It's a sad fact of human nature that when one's own morale is low only one thing can improve it, and, I'm ashamed to say, in the true spirit of schadenfreude, that thing is somebody else's suffering....and again whilst in polite society one should not draw attention to another man's more personal problems....without this man, who knows I might still be trying to get through the childproof top on the aspirin bottle, still be trying to tie a proper reef knot to fix the rope to the beam...so in this case, where I owe so much to this one individual, I could not let his heroics go unsung, or unhung.
....So here it is, a big shout out to Will and his variocus scrotum. Ladies I apologise now for lowering the tone, but, my morale apart, there is a more serious side to this story that needs telling. As in all good comedies there is a subliminal message, a public service message that should be taken in whilst chuckling over the punchline. And in this case it's quite simple - Beware Lycra.
God in his wisdom, built into each of us a defence mechanism that warns us off wearing items that could potentially damage our health, wealth and pride. And Lycra is no exception to this. Knowing the damage to be done by encasing the crown jewels (or in my case the Kinder Surprise Toy) inside Lycra for hours on end he so designed Lycra that anybody wearing it looked such a prick that they would be unable to endure more than two hours of humiliation before running home and changing.
Unfortunately in Will he met his match- for the man who knows no shame- the Lycra one piece was a source of pride to be worn like a second skin and shed but once per year. Whilst the German mullet men of the eighties were forced by the seasons to swap their Campri one piece ski suits for their muscle vests once touched by the first rays of spring, whilst the more senior members of the family ritually change from their M&S woollies to their Y fronts on the 1st of May, whilst even the doyen of fashion Big John B is forced by the heat to discard his winter brown suit in favour of his silvery/grey summer number, Will grimly clung to the Lycra. So Will, whilst we applaud your steadfastness, God has ultimately punished your fashion sense. I know when it comes to fashion, I, and the rest of my dynasty, are on extremely thin ice, but hypocrisy, unlike Lycra, never hurt anybody.
All those Ladies who look forward to seeing the great man with a surgical support in his pants I'm afraid will be disappointed . In order to ensure Will's recovered fully from his magnum opus without any adverse side effects, I have had to delay going to press until the rehabilitation process was completed.
Sorry it's taken so long getting back in contact, we've been so busy dishing out unlawful beatings to the locals that I've barely had time to write - except of course my regular piece for the Daily Mirror. For all those curious as to whether the army has turned me into an undiluted psychopath with a penchant for amateur photography, don't worry, my phots from Iraq (have I showed them to you yet?) consist of nothing more offensive than me trying to look as hard as nails in as many different grid squares in Iraq as humanely possible.
Meantime back in the Big Brother House, Gerry Adams came to protest against our presence in this god awful place. It's a pity he didn't give us more warning as we could have gone out and added some numbers to his measly crowd. So in order to help mine and Gerry's combined manifesto don't waste your Euro vote, go out and vote one for Bairbie De Bruin (Sinn Fein). Today being election day hundreds of us have sat out in the fields all day in order to ensure the ex-terrorists manage to exert their democratic right without interference, and all the ungrateful buggers could do was claim that we were trying to intimidate the good people of South Armagh from voting. Well bollocks to them and everybody else in this cesspit.
And now to the good news. After three months good behaviour I am been released on license for 12 days starting next Wednesday. I should be in London for the weekend 25, 26, 27 and would love to meet up with any friends that I have left. Dave and Damo, for once you should not feel threatened by my aggressive drinking, on current form I'll be lucky to make it through Happy Hour.
Meantime you could all tear many leaves from Duncan book, whilst in Canada (ostensibly to visit Al, in fact due to the sad demise of the Millets fashion label, it is the only place left to restock his lumberjack shirt collection) he kindly bought me an iPod. So now I can record my Roxette album over 1000 times and listen to solid soft rock undisturbed for the next two weeks - paradise. Everybody else travelling abroad don't feel overawed by Dunc's largesse, dip your hands deep in your pockets and make a sad man happy, or failing that send a post card.
Hope you are all well and enjoying the summer- get thinking of your excuses for the 25th!
12 June 2004
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