About a me – Or: I am so boring yet crazy, I could be a character written by Nick Hornby
About two weeks ago, I googled Nick Hornby. But instead of typing “Hornby”, I typed “Horny”. For a second I panicked, ’cause I thought any moment now there would be a list of dirty movie titles showing up on my screen, including thumbnails of male protagonists who look like participating in a Tom-Selleck-lookalike-contest. I was wrong, Google is smarter than that.
Why was I typing the name of this beloved English author into my search engine anyways? Well, before the Horny incident, I bought ‘About a Boy’ in an Oxfam book shop close to our flat. Later that night, I started reading it in bed, when something poked me in the area of my rib cage. (Leaving a proper bruise, just saying. I skipped swimming the next three days out of fear somebody might call the department for domestic violence or something. “Scuse me, Ma’am, did somebody hurt you? – No no, my partner just poked me. – Yes, Ma’am, does that happen regularly? – No no, he was just curious about the book I was reading. Maybe I just should’ve answered right away… – Ma’am, it is not your fault. We can help you.”)
The Scotsman: Is it any good, is it?
Me: I don’t know yet, I just started.
The Scotsman: The name of the author sounds familiar. Have I read anything of his?
Me: How should I know?
The Scotsman: Why does he sound so familiar?
Me: Well, some of his books have been made into movies.
The Scotsman: Which ones?
Me: All of ’em, I guess.
The Scotsman: The one you’re reading as well?
Me: Yes, Hugh Grant was in it.
The Scotsman: Oh God no! Not that cock!
That conversation by the way is completely erased from the memory of the Scotsman. Or rather, has never found its way into his memory because he was already asleep when it took place. Yes, your eyes are fine. He talks in his sleep. With me. Proper dialogue. He just doesn’t know it. Awesome!