No. Not for me. It's for Pudsey. That's right. Pudsey the dog. Who won Britain's Got Talent. His autobiography.
Has the world gone mad? Who on earth is going to read the autobiography of a dog? Even a dancing dog (who, let's face it, doesn't need the money)?
But wait. Pudsey will need a ghost writer (unless he's added literacy to his CV). So if Pudsey's publishers are looking for a volunteer, please please let it be me.
It's got to pay more than I earn. And I'm happy to prostitute my art if the money's right. Even for a dog.