Guest blog: Royston Blake

Dear bastards,

It has come to my wossname that not enough of you is buying my books, either in the non-Mangel parts of Britain or in America, which is famous for being where Rocky comes from. And that can only mean one thing, far as my thinking goes: you ain't got enough love for old Blakey.

Now, there's two things I can do here. Number one, I can try and make meself more popular. In my experience, the one surefire way to get your arse right to the top of the popular tree is to get a job as a doorman. Failing that, bouncer. There's some cunts who don't like members of the dooring and bouncing communities, but that's because they'm jealous. Or they had their arses kicked out of a couple of places and they got a grudge against the brethren. But them sort is worth shite and ain't even worthy of being used to wipe my arse with. What counts is the decent folks out there - the birds who like to feel my biceps and the fellers who crash us fags and don't cause too much trouble, unless it's out on the street where I can have a laugh. And I'm figuring you're in that camp, and that you'll respond by shelling out for a couple of my books if I don the doorman regalia once again. So that's one way we could go.

The other way, I come out into the world beyond Mangel and crack some fucking Outsider swedes.

Up to you.

Your mate,

Blakey