Storytime

Last night saxman and I went to an Irvine Welsh reading. He’s the man who wrote, among other novels, Trainspotting. This was a reading of the sequel to Trainspotting, entitled Porno. We had to wait in line outside the Rivoli, where the reading was held, for about 45 minutes, but there was no cover for the event. All it cost us was the price of a beer. Irvine has a wonderful Scottish brogue and was a very expressive reader. He read three passages from the new book, all of which were entertaining. I’m looking forward to re-reading Trainspotting and reading this book, too. It’s funny how storytime has evolved from sitting cross-legged, gape-mouthed, listening to fairy tales to standing, drinking beer, listening to a collection of phrases like, “We’re jaded cunts, in a scene we hate, a city we hate, pretending that we’re at the centre of the universe, trashing ourselves with crap drugs to stave off the feeling that real life is happening somewhere else, aware that all we’re doing is feeding that paranoia and disenchantment, yet somehow we’re too apathetic to stop. Cause, sadly, there’s nothing else of interest to stop for.”

Be Sociable, Share!

•