sanemagazine: wonderful rubbish

I seem to remember once being accused of writing a good deal like Bill Bryson.

Only I tend not to go anywhere. So it makes being compared to a travel writer slightly odd.

Nice, but odd. (Well, not so nice, if it happens to be Smollett or somesuch to whom you're being compared, as then the alleged complimenter may be expressing a wish that I were long dead and/or insufferably boring, which, while it may be the case, could be expressed infinitely better than by comparing thee with a 17th century travel writer, if only by coming out directly and saying it. Sure, feelings may be hurt, but at least no one has to go looking up references that are rapidly becoming obscure. While possibly not being all that nice, this is still definitely odd. And the complimenter probably wouldn't be considered as such, really.)
Which may or may not have been the point. Or perhaps the point had been I like to include pictures of myself standing against a lamppost in the covers of all of my publications. Which would be blatantly false, as I've never had myself photographed standing next to a lamppost, and would feel reasonably comfortable saying that I'd never ever be the kind to indulge in that sort of behaviour.

I also tend not to include stories of myself having trouble with the maitre'd at restaurants and hotels across Europe, England, and the vast majority of America. I generally leave well enough alone, seeing fit to worry, when I do travel, about considerably more important things; like where my trousers are, and what, exactly, it is they think they're doing, the price of tea in China, and about avoiding the Bastille at all costs.

Thinking back on it, I have no idea, whatsoever, what the person was trying to insinuate, other than I may or may not have had a beard at some point in my Life.

disclaimer:
And so, our intrepid adventurer set off again, completely ignoring the fact that he'd left a reasonably serviceable serial by the side of the road some way back, possibly without food, and certainly without water.
It may return next week. Just you wait and see.


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				Effluvia
		archives horoscopes contacts fables home		I seem to remember once being accused of writing a good deal like Bill Bryson. Only I tend not to go anywhere. So it makes being compared to a travel writer slightly odd. Nice, but odd. (Well, not so nice, if it happens to be Smollett or somesuch to whom you're being compared, as then the alleged complimenter may be expressing a wish that I were long dead and/or insufferably boring, which, while it may be the case, could be expressed infinitely better than by comparing thee with a 17th century travel writer, if only by coming out directly and saying it. Sure, feelings may be hurt, but at least no one has to go looking up references that are rapidly becoming obscure. While possibly not being all that nice, this is still definitely odd. And the complimenter probably wouldn't be considered as such, really.) Which may or may not have been the point. Or perhaps the point had been I like to include pictures of myself standing against a lamppost in the covers of all of my publications. Which would be blatantly false, as I've never had myself photographed standing next to a lamppost, and would feel reasonably comfortable saying that I'd never ever be the kind to indulge in that sort of behaviour. I also tend not to include stories of myself having trouble with the maitre'd at restaurants and hotels across Europe, England, and the vast majority of America. I generally leave well enough alone, seeing fit to worry, when I do travel, about considerably more important things; like where my trousers are, and what, exactly, it is they think they're doing, the price of tea in China, and about avoiding the Bastille at all costs. Thinking back on it, I have no idea, whatsoever, what the person was trying to insinuate, other than I may or may not have had a beard at some point in my Life. disclaimer: And so, our intrepid adventurer set off again, completely ignoring the fact that he'd left a reasonably serviceable serial by the side of the road some way back, possibly without food, and certainly without water. It may return next week. Just you wait and see.

Effluvia