Naboo Turned His Back On Me

I got my wish. I was part of the show. Not only did I have Evil Cockney urine splashed over me, I was selected as Naboo’s mortal enemy. Howard described me as ‘terribly average man’, Vince called me a freak, Bolo gave me warnings and eventually, Naboo turned his back on me. At least Bob Fossil remained silent on the matter. At the interval I got a text from Matt saying: ‘Naboo hates you. Shaman vs. Shaman.’

It was a wonderful night. The Boosh was fantastic, Surreal Girl’s company a joy as ever and we even managed to round off the night with an OK Thai meal. It’s now early morning and I’m enjoying a cup of tea and a gift from Surreal Girl – some sort of delicious, lovely homemade chocolate cake that she slipped to me in a funky dragonfly box. Given all this, I’m trying to push aside some of my turmoil and just relish this little slice of happiness.

Pout of Doom

Come with us now on a journey through time and space to the world of
The Mighty Boosh... Yes, tonight Surreal Girl and I are going to see The Mighty Boosh live! To say I am excited... The bill matter for tonight’s show reads:

‘See all the characters from the cult BBC show as they parade about in
front of your naked eyes for a small fee. Witness Mr. Susan the cloth
beast as he brandishes his miraculous mirror balls for you enjoyment.
Recoil in fear at the evil cockney hitchhiker. Marvel at the uncanny
skills of Naboo the Enigma as he hypnotizes you into buying
merchandise after the show. Dance against your will as Old Gregg, the
sea transsexual, lures you with his pout of doom. You will witness music,
dancing and men talking to each other in wigs. You will laugh, cry and
learn French. You will be changed forever and yet be exactly the same.
The Boosh is loose, see it or throw your eyes in the bin.’

I do believe as a hoary old Howard Moon, I am at serious risk from that pout of doom. Surreal Girl has made me solemnly promise that I will protect her from any attempt to drag her onto the stage – a possibility given our front row seats. However, as a total old tart, I’ll seize any chance to be roped into the show. I’ve not felt the frisson of potential audience participation as strong since I was four and I prayed to my God that Sooty would ask me to come on stage to help him perform some magic tricks and say: ‘Izzy Whizzy, let’s get busy!’

'Tutto è Mafia in Italia'

It was back to working on the book today. This has meant sorting the running order of chapters and trying to allocate the position of text boxes. I’m happy with the structure as we now start with the Italian Mafia – ‘Tutto è mafia in Italia’ (Everything in Italy is Mafia), finishing with Key Figures – Great Train Robber Tommy Wisbey saying: ‘There’s no such thing as the underworld – just known criminals. I’m also pleased to see that my editor is planning on the basic of both using my Introduction and having an Index compiled. She has also spotted that I’m 8,900 words over the 100,000 limit, but that should not be too much of a problem.

Allocating the text boxes is as much a creative as logical problem. Does the mini-piece on prostitution work best work best in context of the Russian Mafiya chapter of slotted into the entry on organized crime in France and the porcelain-masked prostitutes’ protest? Does highlighting people trafficking give more to an entry on the 14K or the Nigerian Syndicates? Picture balance, pace and spread impact also come into the process. I always knew there were reasons I have never designed a book to feature text boxes before.

Like Multicoloured Spandex Mirrors

Twist sent me over his latest column. It is a typically good piece, this time looking at how superhero comics reflect American involvement in Iraq. It has all of his trademark geekdom, spot-on insight and good turns of phrase – my favourite being ‘like multicoloured spandex mirrors’. I tend to disagree with analysis of Ultimates, but agree about Marvel’s bravery in doing the current storyline less than five years after 9/11. For copyright reasons, I cannot reproduce the column here, but if I can remember, I’ll try and post a link to the London Free Press when it gets published in a few days time.

Taking an In-between Day

Despite the pain, I feel better today. Some of that is from having quenched the sparks from a clash of wills I had on Saturday. I have learnt never to be angry for more than a few minutes with those I love and care for, but dispelling the miasma that can arise between two stubborn people is always a relief. Some of the feeling better comes from taking an in-between day.

