The cautionary tale below reminds me of the time I spotted one of Britain’s best-selling authors, whose popularity stems at least in part from the intimate portrait and celebration of his native city which backs up his whisky-sodden and lovelorn grump of a detective, signing books. At least that was obviously the plan; in fact he was sitting ignored in the window of a railway-station newsagent, pen in hand, stack of books at his elbow, but with no eager punters bustling up to demand an autograph. Never have I seen a sadder sight on the BritLit PR circuit — not even a PR or PA on hand to flatter his ego.
The real blow of course, was that the station was Edinburgh Waverley, and this was the author’s beloved home town…