I’m back. Again. While any journo worth his salt will be able to regale you with a dozen “And then I stayed up drinking until 7.30 in the morning, half an hour after I was supposed to get up, so I had to head off straight to the interview, reeking of alcohol, wearing the clothes I flew in on. I knew I was in trouble, because I hadn’t prepared, but then suddenly, in the back of the cab, which I’d had to direct using Inuit hand signals because he didn’t understand a word of English, I came up with the perfect question. I pulled it all together, wrote it up, and Sir John Gielgud said it was the best interview he’d ever done” stories, this was relatively dull and had a disappointing sleep:alcohol:work ratio, so I won’t regale you (much) with my exploits.
But just in case you were thinking of topping yourself and reading this blog was on the verge of pushing you over the edge, hold off! There are reasons to live still. For if you’ve never been to a Munich beer hall, watching a group of Germans dancing on tables in traditional Bavarian costumes to gay anthems played by a band fronted by an Emily Procter-lookalike drummer, there are still things in life to experience. Head off there now, while you still can.
On the other hand, you might be asked to try some German food. If it’s a choice between death and German food, might I heartily recommend the death option?
Anyway, coming up today should be that review of Men in Trees I promised, and maybe a couple of others, so hold on tight.