Jonathan Edward Durham.

 Jonathan Edward Durham. Jonathan Edward Durham. Jonathan Edward Durham. 

Every day someone I know posts a meme of Jonathan Edward Durham. Saying stuff. 

I know nothing about Jonathan Edward Durham. His photo is of a white man with hair and glasses, perhaps in his late thirties. He writes humanist truisms and cosy aphorisms about coffee and books. Nothing is particularly funny but nothing is offensive either. 

Who is he? Where has he sprung from, fully formed? Why am I seeing him every day in my echo chamber social media platforms? He's the Brian Bilston of nugget prose - there, indisputably, inescapably there. He's a social media fact. 

I buckled. I looked him up. He's a writer. One novel. Four stars on Amazon. 

Wow. 

I wish I had his P. R. team. He's spun almost nothing into cultural saturation. Maybe it's just him. Maybe he realises you don't get rich from writing books, you get rich from being wry and avuncular every where all at once. 

Interesting.