Two Chaps Talking

Mon vieux,

Well I hardly know which way to look. There's so much going on that I'm in a right two-and-eight. First things first, our glorious boys. Having despatched one lot of swarthy long haired gigolos, on the morrow we are charged with getting rid of another. I shall be sporting our teams colours and shouting myself hoarse at an as-yet un-named location. It will feature intoxicating liquors and fellow countrymen in plentiful number. I shall endeavour to contact you via the gift of the mobile during or shortly after the match. Having enjoyed the festivities in the Antipodes I assume you will be repeating the experience in Blighty? Would that I could be there with you, ah well the life of a colonialist is never easy.

And as if that weren't enough I am in the nirvana-like position of having my full manuscript resting on the desk of a noted literary agent awaiting his perusal. He has seen the first fifty pages and expressed a keen interest so I hope the balance tickles him in the same way. This is of course the good bit of the process, the bit before the rejection. It's the same with interviews, once you've had it and it's gone well you can sit back and mentally spend the money, right up until you get the bums rush.

So there's everything to play for in both arenas. By next week I could be a hoarse attendee of the semi-finals with an agent. Or not. Either way life is exciting. I'm even doing a public reading on Tuesday. Vocal cords permitting yours truly will be trying to get a laugh out of the assembled masses. I'll let you know how it goes.

On the assumption that I'm to some degree compus by tomorrow evening I am hosting a dinner for amongst others; the ex general secretary of the Labour Party, a current MP and the New York correspondent for The Times. An interesting mix perhaps. It came about through my membership of the International Branch of Labour. Anyway there is every chance that I won't be able to speak at all, especially if we win (Deo Gratis) so who knows what might emerge (spiky gossip perhaps).

It's a scorcher outside, M and I will be off to the beach as per usual on Saturday. She's expecting delivery of her new wheels anon so she's quivering with pleasure.

Are you still doing your weekly column? If so then do send me copies. And how about your treatise on the Great British Breakfast, any takers yet? I recall your mention of lunching with your editor, of...?

That's all for now love, I have the match to think about. M sends her love to you both.

Pip pip,
S.

PS Sir David Beckham is god.