Chopper

There is a helicopter outside, hovering above the house. What is wrong with him? Why doesn't he go away? Those blades are churning my guts up and distracting me from... I dunno, whatever I was doing.

I'm told a bomb was dropped in my front garden during WW2, landing right on the spot where there is now a magnolia tree. You don't expect that out here in the sticks, but it seems the Nazi bomber was aiming for the old RAF base a couple of miles south and started popping caps on his approach. Not exactly the kind of thing that happens twice, but sometimes I look at that spot and wonder... What if there was a break in the space/time continuum? You never know.

Wait, maybe that helicopter outside is tracking someone? An escaped lunatic perhaps?

I'm off to check the back door. If I don't come back, I'm loon-fodder. You'll see it on the news: MAN GETS KILLED BY ESCAPED LUNATIC. Then they'll find out about my books, and swap "author" for "man". Journalists will find this post and use the WW2 bomb thing as a interesting bit of trivia. People will flock to my website until it gets shut down. My next book will come out postumously and go into multiple print runs due to the morbid curiosity factor.

Um, I just locked the back door, so I guess none of that will happen now. But wait... what's that sound? Not a helicopter now, definitely a plane. But not a jet, more like a... a Messerschmitt! Sounds like she's heading south, aimi

Paris, Radio and Trousers

A great time in Paris was had this weekend. Lisa and I sailed over a day early on the Eurostar and soaked up a few things (mostly beer and chocolate croissants). Next morning I did a radio interview with Radio Libertaire, France's official anarchist station. I did the whole thing in French, which I was a bit worried about beforehand but it went OK. I think. Anyway, if you're French and you heard some English twat babbling incomprehensibly on Saturday afternoon, it was me. Or Chris Waddle.

Later on that afternoon was the "humour in crime" panel at the Bilipo, where I shared the floor with the Colins Thibert and Bateman. The moderator was Natalie Beunat and it was a good session at a fascinating venue. If you're in Paris, check it out (especially the morbid displays in the foyer). After that, the Bateman and Williams entourages went in search of food and alcohol. It was great, but can I just say here that the traffic cone on top of the Eiffel Tower in the early hours of Sunday was nothing to do with me.

Talking of Colin, check out his new book, MYSTERY MAN. The logline is inspired: "Murder, mayhem and damn sexy trousers." That's the important things in life right there. And traffic cones.

In other news, a seal of approval has been given. Nothing to do with me really as I didn't design the cover, but it's a nice thing anyway.

ARK at Cannes

More short film news - ARK has been chosen for the Short Film Corner at the Cannes Film Festival. It will be shown as part of the special selection "Don't Let The Bastards Grind You Down", a notion I wholeheartedly agree with. Check it out here.

Twitter? More like sh...

Royston Blake is going to have a little adeventure in Twitter land, for want of anything better to do. Follow him if you must. I really don't think he gives a toss either way.

Coupla things

ARK has been selected for the festival of French and British cinema at le Touquet on 5-7 June. Check it out here with a couple of cool stills.

I have seen a copy of PAINT A VULGAR PICTURE: FICTION INSPIRED BY THE SMITHS and it is magic. What do you reck? Look out for my story "Sweet and Tender Hooligan" as well as great ones by John Williams, Kate Pullinger and Jeff Noon. Pick it up here for cheap, or at a book emporium near you from 28th May.

Talking of cheap, you seem to be able to pre-order my next book STAIRWAY TO HELL at Amazon.co.uk for only £4.79. Can this be real?

Factoid about STAIRWAY TO HELL: Despite the outlandish premise it is based on true events.

Are you a Parisien(ne)? Do you like humour in crime books? Come and hear me roar at the Bibliothèque des Littératures Policières on Saturday May 16th at 17.30. I probably won't roar, actually.

