Mr. Grumpy

Today I am Mr. Grumpy. Part of this is down to the fact I am experiencing some pain. The rest is due to the asinine BBC journalist who rang me at 5:30am.

I thought the days of the BBC ringing me at a time on Sunday when everyone should still be in bed to pester me to be interviewed on a radio news show had finished when I left spin-doctoring. However, the continuing viral like spread of Litvinenko across the news agenda has rudely disavowed of the idea that the BBC would never again be an unwanted caller.

Once the fog of sleep had cleared enough for me to answer basic questions such as my name and understand that I was talking to a member of the BBC new steam, the conversation sped into the realms of Bizarro.

BBC Journalist: “Sorry to wake you.”
Mr. Grumpy: “No you’re not. You never are.”
BBC Journalist: “Are you an Arsenal fan?”
Mr. Grumpy: “I’m sorry. I don’t understand. Yes, yes. I am an Arsenal fan. Why?”
BBC Journalist: “Did you know Alexander Litvenko?”
Mr. Grumpy: “Oh shit.* Sorry. Yes, sort of.”

At this point Mr. Grumpy is now more awake than if he just mainlined several shots of espresso.

BBC Journalist: “Do you know anything about Litvenko’s death and the link to Emirates Stadium?

At this point there was a long silence. The journo probably took this as some sign of guilt when in fact it was the sound of having my jaw drop.

BBC Journalist: “When did you last meet Mr. Litvenko?”
Mr. Grumpy: “I didn’t. We only ever communicated over the phone and email. I’m sorry, where did you get this idea we met?”
BBC Journalist: “But you did know him?”
Mr. Grumpy: “Sorry, where is your information coming from?”
BBC Journalist: “A source suggested you met Mr. Litvenko and that you might know something about the radiation testing of the Emirates Stadium.
Mr. Grumpy: “Your source is wrong.”
BBC Journalist: “You knew him. You talk about him on your blog. According to Wiki you worked with MI5.”
Mr. Grumpy: “Wiki is not exactly an impeccable source.”
BBC Journalist: “What did you talk to Mr. Litvenko about?”
Mr. Grumpy: “Lots of things. Mainly the Mafiya, the Solntsevo Syndicate, corruption and dead journalists.”
BBC Journalist: “Who killed him?”
Mr. Grumpy: “Excuse me?”
BBC Journalist: “Who killed him?”
Mr. Grumpy: "Surely that is a question you should ask the police?”
BBC Journalist: “You knew him. Who do you think did it?”
Mr. Grumpy: “Not those everyone seems to be blaming.”
BBC Journalist: “Can you come in for an interview?”
Mr. Grumpy: “No.”
BBC Journalist: “We can send a car.”
Mr. Grumpy: “No.”

At this point the BBC journo went into undignified begging mode, alternating from plaintive pleading to barely veiled anger. After a minute or two of this, I told him I was going back to sleep and ended the call.

He ran back to point out that as I was already up it would be no hardship to come into Wood Lane and to ask me again to reconsider. I was tempted to explain I was keeping a low profile due to the death threat made against me. To tell him I was feeling like crap with pain. To explain I am no longer a meejah hor, that I feel unease commenting on Litvinenko’s murder and refuse to be a ghoul like some other self-declared experts who are feeding on his corpse for five minutes self-publicity. I was temped to say all these things, but because today I am Mr. Grumpy Bastard, I simply told him to: “Piss off.”

I know, not professional, but sometimes you have to talk tabloid to make yourself clear to a hack.

* Not the thing an experienced spin-doctor should ever say – even if they are still half-asleep.