On Thursday 15th, I had a public chat with Ian Rankin at the Baptist Church in Collins Street, Melbourne. A couple of hundred people turned up to hear us - either that or they were Sabbath-confused Baptists. Ian was in fine form, talking about the last book in the Rebus series, Exit Music. It's a bloody good read, as usual, and Ian is already hedging his bets about Rebus's future post-retirement from Lothian and Borders police.
For the previous ten days I'd been showing the national literary flag at the Salon International de Livre Oceanian in Hieghene on the north east coast of New Caledonia. It was tough gig but somebody had to do it. The other Australian writers attending included JM Coetze, Anita Heiss, Jane Turner Goldsmith and Philip McLaren. My terrible French got a workout and I learned a great deal, including the names of the 7 Dwarfs en francais. If you would like to know what they are, send a self addressed envelope to the Brunswick Institute along with a cheque or money order for 250 French Pacific Francs.
By mutual agreement with University of NSW Press, I have ditched my book on the election. After all the millions of words that have been written on the subject so far, my brain was beginning to turn to mush. The idea that anybody would want to read anything about polls and pundits and Casper the Friendly Rudd after 24 November was simply insufficient to sustain the energy required to turn my notes, clippings and interviews into a book. Read Mungo's instead.