And there abideth...

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And there abideth Faith, Hope and Money
And the greatest of these is Money.


Gordon Comstock in: Keep the aspidistra flying.


Money, Anna, Money. I could used some right now.



As you know, the publishers reject my books: Too controversial, they say. (Even my autobiography!)


And then here comes this young upstart of a woman with her Fifty Shades of Grey. Her first novel -   and it's a runaway best-seller. Have you read it, Anna? 

I haven't. Can't be bothered. From what I can gather it's soft porn

- a pale imitation of The Story of O.


It can't be hard to do soft porn.



I thought of writing a novel to appeal to the salacious taste of the masses - and make a few bucks. It would be a reversal of the Fifty Shades of Grey plot: A wealthy aristocratic woman ensares a poor farm labourer and keeps him as her sex slave. I even had a working title: Lady Loverley's Chattel. (Has a certain ring to it, eh?) But then I thought: No, I am not going to lower my standards, compromise my artistic integrity - just for a few thousand in the bank.

But what am I going to do, Anna? Wolves howl outside my door, vultures hover at my window.

Your philosophy is all very well - and may work for you - but remember I come from a genteel background. I cannot help my refinement, my sensitivity. The coarseness of life offends, and I recoil from it.


It will soon be my birthday and I am thinking of going away, cutting myself off, from everyone. You may think that is being a coward... but remember the Arab saying: The bravest thing is to run away.


Of course, in the desert you have plenty of places to run - all of them sandy, admitted, but still lots of open space.


I have been thinking recently what I would like as my epitaph - you know, that pithy but moving comment engraved on one's tombstone. Everyone knows Spike Milligan's: "See - I told you I was ill" and W C Fields: "On the whole I'd rather be in Philadelphia". 


I was once sitting in a cafe and there was a notice over the freezer containing ice creams. It read: Please close the lid after choosing your ice cream. And the bizarre thought came into my head: what a brilliant epitaph. Just imagine those words carved on a tombstone. 


Of course, nowadays cremation seems to be the preferred option for disposing of un-needed bodies.


That reminds me: remember when I was in the loony bin back in  2010? Mad Clive wrote a poem which I posted on the blog - April, 13th if you're interested - about wanting to be shot into space. Now that idea appeals to me.


The Olympic Games commence tomorrow, and I can't help thinking of that comment of Myra's as she was leaving with Hector: The future has already happened - it's just that we haven't got there yet.
This would mean that all the medals have already been won! What a thought!


My head is in a spin at the moment, so write to me, Anna, with a bit of your steadying commonsense.


Your (confused) Georgie