A sleep has rid these bones of the aches and shivers brought on by two days in a cramped recording studio and other associated duties of a man employed by others for tasks not of his own choosing. Damn it all to hell and back. This is no life for a monkey. Not even a handsome monkey with an artificial mane culled from the heads of Taiwanese virgins.
I'm now bound to a different kind of desk; one piled high with good books and assorted manuscripts of my own terribly overactive imagination. To tell you the truth, I'm feeling quite relieved this morning that friends haven't exposed confidences. I've just chuckled my way through the first of Stephen Fry's podcasts. Not that I found his quite obvious pain funny. I was merely relieved that our adventures together had been compressed down to his confession that he 'spent time with friends'. I'd been sent a warning earlier in the week that the podcast would be appearing but my work commitments stopped me writing about it as I normally would. If my first thought was a quite selfish one about exposed confidences, my second was the worry that there would be many more contradictions from the version of the Great Man's story I'd already published. In the end, I think our two narratives join neatly together. Indeed, as neatly as two pieces of bone held together by screws and plates. The only point where our stories diverge is in the moment of the accident. Naturally, Stephen displays Stephen's usual forgiving nature and lays no blame at the hand or flipper of the manatee. I think we all know different and should continue to show our support for the man by continuing our reverse boycott, by buying all goods made from the manatee.
Listening to Stephen has also given me new ambitions. The last two days of hard work pales when one considers Stephen's schedule. I would offer to take some of his duties from him but I fear he's protective of the little niche he's made for himself as the nation's most ubiquitous fitting, suitably for schedules both evening and daytime; bathrooms and kitchens too, I imagine.
All of which has inspired me – if that's the right phrase – to be more productive. There's nothing like a spell of toil to stiffen the resolve. That's why this is a shorter than normal post from me today. I have something much larger I want to work on. You may get to see it in good time. You might not. I might release it anonymously to the underground and let it become a cult classic among bikers and university drop-outs. Do I hear you ask me about a title? Well isn't that obvious?
'This is no life for a monkey.'