I’ve slightly mixed feelings about this Nathan-in-training.
On the one hand, he’s an utter tit; on the other hand, I was an utter tit when I was 18; everyone I know [*] was an utter tit when they were 18; and if my dad had got me some kind of totally national writing gig when I was 18, I’d probably have taken it and made an utter tit of myself in front of a crowd of bitter cynical thirtysomethings.
Ah well, it’s not going to stop the designer-stubblised little twat getting laid with loads of impressionable girlies who think he’s so deep man because he’s like totally a published writer, and it’s just about possible that – particularly if he gets threatened with jail by a drunk Indian policeman, has an AIDS scare after a stupid night in a Thai brothel, and generally has his Nothing Bad Can Ever Happen bubble punctured a bit – he might grow up into someone bearable. Or at least, grow up.
(Via DJCJD and Larry, who are less equivocal)
[*] bar one, for the pedants.