I'm pleased to say that
The Hat's occasional blogs from Hat Mansions get read all round the
world and are reproduced in various places when hard-pressed editors
have pages to be filled. I admit to getting the occasional rare
whispered murmur of dissent amongst the avalanche of superlatives
that flow in non-stop from fans far and wide - but I do not lose
sleep over such prejudiced churlishness. It's my blog, their loss and
I value my finely honed literary integrity which I feel shines like a
beacon over a morass of average bollox.
However, this week it
has been brought to my attention that I am not getting read on Radio
Two.
Worse than that, those
biased middle class Londoncentric poseurs on the Radio 4 Front Row
programme have not even mentioned my prose, let alone spent four and
a half minutes analysing my use of Capital Letters and my
contemptuous disregard of proper sentence construction. If this were
not bad enough, I am told by An Insider that because I was born in
Wales there is not a chance of my brilliant stuff ever making it to
the short list that gets drawn up by the Head Of Cultural Resources
while he is sitting on the crapper on the Fourth Floor.
Recently, I wrote a piece
that was absolutely perfect for dozens of BBC radio outlets. Firstly,
it was brilliant and beautifully crafted. Secondly, having spent
decades studying their target audience, I had included words like
'awesome' and 'serendipitous', so that I would appeal to both the
moronic and pseudo intelligent at the same time. Thirdly, it was
Short Enough not to be too demanding on the listener's brain but Long
Enough for them to think that I had said something worth saying. All
said and done, it was the perfect fit for their Radio network.
Did they use it? Did
they even mention it? Is Father Christmas really an old bloke who
goes round the world on a sodding sleigh? No, no and no. But I am not
getting out my hankie. As my mother used to say..'Don't worry, they
don't know any better. None of them were bombed in the war'. Well I
don't care. If they can't spot brilliance when it's served up on a
sheet of paper in front of them then they can all go to hell in a
handcart. I don't need them anyway. I've got people who want to be My
Friend. They think I'm fantastic – seven or eight of them once
wrote and told me that – although I admit that it was a long time
ago, when I was a young rebel and had sweet smelling hair and a
pocket full of bon mots.
Well, Up Yours, Radio 2
– and Radio 4...(I'm still waiting to hear from Radio 3, but I'm
not sure it is still out there)...I can manage quite well without
you. Screw You. I don't need all this Grief.. all this Pain, all this
Literary Turmoil.
I'm now gonna go off to
sit down in front of my keyboard, slit my wrists and write some
fabulous racey stuff about nudity and sex in music videos. My piece
will have pictures and sound effects. I bet you Radios 1 and 6 will be fighting over
it.....
Pip Pip!
Pip Pip!
The Blues Man in The Hat
(No typing monkeys or Scottish pop singers were harmed during the crafting of this blog.)