I’m a little muzzy of head today, after an exhausting day of wassailing and general royster-doystering yesterday. First of all, those lovely people at Time Warner Books took me out for a boozy lunch to celebrate the quite startling success of Attention All Shipping. I managed to get completely lost on the way to the restaurant and spent about 40 minutes walking up and down the Clerkenwell Road at an increasingly frantic manner.
I’m only a travel writer in my home city, why should I know where I’m going? So, I ended up being about half an hour late. I’d like to claim that I’m turning into whatever the male version of diva is after my one appearance on TV, but no, I’m just crap.
From there it was a short stagger across the EC postcodes to the British Guild of Travel Writers Christmas bash at a swanky hotel near the Tower of London. En route I hooked up with my new best buddy Polly Evans for a couple of pre-party cold drinks, so by the time we wafted into the party we were pretty much as tight as owls. Absolutely pie-eyed in fact.
So today I am recovering. Slowly. Blimey, I’m getting old.
On Wednesday I had an early morning date at the US Embassy to secure my I-visa, which writers need to work in the US. As I’ll be doing that for practically the whole of January, I thought it was about time I got my act together. As I queued in the dark and cold at a ridiculously early hour, I realised that the grey-haired fellow behind me was none other than Glen Matlock, formerly of the Sex Pistols. Fortunately and, perhaps, inexplicably, my application was looked upon favourably and I am now free to wander around the USA writing stuff. Hurrah!
Also I was proper chuffed to have been chosen as the novelist Freya North’s favourite book of the year in the Sunday Express last weekend. She’s, like, a proper writer, so my hat is in the air.