Friday, 15 January 2010


The boss of Waterstone's, Gerry Johnson, relinquished his post this week after the company reported disappointing sales of celebrity memoirs. Johnson championed fresh literary talent such as Jordan, so it seems appropriate to let her comment on his departure.

"I have always loved books, ever since Dad left a copy of Swann's Way by Marcel Proust in the outside toilet. It wasn't in the original French I have to admit - I ain't that clever! - but I decided to pick it up and flick through it because I thought it might help me 'squeeze one out'. From the first paragraph I was gripped by the writer's ceaseless attention to detail. And what's more, I also drink herbal tea for my diet regime, so I know where the writer's coming from! Anyway, after me and Marcel got together, I realised I was meant for a life of writing.

"My route into writing was a bit unconventional though, I can tell you. My mate Dave, who was so clever that he even got into sixth form, told me he knew a thing or two about books. When I asked him how I could be a writer, he said. "There's one way that's tried and tested, darling. Get your kit off and flash your fun-bags." I thought it was a bit odd, but decided to give it a go, since Dave was so clever. (He knows over one hundred different words for breasts!) And guess what. After three boob jobs and a hundred photo-shoots, here I am. A writer in every sense of the word!

"It's really sad that Mr Waterstones has departed as he sort of gave me my lucky break. He decided he wasn't going to be snobby and thought that self made girls and boys could also go on his shelves. And I can tell you, it's really exciting to walk into a bookshop nowadays and see your name up in lights beside literary giants like Philip Roth, John Updike and Ant & Dec. And it also makes me really happy that I live in a really egalitarian society (egalitarian - see, I'm not just a pretty face) where you are judged by things other than just the number of Universities you've been to and how many books you read.

Anyway I just wanted to say my fond farewells to you, Mister Bookworm. Most of what you sell might be rubbish. (Some of these writers are so desperate to get published they even write all their own books, can you believe it?) But at least you had a big heart for a lovely girl with fine pair of chumbawumbas. And we feminists owe it to you for giving us a lucky break and letting us into your egghead world of Jeremy Clarkson and for letting us show the world that we career girls aren't just about big knockers and orange suntans and Hello magazine photo-shoots. No, the truth is that we can also teach the world a thing or two about herbal tea and girls and boys who are in love and, last but not least, about "Temps Perdu"... or should I say "Time is Money"!?!


  1. Masterful! Bravo!

  2. I admire the mammary ambidexterity of this physiological genius

  3. Oh darling, have me back. I never realised that you read Proust. You are my hero

  4. I love James Joyce. I'll red all his novels, even the murder mystery ones

  5. I also have a book inside of me. Or is that a baby? I don't know. Anyway my hubby gave it a me for Christmas

  6. When a man is tired of superlatives he is tired of Amis

  7. When a man is tired of Boris, he's tired of life

  8. Jordan came for tea the other day.
    Her inflatable guys pushed out their half moon, smooth, exteriority into my beaming boatrace (face - Cockney Rhyming Slang). Her cockney rhyme slung me a lifeline in my torpid decrepitude - the kind that New York literati find descending upon them in later life after their pill popping, swill pooping days are over.
    Amis wandered over and popped the question:
    One sugar or two?

  9. Amis hated it when guys like Amis pretended to BE Amis. Not 'be' as in not to be, but 'be' as in has-been.
    Amis was not one of them (a has-been), but could he have been one of 'them'? (Been there done that).
    Nobody knew for sure. Not even Amis.

  10. Listen guys, you are now talking to the "REAL" Amis. The master himself talks. Not as in the dog to his master - for he would be HMV - and that means that Amis would now be making records. Like His Masters Voice.
    Anyway the point is shutup and stop fucking pretending to be me!
    You never will be (and never will be)!

  11. Amis, Martin (For real)15 January 2010 at 15:14

    I understand from my good friends Julian Barnes and Ian MacEwan that some insolent M-Fucker is masquerading on this website as myself.
    Can I just say that apart from the fact that my friend A N Wilson believes that I should kick twenty kinds of crap out of the lot of you, it is apparent that the literary talent of the moronic crew who populate this site is limited (to say the least).

  12. Can I just make it CLEAR for ONCE and FOR all, that I am Marty, the only Marty.
    Pa would have told his son, me young Marty, to kick 20 types of shit out of you indeed he would. But (BIG BUT) would not have relied on his good friend A N Wilson to will him to such violence.
    Am I making myself clear????
    (His was clarity. Was it not?)


    He hates


  14. Please would you be quiet? My friend (of sorts) is most unhappy.