My Hundredth Hangover of the Year

Oh Jesus, I thought when I woke up this morning, not again. Not another hangover. Please not another hangover. How many has it been this year: 60? 70?100? Some people don’t manage 100 hangovers in a lifetime. I asked my Nan recently how many hangovers she’d had in her life and she said one. Wish I’d only had one. Wish I was my Nan.

None of that’s true. Well, some of that’s true: I do want to be my Nan and I probably have had somewhere in the region of 100 hangovers this year but I didn’t wake up this morning and think ‘Jesus not another hangover’. For a start, I don’t wake up anymore. Something happens to me in the morning but it certainly isn’t waking up; more moving from one petrified state to another. Second, I didn’t have the cognitive ability to think ‘Jesus not another etc.’ so probably just thought ‘erk’ or ‘uhhhng’ or ‘neerrff’ – I’ve given up thinking in nicely constructed formations of words and prefer to think in grunts these days. Much less taxing. Try it, please, it’ll change your life.

Where were we? Ah yes, we were hungover except we weren’t hungover. I’ve had a period of sobriety you see (since Sunday – doesn’t really qualify as a period) and so there was no way I could have been hungover. Except that I was. So it seems that I get hangovers even when I haven’t been drinking. Where’s the justice in that? Up my ass, that’s where.

I think this morning’s hangover was a stress hangover. I’m currently working on my proposal for a book based on Pitching the World and that proposal is being sent off to my award-winning agent tomorrow and he in turn is going to send the proposal round to a bunch of publishers who in turn are going to tell me go fuck myself, to perhaps stick my proposal up my ass along with the justice. Oh please don’t let that happen. Please, publishers, don’t tell me to stick things up my ass.

The reason for them potentially wanting me to stick my proposal up my ass is because I have no idea on this retarded planet what Pitching the World is about. None. Do you? How do I make it attractive to publishers? My approach at the moment is all “In 2009 Steven decided to pitch all 642 magazines in the Writers’ & Artists’ Yearbook. Now, some two years later he’s pitched very few of them, hardly been commissioned at all, has lost his hair and his looks and his confidence and learnt nothing. Seriously, nothing. If anything he’s unlearnt stuff. He also suspects he has been blacklisted by the entire UK media industry. If he has, he’s fucked. If he hasn’t, then he’s genuinely paranoid, and fucked. He did, however, have a football trial and drew some good pictures and wrote for the British Journalism Review. Thanks. Can I have a £45,000 advance please.”

That’s my approach so far. I know: not good. But what’s it all about, this whole Pitching the World business? This is half rhetorical/half please help me out because otherwise I’ve a lifetime of hangovers and hangovers that aren’t even hangovers to look forward to.

Thoughts welcome. Thanks.

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20 responses to “My Hundredth Hangover of the Year

  1. It is all about serendipity. One man sets off on a journey of pitching 642 mags from a grubby paged year book and ends up writing his own book whilst gathering a motley crew of fans, his book makes him so happy in ways he could never have imagined. His soul fuelled journey brings the reader at once to tears of laughter, tears of joy and then beer tears. The book is a worldwide hit…women camp over night and are seen scrapping trying to get hold of the last copies at Waterstones. Men sobbing at the tills when they hear it is sold out. PTW goes global.

  2. If they shove PTW up your ass, Pitchy, I’m sure I’m not the only one thinking that I would grab a spoon and start chomping.

    What’s PTW about? It’s about googling ‘fuck my nan’ and finding a whole spectrum of stuff much weirder than that.

  3. Two words (not from me)

    Pathos Bathos

    One word (from me)

    BOOM!

    Some more words (maybe from me)

    If your ideal date consists of exchanging pleasantries that you don’t really mean to someone you only kind of like then Pitching the World: The Book is probably not for you – maybe try Yes Man by that prick Danny Wallace. However, if your ideal date is spending an evening with someone who has more problems, less money and cannot wait to fuck you in a bin, oh baby, you’ll love PTW:TB!

  4. Run, did you know that’s the 1000th comment ever made on Pitching the World? Yours, I mean. Fuck, that’s clumsily put: how on earth am I ever going to write a book? Up my ass, that’s how.
    Marge, what charming images you’ve put into my head there. Let’s hope so. X
    L: Someone’s getting fucked in a bin tonight and that someone is you. By me.

  5. It was either first comment three posts in a row (keen) or 1,000th post (obsessive).

    I went for obsessive ass eater.

  6. I failed to mention earlier that for making the 1,000th comment on Pitching the World that you win a prize. PM me your address and keep your eyes open for the postman. X

  7. I bet it faeces

  8. L: Were you so wrapped up in spelling faeces correctly that you spelt “it’s” wrong? Hope so. I love you. Thank you. You’re welcome.

  9. I think your book, albeit with a bit less fucking for the wider market, would be very popular – an ideal gift for the annoying person who has everything. A great example of how life can turn out. Who cares about all those 642 editors – they are all losers and should be ashamed of themselves for their lack of imagination – editing publications no-one has heard of except their equally unimaginative readers. Those editors are depriving said readers of an entirely new angle on their hobby/profession. Give us a bit less of the hangovers, though. Keep on believing in yourself and tell us more about your travels, You really can be funny and entertaining.

    Love Jude’s Mum

  10. Disgraceful.

  11. Oh, I ‘m sorry. I mean’t to leave that comment on the Daily Mail site.

  12. What a splendidly well judged and well metered comment Auntie Alison. Thank you. Your advice has been taken on board.
    Marge – what the fuck is going on with your apostrophes? But you’re right: disgraceful.

  13. Isn”t Pitching The World about trying to make money while smoking a fuckload not doing any actual work? And failing? There^s only one place where you can make good money doing no work, smoking a fuckload and taking your shirt off for barbecues outside the office, and you turned your back on that life by stealing my Mac and a company credit card and doing a runner. It¬s like I’ve always told you (and I have, always), you*ve gotta spend money to make money, champ. So where the fuck is my forty quid?

    (Yeah up yours Marge).

  14. Fine work Alan – you’re all heart. You’ll be delighted to hear that I’m sitting here getting all messed up on Duvel, have your so-called money and am coming up to London tomorrow. I may even send you my new mobile telephone number. Let’s go out. Get Craphole out, too.

  15. Alan you “rock”, I bet you are a fine peace (sic) of work…………. I am sure you have a bea’rd.

  16. That is fine news, Pitchy. Fine news indeed. I haven’t been all messed up on Duvel with you in ages (I’ve never been messed up on Duval), so count me in. Maybe we could go see that lovely Barmaid in Battersea and you could get all messed up on Robert Duvall and ask her to be your girlfriend and we could place bets on what polite let-down she’ll come out with. Yeah, let’s do that. And rioting. Duvel and Barmaids and rioting.

    Cate, you are absolutely right there, I do rock.

  17. I am sure you do, Alan. Now go and crawl back under it.

  18. I have no idea what you are talking about Alan.

  19. Marge, that doesn’t even make sense. But I like it, and I like you. I like the way you do apostophes. I like the way you take any criticism of your apostrophes very personally. Maybe we could be literary nemeses? How about this for starters: Your apostrophes and attempts at witty ripostes are rubbish and I prefer real butter.

    Pitchy: You know EXACTLY what I’m talking about. Are we still on for tonight? Bring Marge.

  20. You are OBSESSED Alan. Obsessed.

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