CURRENTLY riding high in the UK sales charts with his first book Poverty Safari, which has recently been announced as a Sunday Times bestseller, Glasgow-based musician and writer Darren ‘Loki’ McGarvey tells us about his day ahead of a gig at the city’s King Tuts on December 17. Described by McGarvey as a “mix of rap, comedy and music”, the night’s proceeds will be donated to Drumchapel foodbank.

UPON waking, I drop to my knees, place my hands humbly on the floor directly in front of me and reach under the bed for my phone so I can go on Twitter. I say bed – in truth, I sleep in the world’s most expensive cat scratching post. What is it about hire-purchased upholstery that cries “pet activity centre”?

9am: My son, a digestive system with vocal cords, will soon awaken from a train-related dream. As a proud father, I love nothing more than the look of disappointment on his one-year-old face when, upon opening his room door, he realises I am not his mother. Or papa. Or Mr Tumble.

It’s important to start the day with as little self-esteem as possible. In Scotland, a little false humility can go a long way. I usually supplement the pain of my boy’s unconcealed lack of interest in me with a quick scan of social media for an additional source of pain. Failing that, if I’m feeling a little too good about myself, I’ll simply remove the empty pizza boxes off my digital scales and weigh myself – naked.

By mid-morning, I’ve learned that, according to the internet, I’m a 45-year-old closet-racist police informant orchestrating a sexist conspiracy at the heart of Scottish society while writing a book full of fabricated poverty porn to make enough from my own mother’s death to send my kids to Hogwarts.

Then, the final insult: an accusation that I’m middle-class.

By lunchtime, I am already exhausted with correspondence. Oddly enough, the only people in Scotland who don’t seem to be emailing me are the various finance departments around the country that owe me money. For some reason, those people are always really hard to get on the phone. It’s a good thing everything in life is either cheap or free, otherwise this whole self-employed malarkey would be a constant source of stress. Thankfully, my partner has just been paid for work she carried out in 2012, so that should tide us over until about 7pm.

2pm: Mid-afternoon, I see the Yes movement is having another big blow-out on social media. I can’t help but feel sorry for the East Kilbride Yes group at the centre of the controversy. Seventeen is a very specific number of women to be knocked back by.

4.30pm: As I sit, early evening, atop a highly caffeinated bladder, I can feel the algorithm shrinking around me. Despite the entire body of human knowledge at my fingertips, I only ever want to know why Hollywood has stopped employing Edward Norton or how many boxes of Toffee Pops you can conceivably eat before becoming type-2 diabetic. I distract myself by going on YouTube, where comic book fanatics are demanding Warner Bros release a Zack Snyder cut of Justice League. Which is a bit like demanding that cup of sick be re-heated in the microwave.

7pm: My day ends with a message from a trainee journalist, requesting comment on why far-right ideology hasn’t penetrated Scottish culture yet. I’m too polite to say it has, so I just tell her it’s all thanks to the robustness of our spoken-word poetry community.

December 17, King Tut’s, Glasgow, 8.30pm, £8.80. Tickets:

Poverty Safari: Understanding The Anger Of Britain’s Underclass is published by Luath Press