Somebody came up to me in the Fringe performer’s area today and said “it’s James, isn’t it?”
I recalled being flyered by him about a week and a half ago and having a brief discussion about nipples, but I didn’t think I’d given him my name. “Yes,” I replied, rather uncertainly.
“I thought so,” he beamed. “I’m reading your book!”
“Really?” I said, astonished.
“Yes, I’m really enjoying it!” (He actually did say that.) “Our producer bought it because she hadn’t done Edinburgh before, and – well – I recognised you!”
I knew it was a good idea to fill the book with pictures of myself.