Wednesday, December 26, 2007
I suppose what I'm trying to say is that I was lonely
From the book 'Don't you want me?' by India Knight
Friday, December 14, 2007
An austrian woman
From the book ‘Thinks’, by David Lodge
Sunday, December 2, 2007
The house begins to fill up.
From the book ‘Thinks’, by David Lodge
Sunday, November 25, 2007
Emily is on the kitchen
Ralph suppresses a belch.
'Yeah,' says Emily, in a slightly insolent drawl.
He is about Ralph's age, a little stouter, with a red leathery complexion and big hands. In the hairy tweed sports jacket he favours he looks more like a farmer than a doctor. He pushes, presses, probes with his big spatulate fingers. 'All right ,' he says. 'You can put your togs back on? He goes back to his desk to write some notes in Ralph's file, using a gold-nibbed fountain pen.'You've got a lump on your liver'
Ralph gives Hope a hug in the hall, sweeping her off her feet and whirling her round on the black-and-white-chequered floor. The child laughs with glee. Then he kisses Carrie and looks at her. Ralph waits until Hope has scampered off to her room to be reunited with her favourite dolls and toys
From the book 'Thinks' by David Lodge
Saturday, November 17, 2007
It is the evening of Ralph’s birthday party.
‘The first guest’, says Helen, superfluously.
From the book ?thinks? by David Lodge
Monday, November 5, 2007
Monday 17th of March
Monday 17th of March. Another weekend has passed in thrall to the Messengers.
It had been agreed that I would stay the night after the party on Saturday, so that I could drink without worrying about driving myself home. I felt a little self-conscious, standing beside Ralph and Carrie in the hall and saying goodbye to the last departing guests, as if I were part of the family – but that is what In seem to have become.
‘Adopted’, was Jasper Richmond’s word. It was somewhat disturbed by its remarks, but he’s a rather malicious gossip, and probably everything he says should be taken with a pinch of salt. If Carrie is being nice to me just to keep tans on Ralph, it seems a risk strategy. He's already managed to kiss me once, and would have done again on Saturday night if I’d let him.
After the final stragglers had gone. I helped collect the soiled plates and glasses from various rooms on the ground floor, and to stack them in the kitchen ready for the domestic help, who was coming in next morning specially to attend to them. Carrie made us a delicious nightcap, and we sat round the kitchen table sipping this concoction and discussing the higklights of the party before we retired to bed.
From the book ?Thinks', by David Lodge
Sunday, October 21, 2007
I went to the Messneger's cottage yesterday
Here the Messengers' family simulates the life of English country folk for one or two days a week: Carrie bottles fruit and make preserves on the oil-fired Aga. Emily rides the pony she keeps at a local stable, and Ralph chops wood for the open fire or takes the younger children out for rambles and bike-rides. At the back of the house, however, a more exotic and sybaritic note is struck: a balcony, or 'deck' as they call it, has been constructed on two levels, with a redwood hot tub on the lower level. The effect is rather bizarre as you pass from the English eighteenth century of the house to twenty-century California in the back garden, like walking through different film sets in a studio.
After lunch ( a superb leg of local lamb, roasted to perfection, with slivers of garlic and sprigs of rosemary delicately inserted into its layer of fat) we went for a walk around a circuit of lanes and footpaths in the neighbourhood.
My ' lunch' invitation stretched inordinately, and in the end we left the house together at about seven o'clock. Suddenly the pace of life speeded up. Everybody bustled about, supervised by Carrie, picking up things and putting them away, resetting thermostats and turning light off, drawing curtains, and fastening shutters, making the house secure for another week. It was as if the curtain has come down on some dreamy pastoral idyll and the company was suddenly galvanized into actions shedding their costumes and packing up their props before moving on to the next venue. We parted in the lane outside the house as we got into our respective cars. I said goodbye and thanked them sincerely.
Form the book 'Thinks' by David Lodge
The conversation is taking place in the hot tub
Carrie clambers out of the tub, steadying herself with a hand on Ralph' shoulder. The water streams from her tight, dark swimming costume and pallid heavy limbs. She wraps herself in a towelling robe and thrusts her feet into a pair or rope-soiled mules. 'Time you kids got out too,' she says.
