BLOG-OFF!

The more I go out in public and meet the common people, the more impressed I am with their natural discretion and reticence. Many members of my entourage had warned me to be careful about leaving my gated compound and to avoid being seen in public.
“They’ll mob you man!” they cautioned me. “They’ll thrust grubby copies of your latest book Recollections of a Racketeer in your face for you to sign and then they’ll rip your clothes off for souvenirs.”
Obviously I was apprehensive about mobs of nubile literary groupies exposing themselves and fondling my finer literary sensibilities if I left the compound, but we were out of cooking sherry and there was no choice but to go to the store.
Unfortunately I still had not been able to repair my broken sunglasses. However much scotch tape I wound around the lenses, they still kept slipping off my nose. So, I ventured out into the non-celebrity world of regular people just as I was, with no dark glasses to hide behind.
That’s when I learned about the natural decency and discretion of ordinary people. Far from mobbing me, asking for autographs or sexually assaulting me – people pretended not to notice. They pretended not to even recognize me. I was amazed. I cannot tell you how touched I was and how overcome with emotion. I returned to the house in tears.
So I do believe the time has come for me to give up this blog, to stop sitting in my cork-lined room, hiding from the world, and to venture forth and meet my public.
I would like to thank all my followers – you’ve been the best followers that a man could ever hope to lead and I shall never forget our time together – but the time has finally come to blog-off!

Mother's Day

Finally it’s over! It’s safe to come out again. Last Sunday it was Mother’s Day in America and you could not go anywhere, watch TV or read a newspaper without being bombarded with Mother’s Day nonsense. No wonder there were no reviews of my latest book Recollections of a Racketeer – there was no space left in the paper because of Mother’s Day. Why all the fuss about Mother’s Day anyway? All it is, is the delayed consequence of a bonk. What’s to celebrate?

I think Mother’s Day should be replaced by Author’s Day in which we celebrate something truly worthwhile and underappreciated. On Author’s Day we would all visit our local bookshop and buy each other copies of recently published memoirs by rising young authors. That would be something to truly celebrate!

The Time 100

I just received the latest copy of Time magazine in the mail today. It’s the issue where they name the 100 most influential people in the world. I hesitated for a while as I was not sure in which category they would place me; obviously I would be listed as an author for my latest book Recollections of a Racketeer, but I might also be listed as an influential entertainer in recognition of my appearance on the Maurice Boland show and possibly, if there is a new, cutting-edge category, I may be recognized for my influence as a blogger.
My agent’s lack of surprise when I called to complain did not go unnoticed.
“Are you quite sure you’re not listed anywhere?” he asked.
“I’ve been through the whole magazine” I told him. “I’ve looked on every page and I am not listed anywhere.”
“Your book was only published in April” he finally said. “They would not have had time to include you.”
Excuses. That’s all I get. Excuses. And I suspect that’s all I’m going to get from him concerning my nomination to the Supreme Court - let alone the Nobel Prize for Literature.
Mind you, I don’t feel so bad about Time magazine now. One of the people nominated was US Army General David McKiernan who commands allied forces in Afghanistan; he is described as “calm under stress, a clear thinker, tough and morally courageous.”
He was fired today and relieved of duty. Maybe a Time magazine nomination is not such a good thing after all.

The Nobel Prize

Displaying an all too obvious insouciance, my agent, Andrew Lownie, casually mentioned that the judges for the Nobel committee have still not selected the winner for this year’s literature prize. Had I known in advance that he was planning to submit my latest book Recollections of a Racketeer to the committee, I would have stopped him. Unfortunately I was not aware of his plans until his all too casual mention of the judges’ difficulty in selecting a winner.
“Why don’t you want the Nobel prize?” he asked me.
“Well, for a start it could mess-up my nomination for the US Supreme Court” I retorted tartly. “I don’t know of any Justices who have Nobel prizes. Foreign awards are always treated with suspicion in Washington.”
Andrew rolled his eyes as he always does when we have this conversation. “You’re not even American” he said. “They won’t let you on the Supreme Court.” He’s always so negative; no wonder I’m not selling more books.
“If I get the Nobel prize” I explained patiently, “that will be the end of my literary career. Nobody reads Nobel prize winners; they’re all a bunch of obscure Latvian poets or left-wing whiners.”
“There is a large cash amount as well as the medal” Andrew said.
“There is?” I said, surprised. “How much?”
“Ten million” he said.
“What, pounds?” I asked.
“Kroner” he said.
“Kroner! What’s a bloody kroner? You probably need a million of those just to buy a cup of coffee.”
“You also get to meet Miss Sweden” he added.
“You mean Fröken Sverige, that tall blond girl with enormous eyes?”
“Exactly” Andrew said. “And you also get a lifetime’s supply of Absolut vodka.”
“So” I said. “How do we reach the judges?”

