Yes, Agent Phil fans will be disappointed to hear that the hairy wonder will not be joining us to launch book two on an unsuspecting public next week. Which means a lot more wine for everyone else. Unfortunately he's been conned into a whole stack of meetings the day after and there's no way in hell he'll be able to get from Aberdeen down to London in time for the first one. Not to mention the inevitable hangover he'd have to deal with.
So that means the naughtiness quotient of the event has just been reduced by a factor of twelve. Now who will we get to wear dessert in their hair? Who will tell tales of Mamarologists and dinosaur sex? Sarah (one of my lovely editors at HC -- it's complicated, so don't ask) is far too refined and Fiona (publicist to the stars and bearded halfwits alike) gets all defensive when her sanity is questioned... So Agent Phil's diminutive shoes are going to be hard to fill. I wouldn't want to try, not unless they'd been decontaminated beforehand anyway. Ah yes, he has the hair of a 1970's rock star, but the foot of an athlete.
In other news, I've decided Neil Diamond is a freak. They were playing 'Beautiful Noise' on the alarm clock radio thing this morning, and the lyrics point to a seriously unhinged mind:
It's a beautiful noise
And it's a sound that I love
And it makes me feel good
Like a hand in a glove
Yes it does, yes it does...
Sorry? Putting your hand in a glove makes you feel good? What are you -- some sort of pervert you have to get your jollies putting gloves on? Groaning away in departments stores, going, "Oh God, mittens... with the string for your sleeves... ooh!" Can you imagine a fun night in at the Diamond house? All his ancient rock star friends are sitting round the grand piano doing lines of coke off naked strippers, while he sits there playing with a pair of Marigolds.
There's something very unwholesome about that.