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Ah, memories, how fleeting etc

Cleaning up the old FB inbox, I came across a message (see below) from a chum who reminded me how indifferent the Universe can be to the trials of mere mortals.
 
Firstly, my name isn't Chris (although Mark may have been protecting my identity - no need old bean!) and secondly, I'm not sure The Hayes Island Snack Bar sells pies... Still, on the first point, Ninjah (residents of Cardiff will know exactly which 7 foot bin-thumping rap star I'm talking about) called me Nick for ten years, and the lovely Lisa from Jazzy Jackets in the market insisted my name was Matt. When set straight they were respectively mystifyingly unperturbed (Ninjah didn't care - he preferred Nick to Gareth), and embarrassingly forgetful (I became instead "Maaaaa - shit! - Gar!")
 
Anyway, I have no idea about how genuine this extract courtesy of Mark Thomas may be, but it warms my cockles nonetheless. Enjoy.
 
13 November 2008
 
 
Mark Thomas can't remember things the way they happened... Rob found this on t'interweb somewhere.
 
CARDIFF

Arrive in Cardiff for a book reading. Easily one of my favourite cities. I love the fact that the best pie shop around is an independent café in the square directly above the public toilets. It is the most potent reminder of the principle of cause and effect

It is dark and the yellow lights shine a chill sheen across the shopping precinct as I rush to find  Waterstones. I arrive late and end up being shut out of my own book reading. Banging on the closed doors staff inside shake their heads. One looks and mouths, "We're shut." "Let me in" I mouth back, quietly muttering obscenities through clenched teeth."Go around the side" he mouths, throwing his arms about to mime directions.
Nipping to the side to building I stride into the now open door, step into the warmth and hold out my hand. "Hi. Thanks." I say breathily. "Nice to meet you Mark, I'm Chris". He says pleasantly. "Right then, where do we go?" I ask taking off my coat. I might be late but I am ready to go straight on. "For what?" He calmly asks. "For the book reading" I say, patronisingly raising my eyebrows with incredulity. This is Waterstones, Chris explains politely, we put a bid in for you to do a reading here but your publisher turned us down. You're reading at Borders tonight. It's out this door, right, then right again and just down the road."
"Thank you I appreciate your help." I say, leave my dignity on the floor and head out into the precinct.

Five minutes later and slightly panicked I ask the event organiser in Borders if I might be able to grab a cup of tea to take on with me. "I'll get you one," says a nice lad with black and red dyed hair.

And so it was that I walked out clutching a steaming cardboard cup of Starbucks tea to begin my reading on branding and globalisation. Oh the ironies one has to endure as a celebrity anti-capitalist...
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