I'm on the train back from drinks in Amsterdam. I was supposed to meet K but I knew a good friend of his, the artist John O'Carroll, was in town and I was hoping to catch him.
A little while back I did some translation work for him because something had good wrong and the original translator couldn't do it. And now the book with those translations has been published and I got a signed copy from him over caipirinhas at a gay bar called Getto on the Warmoesstraat.
K got his copy - actually the one Johnny had meant to inscribe for the Queen but he messed up the word "magesty" - as did K's ex, R, with the inscription next to the picture of a painting that has been hanging in his living room for some time now. In fact he's got more of Johnny's art in the cellar (I mentioned my, currently, bare walls, I may be in with a shot) that he's storing for him.
Then Johnny discovered something strange about my copy: it repeats itself between pages iv and 4. Unfortunately for him, mine seems to be the only one, so he won't be able to get another run done for free. Fortunately for me, mine seems to be the only one, so maybe it'll be worth something someday.
In the meantime I'm going to have to console myself with being named as a collaborator in a book in the British Library. So they dropped an "r" from my first name, I'm not too proud.
Funny thing about "r"s... the locksmith making nameplates for my doorbell and mailbox changed the one in my last name to an "n".
P.S. I have just discovered that pages 43 till 55 are missing. But I don't care, my book is special.