No Sleep Til Blackwell’s

Tomorrow evening – Thursday 9 June – I will be appearing in the withering flesh at Blackwell’s bookstore in Oxford – the finest emporium of its kind in the world, no less – giving what may euphemistically be described (I suppose, if we must) as a ‘talk’ on Lemmy.

Will I be reading from my book? Not sure. Do you want me to? Wouldn’t you rather just have me avail you with some of the stories that were too torrid to put in there? I knew Lemmy a long good-bad time. He was my favourite rock star to hang with for most of the near-40 years I knew him, he was also the guy I would sometimes avoid if I didn’t feel quite up to my fighting weight. This more and more in latter years when, let’s face it, neither of us was exactly what we used to be, even if we had become in many ways better, if worse off physically, versions of ourselves.

But the stories… For this of you that have already read the book, you’ll have an inkling as to what I’m talking about. Laughs? You may shit, dear reader. Tears? I’m afraid so, yes. But mainly laughs. And a lot of shit. As anyone who has talked to me recently will attest.

I very much hope you can make it. Or else, right?

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