Lesser Spotted Bearded Write-ist

No, this isn't going to be a post about plukes, spots or zits. Not even blackheads. This is about events and stuff what I are mostly going to be doing in the not too distant future.

Monday sees me back at the Edinburgh International Book Festival where I'll be cutting a rug, slashing a curtain and making a general mess of the soft furnishings with Mr Allan 'Horror Bollocks' Guthrie. For those of you who missed our 'self indulgent'* event during the Aberdeen Word festival, this will be your chance to see two grown men giggle and snigger as we do the whole thing all over again. Only slightly different as I won't be touching Allan's leg this time. Even though he asked me nicely.

Following hot on the heels of that, you'll be able to spot me lurking in the bushes at a number of Waterstones south of the border down England way:

On Wednesday, September the 4th it'll be Waterstone's Cambridge and the very next day (September the 5th for those of you playing along at home) I'll be Waterstone's Leeds' turn to suffer. And as if that wasn't a good enough excuse to stay at home, shouting at the television, I'll be at these aforementioned lovely emporiums of booky goodness with the artist formerly known as Mark Billingham. He'll be pimping his latest -- DEATH MESSAGE -- I'll be hoovering up the canap├ęs and scoofing all the wine. And probably making fun of him for being in Maid Marian And Her Merry Men, which I used to watch when I was a little kid. I know he likes it when I do that.

that's Mark on the right: isn't he sexy with his shiny helmet?
(That's him there, on the right, being all on television and stuff)

Just a good job I'm much younger than he is and can run faster ;}#

After that it's down to Hamilton Townhouse Library in Lanarkshire on the 19th, where I'll be all on me tod for an evening of fish-themed frivolity with optional singing. Or just a bit of rambling crime write-ist nonsense, depending on how the mood takes me.

Right, that's enough of the updatearama. Now I must repair to my study floor to do battle with THE EDIT OF DOOM!!!

* Incidentally, it's been pointed out to me that the sandal-wearing journalist who wasn't impress when Al and I strutted our funky stuff in Aberdeen (David Robinson of the Scotsman) is one of those responsible for perpetrating the whole 'Val McDermid wants to chop off Ian Rankin's testicles' brouhaha. See -- that's what happens when you let people wear sandals in public. When will Society learn the lessons of the past? WHEN?!?