“Which Town Is This Then?”

Well, alright, I’m not QUITE at the point where I’ve done the Rock Band Thing yet – trying to discern … through a haze of drink and drugs-fuelled debaucher – which town I’m actually ‘performing’ in today. But there have been times where I’ve felt not too far off during the last couple of months.

There haven’t been many scantily-clad groupies (in fact, it’s been quite the opposite, much to my relief) but there have been rather too many photo-shoots and a few mistakes where I’ve written the wrong name in someone’s book (sorry Jane, but ‘Nathan’ does sound like ‘Ethan’ when all these other folk in Stalybridge are nattering away around you.)

Having never performed with a rock band, however, it sound a bit strange to you, me trying to make a comparison between a rock-tour and a book-tour. But 10 tour-dates on and counting, there are certainly some similarities:

1. Your voice tends to get croaky and you worry that you won’t be able to give The People What They Want
2. You sometimes get a dressing room. This is important if you’re an ‘introvert presenting as an extrovert’ and if you need a place to hide behind a curtain and mutter ‘it’ll be over soon very soon very soon’ to yourself.
3. You experience a vast range of venues – from swanky restaurants to draughty town halls.
4. You experience a vast range of refreshments – from er… nowt, to cake and curry and sweetmeats – preferably not in the same bowl. (NB A certain mate of mine is *the* expert on how to treat a penniless author – if you don’t provide this person with a gorgeous, free lunch – they watsapp all their mates about it. They even send a pic of your aforementioned crappy excuse for a lunch. Yes … you unhospitable sorts are BEING WATCHED!)
5. You find it strange that in general, people are nice to you – whether you choose to wear your lace-panelled spandex, or your jeggings with tomato soup stains.

Of course, though – a book tour is nowhere near as glamourous as it sounds. And in the main, nothing at all like the life of Rock God.

For one, you don’t get paid (ha! I wish!) and for two, you don’t have any hanger-on’s massaging your ego (unless your son – telling you to ‘stop sounding so excited about dead people, will you, Mum. ‘Cause it’s really embarrassing’ – counts.)

For those of you sane enough never to have embarked upon a book tour, here are some of the more pertinent features of what such a tour can include:

• Getting Lost – because the organiser presumes you have been to the town before. Or that their postcode instructions from 1992 somehow impress your satnav.
• Getting a Parking Ticket – because the traffic wardens are particularly evil and won’t let you go over a minute (Yorkshire traffic wardens are by far the meanest in the whole of the British Isles. Compare them to Lancashire ones who – when in Bolton for the TED talk – actually guarded my car whilst Gary the Concierge came to rescue me from skate-board park hell.)
• Ridiculous extremes in terms of audience numbers. No matter how many people have booked themselves onto a talk – this factor is about as predictable as the British weather. Personally, I’m just happy if five folk turn up. But that’s because large numbers of people always remind me of Pentecostal churches.
• Equipment breaking, dying or simply not being there when you arrive. This is certainly where it pays to know your material off by heart. I have found that telling the entire life of Robert Reschid Stanley (i.e. one minute for every 83 years of his life) to random strangers on the 393 bus to Huddersfield is as good as any form of rehearsal in front of your mirror at home.
• Unbelievable elation on your part – when spotting an audience member that you already know. Unless of course, aforementioned audience member turns out to be the village racist, religious bigot or your mum (never look at your mum when giving a book talk – you’ll only live to regret it.)
• Politicians – I like to invite certain politicians to my book talks. I do this, because in general, politicians are only human and they get a bad press (unless they’re Boris Johnson or Donald Trump, in which case they deserve far, far more than just a bad press.) Plus, my brother is one, so I can’t really avoid them. Anyway, they’re often simply relieved to be able to sit and listen to someone else witter on for a change. And to be in the company of ordinary folk, rather than the usual inbred dimwits that they normally have to sit opposite.

Finally – if you have never been to an author talk before, then … what are you waiting for? Not only will you bringing joy to a downtrodden writer by gracing themselves with your presence – you might learn something, feel inspired to pick up a pen yourself and – if the talk takes place in a local library – you will be championing one of the most important hallmarks of British democracy and self-learning.

But just in case you’re faced with a really boring author and their excuse for a ‘book’, don’t forget to pack some underwear to fling at them. It’ll cheer us all up.