Firstly
I would like to say ‘thank you’ to my parents for producing me. I know that
people who grew up in post-war Britain didn’t really do it. My parents were young
adults in the late 1950s and so – as my mother explained to me - they just got
into bed together, woke up with their PJs on the wrong way round and then had
babies.
Yes
– I think it is appropriate – don’t you – to do a Gwyneth Paltrow, Oscar type
speech for my hundredth blog?
I’ll
continue...
Thanks
to mum and dad for whatever courageous act of selflessness brought me here,
which as my sister pointed out when we were young - must have been x3 because
there are three of us
Secondly
I would like to express my appreciation for all the powerful, rich and famous
for regularly being so ridiculous that any of us drawn to satire are spoilt for
choice of material. It has to be said and has been said before – though I do
not hesitate to say it again – some have gone so far as to become their own
satire (there I said it). I nominate,
Sarah
Palin
Reality
T.V. ‘stars’ all
Bankers
Tony
Blair
Boris
Johnson
Harry
Redknapp
And
everyone else who you just KNOW is in that list.
Thanks
to my friends; those few but special [very special in some cases...] people who
listen to my witterings, managing to keep the looks of boredom and / or
bewilderment at bay with practised ease.
Thanks
to my daughters who, for my own good, occasionally sigh and groan and say “oh for
heavens’ sake mother get a grip” and either stomp off to the bedroom – (no. 3),
go silent from tedium (no.2) or subtly change the subject (no.1) whenever I
talk about writing.
Thanks
to the woman next door for regularly letting her large, noisy dog shit in my
garden. This helps to keep me in touch with the real world and not float off
into a fantasy paradise where one only has to deal with one’s own crap.
Thanks
to Melissa for setting up this blog for me which I only broke about 3 times in
the early stages.
N.B.
Throughout all this please envisage me blubbing attractively. You know the sort
of thing – nice round tears but no wrinkles or snot or distorted face and no
messing of the make-up – even though I don’t usually wear make-up unless
performing but imagine it anyway... Perhaps there may be a pretty gulp to show
how feminine I am or high pitched whimper to show how affected I am by the
occasion.
Thanks
to the local co-op for stocking artisan bread which often fortifies me while I
stare at a blank screen with a blank head. (Sniff)
Thanks
to my partner for that look of sympathy (or is it stupefaction?) he is able to
wear when I am moaning about my IT inadequacies, or tiredness. And for always
saying ‘this tastes lovely’ whatever I put out for tea. And never ever ever
saying ‘oh... pasta again!’
Thanks
to my daughter’s new bunnies for being extra cute and giving her a reason to
get off the @+*^&% computer. (Brave smile)
Thanks
to all the folk I left behind in the N.E in May for pretending to be sorry to
see me go and not throwing a HUGE party when my back was turned - you didn’t
did you? (Nervous titter)
Thanks
to my a---hole maths teacher at school for telling me in front of the whole
class that I would NEVER EVER EVER pass my maths o-level – which spurred me on
to pass when he was no longer my teacher and also to pass my law finals
accounting exam. You are just the kind of teacher the education system needs.
(Huge whimsical sigh, maybe briefly raised eyes and an almost imperceptible
shake of the head but short of smug)
Thanks
to my uncles for being proper uncles when I was a child. The sort who swung you
round by your hands and feet and made bonfires and told terrible jokes.
Thanks
to Roald Dahl for writing Charlie and the Chocolate Factory (though I have to
say WOT was The Great Glass Elevator about - I mean what were you ON?)
Thanks
to Dr Seuss for Green Eggs and Ham. (Big tears and perhaps I step away from the
mic momentarily to recover myself with admirable dignity)
Thanks
to Cervantes for Don Quixote, Shakespeare for Lawrence Olivier’s version of
Richard III (the one with all the shadows) and to Tolstoy for proving that
books the size of a small cupboard don’t have to be tortuous (Proust I hope you
are listening).
Thanks
(Big
brave smile and possibly a wave – audience cheering madly – maybe some of them
crying too, affected by my affectedness-ness. I get kissed and hugged by lots
of thin beautiful people with perfect teeth and no one notices that I am
wearing turquoise sweat trousers and a baggy man’s shirt with my breakfast on
it because I am typing hunched on a beanbag!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)
Click
below for x2 comedy performance treats.
HOW TO BE A BETTER BIGOT
AFRICAN JOURNALIST IN BRITAIN