Form the book 'Thinks' by David Lodge
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
One redeeming feature
As I trod the worn paving of the ancient aisles, pausing at intervals to admire fine brasses and carved statuary, another literary association came to mind. In the Golden Bowl Charlotte and the Prince begin their adulterous affair at Gloucester, delaying their return to London from a houseparty on the pretext of viewing the cathedral- and there's a reference to the tomb of Edward II, I'm sure. Did they really visit,it, to give circumstantial plausibility to their story when they returned to their respective spouses, or did they spend every stolen moment in their room at in the inn selected by the resourceful Charlotte? I don't have the novel to hand to check . James probably doesn't say, anyway.
I had lunch afterwards at the Cosy Pew Café, just round the corner from the Cathedral, poring over every word in the guide because I had brought nothing else with me to read. I wondered despondently if this was the spinsterish future that awaits me: collecting cathedrals and reading at the table in twee restaurants.
One redeeming feature
As I trod the worn paving of the ancient aisles, pausing at intervals to admire fine brasses and carved statuary, another literary association came to mind. In the Golden Bowl Charlotte and the Prince begin their adulterous affair at Gloucester, delaying their return to London from a houseparty on the pretext of viewing the cathedral- and there's a reference to the tomb of Edward II, I'm sure. Did they really visit,it, to give circumstantial plausibility to their story when they returned to their respective spouses, or did they spend every stolen moment in their room at in the inn selected by the resourceful Charlotte? I don't have the novel to hand to check . James probably doesn't say, anyway.
I had lunch afterwards at the Cosy Pew Café, just round the corner from the Cathedral, poring over every word in the guide because I had brought nothing else with me to read. I wondered despondently if this was the spinsterish future that awaits me: collecting cathedrals and reading at the table in twee restaurants.
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
I'd been In Cheltenham
From the book "Thinks" by David Lodge
Thursday, October 4, 2007
The proof of the experiment is if their behaviour
I'm a self-taught two-finger typist, prone to error (for which reason I Thank God - and science- for the invention of the word-processor). But some words I always seem to mistype. One of them is 'science' which invariably appears on the screen of my computer as 'scince', with a reproachful red wiggly line drawn under it by the automatic spell-checker. I duly correct it, but there is something onomatopoeically appropriate about ?scince? (pronounce skince) which I am sorry to lose: it expresses the cold, pitiless, reductive character of scientific explanations of the world. I feel this hard, cold, almost ruthless quality In Ralph Messenger. His reaction to Martin's death, when the subject came up in the course of lunch, was like having a bowl of icy water dashed in one's face.It shocked and angered me - I almost got up and left him at the table. But I'm glad I didn't. I might never have seen the Karinthy mural, for one thing. It provoked all kinds of ideas.
From the book 'Thinks? by David Lodge
Tuesday, October 2, 2007
One, two, three, testing
From the book 'Thinks', by David Lodge
Saturday, September 22, 2007
'You don't mind walking?'
'No, not at all.'
'There is a shuttle bus in...'He glances at a chunky stainless steel watch.?About ten minutes.'
'No, I like to walk,' she says. 'It's the only exercise I get'
'Me too. I always walk on campus unless its raining.'
It isn't raining outside, but looks as if it might soon. A damp wind is blowing across the campus under scudding grey clouds. They walk along the path that skirts the lake, moving into single file every now and again as a tinkling bell warms them of the approach of a cyclist. It being a Wednesday afternoon, there is evidence of sporting activity. Shouts and cries carry faintly from the playing fields on the eastern perimeter, and a rugby ball rises and falls in a spinning arc against the sky. On the lake, some students in wetsuits are windsurfing. The brightly coloured shards of their sails against the dark water make a pleasant picture, but the lake is hardly big enough for the purpose: no sooner have the craft got up some speed than they have to make quick turns to avoid hitting the bank, or each other. Capsizes are frequent.
' I know what this place reminds me of,' Helen says suddenly. ? Gladeworld. Have you ever been?
'N0, what is it.?'
'A sort of up-market holiday village. I went with my sister's family last summer. It was in a biggish bit of wooded country, surrounded by a wire fence. You live in little houses built between the trees. In the middle there's a huge plastic dome with a kind of swimming pool cum botanical gardens underneath it with a lots of water chutes and whirlpools and suchlike. And there's a supermarket and restaurants and sports halls - and an artificial lake for sailing and windsurfing that isn't quite big enough. That's what reminded me. That and the bicycles. You're not allowed to drive your car at Gladeworld once you've unloaded it. Everybody rents bicycles, or walks. Everything you need for your holiday is inside the fence. You never need to go outside.'
