I’ve sent out about two dozen freebie copies of ‘1919 (inside)’ out to interested parties; friends, perverts, journalists and one or two fence-straddlers.

That was last week. Now that a few of them have found grown-ups to read it to them, the reviews are trickling in like pish out of a knifed drunk.

Thus far, they’ve all been positive, too. Someone even missed her train, due to being engrossed in reading it. (I remember, back in 1993 or ’94, letting three buses go past, so deeply was I sucked into Brett Easton Ellis’ ‘American psycho’.)

I’ve started a facebook group on the book, which I’m using to store all the nice things said about it.

Having grown up in Scotland, it’s difficult to enjoy people heaping compliments on the fruit of my labours. If anything, this is the hardest part.

It’s my book, therefore I can say it’s brilliant – you, however, haven’t earned that right yet!

It’s funny, how we’re so down on ourselves, isn’t it?

Which is what ‘dreich noir’ is all about, really.

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