Vanity project

I've been immortalised. An acquaintance from way back, who has done quite well for himself in a very specific field, has just had his autobiography published. And there I am, a minor character reduced to one of a collective as part of a group of young women he apparently describes as 'The Lovecats'.

I haven't seen the author in question for many years, but curiously he's someone I have from time to time considered for a blog post. In the end, though, I always decided that he was  material too good to be shared, and which I could better use elsewhere.  Now he's used me in his writing. The rat beat me to it.

Am I curious to read his book? Yes, I am. I'm sure he's a completely unreliable narrator and so completely self-absorbed that I'm almost amazed there are any other characters in it at all, but I do want to know what he's written about me. So I might wait a while and pick one up for a quid on Amazon. I'm assuming it won't become an international best seller and that he won't have to worry about negotiating the film rights. But supposing he does... I wonder who they'll get to play me? Me, me, me, me.



©Ishouldbeworking 2011