Having received some money from the publisher at last and having set aside money for unpleasant eventualities, I found myself with a few spare pounds. It is much easier to be generous when you do not have much, so I decided to split a few hundred between self-indulgence and charity.

Half of the money I donated went straight to Macmillan Cancer Relief whilst the rest has gone to Amnesty and reforestation projects in Borneo and Scotland. Before any reader thinks ill of me, I do not believe in reforesting Scotland for anti-Scot reasons. My desire to see the return of the great forest of Caledon is held for the same reasons I want to see radical reforestation in England and across the whole planet.

A few pounds has also gone towards my soon to be launched one-man campaign against extraordinary rendition. Even in hospital I figure I can still write some letters to certain individuals whose names have not made the papers yet, but which sources have given me leads on. I think it is only fair to remind them of how the Rome Statute of the International Criminal Court defines the crime against humanity of ‘enforced disappearance of persons’ and how when I get well enough, I damn well intend to start investigating them.

My indulgence amounted to a cheap pair of non-black jeans (I needed them as the weight loss has meant I’ve dropped a waist size), some socks (you can never have enough socks), postage for overdue presents to people such as J, a Doctor Who toy (I refuse to let the inner child in my die just yet) and a day at the cinema.

As Surreal Girl had said, Syriania is good, but emotionally unsatisfying. I also saw V For Vendetta again. A second viewing allowed to watch it as a film, divorced from its origins. It is still a deeply flawed, but the bloody courage it has is inspiring. It is totally mainstream and was the number one movie in America. A number one film in which the hero is a terrorist. A film in which the victims of Larkhill wear black hoods and orange jumpsuits. A film in which America is described as an ‘ulcerated sphincter’. A film in which the fear of terrorism and ‘the different’ is the ultimate social control device.

Beyond that bravery, it also has its beautiful moments. The whole Valerie subplot is as striking, heartbreaking and moving as it was when Moore conceived it. Natasha Wightman brings a fantastic believability and grace to her role, Sinéad Cusack’s acting moment is sublime and Stephen Fry is understated but terribly effective throughout. For all of its many failings and insanely bad elements, it is a film worth watching because courage and tenderness should always be rewarded.

Tomorrow I’ve got a clutch of I ignored emails from the editor and the picture editor to knuckle down to, but for tonight I can drink green tea and reread some Chomsky and Steph Swainton.

A Croatian Rap Star Writes

The pleasant foreign emails continue to arrive. Today, a Croatian rap star writes: ‘My songs are full of sex and provocative themes, but your work is, as I read, a far more important. You get on the nerves of some really big names of politics. I like that. I will be very sad if your illness gets stronger. You must get stronger not the illness. I will get you my positive energy so that you'll beat that devil in your body. Stay cool.’

'It's a shame that you are not a woman'

Since starting this blog and putting the inside.knowledge@gmail.com eddress in Secrets & Lies, I have enjoyed a pleasing stream of odd emails. It can be a little difficult to know how to respond to some of my foreign readers because I am sure something often gets lost in translation. A case in point would be this email: ‘Tell your illness to go fuck himself, tell your ex girlfriend that she can go to hell. You will write some new excellent book. It's a shame that you are not a woman, a gorgeous black woman, because we could get married.’ If nothing else, I think I am flattered.

Bombing Bluewater

As tends to happen when you have worked with the security services, the secrets you know and are meant to guard soon become outdated. This is certainly the case with what I was told about ‘bombing Bluewater’. Today I feel like an ancient Number Six, wandering around The Village long after his extraordinary rendition has served any useful purpose.

As the trial of the seven alleged terrorists continues at the Old Bailey, I see the prosecution has started to talk about their possible targets including the Bluewater complex. I wonder how much more is going to come out. As it stands, the security service either gave me a very misleading briefing or the prosecution is presenting a lot less information to the jury than it made available to me.

Of course, this case is always going to be something of a sore point with me as it was the plan to bomb Bluewater and Lakeside that saw my name on the front page of the Sunday Times on November 30th, 2003. I was spinning when I was quoted as saying: “They are a potential target. There are lots of potential targets. In terms of soft targets, anywhere the public gathers could be a potential.” Yes, I knew which shopping centres terrorist planners wanted to attack when I said that we had not been given any warnings over specific targets. That was pushing it. We had not been given specific warnings only because the security service operation would prevent any attack. It was not a direct lie, but I always felt it was a lie of omission. I always felt terible over mangling the truth like that.

