South London literati

Out at the brilliant Hot Stuff in Vauxhall last night for a friend's birthday.  A rousing rendition of Happy Birthday when the cake came out was accompanied by horse-faced novelist Will Self, who was standing nearby waiting for his takeaway, singing along but replacing the name of the birthday boy with "you fucking cunt".

I thought it was pretty funny, and showed an admirable commitment to living the Grumpy Old Man brand, but it annoyed my girlfriend who was already riled by him not returning her smile.  If it stops her reading his impenetrable books, and more importantly reading out gibberish sentences and making my brain melt while I'm trying to get to sleep, it can only be a good thing.