Dum de dum...

"No money, no honey". Ah, Mr Beck Hansen, you could have been writing my theme tune there. But enough self pity.

Saw some photos taken at a party I went to last week. How come I look like a zombie in every picture? I tell you, for a guy with low self esteem it doesn't help to find out you're as photogenic as Simon Weston.

Wait a minute, I was meant to stop the self pitying. Sorry.

One thing I've noticed since I started working in a bookshop, is the way that publishers seem keen on producing bizarre little "mini genres" they can stick authors in. Like mediaeval-crime-thrillers. I mean, what the fuck? Fair enough, what's her face did alright with the Cadfael ones. Vaguely interesting idea and stuff. But then all these other writers start churning out "olde worlde crime" books. Can they not come up with their own fucking ideas? Then of course some bright spark came up with a spin to put on it... Roman crime! Egyptian crime! Baby-fucking-lonian crime! For fuck's sake.

And don't even get me started on the speaking-rodent-fantasy books...