I'm standing in the upstairs room of The George on the Strand surrounded mostly by men who appear to have come straight from the cast of Phoenix Nights. Many of them are printers. All have pints in their hands. None of them look as worried as they might be given that the reason for the gathering is to listen to a debate on ebooks.
I've been deposited near the bar where I have carefully placed my glass of white whilst Tom, our contracts manager, talks about his other life as a writer of, what I have just learned to call, speculative fiction. I thought speculative fiction was the sort of thing that landed on my desk every day, usually accompanied by a misspelt covering letter with 'writer', underlined, beneath the signature, usually executed in green ink, and followed by a word count. In brackets.
I admit, I thought this even after Pedantic Press proudly announced the launch of a new imprint that would be specializing in such material, in addition to other genres such as crime and thrillers (and yes the speculative unsolicited stuff has already started to arrive on my desk addressed to the new editor). However, I have now been enlightened and know that Tom is on the fourth of a series of books, and that he writes fantasy.
Don't we all, darling, don't we all.
My biggest fantasy these days is that I'm writing at all.
But I digress.
I have put my glass down on the bar to stop me unhinging my jaw in my haste to tip the contents down my throat, and am listening to Tom talk about the problems of warfare in alternative universes when a very cheerful woman bowls up to us carrying a clipboard.
She sighs like a woman on a long trek through a difficult terrain who has just encountered an armchair and a foot spa, reaches out and promptly picks up my glass from where it nestles, safely, I had thought (another erroneous assumption) between two leggy, heady, pints of lager.
'Erm, sorry (though I bloody wasn't) but that's my wine,' I say in the tone of voice you would expect from a someone in another sort of difficult terrain, wearing uncomfortable shoes, marooned amongst a clump of men all calling out things like 'Aye there Big Eric, how's tricks!' and robustly slapping one another's shoulders.
That is to say, I yelp. Possibly, I even make that Windolene on glass scream that accompanies any phrase with the words 'alchohol' and 'parted'.
Still she clings on to my wineglass. 'Are you sure?' She asks examining it as though it might have a luggage label with her name attached.
Now, do I look like the sort of woman who doesn't know where her own drink is? There's red lipstick kissing the rim, but nevertheless I glance at Tom for confirmation. He nods and hurriedly picks up his own glass..
'I was certain I put it there.' She insists, still holding it.
'Perhaps the waitress cleared it away?' I suggest, staring anxiously at the glass which she continues to grip, like a child with a boxed doll in a toyshop. 'I know I put it there.'
'Yes, but sorry - that's definitely mine.'
I stretch my hand out out and eventually she has no choice but to hand it over.
'Well I better get your names then. That'll be £5.00 each,' she says, back to business, before bustling off with her clipboard. I didn't put my glass down for the rest of the evening.
I can see why the printers all have white knuckles.
Eventually the debate begins. A chap from Waterstones kicks off with the news that demand for ebooks on their website far outstripped that for conventional books on Christmas Day. I don't think this is much of an indication of a sweeping trend. How many conventional books were sold on their website last year? It's not part of the Christmas ritual, is it? Wake up, open pressies, drink sherry, eat dry turkey, swear never to eat dry turkey again, log on to Waterstone's, buy the latest Michael Connelly, shout at the children, watch Only Fools and Horses... Well, not in my world, anyway. However, it's perfectly natural to assume that having been given a Sony ereader for Crimble, the first thing any self-respecting gadget geek (I believe the technical term is early uptaker) is going to do is, ignore the washing up, get on line and download something immediately so that he can play with his new toy. My kids did the same with their iPods. The youngest had downloaded a movie and several CDs on iTunes before we even got to the breakfast table.
The Waterstone's chap goes on mention the most popular categories for ebooks purchases. These are crime, thrillers and 'what we call Romance but what you,' he looks at the audience, 'probably call literary fiction'. I snort. Yep, publishing literary fiction is indeed a very romantic thing to be doing these days.
A small independent publisher asks one of the experts for more information on publishing for the web and he directs her to a case study of digital publishing on his website called bookkake.com (don't mistype - it's not safe for work). Everybody in the audience pretends to be ignorant of the homophone and its meaning, but there's a lot of embarrassed coughing. I suddenly feel like I'm back at school and the Headmaster is introducing us to our new art teacher Mr Fucks.
Another panellist thought that publishers should be delighted with the advent of the ebook because, unlike a conventional book, it can't be passed around and sold off cheap in a charity shop. There's no extended half-life, he seems to be saying. Mmm.
Unlike, say, the market for knock off DVDs and CDs, the plethoria of illegal music download sites, and the fact that you can watch anything you want, when you want, the minute it appears on American network TV, on a Chinese file-sharing website. It's surely only a matter of time before ebooks catch on, with the counterfeit industry merely a turn of the page behind them. Bootleg ebooks from Asia - the next big thing not coming to a bookstore near you, well maybe not that soon, but definitely a worry.
Gloomy stuff - especially for authors. And they try to pinch your drinks.