Mr. Nice

Many of my followers have asked why I don’t make more references to Mr. Nice, or Howard Marks as he prefers to be known. There have even been suggestions that I should offer him a guest appearance on this blog in order to promote his public profile and publicize his upcoming film Mr. Nice, starring Jamie Harris as me.

Although I have the greatest admiration for Howard and would do anything to assist his career, I fear that the pressures of celebrity life to which he would be exposed if he were to appear on this blog, might prove too challenging. Referred to in the popular press as ‘the friend and brother-in-law of Patrick Lane,’ Howard manfully struggles with the demands that sudden fame imposes. By nature shy and retiring, Howard has already come a long way from the bucolic but isolated valleys of South Wales and can now hold his own amid the sophisticated banter of my entourage. But to be thrust into the ruthless hurly-burly of a daily blog, with all the public demands and the relentless media attention, is altogether a different kettle of fish and a horse of an entirely dissimilar color which Howard is not yet ready to ride.

I have already, and some have said most generously, allowed him to place his name on the front cover of my latest book Recollections of a Racketeer. I believe this is a suitable first step in making Howard’s name known to a wider public and we shall see how he handles it. If he acquits himself well – at least as well as he acquitted himself at the Old Bailey – then possibly one day he may be invited to be a guest on this blog. Watch this space!

CORRECTION

There is a distinct possibility that I am coming down with Swine Flu because yesterday's post was quite obviously incorrect and filled with the feverish misstatements that could come only from a fevered or, as my wife suggests, drunkenly swinish and malicious imagination.

Obviously I was quite incorrect when I suggested that it was my wife’s immoderate consumption of cooking sherry which caused me to be out on such a dark and stormy night as described in my previous post. I most certainly never intended to suggest that she consumes any more alcohol than the bare minimum required by the social obligations of the wife of the celebrity author of Recollections of a Racketeer. If I inadvertently conveyed the impression that she is a lush then I must apologize immediately and most profusely. Nothing could be further from the truth; my wife is the very bastion of sobriety and the embodiment of moderation in all things. I am appalled that my previous post could have been so misinterpreted or that anybody could even think of my wife as anything but a long-suffering angel.

Oh yes – and I forgot to add (how lucky that my wife was here to remind me) that the dark glasses broke only because I insist on buying cheap and nasty rubbish and I crashed into the lamppost because I was not looking where I was going - but listening, for the hundred millionth time, to the MP3 of the Maurice Boland interview on my iPod.

I hope that has cleared-up any misunderstandings. (My wife says 'Hello'.)

The wife

I blame the wife of course. If she had been a little more moderate in her sherry consumption, supplies would have lasted longer and I would not have been out in the streets, late on Monday night, shopping for replacement bottles.

It was a dark and stormy night; the rain was pouring down in buckets as I dashed from the liquor store along the street, trying to avoid the larger puddles. Obliged to wear my dark glasses in case anyone recognized me as the famous author of Recollections of a Racketeer, I did not see the lamppost until, running at full speed, I hit it with my face. The dark glasses were smashed to smithereens, my nose was bent flat and I sank slowly, in a daze, into an especially muddy puddle. But that deep seated Irish spirit of determination never left me and I clutched the bottles to my chest, making sure that nothing was broken or spilled.

And that is why, my dear followers, I will not be endorsing that particular brand of dark glasses and why there has been no addition to the blog for the past two days for which I apologize profoundly. But, as I said before, I blame the wife.

Celebrity endorsement

I have to say I am extremely impressed with these dark glasses. I would never have believed that something so simple could be so effective. I have been wearing them ever since my book Recollections of a Racketeer was published and made me a famous author. Despite the fact that I have now appeared in public on a regular basis and mingled with ordinary people quite openly, I have not been recognized once – even though I have been interviewed on the Maurice Boland radio show. Amazing!

