Julian Gough

I'm reading at Bookslam, in London, on Thursday, February 28th, this year of our lord 2008. (That is, later this week). Please do come if you can. Or tell any of your London friends you think might enjoy it. I will not only read from, but also sign, copies of Jude: Level 1, while flirting with your disapproving partner. And I fully intend to end the night by disgracing myself thoroughly in a new and entertaining fashion.

 

 I am operating on 2 hours sleep, so if this ends abruptly, it's because I've fallen asleep and my forehead, as it sinks gently to the keyboard, has posted an unfinished message.

I will awake in a few hours, with much of the alphabet embossed in small squares on my forehead, like a man punished by the Puritans for writing fiction.

(That's three paragraphs in a row that start with "I". A sin I wouldn't commit, even in a blog, were I sufficiently rested.)

Bookslam, for those of you too lazy to click on the hyper-link, is a kick-ass literary night out in London, with live music, a DJ, a poet and, on this particularly marvellous Thursday, me.

It's on in the west-end club now known as Neighbourhood, at No. 12 Acklam Road, London, W10 5QZ.

(Back when I were but a lad wearing nowt but clogs and a loincloth, No. 12 Acklam Road was better known as  Subterania, and hosted everyone from My Bloody Valentine to We've Got A Fuzzbox And We're Gonna Use It.)

 On Thursday, the culture will be provided by NOT ONLY Julian Gough BUT ALSO:

Zubz (known to his mum as Ndabaningi Mabuye), the Zambian-born, Zimbabwe-raised, South Africa-based MC, flying in, fresh as a daisy, from Johannesberg, with a feather in his flat but sexy cap.

 James Yuill, the hippy zippy folk bloke who's not afraid of electricity. (Not to be confused with the recently deceased Scottish road haulage industry legend).

 And Salena Saliva Godden, the writer and poet and musician and assassin and astronaut and...

(THUD)