Ah, the summer of 1992 – I remember it well – Gary and I scarpering down the Wolverhampton road, behind us Marek’s house on fire, an hilarious prank gone horribly wrong. In essence the joke was sound. The issue was one of timing:
1. Wrap dog excrement in newspaper. 2. Light with match. 3. Push through letterbox. 4. Ring doorbell. 5. Marek stamps out fire / hilarity ensues*
* Marek in bath / doesn’t stamp out fire / Marek’s dad apprears with axe.
Oh how it has dogged me these fifteen years waiting for the statute of limitations to expire so that I could have another go.
It’s surprisingly difficult to set fire to a paperback, especially when there’s a light drizzle. Once again the principle was sound:
1. Light book. 2. Rush into reception of publishing house trailing fumes and shouting ‘My God, this new author’s so hot.’ 3. Rush out again*
*Realise that I could be misconstrued as terrorist / receive odd looks from potential vigilantes / bottle it.