Michael Jackson Will Not Be Caught Dead in Our Village

24 Jul

This morning when I was at the post office (mailing out some autographed pictures, so if you have requested one, watch for it in your letter box soon), my eye was caught by a small blue card pinned up on the local notices board. Scrawled in blue ballpoint ink it read: “Michael Jackson Look-Alike Needed, Please ring Mr Gluegeyser on 671972.”

Now, forgive me for dropping names, but I am well acquainted with Mr Gluegeyser in his role as head of our Lacemakers’ Society Guild and he regularly dines at my club. He is normally a very sensible man, but I was so shocked by this public display of stupidity that I confess I took down the card and deposited it in the bin.

Firstly, as a public figure, I find the concept of “look-alikes” morally and ethically offensive.  In fact, I believe they are a violation of integrity and should be illegal. My face implies my name (Miss Agatha Whitt-Wellington) and my name implies my writing and, if someone were to pretend that they had composed any of my works, I can assure you that the law would see that as a breach of copyright (as my relatively long list of previous court cases will testify to). Impersonating a person is the same as publicly announcing, “I have accomplished all these great things,” when clearly all you have done is have been born with a particular nose or had your hair dyed and styled in a certain way.  Those are hardly accomplishments, now are they?

I imagine for most people who by chance resemble a famous person, it is more of an embarrassment than a benefit. I was once approached by a couple at one of my book signings. The man commented that he felt his wife looked like me. I had to then point out that in fact her hips were much wider, her skin much blotchier, her bust much saggier and her eyes not nearly as sparkling as mine. The whole scene was quite uncomfortable for all of us — if only he had left well enough alone instead of forcing me into telling the truth.

The real problem with celebrity look-alikes, though, is that hiring one is the same as lying to the public, which I believe is covered under the Trades Description Act. Mr Gluegeyser is hoping to draw more people to the Guild by convincing them that Michael Jackson will be coming. This is a lie. I don’t know why Michael Jackson would appeal to lacemakers as he never engaged in or supported this activity. Additionally, to the best of my knowledge, Michael Jackson is dead so the likelihood of his stopping off at our village is probably pretty slim anyway. Through this kind of promotion, the Lacemakers’ Society Guild is simply taking our community for fools.

I myself, however, may be available to speak to the Guild in the upcoming weeks. Mr Gluegeyser should feel free to ring Christopher to discuss rates and dates.

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Happy Independence Day!

4 Jul

Naturally, as I was born and bred in America, the United States is probably my favourite of the former colonies so I would like to take this opportunity to wish my country a very happy birthday.

So many in the European press see America as insular but I can testify that in the minds of most Americans, nothing is more important to them than global harmony. Except their local football team. Too many people insist that America does not care about things outside of her borders.  To them, I say, pshaw! Of course, America is focused on looking after her own citizens, but do not tell me that she is not also committed to international issues. Witness how the country came together recently to celebrate the death of Michael Jackson. Do not forget that the US hosts the World Series of Baseball.  Please acknowledge America’s self-sacrifice in pledging to look after the Middle East’s oil reserves as illustrative of a deep understanding of global responsibility. And, finally, accept that no one on Earth cherishes the environment more than Americans. After all, what other country would build such glorious monuments to the waterways and mountains, the flora and fauna, and other natural phenomena that all humans have the duty to protect?

So today I, your favourite daughter, sing your praises America. Although I won’t be tucking into some hot dogs and potato salad, making racist remarks after a few beers and traumatising the neighbourhood dogs with triple whistling bottle rockets, I am with you in spirit. Happy Independence Day!