From the book ?thinks', by David Lodge
Saturday, September 15, 2007
Coming here
except that 58 Bloomfield Crescent has been rented for the next three months to an American art historian on sabbatical and his wife who arrive next Friday. Never mind, send them a fax, ? Sorry, all off, change of plan, house not available after all.'Could they sue me? There's no legal contract, but perhaps our correspondence would count as one... Oh, what's the point in pursuing this futile line of speculation when we all know (by 'we' I mean my neurotic self and my more rational observing , recording self) we know, don't we, that this is just a fantasy? And that the real reason I won't run away tomorrow morning is not because of possible litigation by my American Tenants (or for that matter by the University of Gloucester, who could undoubtedly sue me for breach of contract, thought I very much doubt if they would bother) but because I haven't got the courage to do it. Because I couldn't bear the guilt, the shame, the ignominy, of knowing that everybody I know knew that I had funked it, panicked, run away . Imagine to having to ring up Paul and Lucy to tell them, and hearing the disappointment in their voices even as they tried to be supportive of their mad mother. Imagine seeing the ill-concealed smirks and smiles of people at literary parties, as they whispered to each other over their their glasses of white wine. 'That's Helen Reed, did you know she went to be a writer in Residence at Gloucester University and ran away on the first day of the semester because she couldn't face it either,' And they might add, ' not that I blame her, I'm sure I couldn't face it either,' but nevertheless they would despise me and I would despise myself.
It was a nice fantasy while it lasted, though. I even chose the tape I would play in the car on the M5, the Vivaldi wind concerti, with their sprightly, cheerful allegro
From the book "Thinks" by David Lodge
Sunday, August 19, 2007
I woke this morning feeling slightly hangover
From the book ‘Thinks...’ by David Lodge
Wednesday, August 1, 2007
'They describe you as a viper,'
'They?'
'Well, in fact, it was not the detectives. it was the Chief of Police in Rome.'
'A Fascist,' Mr Visconti said.
'Ah, a collaborator then.'
'The war was over.'
.A collaborator nonetheless. One collaborates always with the victorious side. One supports the losing.' It sounded again like a quotation from Machievali.
We were drinking champagne together in the garden, for the house at the moment was impossible. Men were carrying furniture. Other men were up ladders. Electricians were repairing lights and hanging chandeliers. My aunt was very much in charge.
'I preferred flight to anew form of collaboration,' Mr Visconti said. 'One can never tell who will win in the end. Collaboration is always a temporary measure. It's not that I care much for security, but I like to survive.
From the book 'Travels with my aunt' by Graham Greene.
Thursday, July 19, 2007
When I opened the door
I returned to the sitting-room and began to go through the post. One day mu aunt might send me a forwarding address, but in any case I wanted to save anything remotely personal from the scrutiny of Woodrow and Sparrow if they came. My old acquaintance Omo had written, and there were various bills from a laundry, a wine-merchant's, a grocer's. I was surprised not to find a bank statement, but remembering the gold brick and the suitcase stuffed with notes. I thought that perhaps my aunt preferred to keep a closer look among the dresses she had left behind, for it would be dangerous to leave cash about in the empty flat.
From the book "Travels with my aunt" by Graham Greene
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
He let us in
Her dressing table gleamed with them: mirrors and power-jars and ash-trays and bowls for safety pins. "They brighten the darkest day,? she said. There was a very large double-bed as curlicued as the glass. ?I am especially attached to Venice,' she explained,'because I began my real career there, and my travels. I have always been very fond of travel. It's a great grief to me that my travels now are curtailed
From the book "Travels with my aunt" by Graham Greene.
Wednesday, July 4, 2007
Barcelona
I know no other city where a single street is so important. From sex shops and souvenir stalls to the opera house and, in La Boqueria, the best fresh food market in Spain, Las Ramblas caters _ in one way or another- for the most elemental desires of life.
This is where Barcelona celebrates, protests and riots. Built over the course of a stinking stream once known as the Cagalell - the Stream of Shit - it is, more importantly, where Barcelona meets itself.
