I was down London yesterday for a meeting with the Paperbooks gang. It was a great meeting and it was nice to see everyone and the new offices, and the hustle and bustle of the place, deals going on all over and not a second to spare. We nipped across the road and discussed my new book, out on the 29th June 2009, and promotional ideas etc, before finishing the meeting as we always do - in the bar. It’s a fantastic buzz being a part of Paperbooks, they’re so young and fresh and innovated with their ideas, and it gives me a lift every time I go down.
But that aside, after the successful chat and a pint in The Dirty Dick, I was well and truly shafted. Stiffed. Up the Khyber. Up the Swaney. Legs well and truly buckled.
It wasn’t the fact I had to pay fourteen quid for parking at Newcastle train station. It wasn’t the fact I booked the tickets late and got nobbled for two hundred large. It wasn’t even the fact I nipped on an earlier train home and was relieve of another fifty-nine quid (a favour that one, he could have charged me £125 - I would have struggled not to loose it at that point, I reckon). No, what got me, and not just once, but twice, was I got caught short getting off the train at Kingscross and had to pay 30p for a slash. 30p for a slash! I looked around for the sign that said, To fully off load £1.00 - no matter weight or velocity.
More fool me, after the swift pint, I got caught again. A Geordie in the capital. I might as well have pulled them down when I left the house and be done with it.
Gary
