Wednesday, September 20, 2006

My Kind of Woman

I am indebted to the redoubtable Frank Wilson for drawing my attention to one Amanda McKittrick Ros. She is claimed to be the world's worst writer. I cannot agree. She described her critics as 'the auctioneering agents of Satan', a brilliant evasion of cliche and a sentiment I absolutely share. For no special reason, this reminds me that I must draw your attention to the fact that Jeffrey Archer's worrying silence persists. Nothing since September 14th.

6 comments:

  1. Maybe our Jeffrey is rehearsing for his new daytime chat show? ...Well it's bound to happen isn't it?

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  2. Notif Richard and Judy have anything to do with it.

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  3. I imagine Jeffrey (accompanied by an adoring blonde bimbo) is on a top secret undercover mission of the utmost national importance. He will be unable to communicate anything about it, except in fictionalised form in another of his rattling good page-turners.
    And now I' ve told you that much, I'm afraid I'm going to have to kill you.

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  4. I feel it encumbent upon me to offer myself as kind of substitute Jeffrey for those of us suffering from withdrawal.

    I haven't made any blog posts in the last few days as I feel the wells of inspiration running dry. I hate to disappoint my legions of fans but damnit what's a few days of spiritual and literary impoverishment compared to the time I had to serve in the nick. Anyway I'm sure I'll be riding the crest of Inspiration's wave in the near future again.

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  5. But not yet. Still nothing from the Real Thing. I am convulsed with guilt, convulsed I tell you.

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  6. Thanks, Bryan. I've always wanted to be called redoubtable.

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