Sydney Morning Herald - September 17, 2005

A book vandal with an odd nose loses his tickets

DIARY ~~~~~~~~WILLIAM McINNES.

Despite the shape of his nose, William McInnes is a successful film and stage actor.

TRAVELLING to publicise Sarah Watt's new film and my book has taught me one thing: it doesn't pay to have tickets on yourself.

I am in Perth at the same time as the South African rugby team, and a lot of its supporters are staying at my hotel. Most of the supporters are vast men with big beards, bad jeans and checked shirts who prowl the hallways like cattle. They look at me and nod. Speak to each other in Afrikaans. I smile and nod back. They cackle. We share a lift. In broken English they ask: "Ow our yoar boyz goink to go?"

I smile back. "Well, we'll see." I try to sound friendly but end up thinking only of Breaker Morant and Edward Woodward, and wondering what on earth these men could have seen me in on South African television. The answer is nothing. They think I'm Troy Coker, a former Wallaby who went out with a girl I knew.

I find this out the next night when I cannily lock myself out of my room wearing a rainbow T-shirt and rather sad pyjamas. I go down to the reception desk, ask for a spare key and find my grazing broederbund friends of the veldt staggering about in the bar. They let me know that not only am I a hopeless dresser but I wasn't much of a rugby player and that Australia should never have won the World Cup in 1992.

I receive my new key, wave back to my bearded chums and sing out to them as the lift door closes, "Shoot straight, you bastards." IN BRISBANE at a book do things go swimmingly. I sign lots of books and people say nice things. One woman wants to talk about Look Both Ways. She loves it. She has seen it twice and she says that she will see it a third time because she finds new things in it to enjoy. I thank her. She shakes her head and tells me to pass on her thanks to Sarah Watt, my wife, for making a film Australians can be proud of. The next woman in line says she, too, has seen Look Both Ways and loves it. "Are you," she asks, "thinking of having an international career?"

Ah, it is my turn to accept some glory. Oh well, I say, we'll see.

"Well if you are, I think you should know you have an odd-shaped nose. You're almost handsome, but your nose could use some work." I look at her. "You think so?" "Yes," she says definitely. "Here is my brother's card. He's a plastic surgeon on the Gold Coast."
I take the card. It is the card of Dr Conrad, and he does indeed come from the Gold Coast. Thanks. Now who shall I sign the book to?

Later, in Brisbane Airport, I sit with my eyes closed in a lounge. I feel a tapping on my chest. I open my eyes. A person stands over me. "Don't I know you?" she demands. "I know you."
I look up from my chair and see a ridiculous apparition. She is an actor. I look at her. Then I reach for a card in my pocket and hand it to her. "I think you were a patient of mine." I give her Dr Conrad's card. It is supposed to be a joke. She takes it, looks at it and nods her head.
"Oh, that's it," and she walks off with the card.

IN DARWIN I attend a screening of Look Both Ways, and after that a question and answer session. I have just got off a flight from Cairns and the heat is unbelievable. So are the people. Darwin people are incredibly friendly and casual. That is why the question and answer session is held out on the footpath. People want to stretch their legs and also have a drink. There is a bar next door. For every question asked, a beer is bought for me. I like them asking questions. I end up answering quite a few. In the morning I wake up and decide I answered one too many.

IN SYDNEY I remember what my publisher told me: "If you ever find yourself near a bookshop, pop in and sign a few copies, introduce yourself to the owner." I find myself outside a bookshop and decide to put her advice into practice. I wander around and finally find my book, A Man's Got To Have a Hobby. I smile at a woman who is placing books back on a shelf. She smiles back. "My book." I hold my tome.

"Yes," says the woman.

"Do you think I should sign it? Would that be a good idea?"

She looked at me for a bit. "Well, if it's your book you might as well."

I nod and go to work. I look up to see her wander out of the shop, wave to a man and they walk off hand in hand. I feel something as I look after the happy couple. Before I can determine whether it is unease I am interrupted by a poke in the ribs. "Excuse me, excuse me. What do you think you are doing?"

I look down to see a man with glasses. "I am signing this book."

"Well you had better pay for it then."

"No, it's my book. I've signed a couple of them."

"Well you better pay for them, too."

I hold up the book and point to my author photo and try to strike the same pose.

"I wrote the book," I say and I point to my photo. Maybe I shouldn't have answered the last three questions in Darwin. I must have cut up a bit rough. I try my best at a William McInnes look. Something flickers across his face.

It could be anything from comprehension to suspicion to deciding whether to call security. Finally he laughs, apologises and asks if I would like a better pen.

He leads me to a desk and asks if I would like a drink.

I say yes, thank you, and we laugh again. "You just look a bit different. Loved the film, by the way. And the book is selling well."

As he walks off I think of my father. I start to laugh.

"It doesn't do too much good to get too many tickets on yourself, sunshine," my father would say.

Too right Dad, too right.