Those deck chairs were a waste of time. There we were sitting out all night to be first in the queue for signed copies of Jeremy Clarkson’s new book, eating our packed lunches, chasing away scavenging foxes and arguing with late-night revellers as they mocked us on the way past.
“Where are your sunglasses?”
“The Germans are up early as usual”.
Now it was two in the afternoon and we were still the only two people to have turned up at W.H.Smith’s so far. We were standing at the back of the shop in front of an empty desk set up for the promotion; we had folded the deck chairs and placed them in front of Louise Doughty’s books; I don’t know anyone that would ever read that heap of compost. At least in an hour’s time the great man was scheduled to appear. Continue reading “Waiting for Clarkson (Jan C/W)”