June 5, 2008...1:01 pm

Steerforth’s true life bus shocker

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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

  • 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.


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