Ten

Just realised, I've been writing for ten years this month. Ten bloody years. And when I say bloody, I mean it. As the great Charles Willeford once suggested, writing is a bloodsport. You tear your hair out for these stories and what do they do when you send them out into the world? Come slinking back, tail betwixt legs. Some don't. Some find a place in the culture, even if hardly anyone notices them. As long as they have a few admirers, everything's OK.

And we write on.

R.I.P. J.G.B.

J.G. Ballard was one of those writers who got my attention straight away. From the first page of CRASH I knew I had a real writer on my hands, someone who was going to meddle with the fabric of language itself as well as tell a story. His subjects were perverse and perverted, his humour omnipresent and always sly, his attitude subversive. For my money, a writer can aspire to nothing more.

It was one of his quieter novels that stood out most for me - CONCRETE ISLAND. I don't know if this is my favourite, but it's a definite case where I can see that a novel has influenced me. A set-up as simple as it gets - a guy finds himself somehow stranded on a traffic island on the main atery road out of West London. That is it. A real writer can take it from there and get some truth out of it, as well as a barrel-load of entertainment. That is what JGB did. Time and again.

Figaro

Great review (I think) of LE ROI DU MACADAM and the other Blakey books in yesterday's le Figaro. Especially like the sound of this bit: "Le Roi du macadam est un festival de loufoquerie noire". Loufoquerie, love that word. Sounds a bit like... ah, never mind. Anyway, if you like loufoquerie too, check out KING OF THE ROAD, because it's a festival of it. Not only that, but a noire festival.

STAIRWAY TO HELL

Here is the cover. Bit of a departure, huh? STAIRWAY TO HELL will not be out until August. I've got to wait until August! So have you. We're all in the same boat, friends.

Why?

When I get a great writing idea, I think about it for about two seconds, then deliberately go and do something else. Watch some TV maybe or eat some cake. Basically, making a conscious effort to avoid it. Why? Surely I should immediately develop that idea, burning as it is in the embers of creation? It's the same with the actual writing. If I'm on a roll and I write a great sentence, I just stop and go and play some Fifa 08, stuffing my face with chocolate between passes. Why don't I go for the next sentence? Why do I feel the need to reward myself and pack up shop? Why why why why why?

Actually, I think I know. It's one of these two:

a. The idea is a newborn baby. You should wrap it up and put it in a cot and leave it for a bit. Same with the great sentence - that's you stretching to the limits of your abilities. Push any more and you'll pull a muscle. In your brain. Nasty.

b. I am a bone-idle bastard.

Lost in France

I hear in Paris they have a library dedicated to crime fiction. That's cool, right? Another cool thing is that they are having a festival of crime in May, where the intersection of the criminal and book worlds will be celebrated in all its glory. Can you guess where this is going? Yes, a third cool thing: your humble narrator will be at this festival. Apparently humour in crime is my bag and I'll be taking part in a panel on this subject, along with a couple of TBAs.

So, if you're in Paris on the 16th May, check us out.

You know, anyone would think I'm living on the continent. It's three years since I did any kind of event in the UK. I am a literary exile, condemned to tread only foreign soil until I can write a book that pleases MI5. Maybe STAIRWAY TO HELL will be that book? Ah, fuck MI5. Do you know the people that really matter? Critics? Don't make me laugh. Readers? Well, maybe a bit... but that's not the answer. It's CI5. Bodie and Doyle. And there is NOT A CHANCE they would have disapproved of any trilogy of books with one of these babies as a major character.

Saying all that, I do quite like foreign soil. Especially France. They have really nice soil, very dark and peaty. Plus they have loads of beer. I'm sorry, Cowley... you can grin all you like, I'm staying here, in this bar. Got my Leffe. Got my chips and mayonnaise. Got my table footy. Got my soil. I'm staying. I'm finishing my coffee. Enjoying my coffee.

Car crash cover

Second edition (or something) of Deadfolk released in France this week. I just love this cover. And check out that "Policer". That's Plim and Jonah!