The story of Hannah and her experiences with love has already been available in a few places, but now it reaches Kindle. It includes a revised version of the full story as well as a series of seven new illustrations. You can get it here in the UK and here in the US. It’s available in lots of other countries too through the magic of Amazon.
A large box arrived today that seems to have travelled an interesting journey to the UK from somewhere in the US with a brief detour to Germany. Presumably there is an underlying logic to the meandering. The net result is that the first, limited, collectible and remotely possible to one day be extremely valuable first print edition of Sinful Submissions is available from me now. The easiest way to get it is to head for the buy page of this website. All copies will be signed by me and numbered. For anyone that hasn’t heard it from before, this is my second published book and it contains a sequence of interconnected short stories on the nature of sin and passion and includes a diverse selection of graphic lewd behaviour and naughtiness. The book also contains more than twenty of my charcoal sketches. For those people that don’t read much, there’s an awful lot of sex in it so just open it somewhere random when you feel like it. There’ll probably be sex and nudity on the page somewhere.
So, now this is up and running I really ought to start posting shit on it. I just left a Howard Marks gig, in the Globe in Cardiff. It’s a small, weird little venue that can apparently hold 300 but in my experience could only manage it if they’re a terribly intimate 300, y’know, like the ones that fought Xerxes, that spent all day fighting and all night making friends.
For me, the timing was suspiciously perfect. I was supposed to see him at Guilfest in 2008, but I foolishly assumed that being the top billing in the comedy tent meant that he would be doing his thing late night. As it was I was mistaken, as I discovered at about 6.30pm when I was wandering off from having completed the necessary negotiations for the purchase of an elaborate soap-stone pipe I wandered past the tent, on my way to see somebody who doubtless seemed terribly important at the time but I now can’t remember. Maybe I’ll look it up in the edit. Regardless, I caught the last half minute or so of his set purely because the strength of his accent made me turn round. I can’t tell you if it was a good set, but he got a decent round of applause from those that had seen more of it than me.
Tonight, I was in the venue for much longer than he was. However charmingly small and close to my flat it may be, they do have a bad habit of opening the doors at 7.30 for a gig that isn’t starting until 9.00. I really ought to have learned by now, but we didn’t have tickets and instinct had told me that it might sell-out. As It was, we spent a long time in a queue, then an absurdly long time drinking and being cramped before he came on. The place was crowded, loud and sweaty and the floor had that disconcerting stickiness that’s so often present in venues.
As for the man himself, well, he’s just one of those people. Of course he’s a good speaker. Of course he’s an interesting character. Even if for some reason you aren’t interested in the most famous supplier of cannabis that the UK has ever had, he’s worth your attention because he’s a good raconteur and what I will regretfully lapse into cliche for long enough to call a lovable rogue.
He’s been doing this kind of bit for enough years now that he makes it look easy. Stand on the stage with drinks lined up in easy reach, talk bollocks, ride the laughs, complain about the smoking ban, repeat until all and sundry are drunk.
Shortly after the above I feel asleep, so whatever other brilliant observations I might have written are lost to the ages. In fairness, it was pushing 4am by that time and the bottle on the desk was long since empty.