From the book "Gosths of Spain" by Giles Tremlett
Folklore
From the book "Ghosts of Spain" by Giles Tremlett
Tuesday, July 3, 2007
The gaggle
And so it went on. A couple of hundred children aged between zero and six, all encaseds in neat, green-and -white checked gingham pinafores, came here every day. Some started at 8. a. m. and were given breakfast. One of most starling things about these children's was the tweeness which some were dresses. We had spotted the specialist children's shops full of powder-blue boys' outfits and pink girl's outfits before coming parents ourselves.
But it was when a delicate, powder-blue, knitted.cotton, ribboned baby suit arrived from an acquaintance who was not only meant to be a prominent feminist but also a Socialist minister, that we realised this was just not fashion for 1950 nostalgists. At the nursery school and in the park, we would see parents who looked and dressed like us, parading children dressed in elaborate knickerbockers, smocked dresses, sashes, bows, Peter Pan collars, pin-tucks or matching knickers and bloomers. Often these children would come in matched pairs, their clothes identical or, if boy and girl, made of the same material. The occasional family of three of four kids might be identified by the fact that they were all, despite the age spread, wearing the same clothes, just in different sizes.
From the book "Ghosts of Spain" by Giles Tremlett
Saturday, June 23, 2007
Benidorm
Benidorm's beach is still beautiful. But now you have ti hire a top-floor suite at the Bali if you want to appreciate just how majestic those twin curves of gold are. Most visitors are left to glimpse it through a thickt of buildings. The beach is cleaned every night by machines which churn up and filter the sand. This system is now used all over Spain. A reecnt newspaper report tells how a woman who fell asleep on a beach was swallowed up by one of the machines. A sign in one, older, beachside hotel overshadowed by the Bali, reminded me thet Benidorm's reputation for the cheap and shoddy would never quite go. ?Clients are reminded that reception has a special thinner available to help you remove grease or tat from your feet', it read.
From the book "Ghosts of Spain" by Giles Tremlett.
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
The edge of a barber's Razor
From the book "Ghosts of Spain" by Giles Tremlett
Monday, June 18, 2007
Day nine
Jazz didn't reply for a moment. 'That's bollocks,' he said finally, which was sadly well below his usual natural wit.
David smiled.
Then Kelly leaned forward and whispered something in David's ear. It was hard to catch, but there was no doubt about what she said. What Kelly said to David was 'I know you.'
Then she leaned back against the side of the tub and looked straight into David's eyes.
David returned her stare, his superior smirk undaunted. he seemed unruffled.
He was about to be ruffled. Very.
For Kelly leaned forward once more and whispered something into David's ear.
Monday, June 4, 2007
Day five
From the book 'Dead famous' by Ben Elton
Saturday, June 2, 2007
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Tuesday, May 29, 2007
Day four
Across the room Moon's bald head poked out from the book she was reading, a book entitled You are Gaia: Fourteen Steps to Becoming the Centre of Your Own Universe.
'It's dead spiritual, this book,'Moon said. 'It's about self- growth and development and personal empowerment, which at the end of the day I'm really into, if you know what I mean, right?'
'Yeah, Moon, wicked. Look, um, have you seen the state of the toilet?'
'What about it?'
'Well, it's not very cool, right? And Dervla and I...'
'I'm not fookin' cleaning it' said Moon. I've been here for four days and ain't even done a poo yet. I'm totally fookin bunged up, me, because I'm not getting my colonic irrigation, and also I reckon the electrical fields from all the cameras are fookin' about with me yin and the yang.'
'Layla's not asking you to clean the toilet, Moon,' said Dervla gently. 'We just think it would be good to organize some of the jobs that have to be done around the house, that's all.'
'Oh. Right. Whatever. I'm chilled either way. But at the end of the day I'm just not scrubbing out other people's shite when I haven't even done . I mean, that would be too fookin' ironic, that would.'
'Well, I don't mind doing heavy work, like lifting and shifting,' said Gazzer the Geezer, pausing in the push-ups that he had been doing pretty continuously since arriving in the house, 'but I ain't cleaning the bog, on account of the fact that I don't mind a dirty bog anyway. Gives you something to aim at when you're having a slash, don't it?
From the book "Dead Famous" by Ben Elton.