I had been asked to take that line by the security services because: “Unnecessarily alarming the public is a terrorist victory.” As there was nothing to suggest the public were at any immediate risk, I kept my mouth shut.

MI5 of course did not. It arranged for the leak about Bluewater being on the bombers list. According to some of my contacts within the organisation, this was done purely to increase the level of fear in order to gather support for unpopular restrictions on civil liberties, such as ID cards.

To wake on a Sunday morning to find your name on the front page and realise that you are better at keeping secrets than MI5 – but nowhere near as good at lying – is an odd experience. Even to a world-weary former journalist such as myself, it was out of the usual range.

It was a classic security service butt-fuck. I did what I was asked to do and they used that to hang me out dry whilst they pushed forward a hidden agenda. What did I expect? I was stupid and naïve to think that playing by their rules was the right thing to do. I thought I was playing their game to try to prevent the terrorists getting a fear victory. I believed that not panicking people when the security services were clearly able to prevent the planned Bluewater bombing operation from ever happening was serving the public good. I forgot that Five and SIS do not always play their games with the same purpose.

The Universe Quivers

I had a heart-warming email from Stephen today. It seems that everything is going to be OK. He has told me: ‘You will recover from your illness, get back to town, get a wee lass and be happy. Whether you fucking like it or not!’ When Stephen decrees like that, the universe quivers, so I feel eminently raised. I just feel better for having him watching my back and kicking my arse.

I also had an email from Surreal Girl that casually told me I was going to be better by June. Her confidence that I’m going to be OK was also cheering. I am surprised by how buoyed up ahead of tomorrow’s medical tests I feel.

That Middle-class Disco

Despite the unremitting ponciness factor of G2, it does sometimes contain a bit of breathtaking writing that justifies the tree damage. Today’s piece on Modernism by JG Ballard was just spitting with insights and strong lines. To my mind, one acceptable definition of a good sentence is that once you have read it, you can never look at the thing it describes in the same way again. Forever changed is the Tate Modern – described by Ballard as ‘that middle-class disco’.

I read my first Ballard in the school library. It must have been the 1983 edition of New Worlds: An Anthology. As well as introducing me to Ballard it also contained Pamela Zoline’s The Heat Death Of The Universe – the short story with the single most shocking description of a colour I’ve ever read in a piece fiction. How the book escaped the school librarian’s censorship I don’t know, but I’m glad it did. It was one of those books that helped intoxicate me with beauty of language, made me appreciate it as something more than a means of sharing ideas.

V For Vendetta

My last day out before the curtain comes down for a while. I had a choice of two films. Syriania or V For Vendetta. I was torn, but the comic book-loving, anti-ponce in me won out.

Oh dear, oh dear. V For Vendetta is an insanely bad movie of a very good book.

However, it is an intensely brave film. In fact, it is ridiculously courageous for a mainstream action movie. It should not be bold to talk about the justifiable, symbolic rationale for the explosive destruction of landmark buildings. It should not be bold to call the ideas that inspire terrorism 'bulletproof'. But of course these days it is. That Stephen Fry’s character ultimately gets shot not for being gay, but for having a copy of the Koran in his house, is deliriously daring for Hollywood.

Everything being set in England and not having one American voice in the film makes it somewhat safer, but it still takes balls for any studio-suckling scriptwriter to include the line: ‘Everything fell apart as America’s wars kept getting bigger.’ Yet for all that, anyone who has read the original comics will recoil with a shudder as punch after punch gets pulled or fails to find its intended target.

It would take several hundred words to explain why the film V For Vendetta is nowt but a tawdry impostor to Moore’s marvellous work of the same name. It would take even more words to catalogue the numerous, woeful problems that leave it drowning in the mire. However, those are words for another day. One question I do want answered, why the hell did the Wachowski brothers decided to name check Southend and make it pivotal to an introduced plot element? You have to worry somewhat when your obscure hometown finds itself stolen by the Matrix magpies.

