So, last night I was sitting in my Nan’s lounge in Bournemouth talking to my Mum (since splitting up with my wife my life has become one glamorous experience after another) about the book – and subsequent film – Eat, Pray, Love (told you). And it got me thinking. It got me thinking that although I’m going to Dubai next month to write a book and although I’m working on the research and writing of some chapters of a book at the moment for an ex-military big cheese, that I’d like to write a book for myself. About myself. And I’d like to call it Puke, Fuck, Cry rather than Eat, Pray, Love and instead of it being ‘One woman’s search for everything across Italy, India and Indonesia’ it would be ‘One man’s search for nothing across Clapton, the motorway down to Bournemouth and Bournemouth’.
And rather than set over months or years or however long Eat, Pray, love is set over – I can’t be bothered to find out – it would be a day in the life of Pitching the World.
The first part of the book, Puke, would see me in Lower Clapton puking up last night’s booze. Despite AA meetings – okay, one AA meeting – and countless resolutions to give up drinking I’ve come to the conclusion that the only thing that will get me through life is alcohol. Lots of it. All the time. So this bit of the book will see me discussing the benefits (loads, everything) of drinking and the downsides (none – well, can be expensive and drive you a bit mad, but essentially none) of drinking. This will be the best bit of the book. And subsequent film.
The second bit of the book, and subsequent film, will be Fuck. This bit will see me trying to book a National Express coach down to Bournemouth. It will be a sombre yet at times hilarious reflection of my life to date and why, at 35, I’m having to book coaches down to Bournemouth. I’ll fuck up the booking several times. There might also be a bit about why I don’t mind paying an extra 50p for an m-ticket. The actual fuck bit of the Fuck Bit will be me ruminating on the fact that despite having to – and I have had to – take hundreds of coach journeys in my life, I’ve never seen anyone on a National Express coach who I’ve wanted to fuck.
The final bit of the book, Cry, will see me down in Bournemouth in my Nan’s lounge crying into a Cumberland pie. Whilst I’m crying into my Cumberland pie, my Nan will be watching television in the background with the sound off. Readers should love this bit of the book and subsequent film. This bit will also give me the chance to write a bit about other food that I have cried into which includes – but is in no way limited to – sardines, hamburgers and tomato soup.
If anyone wants to be my agent, let me know.