Stuffed shirt

I woke late with rather a thick head this morning.

Initially I assumed this was some strange consequence of becoming a celebrity, following yesterday's appearance on the Maurice Boland show on Radio Europe. My wife argues that last night's third bottle of cooking sherry is a more likely cause of my current condition but I suspect she is merely envious of my new found fame.

The Maurice Boland show is broadcast all over Spain's Costa del Sol - wherever British ex-pats gather and pine for a little homegrown culture. On yesterday's show, for example not only did Maurice interview me about my book 'Recollections of a Racketeer' but his other guests included a man who shot his wife from a cannon across the River Avon and a man who has invented an automatic catapult - or trebuchet – which fires animal feces at potential burglars when they attempt to enter his property at night. I feel that I have entered a new world of the intellectual elite where even the air is more rarified. Maybe that is why I have such a blinding headache this morning.

Maurice was charming and said he had already interviewed my brother-in-law Howard Marks several times as well as my sister Judy to discuss the film they are currently making based on her book ‘Mr. Nice and Mrs Marks’ staring Chloë Sevigny and Rhys Ifans. He did however sound surprised that the person playing me, Richard Harris’s son Jamie, was reputably very good looking. I reassured him that, on the set at least, he was reputably also very drunk – so that at least was in character.

I’ve been wearing dark glasses all morning even though my wife keeps saying “It was only a bloody radio show. Nobody will recognize you.” As I said, she’s very jealous. I called my sister Judy who lives on the Costa del Sol to ask her if she listened to the show and how I sounded.

“Like a pompous stuffed shirt” she said.

I think she was jealous also. I’m going to see if I can get one of those trebuchet things and a few bags of horse droppings.