I am debating whether to ask my agent to contact Ray Ban or Armani or some other celebrity designer-sunglass-designer to see about signing an endorsement contract. I could speak very persuasively about my experiences. As my wife pointed out; I have been a celebrity for nearly two weeks now and not been recognized, not once. She also points out that despite my two weeks of stardom I still have not got a single endorsement deal – even for dog-food. I bet J.D. Salinger didn’t have to wait this long.

On the other hand, once the public learns that I am out there, moving freely among them, protected only by my sunglasses – I could lose all my privacy. They will be hauling me off to exclusive clubs and VIP Lounges, filling me with champagne and tempting me with their spagetti straps. My writing will suffer - I cannot risk the carefree public life - I need my solitude.

Another problem is the effect it might have on my Supreme Court nomination. I seem to remember Justice Antonin Scalia doing an endorsement for Viagra and of course Clarence Thomas famously endorsed Coca Cola but those are both very American and family-friendly brands. Sun glasses on the other hand are rather European and possibly too sophisticated for the Court – though they would complement those dark robes very nicely.

Not an easy decision. Needs some serious thought. Time for the cooking sherry.

The World Caves In

Hesitant though I am to accept the comparison to President Obama (for a start I’m not black) there is no denying that my cool, reasoned and cerebral reaction to the News of the World’s failure to review my latest book Recollections of a Racketeer has resulted in an historic victory.

Had I merely used the power of my celebrity status as a famous author and radio personality to crudely attack and berate this colossus of Fleet Street, it is doubtful that they would so quickly have surrendered. But by reminding them of their historic role in the development of English literature (see my blog Damned Woman!) and by appealing to their sense of duty and responsibility to literary criticism, I have finally had my book reviewed in the News of the World. I must admit that my current nomination to replace David Souter on the Supreme Court of the United States might also have played a role in the news giant's dramatic about-face.

Unlike other book reviews which appear in snooty la-di-dah journals that are isolated from the lives of ordinary people, my review is surrounded by articles covering fast breaking news of the real world. A typical story from today’s issue concerns TV star Kirstie Allsopp who has been renovating a holiday cottage in a small Devonshire village.

"But the nearest property to her £300,000 house is a sex retreat run by a mistress called Ms Demmie, who specialises in female domination using needles, wax and canes. Strawberry Water looks like any other charming rural cottage. But underneath lies a dungeon complete with cages, whips, ropes, and special bondage beds and benches that are openly displayed in photos on the internet. Ms Demmi - real name Nicola Brown - told us: "Kirstie Allsopp is our next-door neighbour. I don't know what she knows about us. We teach couples how to do S&M. But we're certainly not a secret and we're not ashamed of what we do. We're really busy, so unless you want to book one specific date in May, you're screwed. I only have four days left this month that aren't booked.”


A small victory in truth but one, I modestly think, of which President Obama himself might be proud.

Supreme Court

I cannot deny the fact that being an international radio celebrity and famous author has its benefits. No more standing in line for me. Whenever I go to Denny’s these days I am shown straight to my table. But there are pressures also; if I were not always careful to wear dark glasses whenever I mix with the general public, I know I would be endlessly badgered by people wanting me to sign their copy of my latest book, Recollections of a Racketeer.

But above all, there is the awesome sense of responsibility which always accompanies public acclaim. Now that I am famous and publicly recognized, I feel an obligation to give something back to Society. So when David Souter announced his retirement and I learned that there will be a vacancy on the Supreme Court of the United States, I immediately called my agent, Andrew Lownie.
“But you’re a racketeer” he objected.
“An ex-racketeer” I corrected him. “I’m retired.”
“But you’re not even a lawyer” he continued.
“Not per-se” I said – throwing out a little legal jargon to confuse him. “But I’ve spent a lot of time in the law library.”
“The prison law library.”
“Whatever.” Sometimes Andrew can be so negative.
“Listen; I want to give something back. I’m a role model now and I need to set a good example for my followers.”
“So you want to become a Supreme Court Justice?”
“Exactly” I said. “Justice Lane. That has a nice ring to it I think.”
Andrew still looked doubtful.
“It will help sell a lot of books” I said. (I understand how agents’ minds work.)
“Let me look into it” he said.