literally another aussie in london

And the award goes to….

When my book was nominated in the best new writer category for the national sporting club awards I figured it was as a novelty.

I was imagining some guy in a smoky room saying, “This has swears, pornography and pop culture references, we should nominate a few of these so we look progressive”.

There was very little pressure on me because I figured they’d never give me the award.

On the day of the award I found myself with little work to do.  That is the first time I really thought about the awards, and it wasn’t for long, because soon after I was preparing for the ceremony with a couple of whiskies.

Then when I arrived I saw the seating chart, I was on table two. At that stage it is impossible not to think they have put you on there for a reason. It didn’t stop when no one on the table knew of my book, if the sponsors didn’t want me for the book itself, perhaps the prestige of having a winner on their table.

I forgot about this while trying to strike up a conversation with the man next to me several times.  It became a sport in the end, as it was clear he was going to say nothing at all, but it was fun trying to get one sentence out of him.

Mostly I talked to my publisher, as my wife, friend and editor were on a table close to the toilets.

When I went to visit them they had two other people nominated in my category on their table.  The likelihood of them winning was very little, as it would have been a 25 minute walk to get their award.

From my table, all I had to do was fall over and I’d end up on stage.

All of this reinforced the fact that I just might win. While I was having a piss I was running through my speech, as I hadn’t really come up with anything before then.  This meant I pissed on my shoes a bit, so then all I could think of was that I might accept an award with piss on my shoes.

I made my way back to my seat and asked my Publisher why we were seated here, and he wasn’t entirely sure either, but he assured me it was not because I had won, because if it was he would have told me.

Then the awards started, and I settled down a bit over the red wine (no beer, who doesn’t have beer on the menu when it is free drinks?).

When my nominations were announced for my book I realised I wasn’t going to win, I was going up against books that were designed to be award fodder, my piss take Freddie title wasn’t going to win.

And when I didn’t, I was glad.  Maybe not glad, but relieved.  The book that beat me was a biography about a horse, always a crowd pleaser.  Although if it had been an autobiography of a horse I’d be more impressed.

During the night one of the awards was won by an Australian writer and his publisher went up.  She was Australian, and represented an Australian publisher.  My publisher and I decided that I must have a chat with her.

After a few minutes of trying to find her, I finally found her talking to someone I knew who signs off on my cheques.  So I went up and chatted to both of them.

Generally, and probably part of the reason you like this site; I can remember every detail of awkward conversations.  This one was so awkward that I only remember the gist.

Me: Hi, I am Australian, and I wrote a cricket book too, you should publish it.

Her: Not with that title, are you mad?

Me: No, you can change the title; you can do whatever you want.

Her face: Please get away from me; you are ruining my entire life.

She was obviously put off by my sick desperation, awkward conversation style and willingness to change the title of the book.  I know I was.

I feel sorry for the guy that knew me; he was watching me crash and burn, plus, he knew that he gives me work.  At that stage he must have considered his payments to me as charity.

Perhaps because I was an only kid that was thrust into the adult world at an early age I have always been good at holding a conversation with people of any background.  But I am the world’s worst salesman in person.

And this was a sales call.  I was trying to sell her something that the very thought of seemed to make her sick, and I was selling it badly.

I was thrust back to my day (just one) of door-to-door sales.  But, instead of looking like an idiot on my own, I had an audience as well.

Not winning the award never really bothered me, but that conversation still haunts me.

March 18, 2010 Posted by Jrod | living in london | awards, social retardedness | 1 Comment