Diary of an up and coming sociopath

So, I’m lying in bed asleep when I am woken up by Mum. Nikki is on the phone, she says. “bhgubluh?” I say back. I take a moment to compose myself. “Give it here” I say with slightly more conviction.

6 hours later, I arrive in Birmingham for a book reading/signing that I didn’t know existed this morning.

Of course, arriving in Birmingham turned out to be the easy part. A deviation from the normal route proved to bemost excellent, cutting many miles off the journey, if not minutes. This, however, was all more than made up for when it turned out that the new Bull Ring (which has been tiled in what appear to be giant thumb tacks, or possibly dustbin lids) and its associated construction work has left us with some slightly changed roads, and the nigh-impossible task of getting to a car park. Forget that the one-way system left us stranded in the wrong area of Birmingham for 20 minutes while we systematically tried every potential exit road, only to return again and again to the same part; forget that the drivers in Birmingham are as rabid and insane as wild dogs that are also vampires; forget that the signs in Birmingham tend to point to nowhere, roads have been closed off entirely at random, and nothing is what it seems, and remember that even on the best of days, I HATE BIRMINGHAM. Rapidly, plans for getting a bite to eat prior to the reading were scrapped as we fruitlessly navigated the dante-esque traffic system of Birmingham, and one point managing to end up about 4 miles out of the city centre and heading towards Walsall, until eventually, ending up at the car park we were aiming for, if 40 minutes behind schedule.

And that was the FIRST hurdle.

Next, we were faced with the terrible truth that, while we both had money, neither of us had any change. Certainly not £5, which is what parking costs in Birmingham these days, for 4 hours. I left Josh in the car park, awaiting robbery and possible sodomisation while I went to find some change. no sooner had I left the car park when I was pounced upon by someone wanting change. Luckily for me, I was prepared and told him I didn’t have any change, which, let’s face it, was almost true. I felt gleefully like one of the evil samaritans, crossing the road as he told me “even 20p will do” but, let’s face it, I’m not a fucking charity! Not in broad daylight anyway.

I decided upon Toys R Us as the most likely venue for change, and purchased with my £20 note, a single bar of Dairy Milk. I had briefly considered buying something as inexpensive as possible, but I was hungry and figured a Dairy Milk might cover it for a few hours. I returned to find Josh lockied in the car, huddled under a blanket in the back seat, fearing for his life, but parking was paid for and we exitted the car park, leg 2 of things done with.

Next we had the task of actually FINDING Waterstones. 15 minutes of Random wanderings proved, if nothing else, that Birmingham is just as hard to navigate on foot as it is on wheel, so we asked for directions. Unfortunately, during this period of wanderage, a drunked/drugged irishman requested that we buy his last copy of The Big Issue from him. It was stale and soggy and he had that kind of insane look in his eye that says “I need my crack!” so I paid the man his coinage and chucked away the magazine Some might suggest that it was cowardly, but to be fair I consider £1.20 a fair price to pay for my safety.

Once we arrived at Waterstones, things proceeded failry smoothly. We purchased our copies of his new book, for a generous £6 off, and sat down on the most uncomfortable metal chairs in existance, to await the Man himself. And, as promised, he did arrive. THat is, Douglas “Doug” Coupland.

He was entertaining, anyway. Much more sedate than I would’ve thought, looking nothing like the old video of him I saw online from maybe 10 years ago, and far less pretentious than I imagined he’d be. He confessed a love of The Simpsons, a hatred of libraries, and some insider tips to get books published. He “interviewd” himself and spoke of Kraft Dinners, which perpetuated an enjoyable Canadian Stereotype for us. He told us about the Chemotherapy Fun Pack he was assembling and sending to his friend tomorrow, who has inoperable cancer. He talked about his experiences in the UK so far, and threw Mars Bars into the crowd, in honous of Mars’ present proximity. Then, after about 45 minutes of talk, he read a few short sections from his new book, and then took signings.

The signing process was long, as it ever is. You’re often faced with the horrible problem of what wotty and intelligent thing to say to someone who’s heard it all, and probably from people better dressed and smarter than you. I opted to simply wish his cancerous friend well, an act which would carry more weight if he knew mme, because I rarely wish anyone well, much less anyone I’ve never met, but I figure since I’ve been given so much pleasure from Coupland’s books that I figure we’re karmically realigned now. Each signed book was also stamped with the message “WARMEST PERSONAL REGARDS - DOUGLAS COUPLAND” as a way of proving authenticity. There’s something amusing about having “Warmest personal regards” as a mass produced message stamped on hundreds of books.

After this, Josh and I finally got the foodstuffs we were craving. I say foodstuff, it was McDonalds. One step up from polystyrene, one step down from cardboard. I can’t say I enjoyed it, but then it was a McDonalds, at some point in your early teens you stop enjoying McDOnalds and start seeing it for what it is - food of reliably invariable wquality. It might not be nice, but at least it’s consistent. I was reminded, actualy, of something I forgot to write about from when I was in Brighton. I was remarking how Ronald McDonald had perhaps dated a little and perhaps should be brought up to date.. Maybe they could make him a skater, I suggested to Nikki and Relly at the time. Lo and behold, if Paul didn’t bring his Happy Meal over and there was Ronald McDonalds, drawn in a slightly manga-influenced fashion with Skater Gear on! I should be in Marketting. I know what the kids want.

Leaving Birmingham, we were again mugged for another copy of the Big Issue. I really should’ve have chucked the first one away. We paid the guy but refused his magazine, instead suggesting that he tried to sell it again. Let’s be fair, we were only paying him to leave us alone, why bother with the pretense of wanting a magazine? We made it back to the car and mercifully, out of Birmingham, unscathed, the philosophy of “pay the man and he’ll go away” winning out once more.

Thus concludes things on this particular day.