Back from a decadent dinner with fellow publishers at Benugo's on the South Bank. After six bottles of Beaujolais, I can affirm that I have finally lost my virginity as a publishing tea-totaller.
Ex-PFD Marcela Edwards was there, as witty and loud as ever, but tight-lipped about the PFD affair, although we were all charging on with questions.
Kirsty Dunseath of Weidenfeld / Orion complained about the size of her antipasto, which was no antipasto but a main course. Kirsty, if you want sizable food, next time please go to Soho, not the South Bank.
Carole Welch of Sceptre was there – and she told me she'll have an elbow replaced tomorrow, or something like that.
Elisabetta was there with me as my wine tank – drinking a tenth of what I gulped down and giving me a half-full glass when all the bottles were empty. Priceless virtue in a wife.
Translating couple Amanda Hopkinson and Nick Caistor were there, and as they go to bed – publishing-wise – with a lot of publishers, big and small, they were able to gossip more than most of us nine-to-five geezers about the lowlife of the UK publishing industry.
And finally cool Jorge Postigo was there, to complete our Chaucerian gathering. I haven't talked to him much, but he seemed to enjoy the place – so much so that he booked a table for five for this coming Thursday.
So all in all a good decadent publishing night. We talked about Anthony Cheetham, e-books, Andrew Wylie, the net book agreement, and a thousand other subjects that would be completely meaningless and boring to anybody sitting around us.
Good night for now.