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Reflections on The Year 2009 Thus Far

26 Jun

As the month of June draws to a close, I realise how much has changed in 2009 already. We are now half way through the year, little birdies, and I suggest we all take this time to reflect on how we have helped make our world a better place in the last six months. Remember, while many believe that no man is an island, I feel that it’s more helpful to acknowledge that, while we are each individually islands, we all make up part of the Channel Islands and therefore bear the responsibility of keeping our shorelines clear of rubbish, our children’s homes free of unmarked graves, our governments guided by freedom and democracy and our carbon footprints as dainty as possible. Otherwise, we can negatively affect the entire world, particularly the whelk population (and goodness knows how that would influence prices at our local chippy).

I note many of us have already done so much. Some of us are doing our best to keep the promises we made on the campaign trail. Some of us are helping the environment by providing darling duck houses and muck-free moats. Some of us are avoiding further debt by dramatically dying on the eve of a fifty-night tour we knew we were unlikely to complete. Some of us are going so far as rescuing children from their families and homelands purely because we are so certain our lifestyles would be preferable to them. While not all of us can achieve such acts of courage and self-sacrifice, as Marks and Spencer says, “Every little bit helps!”

To provide you with a guideline for your self-reflection, I have listed below the ways in which I have humbly attempted to help humanity so far this year.

1. Socially
On a global level, my contribution to society is unparalleled. As you know my social calendar is rarely empty. My primary motivation for this is because I am well aware that my presence at social events provides others with inspiration, one of the greatest gifts anyone can give in our quotidian, humdrum world.
On a more personal level, I rang my mother on Mothering Sunday, despite the fact that doing so put me in a foul mood for the rest of the day, and I continue to support Christopher in all of his creative endeavours, most recently encouraging his newfound interest in Greco-Roman wrestling.

2. Environmentally
I have recently had to change the birdseed I put out in my feeders as my previous brand is no longer being stocked at my local shop. The birds seem to enjoy this new food immensely. Chalk up yet another eco-system improved by me.

3. Financially
We are all suffering in the current financial climate, charitable organisations even more so.  Although I prefer to keep these contributions as anonymous as possible, I must confess to recently making a rather large financial donation to a well-respected charity in exchange for a large consignment of left-over chocolate oranges which I intend to distribute to admirers overseas this Yuletide.

4. Politically
Every time I dine with our MP, I insist upon leaving the gratuity thereby relieving my Right Honorable friend of any temptation to inappropriately fiddle with his expenses.

5. Creatively
Of course, as I have done every year of my adult life, I painstakingly continue to improve the world of art and literature through my copious amount of publications.  This year, however, I have gone even a step further by conquering the Internet and therefore reaching readers who may previously had been unable to afford to frequent the types of shops which sell my books (they don’t come cheap, I can tell you). While inevitably this means a loss of income to me personally, I am prepared to make this sacrifice as I care more about the world as a whole than I do my bankbook and besides a few hundred pounds here and there means nothing to someone of my substantial wealth.

Dear readers, I beg you to please take this opportunity to reflect on your own contributions to the world in 2009 thus far. By acknowledging your previous accomplishments, you will be able to plan how you can continue to do good for the latter half of the year. Keep the list limited to one side of A4 paper though as being too self-congratulatory makes one appear frightfully unattractive.

Each of you, regardless of your insignificance, must matter in some way to the world. I can at least confirm you matter a little bit to one Miss Agatha Whitt-Wellington!

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This Really Gets My Goat

18 Jun

I have never been one for censorship. You know that. The concept of censorship comes from evil minds and attempts to destroy beauty and freedom. I myself would not be in the enviable position I am in now if censorship had been allowed to take hold of our glorious nation. However, I have recently seen some material being distributed on the Internet which I feel should immediately be removed and banned from ever being seen by human eyes again.

Apparently some explorers have discovered new and endangered species in Ecuador. Now I am all for exploration—some have even referred to me as an explorer of sorts (see Butler Kipling’s article “The Whitt-Wellington Legacy: How One Woman Shaped our Modern World”). Yet I am shocked and dismayed by the photos which have accompanied the reportage of these discoveries.

