows Eve, is on October 31st. Both AND SOON THE SONG and NORTHMAN have ghosts in them, so I thought why not celebrate a good old Celtic feast since both books contain the odd dead Celt. I know. It’s a tenuous link, but since my disappointment in the lack of a reply from the Queen, I’ve not been thinking straight. Ghosts galore for Halloween, it is!
I know those of you who have not yet read either book will rush out immediately and buy both. It makes sense. Or rather, it makes sense to me. I will forgive those who don’t, but I cannot believe such wonderful, beautiful, charming, intelligent, discerning people of taste like you could refuse an offer like this.
I know that last sentence was a little OTT. I’ve noticed hyperbole has become my bedfellow recently. I put it down to a newly acquired limping ability gained by tearing a calf muscle whilst chasing a strange and madly defecating cat out of my orchard.
At the time I was astonished by how many words I knew to describe the cat, and bizarrely none of them were related to anything remotely feline.
I’m rambling now, so I’ll get my coat.