Week 2 - Tuesday
Yay! I take back what I said about printers. They are lovely and sweet and
huggable. It turns out they aren't too proud or lazy to take my money, just
a tad laid-back in responding to enquiries and who can blame them when they
are so lovely and pretty. Also it seems one big company has bought up most
of the printers in Britain, so I've been writing to the same sales bloke
about five times over and he's understandably busy. Anyway I've had a quote
from one place and it's much cheaper than the people I originally had lined
up, and for a better quality.
However book distributors are still absolute scum, rude, philistine, venal
and a bastion of restricted trade practices and incest and uncleanliness and
ritual child molestation. But there must and shall be a way around that.
Late last night I had the idea of getting someone who distributes CDs and so
on to deliver it. They must have similar networks in place. And early this
morning, hovering on that borderline between sleeping and waking, the realm
between inspiration and gibberish, I thought, 'You were onto something with
fishmongers. If you think about it fish get delivered all over the country.
If you find some young ambitious guy with container lorries who's bored of
only hauling fish... It wouldn't hurt them to stick a few books in and stop
off at booksellers...' Yes. And they could offer a bucket of free whelks
with every order of ten copies or more. Waterstones would love that. And
cats wandering into bookshops and rubbing up against my books and purring,
why what could be better advertising than that?
I don't want to be a crashing bore about this but I continue to be annoyed
by the distributors' rejections and regretful passes. 'Afraid you don't
match our profile.' What the hell kind of response is that? When I'm trying
to pay them money?
From websites that try to explain the farrago: 'Distributors who want your
business will compete if they think you would be a good match to the rest of
their client base.' 'You will be hit with a whole host of questionnaires all
attempting to elucidate information about your profile.' And all bollocks
about synergy.
You don't get a taxi driver saying, 'I would rather sit on my hands than
drive you anywhere, because you are not the sort of custom I wish to
attract. I am known for specialising in driving dyspeptic Orangemen with
goiters, and you do not fit that profile.'
Company profile? Company profile? What is that? It's un-English, damn it.
That's some moronic modern bollocks they've picked up from some fucking
foreigner. (Excuse me to the fucking foreigners.) Walter Raleigh coming back
from America didn't refuse to ship tobacco because he was already carrying
potatoes. 'There's plenty of room.' 'No, leave it, it'll muddy my profile,
I'm into potatoes. There's no synergy between tobacco and potatoes.
It's not a match. You can't put baccy on spuds, can you?' (Which is nonsense
because my granddad did all the time. Only way we could get him to stop
smoking long enough to eat.)
Synergy. Synergy. Stab. Stab. A cabal of
shite-talkers has taken over British life and only let in people
who are fluent in talking shite.
When I finally get rich in spite of them I'm going to set up a company that
manufactures:
Nuclear weapons,
Vibrators, and
Crisps
Just to show them. Of course I will have to be very careful not to get any
orders mixed up. President of Iran: 'Western Dogs, Iran has joined the 21st
century, we are now equal in power to you Zionist infidels. Behold, the
ultimate weapon!' Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz. Headlines: Iran liberalising?
And a very embarrassed woman somewhere has her ____ declared a no-go area by
a team of men in asbestos suits wielding geiger counters. I make it up to
her with a free packet of crisps.