Imran Ahmed is a nice man. I have never met him, but I know he is a nice man because we fell into regular email correspondence a couple of years ago after his publishers, at his behest, kindly sent me a proof copy of his "Muslim memoir" (there's always room for a sub-genre!), Unimagined. I really enjoyed it and happily provided a quote for the book jacket. It came out in hardback, not that I was jealous, in March 2007. My quote didn't make it onto the front cover, edged out by Sue Townsend and John Pienaar (fair enough), but his publisher was decent enough to have my words on the back, which was flattering enough. Ever since Where Did It All Go Right?, I have been sent a number of "ordinary life" memoirs to read upfront, in the hope of supplying a quote for the cover. I don't mind this. It's nice of them to ask. However, I am not a quote whore, as I only very rarely provide one. If the book doesn't do it for me, I'll politely decline. I could list all the memoirs I haven't provided a quote for, but it would be mean. When the first copies of mine came out, I had to rely on Stuart Maconie and Mark Radcliffe for mine - in other words, two of my friends. (And since I stopped being a successful author, I'm back to relying on famous friends, hence Simon Pegg's quote on the paperback of That's Me In The Corner - this is in lieu of actual reviews in newspapers, something I used to get for my books, but sadly no longer!)

Anyway, Unimagined did really well. It sold, it picked up good reviews and was shortlisted for awards. And because it's Imran's first book - he's got a boring day job and everything - you can't help but be delighted for him as it's taken off. He's already been invited to bigger and more glamorous book festivals than I ever did, and he's even been flown to Australia for one, where his book is about to be published. He's an international author, and he wears it with admirable humility and self-deprecating humour. His website is here. The reason I mention it now is that he's written a very long and detailed, but funny account of his trip to this year's Edinburgh Book Festival, with fellow "Asian memoirist" Sathnam Sangera, on his blog. (Thanks to VegAnne below for pointing out that Sangera is not a Muslim, and thus cannot be conveniently added to my "Muslim memoir" subgenre. Perhaps, as she says, "Asian memoir" will cover it.)

There's nothing worse than writers moaning about being writers. Imran is a tonic in this regard. (I know I moan about being one - it's most unbecoming.)