Paxman’s
Pants ©
By
Michael Casey
I
was just taking a gander at the newspapers when I came across Paxman being
interviewed now that his Autobiography is coming out. How does an Autobiography
Come Out, is the book Gay, or does it mean it is being revealed, so does that
mean the Autobiography is a Flasher of some sort.
I
always said if I wrote my autobiography I’d wait till my siblings were dead
first so I could not upset anybody too much. I am the near youngest of the
brood, then what happens it’s Me who could have bit the dust first, is it God’s
way of saying Don’t write the autobiography, God the greatest Literary Critic.
Though
I am writing my 11th book now, so what sort of sense of Humour does
He have? I was once told by a female priest that she thought I should write
short pieces, and that’s what I do as I approach my 1,000,000 Word. Or did the
priest have a short attention span or was she in league with the Lord.
So
there is Paxman dressed in his Toga at the Woodcock Street Baths and Sauna in
downtown Birmingham, a slave throws water on the coals, while a scribe write down
his every word. An old woman in a piny wiping her snotty nose on her elbow,
gives him his change with a dirty look, the look is free, the sauna is 6.99
plus 2 quid for a once spotless towel. It was used once by Arthur Dent, the
motorway builder.
So
Paxman tells how he was bored for 25 years, the slave looks up interested,
bored does not mean bored you fool, can somebody whip him, no don’t bother he’d
enjoy it too much, just put more water on the coals, I want steam. Peter
Gabriel looks up from his position on the floor, and starts singing. Paxman
gives him a withering look and Gabriel runs away crying, he’ll go back to Genesis.
If
only he was by a river bank, with his rod, no slave nothing to do with
punishment, though Rod Stewart music IS punishment. Perhaps Paxman should use the word pole, a
carbon fibre 20 metre pole, no you clot a pole not a Polish Pole. Why are
slaves so one dimensional, you can’t get a good one for love or money.
Having
dictated 20 pages to the scribe Paxman has a dip in the pool, before emerging
like god from the water. He is peckish now after all the sweating, normally it
was Politicians sweating, but those days are over, Paxman is so humble now, he
could form a humble club with Donald Trump.
It
was outside the Woodcock street baths that I bumped into Paxman, he did ask for
my autograph but I refused, but I said I knew a good pub, The Churchill and he
could bring his Black Dog with him. He was going to use a big word on me but he
knew I was dictionaryless, I probably
couldn’t even spell serendipity let alone know what it meant. Go on, but not
the Churchill, my Black Dog is not with me today anyway.
So
I took Paxman to the Trader in Old Forge and Singing Anvil and introduced him
to Wayne the barman, I suppose he’s named after John Wayne intoned Paxman.
Actually I am replied Wayne as he took Paxman downstairs and showed him his
cellar. Paxman returned 20 minutes later with tears in his eyes and holding a
tumbler of 70 year old whisky, that’s unbelievable
he mumbled humbled as if by almighty God himself.
Now
that I’ve got your attention maybe you’ll listen to this business idea, Paxman
looked up a freshly opened bag of pork scratchings in his mighty palm, anything
anything I’m at your disposal. Wayne winked at me as I broached the idea. David
Beckham has retired from advertising for
Marks and Spencer, so would you be interested in advertising their pants.
photos
so if Paxman sees me in the street he can run the other way.
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