Recently-sprung Waterstones manager Steerforth, over at The Age of Uncertainty, is already getting nostalgic for his bookselling days. Picture him sitting on the pickle barrel, regaling the youngsters with the bookselling trends he’s seen come and go. I bet they can’t believe it – day before footballers’ wives’ memoirs! Go check it out, but here’s my favourite.
“5. True Crime. This genre ticked along quietly until Sun columnist-turned-publisher, John Blake, released The Guv’nor. This memoir of a ‘hard bastard’ was a publishing phenomenon and launched a whole new sub-genre of criminal memoirs. The jacket design usually consisted of a grainy, close-up mugshot of a criminal with a tagline something along the lines of I’m completely mental and violent. If you don’t like me, I’ll pull your ears off, slowly. These memoirs were lucrative for publishers, but less so for booksellers as the titles were usually stolen by aspiring hard bastards. These memoirs were also inexplicably popular with women. (I remember seeing a young women with a black eye, sitting on a bus with her five-year-old daughter. In her lap she had a copy of The Guv’nor, which was open at the photo section. She pointed to various figures, saying to her daughter ‘That’s yer Uncle Kenny, that’s Uncle Ron, that’s Uncle Mick…)”
Note: I was going to entertain you with a picture of The Guvnor, but it’s just too scary.









1 Comment
June 7, 2008 at 2:09 am
Dove of the church in I
D’s words double duel
turn equally fifty time
first fifty fifties are fair
ness-sense of weeding
eces of it, illicit thrills
sea a selke preserve
in the holy images,
Columcille, Pictish dove
U non denominational
too in the historian P
church of love and peace
Column and Geoffrey K
b. Burgess: Ballylooby
Mhuman Tipperary
1569: d 1644 fives over
Divinty Dr: Bordeaux
annalist, antiquarian fili,
historian, knowing one
poet, priest, raconteur
carer of the souls: shaman
seanachie elevenses above,
alpha bhard, Mhuman
ollamh telling well letters
scriven in a reflection
interred Tubrid, his inner
swilling Well, swollen blf
Seigas — sidhe Nechtan
Trinity parish, trinity D
ay moss and muck, rake
orders weened swarms
many when s/he became
Collum’s I island, gods
Iona, Neill of nine times
everything thousands r
root to, the 5C chappies?
But Lore Fin S Nordie
begins when:
*Ceasair came to Ireland
with fifty girls and three
men; Bith, Ladhra,
and Fintain, BLF(sn)
bearla filid, five seperate
languages one file learns
plural, inclusive I ioana
Colum
“..taken..leave of the assembly
..proceeded to Duibheaglais, in
Inis Eoghan, (tyrone) next night,
after nightfall,
a brilliant fire flame came upon
..guards at the convention,”
culling the numbers of a flood
effulgent in velum dark staves
*who kept the cell in which Aodh
had Scannlan Mor confined, bound
by twelve iron chains, so..the guards
..faces to the ground because
a greatness* in *blaze(s)..they saw.
And bright a dazzling flame came
to Scannlan in the place where
he was, and a voice in the flame
said:
‘Arise, O Scannlan..quit yr chains*
come forth from your cell – follow
me please, place yr hand in mine.’
Scannlan came forth* (forty times)
one the angel guards in front of H
observed and asked him:
“Who is there?”
‘Scannlan’ — an angel said:
But Scannlan was the one
the convention was there
outmaneuvered by Colum
cille dove laurel of ogam
‘If it were he, he would not tell,’
said they.
the angel and Scannlan
went after Columcille;
..Colum.. at matins..as he passed
through the sanctuary railing.
Scannlan taking off his shoes;
Columcille asking who:*
and this is just the beginning
the god from the machine dna
Poetry Art Live and in person
printed (un)dERs grinning inn
the names, the names, floods
follying names wrung Ramsey
mages tick, wheres my effing
Beef, lol sneer away Gordon
(cont.) you effing tw.t, get out
Exective Chef, T boning in my
fecking Kitchen, you ranting
shut yr effin hole GRamnsey
right, that is it, adult is it, righ
high ollamh is it Bumo Gords
en le effing EXECTIVE CHEF
not an effin hope you stuped
(p)richard, what have you bin
effin told, about displeasing
the effin beef, people expect
Koin effin burgers et pomme
frite. nothing, absolutley eff
all wrong with me, you are
fecked out now!!! did new
not effin hear you (cont.)
eff out my kitchen tw.ts
holily time after ridicule
yr taking the piss, Koin
effin beef, where is it
stupid (p)rick, how dare
the dove of love: laurel
stan, Hildas graduates
ogden boggers: a biffo
eff off Ramsey, yah, why
us gordon yr boringness..
just the start Parthalon.