Firstly, most of these pitiful creatures are amphibians. The word amphibian has its roots in the phrase “both kinds of life.” I do not feel we should look with reverence at animals which, by their very nature, embrace both kinds of life. Those of you who are scholars of psychiatry know that in the nineteenth century, many lunatic asylums were filled to their brims with patients suffering from “amphitis” (later shortened to paranoid schizophrenia), and I am concerned that extolling these new beasts may predicate a new rise in this disorder.

Additionally, despite their impressive clamminess and fancy pants ability to camouflage, they offer us no real inspiration to better ourselves as human beings. This is what the world needs now—-not more frogs. I cannot tell you the amount of times my writing, genorosity and stockings have been cited on acknowledgement pages as the inspiration behind the work of many an author. Will a young person ever look at a katydid and think, “If only my mating call could have as lovely a series of trills as yours does?” I just cannot see this happening.

Most important, though, is the fact that these new species are absolutely disgusting to behold. I simply cannot bring myself to post any of the photographs here as I know you visit this page not to be sickened but to get a brief taste of my glorious life. I have already drafted a letter of complaint to the BBC which felt it necessary to display the offending items. Without wanting to be graphic, I shall just say this: if you ever hear me say that I want to see the inside workings of a glass frog, please immediately put a bullet in my brain. I feel that strongly about the immorality of viewing such images.

Whatever religious beliefs you have about the way in which the Earth was created, you no doubt have already come to appreciate the wonders of the natural world. We all know our planet is populated by amazing things. In future, I  myself would prefer to stay blissfully ignorant of any new discoveries if they insist on being that ugly and moist. Surely we need not have our eyes assaulted by the photographic evidence of God’s greatness. Even He would not expect that of us!

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Why Can’t They Leave Well Enough Alone?

16 Jun

As summer is now upon us and the rain shows hints of sunlight, I’ve become aware of a trend that is both dangerous and immoral. Normally I have a woman come to me to do my hair, but on occasion I frequent a local beauty parlor. While under the dryer, I often flip through the pages of whatever magazines they have available. I find this keeps me up-to-date on the social issues of the day while saving me the shame of actually purchasing one of these gossip gazettes myself.

Yesterday I was at said salon having my hair done in preparation for last night’s gala at our own Museum of the Mundane, when I noticed page after page of young women whom I can only describe as orange. Bernard, my coiffeur, explained that “having” a “tan” was “all the rage” amongst these young “celebrities.”

The tone of one’s skin (whatever that may be) is a gift from above, and to try to deliberately alter it is quite frankly blasphemy. I myself am rather fair-skinned and, while I do not intend to imply that my complexion is perfect, my complexion is in fact perfect. This is because I have never deliberately tried to alter it. It has changed, of course; after all, I have travelled the world and one does not spend days building a hospital in the Chalbi Desert without getting some sun. But that was the result of the good work I was doing, not a vain attempt to change the hue of my epidermis. If these young ladies could manage to do a decent day’s work, they might find that, in addition to a helpful pay packet, they will earn the bronze glow of a job well done.

What I find even more alarming is that some of these starlets do not even gain their colour from the sunshine, but rather apply to it to their own persons through the use of a cream which changes their skin’s shade. Christopher informs me that this is why they appear so orange, rather than tanned. Ludicrous! I think we would all agree that harlots use artificial colour to paint their cheeks—-what on Earth must we call those women who paint their whole bodies? I shudder to think and am thankful that I am unfamiliar with the names that Christopher has suggested as possibilities.

Despite all my worldliness, I still find myself shocked by some of the things people find in vogue. Call me a fuddy-duddy, call me a prude, call me an award-winning writer with fans based all over the northern and southern hemispheres, call me what you will. But I am comfortable enough with myself as I was made to have stayed ignorant of this trend for as long as I have, and I am glad of it.

Note: I may be away from the computer for a day as tomorrow I am having one of my tattoos removed. We shall speak soon.

