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Poor George has just about had it with the publishing world, lunches, infidelities and a lifetime of a right bunch of comedian wannabes whose utter tosh (think sports biogs by ‘celebrities’) he’s practically (OMG, ‘practically’ is as bad as ‘literally’’ and ‘like’… and ‘totally’) had to rewrite. What if he’s bothered to sit down and produce his own oeuvre. A proper book! And what if it is a kiss ‘n’ tell? If it’s true?
How would he get it published?
While he’s looking for a way, one of his stocking-fillers gets caught up in a bidding war, which ought to be good news for him. But really isn’t.
Move over Spitting Image, Private Eye and… Alexander Pope and Jonathan Swift. Any character who pitches from Mr Grylls’s pen across his pages is at risk of being skewered. In the nicest possible way.
An exquisitely written, erudite and hilarious satire in the finest vintage tradition.