Being on holiday has its drawbacks. There have been an unusual number of events that I’ve been invited to and which I can’t attend.
Eoin Colfer launched his Artemis Fowl and the Atlantis Complex on Tuesday evening. I had hoped to send a heavily disguised Son in my place, but in the end he was unable to do a bookwitch-by-proxy report for me. And after the Puffin event in London, I believe Eoin went off in the direction of Newcastle for more fun, for other people.
Another launch this week was for Losing It, the anthology on teenagers and sex. Or not. According to Keith Gray who edited the stories, all but one of the eight authors were to be present, and that in itself is pretty spectacular. (Why did I go on holiday?) Haven’t managed to find a report yet, so don’t know who was there and what it was like. Divine, most likely.
Speaking of Losing It, why do some people who spam me with sales offers of you-know-what manage to actually write amusing comments? They still don’t make it onto the blog, obviously, but it surprises and annoys me that they seem to have a sense of humour while still being complete idiots. I’ve received a couple of Groucho Marx quotes that I wouldn’t mind publishing if it wasn’t for, well, you know…
And Meg Rosoff has been on a train. I gather from her blog post about it that it wasn’t an unqualified success. But at least Meg is someone who can write a good letter of complaint. Me, I just shout on paper. I’ve always felt that irony and humour would be wasted. Maybe not? Could try it next time. Because we all know there will be a next time.