Saturday, May 26, 2007
Dervla
'So what's a trauma therapist when it's at home, then?' Garry asked. He and Dervla were stretched out beside the pool in the pleasant aftermath of the morning's champagne.
'Well, I suppose my job is to understand how people react to stress, so that I can help them to deal with it.' Dervla replied in her gentle Dublin brogue. 'That's why I wanted to come on this show. I mean, the whole experience is really just a series of small traumas, isn't it' I think it'll be very interesting to be close to the people experiencing those traumas and also to experience them myself.'
'So it's got nothing to do with winning half a million big ones, then?'
Dervla was far too clever to deny the charge completely. She knew that the nation would almost certainly be scrutinizing her reply that very evening.
'Well, that would be nice, of course. But I'm sure I'll be evicted long before that. No, basically I'm here to learn. About myself and about stress.'
From the book "Dead Famous" by Ben Elton
Thursday, May 24, 2007
Woggle
Woggle had taken up what was to become his habitual position, crouching on the floor in the room's only corner, his bearded chin resting on bony knees which he hugged close to his chest, his great horned dirty toenails poking out from his sandals.
Woggle was dirty in a way that only a person who has just emerged from digging a tunnel can be dirty . He had come straight to join the House Arrest team from his previous home, a 200-metre tunnel under the site of the proposed fifth terminal at Heathrow Airport. Woggle had suggested to Geraldine the Gaoler that perhaps he should take a shower before joining the team, but Geraldine, ever watchful for the elements that could for the elements that could be said to make up 'good telly', assured him that he was fine as he was. 'Just be yourself,'she had said.
'Who's that?' Woggle had replied. 'For I am the sum of all my past lives and those I have yet to live.'
Woggle stank. Digging tunnels is hard physical work and every drop of sweat that he had sweated remained in the fabric of his filthy garments, a motley collection of old bits of combats gear and denim. If Woggle had worn a leather jacket (which, being an animal liberationists, of course he would never do) he would have looked like one of those disgusting old-style hell's angels who never washed their Levi's no matter how often they urinated on them.
'Guy, you are rank!' Jazz continued. 'You are high! Here, man, have a blow on my deodorant before we all get killed of asphyxiation and suffocate to death here!
Woggle demurred, 'I consider all cosmetics to be humanoid affectations, yet one more example of our sad species' inability to accept its place as simply another animal on the planet.'
'Are you on drugs or what?'
'People think that they are superior to animals, and preening and scenting themselves is evidence of that,'Woggle droned with the moral self-assurance of a Buddha, 'but look at a cat's silky coat or a robin's joyful wings. Did any haughty supermodel ever look that good?'
'Too fucking right she did, guy,' said Jazz, who personally used two separate deodorants and anointed his skin daily with scented oils. 'I ain't never gone to sleep dreaming about shagging no cat, but Naomi and Kate are welcome any time.'
Layla spoke up from the kitchen area where she was preparing herbal tea. ? I have some cruelty-free organic cleansing lotions, Woggle, if you'd like to borrow them,'
Layla. Real job: fashion designer and retail supervisor. Star sign: Scorpio.
'They won't be cruelty-free after the plastic bottles end up in a landfill and a seagull gets its beak stuck in one,' Woggle replied.
From the book 'Dead Famous' by Ben Elton
Monday, May 21, 2007
Sally
Gary, all muscles and shaved head, was the next to emerge from the house. On seeing Kelly, soaking wet with her skimpy singlet clinging to her fit young body, he dropped to his knees in mock worship.?Thank you, God' he shouted to the skies. 'Something for the lads! We like that!'
Garry.Real job: van driver. Star sign: Cancer.
'Oh the girls!' Sally shouted back.'You never know, she might play for my team.'
'You a dyke, then?'Garry enquired, turning to her with interest.
'Derr! said Sally, pointing to the front of her vest on which were written the words 'I eat pussy.'
'Oh, is that what it means? I thought it meant you'd just been to a Chinese restaurant!' Garry laughed hugely at his joke, which was to provoke a minor scandal when it was broadcast later that evening, being considered highly bold, provocative and controversial.
Inside the house a bald woman in a leopardskinprint mini-skirt was exploring the living area. 'Check out, guys! There's a welcome basket! Wicked!
