Two Chaps Talking

My old fruit,

How similar our recent movements seem to have been. But of course how could they be that different with us both being young, gifted, and super 150's-clad in this increasingly khaki-dominated world.

We too attended the recent anti-war march. I gather Plod was a little keener to get his size tens stuck in over here though and one or two crusties had their dreads ruffled. Of course the Idiot-in-Chief paid no attention, watching a rodeo or something I imagine. Anyway a splendid time was had and I consider it a privilege to have heard Desmond Tutu live and direct.

On a happier note I have recently come across some required reading for our kind. It came about by accident as great things so often do. I was browsing the shelves of The Lyrical Ballad, a book shop in Saratoga, searching for something to take me away from all this, something to transport me from under the heel of these Imperialist oppressors and back to a happier time. A time when bunking-off last period games to go and sit on my bike in front of a girl's house was all I craved. In the knowledge that if I could only keep the front wheel up for five full seconds then she'd be mine. And if Mum would only let me have the trench coat that I so sorely lacked, then the world, or at least The Roller Bowl, would be my oyster.

So there I was, dusty finger stroking worn Moroccan, and what did I see but a book entitled The Unexpurgated Code by a chap calling himself J P Donleavy. Wondering if it might bear any resemblance to my own work I plucked it from obscurity and gave it the once over.

Oh my goodness gracious, or fuck me in current parlance. What unearthly delights did I uncover that you and I my dear old chap have but lain awake and dreamt of? How our lives would've been different had we only this tome to guide us. I will offer you a mere soupcon just to get your juices flowing.

Upon encountering a woman while social climbing you might for instance offer -

'Madam, I beg for the pleasure of your left breast as a platform of my right palm.'

Were she to reply in the negative, taking possible umbrage, the conversation might proceed as follows -

'Madam, you are behaving as if goosed by a big fingered farmer.'
'How dare you suggest such a rural nudge.'
'May I then offer madam an idyll in some citified haven where random but gentle organ thrusts of large pianissimo would temper her presently gruff tone.'
'No you certainly may not, since rather than endure your clapped out attempts in the orchestral you suggest, I would prefer, in the most moving style imaginable, some callow youths vivace crecendo.'

I think you get the picture. Imagine my further joy when it transpired that Mr Donleavy had also written numerous novels featuring characters who behave in just such a way. 'The Destinies of Darcy Dancer, Gentleman.' being the first I read. (Think of Bertie swearing, screwing and fighting). If you haven't yet come across this chap then run don't walk and secure for yourself a copy of whatever you find. I put off telling you as I wanted to send you The Unexpurgated Code but alas I've been unable to locate another copy and I'm still studying mine

My how they hate the French over here. As though the double-dealing Frenchies' motives were somehow less worthy than those of the home grown hypocrisy. It's hard to even have a conversation over here. Anyone that believes even a word from the current Junta is clearly smoking crack and completely incapable of rational thought. If I didn't have the Beeb et al via the internet I think I'd be on the next liner home. Blair may ignore public opinion but at least the press don't. They consider questioning politicians here to be un-patriotic.

That's the view from the trenches old love. I continue to fight the good fight and educate these savages. Tonight I shall be joining Mr Will Self in his endeavour to do same.

Vive la France!
Monsieur S