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Without Christopher, I Confess I’d Be Rather Useless

7 Jun

It’s lucky I’ve got Christopher and his technical know-how to help me address an online audience as, without him, I’d only have my impressive talent, stunning looks and excellent connections, and goodness knows how far those would have got me (well, rather far, actually).

Christopher informed me this morning over tea that in addition to my Facebook fan page, he has now linked me to a site called Twitter, of which some of you may be aware. It will allow you to know what I am doing at almost any time of the day. While I’m not sure I can see the merits of this for others, I agree that my personal daily activities must be of extreme interest to the vast majority of Internet users. I cannot promise how frequently I will update: after all my busy social and publishing calendar is nearly bursting at its seams already. However, the unconditional trust (and legally binding confidentiality contract) Christopher and I share convinces me that I can rely on him to update the site appropriately and promptly, thereby never leaving anyone stranded.

To find me at Twitter, please click here and hit “Follow.”

To find me on Facebook, please click here and hit “Become a Fan.”

Click click, little ones!

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An Urgent Public Defense

6 Jun

I have recently been accused of being unfair to young people, a claim quite frankly I find deplorable and libelous. Christopher has volunteered to serve as my counsel should this case go to court. But I am appealing to you, my loyal readers, please do not accept this character assassination without giving due consideration to my history. I have spent much of my adult life doing nothing but traveling the world and spending ungodly amounts of money having adventures purely so that I could pass on my stories and wisdom to the young people of today. I do not enjoy singing my own praises, but quite frankly no one deserves more praise singing for their efforts to benefit young people than I, their humble servant.

That said, young people have a lot of problems and are in desperate need of a good shape up. I do not hold them individually responsible—clearly their parents have let them down when they permitted them to develop their own personalities before the age of twenty—but we must accept that the young people of our country are in a right state. I feel quite strongly that it is unfair that teachers get the blame. Please view the clip below to see what I mean.

This clip highlights a few important issues. Teaching is not an easy task, and being a new or supply teacher is clearly worse. While my time as a teacher was rather limited, I do have acquaintances who worked as supply teachers to earn some pin money. Both Mr Bindingcock and Miss Fluck said they felt bullied and threatened during their brief excursions into the world of teachers. I think many of us forget that today’s teenagers, on average, are at least seventeen inches taller than they were in our day. Combine that with swagger and you have got a nasty piece of pie. I don’t doubt that on programmes like this the usual stench of violence and pubescent perspiration has been edited out. Any adult, regardless of previous criminal prosecutions, who teaches should be commended for their bravery and commitment.

More importantly, though, what I find most shocking about this clip is the students’ utter indifference to having a man of such stature in their presence. John Humphrys is both visually and aurally delicious yet at no time do any of these little rascals attempt to worship him in the way he so clearly deserves. Had I been a young lady in that classroom, I would have cherished every second of breathing the same air as the great man and I don’t mind admitting that I would have dropped my hankie at his ankles a number of times, if you know what I mean. This is of course because I was raised to be that way, and I lament that that childrearing strategy has fallen by the wayside.

In summary, 1. young people have problems but I am not unfair to them, 2. so-called friends should keep their mouths shut and 3. if John Humphrys is willing to forget the unfortunate incident he and I shared in the lift of Broadcasting House, I would simply swoon if he would get back in touch.

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In Praise of Gloves

27 May

As the economy seems to have everyone in quite a smiff, I’ve decided that perhaps I could contribute to the world’s misery by reminding you of the little things in life which are still lovely. I myself have had the good fortune of the sensible financial advice of my dear auntie Penelope and have secured my modest wealth in jam jars in a dry, quiet cupboard so I am not feeling what the newsreaders insist on calling the “credit crunch.” (Cleverly these jam jars are not in my own cupboard; therefore if they go missing as a result of a burglary, any danger and responsibility will fall on my dear friend, Alice Wintergarden.) However, I am appreciative of the fact that even people of good standing may find themselves in a bit of an economic pickle and therefore feel that they may be cheered by hearing something nice from me.