Moon. Real job: circus trapeze artiste and occasional lap-dancer. Star sign: Capricorn.
'Fags, chocolate, champagne! Wicked!
'Get stuck in! shouted Garry from the patio doors.
The others quickly assembled around the basket and the four bottles of Sainsbury's own-brand champagne were immediately opened. They all collapsed onto the orange, green and purple couches on which they would lounge for so much of the long days to come.
'Right, since we're chilling out and kicking back, I might as well tell you know,' Moon shouted in her exaggerated Mancunian accent, 'because at the end of the day you're all going to find out anyway. First of all I'm going to win this fookin' game, all fookin' right? So the rest of you bastards can just forget it! All right?' This exhibition of bravado was received with friendly cheers.
'Second, I've done lap-dancing, right? I took money off sad blokes for letting them see me bits. I'm not proud of it, but at the end of the day I was fookin' good at it right?'
This provoked more cheers and shouts of 'Good on you'
'And third. I've had a boob job right? I was right? I was dead unhappy with my self-image before, and my new tits have really empowered me as a person in my own right, right? Which at the end of the day is what it's all about,ain't it? Quite frankly, at the end of the day, I feel that these are the boobs I was supposed to have.'
'Gi's a look, then darling, and I'll tell you if you're right! Gazzer shouted.
'Easy tiger!' Moon Shrieked, revelling in the attention 'Take it easy. we've got nine fookin´weeks in here, don't want to peak too soon. Oh God, though, what have I said? I feel terrible. me mum never knew about me being a stripper, she thinks I'm dead proper, me. Sorry, Mum!
'I've nothing against a bit of cosmetic surgery,' Jazz reflected. I've never regretted my knob reduction, at least now it don't poke out the bottom of me trousers!
The housemates laughed and shrieked and said 'Wicked!' but there were some who laughed more than others. A quiet looking girl with raven-dark hair and green eyes only smiled. Sitting beside her was a rather straight-looking young man dressed in smart but casual Timberland.
Hamish. real job: junior doctor. Star sign : leo
From the book ?Dead Famous' by Ben Elton
Sunday, May 20, 2007
One House
The words punched themselves onto the screen like first slamming into a face.
Frantic, angry rock music accompanied the post punk graphics and the grainy images supporting them.
A spinning hot-head camera.
A barbed wire fence.
A snarling guard dog.
A girl with her back to the camera removing her bra.
A close -up of a mouth , screaming and contorted with rage.
More big guitar noise, More jagged graphics.
Nobody watching could be in the slightest doubt that this was telly from the hip and for the hip. The message was clear: boring people should seek their entertainment elsewhere, but if you happened to be young, bigged up and mad for it, this was the show for you.
Nine weeks. No excuses. No escape.
House. Arrest.
A final blast of swooping feedback- laden guitar and the credits were over.For one last moment the Peeping Tom house was empty and all was calm. A big, bright friendly space, with a wide tiles living area , pleasant communal rooms bedrooms, stainless steel washrooms and showers and a swimming pool in the garden.
The front door opened and ten young people spilled through it, spreading out into the large open plan living area. Ten people who, the pre-publicity had assured the nation, had never met before in their lives.
They whooped, they shrieked, they hugged, they say 'Wicked! over and over again. Some went into the bedrooms and jumped up and down on the beds, others did chin-ups on the door frames, one or two stood back a little and watched, but everybody seemed to be of the opinion tat the adventure of a lifetime had just begun and they simply could not be starting off on it with a more wicked crew.
Having clearly established the fact that the viewing public were in the company of a party crowd, the camera began to introduce the housemates individually.
The first to be picked out was an impossibly handsome young man with soft puppy eyes, boyish features and long shoulder-length hair. He wore a big black coat and carried a guitar. A graphic stamped itself across the man's face, letters made out of bricks, like prison walls.
David. Real job: actor. Star sign : Aries
From the book 'Dead Famous' by Ben Elton
Saturday, May 19, 2007
Jazz fixed Garry with a gaze
'What?'
'You didn't say "bloke", you said "gorilla".'
'Did I? Well, what I mean is gorillas are big and strong, ain't they? Like your lot.'
