Bad news from the Romantic Novelists Association
A few years back, I had a root canal on one of my rotten molars. It was unpleasant. In fact excruciating.
Did anyone mention Idle Tom the Publisher?
"Well that’s another one down," he said. "Another avenue closed to us."
"What’s happened now?"
"You didn’t win the Romantic Novel of the Year award."
"Well Boo-Bloody-Hoo," I said. "When was that announced?"
"Mmmm. About a month back. Went to a woman called Freya North for her book ‘Pillow Talk’. It’s rather a good book actually, you might enjoy it, it’s about this woman -"
"All right, enough of that. So the award was announced a month ago? From what you were telling me, I thought it was going to be some time this summer.
"Nope, it’s all been and gone and happened."
"So did I make the short-list?"
"You didn’t even make the long-list, mate."
"Well thanks for your sympathy, Tommy." I paused a moment, the wind momentarily taken out of my sails. I mean it wasn’t that I’d expected to win the competition. But there’d always been that little bit of a chance that they might have decided to give the prize to a chap. For the first time.
And then … A sudden suspicion.
"Tell me, Tommy," I said. "Did you actually enter The Well-Tempered Clavier into this competition?"
Idle Tom yawned. "I think so. Might have done. Would it make any difference?"
"What?? What do you mean ‘would it make any difference’?"
"Well," he said. "We probably wouldn’t have won anyway. So what difference does it make?"
"Yeah - well if that’s your attitude, then what’s the point in ever buying a lottery ticket?"
"It’s not the same thing at all, Bill - because you’ve actually got a chance of winning the lottery -"
"WHAT??! You saucy young pup!"