Anyhow, we begged them all for reviews , and 30 blessed angels responded accordingly. Indeed, I happen to know that several of them loved the book, had read it even. We thank you by name, nightly.
However, because we're grown-ups, grizzled old cowboys who've seen it all before, we knew that the book would not be to the taste of all our friends. So we made a big point of saying to everyone not to worry if they couldn't be bothered to buy the book, or if they bought it but didn't get on with it, or if they bought it and liked it but couldn't bear to give it 5 stars, or couldn't get round to writing a review. We would totally understand. No worries.
Well, it turns out we lied. I spent an hour this morning writing out a list of people yet to review, or to falsely gush, or to even make a fucking comment, and it came to 19. I didn't even know I had that many friends. I Facebooked Karin for a moan. Her illness has given her a gimlet-eyed clarity of judgement.
"Bastards" she said.