CW: So, Royston Blake, we have a new book out called Made of Stone. Tell us a bit about it.
RB: What this "we" bollocks? You might have your name on the front but it's my fucking story. From now on I wants Royston Blake on the front. My next book is gonna be called "Bastard", and it'll be by Royston Blake. It's about you, by the way.
CW: OK, but tell us a bit about the new one, Made of Stone?
RB: Why don't you tell it?
CW: Well, I've told it already in a couple of places, so maybe it's time for a fresh angle on it. And besides, apparently it's *your* story, right?
RB: What's this "fresh angle" bollocks? I had a mate who cut his thumb off with an angle grinder once. He put it in his lunchbox and took it down the ozzy for em to sew back on. They was able to do it and it recovered no problem, but they done it the wrong way round.
CW: They sewed his thumb on the wrong way round?
RB: That's what I fucking said, ennit? There a parrot in here?
CW: I find that hard to believe.
RB: I'll bust your face.
CW: I hear that Made of Stone concerns a few days you spent running around Mangel with Jock, a Scottish man who runs the burger van in Frotfield Way. How did that come about?
RB: I don't like talking about them times. Some beans you can spill only the once and then you gotta forget about em, cos they'm too traumatical. I spilled em to you once, you writ it down and put it in this fucking book or whatever, now shut the fuck up about it.
CW: But we want people to read it, don't we?
RB: I ain't bothered. People can piss off for all I gives a toss.
CW: Well, I don't share that attitude.
RB: You wouldn't, would you? All you wants is the easy life, sitting in front of your typewriter and clacking out stories that cunts like me have came up with. Not only came up with but lived.
CW: Made of Stone is the fifth book in the Mangel series. You must be proud of that.
RB: I'll tell you what I'm proud of. I'm proud of the time that bunch of wankers from East Bloater came down Hoppers and tried running it. Thirty of em there were, lobbing bottles all over and feeling up Rache and that other barmaid we had then, plus doing other bad wossnames, such as putting their fags out on the floor. And putting "Karma Comedian" on the fucking juke box. What I done next, right, which involved busting each one of their swedes, dragging em out and booting em arsewise into the gutter... *that's* what I'm proud of.
CW: It's "Karma Chameleon", by the way.
RB: You what?
CW: I said... OK, it doesn't matter.
RB: Too right it don't fucking matter. You start correcting my words and I'll start correcting your features, you ugly piece of shite. Eh, is that what you been doing in them books? You been tidying up me vocals and changing bits?
CW: I swear I haven't changed a thing. It's straight from the horse's mouth.
RB: Hang on, is you saying I looks like an 'orse?
CW: Is there any truth in the rumours that the Mangel books will be adapted for TV?
CW: You know, like a TV series based on Deadfolk and sequels. Or a mini-series?
RB: I had a Mini once. Some twat had left the keys in her in that car park down Strake Hill. Them fucking things is tiny, I swear. Went over a speed bump and nigh on put me swede through the roof. Plus the doors don't open proper. I almost ended up in the fucking canal, only getting out at the last second. You can still see it down there on a clear day.