There’s no point in trying to play it safe, as has become obvious in the last few days.
A couple of weeks ago I referred obliquely to a celebrity children’s book. I was asked to do an interview with the author, but on second thoughts I decided against, because he didn’t have time to take part in this publicity the way I’d like.
I knew next to nothing about David Baddiel, so had nothing bad to say. Or good. After googling him, I found him to be a pleasant looking man, and as he has previously written a few adult novels, I’m thinking he might not be a bad author, even of children’s books. The topic – choosing your parents – doesn’t appeal, but then I’m more parent than child, and would rather not be unchosen by mine.
Reading the Guardian Family last Saturday I discovered David had had time for them. At least to pose for a very nice photo. The interview might have been a phone one, for all I know, and is sufficiently padded that it could have been pretty brief. And I guess the article writer hadn’t read the book.
If I’d got access to David, I would have. And let’s be honest, I was only vaguely interested in the whole thing because he’s a bit famous (while not being Katie Price). And because I didn’t know him or his work, I felt that might make it fun.
Apparently he did a radio interview about the book as well. That’s fine. His publicist got him a lot of attention, as she should do. I just don’t know why I was asked. I don’t get paid. I need something in return, other than a book. To meet people I have chosen myself is my main reward. Having ‘unknowns’ thrust upon me, I need to feel there is something a wee bit different, even outstanding, about my victim.
And they do need to reciprocate a little in effort. I will travel, and meet up, and write up, in return for as little as twenty minutes in person. Stupid of me, I know.
David seems like a nice man. Which is nice. Just too busy. Which for his sake is probably also nice. I’m also busy, so it was for the best that we were busy being busy at the same time.