The thirty-odd “foreigners” (and not thirty odd foreigners) who werearrested for wearing underwear in Malta have been found “not guilty” of running a brothel.
The judge’s comments made me proud to be Maltese. He said that everybody has the right to dignity, presumably even lap-dancing scum, and that the police not letting them wear any clothes over their thongs in order to be able to take photos of them was “a crass excuse”. He didn’t say what it was a crass excuse for, but presumably even Maltese policemen don’t get half-naked Eastern Europeans in the backs of their patrol cars very often …
“Nowadays, he noted, we see women in g-stings on beaches and, although some may not like this, it was a fact that the younger generation was more daring.”
Although I should have been hanging curtains and charging the electric drill, I’m pleased to say that Kim Bah Lee Books is now open for business. It’s new, so be nice. My own erudite recommendations will be slowly added in the time it takes for me to learn to read.
I heartily recommend you spend most of your Christmas money here.
Lewis is a great friend of mine. For the past few years he’s been shying away from his responsibilities in the pub and writing a book. It must be good because somebody’s publishing it.
I read a very early draft version and it was a revelation (unblinkered and unbiaised product review). Any novel that has the word “syphilis” in the first sentence is alright by me.
It’s the embellished biography of dirty old painter Egon Schiele, protegé of Klimt and imprisoned for creating porn. It charts his father’s insanity, his suppressed lust for his sister and a fair bit of homo-erotic fumbling with famous characters from an age gone by.
The publication date isn’t until next year, but you can be guaranteed to get a pristine first edition, bound to be worth a fortune, by pre-ordering NOW your copy of The Pornographer of Vienna. Click away.
(He doesn’t know this yet, but he’ll be doing free beer and personalised book signings for anybody who shows up at his signing event in Brussels next spring.)
I’m back selling stuff, actually trafficking in human beings, and it’s like a drug. I’m building my library of self-help books and this weekend found a fantastic second-hand copy of “The Gentle Art of Salesmanship” (selling for one pence on Amazon) that was written twenty years ago by a man called Harry Turner.
“A selling career … is good for your health, can make you rich, possiby famous, and offers unrivalled opportunities for world travel, good food, fine wine and sexual encounters undreamed of by quantity surveyors even in Slough.”
“If you are the unfortunate possessor of a strong Lancashire, Yorkshire, Birmingham or Liverpool accent, you should ony embark on a sales career if you remain in your own region among people who speak as hideously as you.”
They don’t make self-help books like that any more …