Here it is folks. The launch day email from the girl herself.
Have you seen Facebook today? I’m all over it. Some bloke called Trevvy Beleshawros has written a book about me and he’s launching it on FB today. I always thought he was a golfer… still. I told him to piss off when he first approached me because he said he wanted to go into my intimate daily doings and I remember when Gran had to do that every morning as soon as she’d had a poo. (shudders.) I didn’t fancy having to do that, but he told me not to be such a silly cow and said he just wanted a warts and all look at my life. I said okay because he’s giving me a split of the royalties from the book, but to be honest I’ve never had a wart, I got a verruca when I was seven but Mum bazookered it with some cream and it never came back. I remember that tart Olivia telling me I had leprosy or something at school, and I remember I couldn’t go swimming. I really wanted to because I’d have loved Olivia to get a face full of verrucas. I still would, actually.
Anyway, I’m on FB from 12 30-ish until six or seven tonight and then Trevvy is going to take me out to a club to celebrate. I hope it’s not the golf club. My arse is always black and blue from slapping and pinching when I come back from there. Last time I went, it was to open a pro-am tournament and some old duffer wearing plus fours, told me he’d like to show me how the ball washer worked. Blimey, I know they must get a bit sweaty poncing about on the course but you’d think they’d be able to take a full shower, wouldn’t you? The celeb golfers were as bad. That bloke who appears on Countryfile now and again gave me a few tips on my swing, I thought that was really nice of him until he whispered that he’d like to take me up the back nine. I mean, are all golfers perverts or what? The club captain once offered to show me his ancient niblick. I told him I’d stick it up his sand trap if he did.
Righty ho. I’m off to get ready for the book launch Emma. I’ve really got to get my brain started up, I’m doing a Q&A at some stage. Drop in if you can but slip on your dancing shoes, there’s going to be music and we’ve got virtual nibbles and a few bottles of fizz. That Paula and Annie are coming and you know what they’re like once they get on the sauce. Steve’s coming too, if he can drag himself away from his new iron. Hey, some bloke called David just wrote a blog post all about me, this is going to be a fab day, I just know it.
See you later Emma,
Tracy the Booker… that’s Booker as in prize, not Hooker as in Olivia.