Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
James saw something in it though, and took the risk of publishing this weird story by
a complete unknown, and I will forever be in his debt for that. I owe him just as much
thanks for an opposite kind of favour too, because I once submitted a book to him which
I wasn't sure about and he told me it wasn't good enough and he wasn't prepared to pub-
lish it.
I met up with him at his and Hilary's house at Peckam Rye a few days later; he was
trying to repair the marble-topped table he'd broken when he'd realised the manuscript
just wasn't good enough (thumped it with his fist - only time I ever heard of James in-
flicting physical damage on human, beast or inanimate object). He confirmed he couldn't
take the topic, but he also told me that there would be at least half a dozen publishers in
London who'd jump at the chance of taking it on if I wanted to submit it elsewhere, and
he wouldn't stand in my way if I wanted to do so - those other publishers would know the
book wasn't very good, too, but I was a youngish and moderately hot property at the time
and they'd publish the topic just to get me on board and hope the next one might mark a
return to form. This would be a strategic mistake for me to make, because a weak book
remains a weak book, but James could understand any writer's reluctance to throw away
months of work.
I took James' advice, salvaged the few good bits, threw the rest of the clunker away
and wrote
The Bridge
instead. Arguably still my best book, so
boy
was that guy right.
Irreplaceable, unforgettable, James died just before this topic,
Raw Spirit
, was fin-
ished.
It was with James one day that we both discovered just how subjective an experience
whisky appreciation is. Our usual way of working, both while he was employed by Mac-
millan and afterwards when he went freelance, was that I'd go to the house in Peckam
and we'd work through the manuscript of my latest book, sitting side by side at a table.
Usually this would take most of a working day; once or twice it took two days. We always
argued like hell but we
almost
always agreed in the end (and James was almost always
right). I never had anything less than a great time and my principal memories of those
one- or two-day sessions feature lots of uproarious laughter from the pair of us.
We were going through this whole process one day not long after James' 40th birth-
day and - as was usual - we helped the creative process along with a heart starter; a
little whisky each. James had been given a bottle of Laphroaig for his birthday by one of
his friends; a 40-year-old, appropriately. I was pretty much just used to the 10-year-old
and I'd never seen a 40 year-old Laphroaig (disappointingly, it looked like the plain label
design hadn't changed much in the intervening years). I felt quite privileged that James
had chosen this as our mind-lubricating dram of the day. We both sipped it, savoured it,
and agreed it was something very special indeed. We kept on taking small sips as we went
through the topic.
