Well, it’s been quite a week for my little old book. A few more reviews are in. Two more on Amazon, the first from the lovely Amanda, who says:
‘Beautifully crafted and practically impossible to put down, you'll find yourself with Stan on a journey that will have you laughing out loud while wiping away tears of sadness - and then laughing out loud again. And although the book is certainly sexy, the profound climax of the book has nothing to do with sex. But it will move you.’
The second from ‘Colette’, who describes the book as ‘a declaration about human reality'. Coo...
'There are vignettes here that everyone will relate to and some that I sincerely hope no one will experience. It's a life story that is unusual in its honesty. Renew your interest in humanity by examining the life of one brave writer, it will help restore your hope and your good humour.’
Then there was a brief mention at the excellent Private Secret Diary:
‘I’ve been sniggering stupidly at Bête de Jour’s book, especially the bits about Dartford. (If you are an angry resident of Dartford, you can ‘search inside’ via the link, and type in ‘Dartford’, and then perhaps get your face in the local paper, holding the book, with a cross expression on your face)... very much recommended.’
I must say, I would love that to happen.
Perhaps most interesting, however, is my first bad review. Well, not entirely bad as it does include the eminently pull-outable: ‘…the most engaging blog-turned-book I've read… The writing, as on the blog, is a delight. He's erudite, acerbic, funny. He has a turn of phrase to love (for the entertainment) and hate (because you're jealous)…’ as well as an exhortation to buy the book. So it’s not entirely bad, although it does have some bad bits in it, including the words ‘two-dimensional’, ‘saccharine’ and ‘cliché’. Oh, and some slightly unhinged talk about the nature of reality.
The author of this review, one 'Beleagured Squirrel' (BS for short) has written to me on numerous occasions and has repeatedly expressed - and at length - her suspicions concerning the fact that I managed to get a book deal so quickly.
Well, perhaps now’s the time to own up. There is a reason I was able to get a book deal so quickly. And you won’t like it. The fact is - drum roll - I am Rupert Murdoch’s grandson.
Think about it. That’s how I was able to get a deal with Harper Collins. That’s how this feature made its way onto the Sky website yesterday. And that’s why I’ll never be tracked down by one of The Times Blogfinder General henchmen. Not because I'm not important. No. But because of Uncle Keith. As I sometimes call him. (My friend NotKeith is also three halves Murdoch. Hence the name. You see?)
I’m only telling you this now because I know you’ll assume I’m joking.
I’m not joking.
The things you do for love, eh, readers? Just look at me. Jesus God. It’s like I don’t even understand the meaning of the word dingity. Dognasty. Whatever.
Alma took the photo. Two days later it was on the telly, teasing Sky’s web content. I didn’t see it but I heard. (I don’t have Sky. Roop says it’s a load of crap anyway. He says TV gives you cancer. Newspapers too.) So anyway, Alma was amazed when I told her that a photo she’d taken was being broadcast to millions, but only very briefly amazed and in a very distracted manner, because Columbo was on and he was doing a limerick.
Thankfully the Sky article is mostly my own words, but naturally, what with it being one of Uncle Roop’s crowd, there were a couple of misquotes and one or two which were totally made up, but nothing to get upset about.
Next week, I show my arse crack on Fox News. And nobody notices.
I am joking, by the way.
But now I'm off to the BBC. That's true.