I knew this day would come
Diary of an Author: 22 - 28 September
22 September:
I am on holiday with my wife’s family. Last night they persuaded me to join them in the hot tub. At first I refused. As a Serious Literary Author, I do not approve of hot tubs. They are too frivolous. I enjoy a bath as much as the next author, but the addition of jets and bubbles tips the experience into gaudy territory, which I cannot abide. And besides, I had no trunks.
Jemima’s family encouraged me to enter anyway, insisting that I needn’t feel embarrassed. I told them I did not feel embarrassed – my reluctance had nothing to do with any kind of shame about my physique. But I was drowned out by chants of “take them off” and “get in”.
In the end, I am ashamed to say I bowed to peer pressure. I instructed them to avert their gaze as I removed my undergarments and slid naked into the tub. I was surprised to find that it was actually rather pleasant. The temperature was lovely, and before long I was fully swept up in the convivial atmosphere.
After a few minutes, Jemima’s father asked me to activate the bubbles. I leaned over the side of the machine and tapped the touch screen display, but it failed to recognise my wet finger (a shocking and appalling design flaw for a hot tub operating system). I furiously prodded the screen several times. Suddenly, the water level began to fall. The hot tub was draining. Within minutes, we— and particularly me—were fully exposed. I remain traumatised.
23 September:
Today whilst visiting a church, I encountered the grave of author and former poet laureate John Betjeman. When attending the resting place of an author, one should always pay Serious Literary Respects, so I asked Jemima to take a photograph of me standing solemnly next to the grave. Unfortunately I was unhappy with the photo, as I did not look serious enough.
24 September:
Tonight a young man in front of me at the bar was asked for ID while ordering a beer. When it was my turn, I was not asked for ID. I was shocked and appalled. The suggestion seemed to be that he looked young and I did not. I told the barmaid I would like to be asked for ID as well. She hesitated, then asked if I had any ID. I reached into my pocket, only to find I had forgotten my wallet – I only had my phone. She refused to serve me.
26 September:
I have a stalker. I knew this day would come. As an SLA, I instil powerful feelings in my readers. It was inevitable that for at least one of my readers fans, such feelings would spill into obsession.
My stalker is called Carol. She works as an ‘Enforcement Officer’ for The TV License Company – or so she claims. Carol first wrote to me shortly after I moved into my new house, informing me that I needed to buy a TV Licence in order to watch television. As an SLA, I have no interest in television, so I ignored the letter.
Over the next few weeks I received several more letters from Carol, each with increasingly large red text on the envelope declaring, ‘Action required’ or ‘Investigation opened’. Eventually, after the sixth letter, I wrote back to Carol, informing her that as a Serious Literary Author who does not engage with any form of screen-based entertainment, I did not require a TV Licence. In response, I received yet another letter from Carol informing me that a ‘home visit’ would be required to confirm my claim. It was at this point that I realised she was in love with me.
This morning there was a knock at the door. I called out to ask who was there and a voice called back, ‘TV Licence Company’. I immediately bolted the door and shouted through the letterbox that we can never be together; I am a married man.
27 September:
Today my phone updated to the latest software. I was shocked and appalled. It happened automatically and without warning, leaving various aspects of the operating system looking slightly different. As an SLA, I require consistency, particularly among app icons. I often use the Notes app to write down ideas for poems. Any change to the icon could slow me down in opening the app, severely disrupting my literary flow.
I wrote an email to Tim Jobs demanding that the update be globally reversed and explaining that a phone with new icons is like a notebook that switches from ruled to plain halfway through (i.e. completely debilitating), but I received no response.
In the end I had no option but to start a crowdfunding campaign to help me purchase a new phone with the old software. It has currently received one small donation, from me.
28 September:
I am due to become an uncle this week. I have been thinking about the kind of uncle I would like to be. The cliché is that uncles are fun, but I have no intention of being so. I intend to be a Serious Literary Uncle (SLU). Visiting me should be a chore for my nephew, as I test him on his literature and refuse to make jokes. But over time, as he comes to realise that he is more Serious and Literary than his peers, he will understand that it was all for his own good. And one day, when he is a young adult, he will catch my eye and, as if to say thank you, give me a knowing, literary nod.
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You must write a sequel to Hot Tub Time Machine.
Yet again I am weeping for your mortification at the situations you have found yourself in this week.