mostly david ephgrave

My day was going extremely well until I saw Jeffrey Archer. I’d had a productive morning, putting the finishing touches to redecorating my bathroom. I’d rehung a few pictures, taken out my recycling and cleaned the food bin, which had frightening furry pink mould growing on the inside. I left my flat and skipped into town, content in the knowledge of a lot of jobs well done. Then I turned a corner to see the notorious ex-polititian, -lag and novelist, and my spirits fell. The day had been irreversibly tarnished. What makes it worse was I knew he was in town for a book signing and had forgotten about it. Every day for the past few weeks, I’ve walked past the posters in the window of my favourite bookshop, promoting his forthcoming visit. They said he'd be autographing copies of his latest novel ‘Be Careful What You Wish For’, which sounded like a thinly-veiled threat. Despite plenty of advance warning, I walked straight into the lion’s den. I must be a glutton for puni...