‘Why would you tell me anything? It’s not like I’ve come all the way across London and paid eight fucking pounds for a rum and coke just to hear about your idea. You just keep it to yourself and enjoy your orange juice. Cunt.‘

So, Eris left the Valle on Thursday, heading for New York and then on to San Francisco.

Long time readers will remember that she very kindly acted as my tour guide for nearly six weeks in San Francisco so it was the least I could do to repay the favour in the Valle. I’ll see your Golden Gate Bridge, Top Of The Mark, Mission, Dolores Park, Counting Crows, Frank Chu and BART and raise you Alejo’s bar and the hot tub. Muy bueno, right? Still, a brilliant time, and a bodyweight or three of booze, was had by all.

Today, though, marks the start of The Whoring and one of the things I want to do is interview, on camera or via podcast, some of the people who are in the book. To ask them for some extra dirt, an update on what they’ve done since the Epilogue and – whore that I am – what they thought of how they were portrayed in the book. I suspect that last one is going to be an easier ride with some more than others.

How fortunate, then, that Michael Smith landed in the Valle on Friday, clutching his new Flip video camera. Apparently all the kids are using them. I put my idea to him and he enthusiastically agreed – on two conditions. The first condition was that he could read a copy of the book on my laptop as he’d left the chapter samplers sent by Orion at customs in Stanstead. Honestly if Mind Candy doesn’t work, there’s a job waiting for him in the civil service.

The only problem with him reading the whole book rather than just bits of it is that I can’t censor what he sees. To understand why this is a problem, you need to know that despite the fact that I like Michael very much, he is described not once, not twice, but four times in the book as a ‘cunt’. And after he’d finished reading, I’d have to spend the next 24 hours stuck up a mountain with him.

But I’d promised Orion that I’d do interviews, so I’d have to take the risk.

And so it was that Michael spent an entire day in the Valle on Saturday – a day he could have spent at the Picasso museum in Malaga or watching a bull fight in Antequera or, yunno, socialising with people – sitting on a sun lounger, reading words off a screen. I’m not sure who was more uncomfortable – Michael, not knowing what slur on his good name each new page would bring – or me, monitoring his every chuckle, laugh or intake of breath for meaning.

For all my narcissistic personality disorder, I hate, hate, HATE, being in the same room as anyone reading something I’ve written. I’d be shit at a book reading. I’d have to do it behind a screen, like a Brixton murder trial with gags. “Wait – was that a laugh? Or did he just sneeze? Shit. That was definitely an intake of breath. Oh God. And now he’s texting someone? His lawyer? No – what the fuck? – he’s laughing via Twitter? That’s just weird.”

I couldn’t even distract myself with work. He had my laptop. In the end I decided to turn my iPod up to 11 and bury myself in Dave Gorman’s latest book.

Many, many hours later, at about 3am, and about three quarters of the way through the screen words, Michael’s eyes could take it no more. He’ll have to read the rest back in London. His verdict so far? You’ll have to wait for the interview – but I think we’re still on speaking terms. Just about.

The second condition for being interviewed was that he could test out his new Flip camera by interviewing me first. That was an easy condition to agree to – narcissistic personality disorder, remember? – but unfortunately the time he decided to spring the interview on me was yesterday morning, after I’d spent the entire night vomiting into a pan, the result of some very bad grilled moshrooms [sic¹]. You’ll forgive my even more lame than usual delivery, then, as well as the egotistic-even-by-my-standardsness of posting an interview with myself on my own site. I promise it wasn’t my idea…

Finally, I want you to know that I hate it when authors litter blog posts with links to their book on Amazon. It’s almost impossible to do without looking tacky and screaming desperation. And it’s for that reason that I’m going to put all of the blame on RFW&N for the fact that I’ll be doing it a lot from now on. Well – her and the fact that I’ve just found out that all every copy ordered pre-publication counts towards my first week sales total. As, apparently, does everyone who adds the book to their Amazon wish list. Ahem.

Tell you what, to make it feel less whorey – how about I say that if you pre-order and email to tell me you’ve done it, I’ll invite you to the launch event and even scribble something in the front of the damn thing for you, if you like. Although, be warned, I might just scrawl “Michael Smith is a cunt,” just to fuck with him.

Here you go then; you’ll probably want to get used to this…

By my book, and my love, via Amazon

Already done it? Email me for launch thing details

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to be sick.

Blurg.

1. and indeed sick [↩]