'Monty Python is mocking, but there are those that are not laughing’

This morning when I switched on, the Inbox contained scans of my appearance in Vikend, a Slovenian publication with a circulation of 232,000 which is part of both Delo* and Slovenske novice. They gave me a spread, which I find a rather bizarre.

It certainly presents something of an odd sight. For a start, there I am on the blue bridge, hair flowing and looking mildly aggressive in one of Nicola’s publicity shots from last summer. Below me are photos of a Masonic handshake and the reverse of the Great Seals of the United States as seen on a one-dollar bill.

My Slovenian is restricted to ordering beers and a bit of swearing, but it appears a vague translation of the headline running across two pages is: 'Monty Python is mocking, but there are those that are not laughing’. Dosjeji zarot gets name-checked and if Mladinska knjiga had any decency they would owe me a favour for the mention they get.

There is also another of Nicola’s pictures – me sitting on the steps of a barge – used on the index page. This leads to nice coincidence of me in an eyepatch and wearing a black Captain America T-shirt positioned next to a shot of Toby Maguire in the black Spiderman costume. It looks like a piece of skilled Marvel product placement.

The email that accompanied the scans contained the line: ‘Sorry I could not get you on the cover, Spiderman is a tough one to beat!’ As if I would mind not getting a cover when Spidey in black is around. They certainly know how to tickle a meejah hor in Ljubljana.



*This reminds me of the old saying from the former Yugsalvia that in terms of the leading papers the Slovenes prefer work (Delo), Serbs politics (Politika) and Montenegrins warfare (Pobjeda – victory).

Slovenian Meejah Hor

I have agreed to do some more publicity for the Freemasons On Trial documentary, but only because it is publicity for Slovenia. The countries that emerged from the Yugoslav Wars of Dissolution have a special place in my personal history. I get a certain kick out of being translated into Slovenian, Serbian, Croatian, Bosniak, Montenegrin, Macedonian and Albanian, (that list alone should tell you an awful lot about the Dissolution Wars).

This means that when I get an interview request for ‘the most read Slovenian print medium’ and it ends ‘I send you best regards from Slovenia’ I feel like being incredibly helpful. I am not sure whether I can be classed as a Slovenian Meejah hor as there is no money or other discernible benefit to myself involved in giving an interview*. Still, I am sure it will give my Slovenian acquaintances something to chuckle about.

*Dosjeji Zarot is still in print in Slovenia, but neither Kid Dork nor I are getting any royalties.

Spouting Incoherently About Freemasonry

In the end I did do a little publicity for the première of Freemasons On Trial in India. How could I refuse an interview to a Mumbai news organisation that began with the question: ‘How did this community originate and what is the grave suspense that surrounds this community?’

Grave suspense? How could I refuse a feed line like that?

The documentary premières in this country on April 1st. I will not be doing any publicity for it in the British Isles. For those readers of this blog who want to see a bloated, long-haired, one-eyed author/meejah hor in a leather trenchcoat, filmed against a South London wall spouting incoherently about Freemasonry in an Essex barrow boy accent on what otherwise could look like a 100 minutes of pro-Freemasonry propaganda, tune you boxes to National Geographic Channel at 10pm.

Hindi Subtitles Across the Bottom of the Screen to Explain my Essex Barrow Boy Accent

For those of you who read this blog and happen to be in India on March 25th, I should warn you not to watch National Geographic Channel India as it is premièring one of my Meejah hor performances. They have even cheekily asked me to do publicity for the tawdry Freemasons On Trial documentary.

Going from back street South London shoots to the living rooms of Haryana does makes me realize certain elements of my life are somewhat unusual. Unfortunately I do not think they are dubbing me or floating Hindi subtitles across the bottom of the screen to explain my Essex barrow boy accent. Even I would have been interested in seeing that.

The Fame Meme

Long ago – certainly before I hit 22 – I lost the desire to be famous. This may have something to do with my narrowly failed attempt to become the sidekick to Nobby The Sheep on a TV show called Ghost Train. Just as many alcoholics have a moment of cold moment of sober realisation allowing them to realise the destructive arc of their addiction, being down to the last few candidates hoping to be partnered with a rubber ram sporting a green mohican and a BLJ, I understood just how fucked up the fame meme is. Even though I told myself that I wanted to be known so that I could further my own creative projects, I had been possessed by the idea that any level of public recognition equated to success. This is of course bollocks. Being the associate of TV puppet could only be defined as an achievement if your previous occupation was as career street drinker.

The ridiculous, adolescent need to be recognised eventually gave way to the equally ludicrous suggestion that I wanted to be known as good writer. The excuse I offered myself for such egotism was that being well-known would mean I could achieve a bigger readership. Of course, what I should have been concentrating on is just being an author, getting on with the business of trying to express information, stories, ideas or feelings with clarity and originality.

It was that realisation that played a big part in my decision to radically reduce the sort of meejah horing I did when my first book came out. When you find yourself hawking your wares on radio stations alongside the likes of Belinda Carlisle you know something is wrong. However to an agent it is only another sign of my: “Constant failure to be careerist.”

Due to the sometime strange trajectory of my life, I have been through periods where I could not enjoy a meal in a Soho curry house without someone asking if I was: “That bloke off of Sky News”. This is not a good thing and it certainly not a valuable measure of success. These days I would define success as writing each book a bit better than the last, communicating something worthwhile to an audience and paying the bills. I will be a meejah hor if I absolutely have to get a book out, but at least it will be done without a preposterous craving any shade of fame.