Friday, January 19, 2007

Aides' memoirs

Her Royal Highness, Princess of Darkness, has had to let go of an aide. This is a difficult time and a difficult decision for any candidate and I sympathise fully. Indeed I have had to let go of two aides (Teeny and Weeny) to write this, and I'm regretting the decision already (although they still seem to be holding on to each other in an interesting way).
I have also had to dismiss my former campaign finance manager, The Nerde, for conduct unbecoming. I note that he has now signed a five-figure book deal for his diary of the campaign.
Et tu Nerde?
Dark days indeed
LibEgFrat to you all
Thank you all for your attention
Victor

6 comments:

Peter Rarebit said...

From the office of Peter Rarebit of Rarebit, Cerk, Maberme (offices London, Paris and Moscow)

Dear Mr. Latrine,

I had wondered why you had not replied to my previous correspondence. However, as it is now apparent the Brown-Staynmarx sisters are again in your employ, the reason has become evident.

I must admit that I was surprised when Teeny found it quite hard to keep a straight face when giving me her account of the chestnut incident and my suspicion that she might have in fact led you on was confirmed when she agreed with alacrity to the suggestion that she allow the procedure to be repeated for legal identification purposes in the chambers of a certain High Court Judge, where it was, after some considerable debate among the rather illustrious gathering of the bar who had been summoned there, duly pronounced to be incontrovertibly in defiance of a statue brought in by Oliver Cromwell in the time of the Commonwealth in 1655.

However, you can inform Teeny and Weeny that in view of the fact that they have clearly both freely entered into some kind of contractual relationship with you again, that there is no chance of us bringing a successful lawsuit against yourself. Sadly, this also probably dashes their hopes of successfully reviving their music career. And I must lay aside my ambitions of becoming a lyric writer for the modern age. Please do tell them though they are still welcome to use the two lines that I penned for the second verse of the ‘We are the Chestnut Girls - Hot! Hot! Hot! What a lot we've got’ song.

You may be interested to know that I called in on the The Nerde at the Macdonald Randolph Hotel, Oxford where I found him sampling a claret in the Norse Bar. He struck me as being a rather misunderstood man. When he raised his ‘Go Victor Go’ mug that you sent him and said ‘To Latrine and the Presidency’ I found myself having to wipe a tear from my eye at the sheer sincerity of the man.

The arrival of a bearded fellow in dark glasses, who started asking whispered questions in broken English at the bar, produced a certain amount of agitation in The Nerde, who promptly held up his copy of the Financial Times in front of his face.

Various elements of the fracas that followed you may have read about in some of the national press. As always though our ink-stained friends from the gutter cannot, in any way, be relied on to report correctly on such events. I, myself, gave an entirely accurate statement to the police on behalf of The Nerde, who was duly released from custody after a phone-call from my friend in the judiciary who had co-incidentally seen Teeny’s demonstration earlier in the week.

The Nerde is now in hiding, in some comfort, in a safe establishment arranged and paid for by myself and is busy writing his memoirs of his involvement in your campaign for The Old Closet and Earthen Privy Press, which is apparently owned by an old and trusted friend of his.

I wish you well in your campaign and trust that Teeny and Weeny will be safe in your hands.

Yours etc.

Peter Rarebit

Anonymous said...

you are totaly bonkers

adam wright

Ivor Trouser-Snake said...

Dear Mr. Latrine,

My name is Ivan Trouser-Snake and I am currently writing my PhD in Political Science. Or rather I am supposed to be, but I am short of funds and short of ideas for that matter. So my Godfather, Peter Rarebit, has suggested that I help his new friend The Nerde to write his memoirs of his part in your campaign.

I would love to come and visit you and ask you a few questions both about politics, as that’s my subject and of course about The Nerde as I am officially doing research for him.

I gather that you have the Brown-Staynemarx sisters – Teeny and Weeny - lending you a hand. I am a great fan of their work and was actually at the Top of the Pops session when they got to Number 1 with “Touch me There, If you Dare.” I was just a young man of 21 at the time and I wasn’t quite sure what the song was all about but they sang it in a very sexy way. But they must have good brains in their heads as well as otherwise they wouldn’t be working for you, would they? Could have a few words with them too? Peter Rarebit says they nearly made a comeback single but that you spoiled it. That can’t be right surely?

This is all very exciting. I can’t wait to meet you and the girls in the flesh.

Yours truly

Ivor Trouser Snake

Ps My French isn’t very good. Will it matter?

Ivan and Ivor Trouser-Snake said...

Dear Mr. Latrine,

Sorry that bit up there got a bit muddled up as there are in fact two of us. We are twins – Ivan and Ivor. Ivan wrote the first bit and Ivor the second bit.

Can we both come and visit you? That’s me, Ivan, who doing the PhD and, me, Ivor that went to Top of the Pops. Sometimes it makes us sound more interesting if we mix bits of our lives up together. We sometimes try and fool girls this way, like that gynaecologist played by Jeremy Irons in that film, but it doesn’t usually work that well as we tend to get a bit muddled.

The Nerde said we might be able to pick up a few tips from you about how to handle girls. After all French is the language of love and when you are President we could have virtually any French girl we wanted if we had helped you, couldn’t we?

Please do let us come and visit. Next Thursday would be good as The Nerde says he would like us out of the way that day.

