Does it mean I've made it if Rhys Ifans is partying in the same bar?
Nicholas Hogg
Nicholas Hogg, award-winning author of Show Me the Sky, takes a holiday from writing to brave the cows at camp bestival, run the papparazzi gauntlet out in Soho (blame Rhys Ifans) and meet the original Mr Nice.
I should hardly be surprised by my hangover, but here it is. Stomach churning, sweats, and a few hours till the reading. I sneak away from the festival and catch a proper tramp nap in a cow field.
Saturday
Up at dawn on the living room floor at my sister's in Leicester. Caught the train from Edinburgh last night, and got here early enough to practice for Camp Bestival. The 'practice' was reading a bedtime story to my three year old niece. She fell asleep, so I'm trying to work out if this is a good feedback for my oratory skills.
The early rise is to go for a run before the five hour train ride to Dorset with an old school friend. We have a plan to work on our graphic novel - I write and he draws - but once we get to London we reminisce about squatting in Stratford, and crack open the wine.
Blue skies at Wool station, where we jump in a cab with poet Salena Godden. She's impressed we carry our own wine glasses. I'm more impressed with her dazzling reading later.
Sunday
Dancing around the cider tent. Know I'm going to regret a late night when I have to read tomorrow, but kill the worry with a few more drinks in the 'Artist's Village,' an exclusive zone for performers. I think of all the shit jobs I've done, when I lived off tuna and rice for weeks, and happily abuse the free beers.
Meet Mr Nice himself, Howard Marks, and find out he really is his name. We try and work out what country Jack and the Beanstalk originated, and decide that it must have been in a former British Colony, what with the line, 'I smell the blood of an Englishman.'
More dancing, then sleep, then waking on a tatty sofa downwind of a camp fire burning acrid smoke. Would rather be in the tent, but my Leicester friend got their first and made it look as big as a carrier bag.
I should hardly be surprised by my hangover, but here it is. Stomach churning, sweats, and a few hours till the reading. I sneak away from the festival and catch a proper tramp nap in a cow field.
Gaviscon taste like Spearmints, which is good, because I have three or four. But better is the rum and coke I have listening to a great reading by Gautam Malkani, who swears and cusses on behalf of his characters with pitch perfect timing. I follow him on and read from Show Me the Sky, delighted that the tent is full - though this might be more to do with the cushions. Richard Millward is next up, and out quirks us all by wearing different masks for his different voices.
Monday
Lazy day with friend on Hampstead Heath. Feels good not to be writing, as I've worked non-stop on novel two for the last year, including research trips to Bosnia, Israel and Palestine. Nice to drink wine and talk crap instead of typing, worrying about landmines, being kicked in the groin in Ramallah, or strip searched by Israeli security.
Tuesday
A day of two halves. Morning I train up to Warwick and wheel my 87 year old gran around a park. She has a little council flat and enjoys the pub lunch and fresh air, asking when I'm going to write about how my grandad shot down Germans.
Back to London and a night out in Soho. Coming out of drinking dens with paparazzi waiting is not my usual 'scene,' but still entertaining. No flashbulbs go off in my face, but does it mean I've made it if Rhys Ifans is partying in the same bar?
Wednesday
New word my only writing for a week: stomasaults - that fluttery hangover queasiness. Bouts of drinking are offset by days of teetotal dedication to work, so decide to enjoy bender while it lasts and put notebook away. My love/hate affair with London is love while floating in the Gospel Oak lido.
Thursday
A book has no reader without someone to sell it, and today a meeting with my agent in a Hammersmith pub. Talk about the recession, with a positive spin on the fact that book buying increased during the last economic meltdown. He then whips out his i-phone and shows me a copy of Conrad's Nostromo he downloaded for 59p.
Walk to Bayswater and sign half a dozen copies of Show Me the Sky in Borders. That will beat the credit crunch.
Friday
A trip back to Edinburgh means a trip back to my desk. But I need and want to work, and my body protests at a week of drinking. The train ride across the Dales produces yet another short story, and I walk across the Old Town buzzed that I can shut the door, switch off my phone and write.
Friday, 1 August, 2008
In My week
- Charlotte Grimshaw
- Susan Hill
- Ed Hollis
- Ali Sethi
- Wells Tower
- Con Coughlin
- Dirk Wittenborn
- Kathleen Kent
- Daniel Everett
- Mark Crick
- Glyn Maxwell
- Rabih Alameddine
- Nicholas Hogg
- Charles Boyle
- Mohammed Hanif
- Sarah Hall
Buy books
Show Me the Sky
Books are purchased through Amazon UK. Link opens in a new window.
Newsletter
Untitled Books
Your account
Register for an account and review books, comment on articles and build a list of your favourite reviews. Coming soon.