Over by the kitchen units Layla, the blonde hippie supermodel in her own mind, tossed her fabulous breaded braids in disgust, Inspector Coleridge knew that Layla had tossed her lovely hair in disgust, because the video edit he was watching had cut abruptly to her. There was no way that Peeping Tom was going to miss that snooty little middle-class sneer. Coleridge was quickly coming to realize that Peeping Tom's editorial position was firmly anti intellectual pretension.
'We consider ourselves to be the People's Peeping Tom,' Geraldine was quoted as saying in the article. Clearly she also considered Layla to be a stuck-up, humourless, middle class bitch, for that was how the edit was portraying her.
From the book 'Dead Famous' by Ben Elton
Thursday, May 17, 2007
But the excitement wasn't over
As Hamish gently explored, a phrase suddenly appeared in his fuddled consciousness, a phrase which he remembered from his class on forensic medicine. The phrase was digital penetration.
That's what he was doing now, That was what it would be called if anybody ever knew.
Suddenly Hamish became aware of the appalling risk that he was running. He was committing a serious crime. This crazy drunken improvisation, this sex prank, was assault. He could go to prison.
Hamish began to remove his hand, but reluctantly. And as he did, for a moment he pulled aside the thin, damp gusset of Kelly?s G-string and in that moment, in that one blinding moment of lust, he seriously considered taking his straining, aching erection from inside his own underpants and with it entering Kelly's unconscious body.
The thought lasted only for a moment. Drunk as he was, the terrible, life changing risks that he had already run were clear to him. In fact it was the momentary contemplation if this even grater abuse that truly brought home to Hamish the gravity of what he had already done.
From the book 'Dead Famous' by Ben Elton
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
Day twenty-six
'All I'm trying to do is persuade them to feel each other up and it turns out I'm a champion of minority rights. Anyway, all ethnic and sexual bollocks aside, Dervla will have to get them out for the lads or nobody gets a drink next week.'
Fogarty had to stand up to get her attention. 'Geraldine, we are coercing this girl into taking her clothes off against her wishes.'
'Yes, Bob, we all know that.Why are you standing up ?'
'Because , I think it's morally corrupt.'
(From the book Dead Famous, by Ben Elton)
Monday, May 14, 2007
The last show
All the ingredients were in place for a television spectacular. There were fireworks, weaving searchlights, rock bands, three separate cherry pickers fot three separate trips across the moat. The world's press was there, the baying crowds were there. Ghloe the presenter's wonderful breasts were there, almost entirely on display as they struggled to burst free from the confines of her pink leather bra.
Perhaps the mos intriguingly of all, five out of the six previous evictees were also there. All of the suspects had returned to the scene of the crime.
In fact the ex-housemates were obliged to come back for the final party under the terms of their contracts, but they would probably have come anyway. The lure of fame remained as strong as ever, and with the exception of Woggle, who had jumped bail, Peeping Tom had assembled them all. Even Layla had made the effort and spruced herself up, as had David, Hamish, Sally (who got a huge cheer when she entered, walking slowly but on the way to recovery) and Moon.
Extrac from the book "Dead Famous"
Saturday, April 14, 2007
Extract from DEAD FAMOUS by Ben Elton
Sunday, February 18, 2007
Extract from Ben Elton's 'Dead Famous'
Back at work ? It was incredible. Terrible. Devastating.
During all the time she had been in the house, and indeed ever since she had recieved the thrilling news that she had been selected to join the House Arrest team, Layla had hardly dared to think of what she would be doing three days after leaving. Of course, she had allowed herself to dream a little and in her wildest fantasies had imagined herself juggling offers to model gorgeous clothes and to present exciting television programes about beauty products and alternative culture. In her worst moments of fear and doubt she had feared being lampooned in the tabloids and having to go on radio chat shows to defend her dippy-hippie ways. What she never ever imagined, however , was that she would be going back to work
The book "Dead Famous" by Ben Elton
There it has been a murder in the show, and the police is reviewing all the recorded programmes in order to look for any kind of trace that could lead to find the assassin.
The book describes the show from inside, the manipulation that the contenders suffer from the editors and management of the television, how everything that appears in the homes screen has been set up before the exhibition. How the programme is focused to gain the attention of the viewers. Even the show is absolute rubbish, it only pretends to entertain and catch as much people as possible, to ensure the publicity paying for it. In a word is absolute business, despite de gossip and morbiness kept around the contestants of the programme.