EXTRACTS from a diary that have been sent to Northern Voices.
This is the diary of a man of our times.
Any resemblance to anyone living is, of course, purely coincidental.
Any resemblance to anyone living is, of course, purely coincidental.
Thursday 3rd March 2016
This “keeping my head down” is no fun. The best I’ve been able to do recently is the day stuff, you know, the normal daily grind. Turn up at places, say the “right” thing, show your face, make a bit of news, get a bit of coverage, blah blah blah. No proper money in it. Some say that’s the job, but I didn’t get into this game for work. I am a 6 or 7 figure income man. The expenses, glory, wine and women are due to me. At least I can go home for refreshments and a bit of Frankie Vaughan to calm my fevered brow.
All this “behave” business the big man tells me to do is not my style. I wonder what HIS game is? Ginge isn’t far behind either with his counsel, and we know he’s a likely lad. As for my man, he has to be obedient, but his flounces indicate an ulterior motive. They need to know who the daddy is. After the nosey parkers have done their bit and I’m free from this net of improper persecution, I shall rise, gloriously, once more. As long as the ex’s keep quiet.
Because I’m a wonderful humanitarian, and because I keep the rents down in the fiefdom, my people and even refugees flock to be near me, in my land. The government should be giving ME £££millions to support the mass influx of people who want to be close to such a wonderful man. Why aren’t they? My people will get most upset and possibly tense if the money to support me, erm, them isn’t provided. I am the best use of taxpayers money.
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