Yours even more truly than before

Ivan and Ivor Trouser-Snake

Ivan & Ivor Trouser-Snake said...

Dear Mr. Latrine,

I know we promised never to contact you again but we thought we better write and apologise. We really didn’t mean to scare you. And, yes, we have been warned before that our appearance can be a bit alarming.

It was Ivor’s idea to come down a day early as he hoped we might see something interesting going on in the campaign headquarters. But when we got there all the lights were off and a note stuck to the door saying ‘Gone to the Pub – see you there’.

Well we drove around for a bit and visited several hostelries and had a few drinks looking for you and then we found the Fluffy Fox and the Furry Ferret Inn. Ivan was buying our drinks when we overheard the conversation in the Snug. It was all about Gas Monopolies and then someone made a joke about Johnny Hallyday and we realised that it must be one of your focus groups. But what was strange was that, even though we could see through the service hatch into the Snug, we couldn’t see you. So we decided to follow one of the men into the Gents.

The man was standing having a pee in the central urinal so we stood either side of him. Ivan said “Do you, by any chance, know Victor Latrine?” and the man looked up at Ivan and screamed. As I know that it can be scary for some people when they first see Ivan as he is six foot eight and has a somewhat oversized head, I said “Please don’t be frightened. We mean you no harm.” The man then turned to look at me. I know that I am a little taller than Ivan but most people say that my head is smaller and my face less intimidating, but the man just fell backwards in a dead faint.

We thought it best to get him up off the floor as it was a bit dirty and pissy down there so we picked the man up and propped him up in the sit-down cubicle and Ivor went off to the Snug to tell the focus group what had happened.

Really, Mr. Latrine, we didn’t realise it was you. You must have shaved off your yellow hair. And we do see that it wasn’t very nice for you to regain consciousness to hear the end of that joke that one of your focus group was telling about you having found your proper station in life. And we do forgive you for the remarks that you made to us about you thinking that we were the figment of some poor schizophrenic’s imagination. And we felt truly concerned when you held your head in your hands and said “Some people hear voices, but I am seeing the crazed products of my own imagination.”

You are not going mad Victor: we are real.

Ivan & Ivor Trouser-Snake

Eva Schitter said...

From Eva Schitter, The Old Closet and Earthen Privy Press

Dear Victor Latrine,

A rather sad set of circumstances causes me to write to you.

Earlier this week I was contacted at my home, in Switzerland, by a certain Peter Rarebit, who informed me that an elderly English relative of mine, Harry Balzac, had died and that I was his only heir. It was explained to me that not only had I inherited Harry’s charming cottage in the Cotswolds but that I was also now the sole owner of his publishing business, The Old Closet and Earthen Privy Press. Mr. Rarebit was keen that I come to England immediately as apparently Harry had, just prior to his death, signed a rather large contract for a volume of political memoirs.

This contract was made with a man who goes by the name of The Nerde, who was your campaign manager until recently. It appears that The Nerde visited Harry on the evening prior to his death. Judging by the 3 bottles of empty LĂ©oville-Barton, St Julien 2000, the consumption of alcohol may have helped The Nerde to persuade Harry to sign the deal. However, the note which Harry wrote to himself the next morning in which he makes a solemn vow never to meet or even speak to The Nerde again, indicates that is very clear that Harry regretted what he had done. Indeed, I believe that the stress caused by this encounter may have led to Harry’s death. We will not know for certain though, whether it was suicide or a tragic accident until the police have finished their investigations.

All my attempts to contact The Nerde have so far failed. He is apparently in hiding in some place arranged Mr. Rarebit, whose role in all of this I am beginning to suspect is not entirely honourable.

This morning I was just in the process of locking up the cottage to return to the saner sanctuary of my farmhouse in Emmanthal, when a taxi drew up. The two very tall young men wearing ‘Go Victor Go’ t-shirts, who emerged from the vehicle, introduced themselves as Ivan and Ivor Trouser-Snake. They had brought with them a very slim document entitled “VICTOR LATRINE – MY PART IN HIS SUCCESS/FAILURE/MADNESS/ADVENTURES/INSANITY BY THE NERDE.” Although, the few thousand words of text were poorly written, as they had apparently been dictated by The Nerde to Ivan the previous evening, I could see that given some careful editing and more material the book does have some promise.

I somewhat disappointed Ivan by telling him that I did not feel that there was as yet enough material in the book to warrant the payment of the agreed 5 figure sum.

It was while wiping away the tears of the twins, brought on by the prospect of returning to The Nerde without a cheque, that the following idea occurred to me. Why don’t I come and visit you? In my youth I was well-known for a certain act that I performed in select establishments in my native land with the cheese for which my district is famed for. There are some elements of the act which are not dissimilar to the chestnut trick, which I gather you induced a certain young lady, known as Teeny, to take part in. I do realise that the attractions of a more mature female may not hold such an appeal for you Mr. Latrine as your young assistants, but, I can assure you, that you will experience something with me you have never read of even dreamed of. Sometimes it can be wise to make a different choice from the menu that life proffers us.

Then, after we have partaken of our pleasures, you could perhaps supply me with a few details with which we could enliven the The Nerde's book.

What say you, Mr. Latrine, to this proposal?

Yours in anticipation

Eva Schitter