Throbbing Like A Ladytron Remix

I have had to turn down a request to travel to Belgrade in the role of parapolitics talking head. As much as I would love to hold forth on Serbian TV with my views on the nature of conspiracy and the incongruities surrounding the death of Slobodan Milošević, my health will not let me.

Aside from the need to go back into hospital next week, the pain is too bad for me to undertake the journey. Whilst I could have got around the passport probem, there is no escape from the fact I am not even breathing in an approximation of normality at the moment. There is no way I can even contemplate going into London whilst the monster inside me is throbbing like a Ladytron remix. It is frightening how quickly I have degenerated in the last few days.

Help Elvis With His Spelling

I had a fantastic abusive email today from michael.jurisevic@hotmail.com I am reproducing it and my reply for your distraction. I am not in any way advocating that any reader should attempt to help Elvis with his spelling.


Mr.Southwell,
Just leafed through your book Secrets and Lies (it wasn’t worth reading
through) and it is easily the most moronic collection of garbage I can
remember reading. It is also crap as a peice of writing.

How you managed to convince a publisher to sink money into this puerile
exercise is beyond me.

Regards, Elvis Presley

P.S Thanks for not reveiling my current address in your book


Dear Michael 'Elvis Presley' Jurisevic,

Thank you so much for your email. I so enjoy bile. It gives me a great
deal of satisfaction that the leafing through the book made you so
annoyed that you bothered to read the acknowledgements and let me know
how you felt about it. All feedback, both positive and negative can be
wonderfully instructive. It is just a shame you could not have been
more specific. It is so much more useful when people can pinpoint what
in my work provokes a strong reaction.

I am sorry that that it is beyond you to understand my ability to
convince a publisher to print, distribute and translate my work in
half a dozen languages across several territories. If it was within
your understanding, you might have your own books published - which I
am sure I would enjoy leafing through. Once you do gather an
understanding of the publishing process, it might help if you also mastered the use of a spellchecker. I am sorry, but I don't credit you with the irony to
understand why 'It is also crap as a peice (sic) of writing' is such a
funny sentence, especially when you call my work moronic.

With warm regards,

David Southwell

P.S. I never have any intention of reveiling (sic) anyone’s current address, let alone revealing yours.

Dancehall Fire Panic

I have a hospital appointment tomorrow at 6pm. They cleared the decks for me when they heard what was happening. Things at the moment are not looking good. I am trying hard to disintegrate at the news. I’ll go in, tests will be done. I’ll be out next morning at latest and enjoying Tropfest in the evening. Treatment can follow later. That is what I am telling myself anyway. However, the fear is already building. I can feel it coming on. Dancehall fire panic. Hammering on the firedoors trying to escape.

The HTML Fairy

I feel like the cobbler in the Grimm brothers’ tale. I go to sleep and I wake up to find that the HTML fairy (as Mary Ann is officially known in the acknowledgements of Organized Crime) has performed her magic. The archives now work and something called the RSS feed now feeds (as an idiot boy, I think this means readers can now be kept alerted automatically when this blog is updated). All of this is jolly wonderful and I’m deeply grateful. My life is frustrating enough without fighting with code and I consider myself very lucky having fairy help.

A Good Position Just Behind Brian May of Queen

Got hold of the Carlton/Andre Deutsch/Prion Autumn 2006 catalogue. It is always interesting to see how your publisher is promoting your book within the trade. In the catalogue my The History of Organized Crime gets a nice full-page and a good position just behind Brian May of Queen and Patrick Moore’s joint book on astrophysics. I love the variant cover design of Organized Crime and I am more than happy with the bill matter as my name is above the title in a good font size. Above and beyond vanity, this sort of subtle, ridiculous stuff surrounding bill matter is important, or at least important to agents. My book certainly looks a better product than The History of Espionage that they are still pushing with my name attached as its author.

They are advertising Organized Crime with the vastly optimistic publication date of September 4th. If I were around, it would certainly be a good time to have a proper launch – ideally at Murder One. My reasons for wanting an early publication are not entirely selfish. I am becoming increasingly worried about my grandfather and I know he is dearly looking forward to reading the book. It would good if he gets to do that.