Bookpacker tells me that it will be loads of fun if I open the nearest book, turn to page 123, skip to the fifth sentence, and copy the next three.
This is called a meme, and it's all the rage among real bloggers. Being only a part-time word spiller, I was previously unaware of the phenomenon, and find it not so different from the Christian prayer chain mail that's cohabitating my inbox.
If the bible were the first book to hand, that would kill two adulterous birds with one stone. Alas, the first tome within reach is decidely less saintly: it's Martha Stewart's Hors D'Oeuvres Handbook. And page 123 contains no text, only a tantalizing and glossy photo of beef bulgogi in lettuce leaves with soy-ginger dipping sauce.
That hardly seems to qualify, does it?
The next book in the pile is Petite Anglaise. I'm re-reading the newly released hardback after rushing through the manuscript last June.
This time around is a relaxing good ride, unaccompanied by the fear that my friend's book might suck terribly.
Page 123, after skipping the first 5 sentences, reads:
Now was probably the time to come clean and face the music. If I kept all this to myself a moment longer I was afraid I would burst. 'It wasn't the nanny,' I confessed.She then goes on to explain that she's had a hotel rendezvous with a man who she met from the comments section of her blog.
What a slag.
The book is on sale now in Paris, and there's a reading at WH Smith for those who want to meet the trollop in person. I pray (there! two birds.) that she sells a bundle, for this will surely come back to me in beer.
I will continue this memery by tagging P.A. herself, along with the boobalicious Little Red Boat...
...and the batshit crazy Gone Feral.