My first object of praise will therefore be the humble but essential glove (and by glove, I, of course, mean pair of gloves unless one has had an incident with a crocodile in Peru as did Auntie Penelope’s dearest old friend, Count Theodore L Theodore). I firmly believe that hands should be covered by gloves always, even more so in today’s economic climate. The gloved hand—-whether it be signing a loan application or extending a greeting to a tribesman—-is a symbol of respect. It says, metaphorically of course, that you are meeting a person who is, at the very least, an equal, and, if we’re honest (though it need not be acknowledged aloud), more likely just that little touch better than you. Therefore, when you shake a gloved hand, do so with reverence and ideally a dainty curtsy.

As I am a woman who lives by her word, I am wearing gloves even as I dictate this missive to my hired man, Christopher, who does both my bush trimming and typing for an incredibly reasonable cost. My gloves are soft white with two petite buttons at the wrist (gloves which extend up the forearm are offensive to both one’s eye and one’s moral standing). My gloves tell you, my readers, that I am a woman who knows who she is and why her hands should not be seen. I cannot think of two more important  aspects of self-knowledge.

So while the newspapers continue to upset the apple cart with their disastrous foreboding, let us all sit back and feel proud and proper in our gloves. The news shall not dictate to us how we live our lives. Nor will it leave black marks on our fingers.

Chins up, dear ones!

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Everyone Needs an Algonquin

17 May

When I was breakfast editor for Rupert Stanley Quim’s magazine Specific Monthly, I often found myself eating lunch at the famous (or infamous) Cafe Grandmother. It was not unusual for the likes of detective writer Derek Pinpoint, novelist Ginger Readers and her cronies and other notable writers to join me. I recall us gossiping, eating blueberry pancakes or BLT sandwiches and generally just having a smashing time. Reminiscing about these years brings to mind another group of quick wits who gathered at a round table, throwing their coins down, telling secrets, cracking jokes and sleeping with each others’ mates. I am thinking, of course, of my mother’s bridge group in Trenton, New Jersey.

These ladies would get together each Tuesday afternoon, most often at our house since we seemed to have, based on the women’s weekly comments, the nicest drapes. In retrospect I suppose it was our ever full liquor cabinet that really drew them in, but I wouldn’t want to hurt my mother’s feelings. If she had them. But I remember as a youngster sitting at the top of the stairs, peering down at the lacquered hairstyles, the crossed legs and the cigarettes burning down to ash. I can hear now in my mind’s eye the laughing which grew in both intensity and decibels as the day wore on (and the liquor bottles drained). I remember hearing the voices, hushed but excited, sharing secrets and insults (the words “embezzling” and “stupid bastard,” to this day, take me back to those innocent afternoons) and I so wanted to grow up to be one of those ladies. (I had hoped by the time I was old enough to lacquer my hair, another one of the ladies would have bought nicer drapes so we could meet elsewhere, thereby excluding my mother.) But unfortunately I found that, as I grew older, this sort of bonding had become a thing of the past. If I had not been blessed with such talent as a writer, I may never have even experienced those few years eating with Derek, Ginger and friends. The days of intimates getting together to enjoy the misery of others just simply don’t exist in our work-a-day world.

Which leads me to my point that young people today just seem too isolated. My advice to them, and to you, reader, if you find yourself lonely or disconnected, is to get married. Too many young people stay single, “trying to find themselves.” That’s not what life is about. Life is about alcoholic laughs and betrayal and embezzlement. The burdens of a spouse lead directly to that kind of happiness. Just ask my mother or her friend, Shirley. They’re both listed, but don’t bother calling on a Tuesday afternoon. Or just call my parents’ house then, but hang up when she answers. That really gets her goat.

Best of luck, little ones!

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