Wednesday, April 18, 2007


What Ho Proles!

Okay, let’s the cut the pretence, shall we? You can all see that I’m suffering from writer’s block. It’s why I’m so quiet. I sit here, day after day, week after week, staring at the screen. I have so much to say but no way of saying it. Writer’s block. Writer’s block. Bally writer’s bally block…


I’ve never believed in it before. It’s something that I was told the prole writers catch occasionally, but only when they’ve been too friendly with their goats. We men of refinement are not expected to suffer from such a common complaint. We are educated to higher degrees of insight than the common lot. We are eloquent, full of anecdote and whimsy. We are the masters of the word; words do as we say, come when we call, and deploy in lines of staggering intellect.

Or so I’m let to believe.

So, I’m still blocked. My holiday away in the Indies was supposed to have cured me. It did, for a while. Except when I try to write. I’m still stuck. I’m still blocked. I’m frightened of finishing my memoirs. I feel history pressing down on me, demanding a volume of such genius that it will do proper credit to the great Murgatroid name.

There, I’ve said it. I’ve made a staggering declaration of weakness. But is there any cure for writer’s block? I find I simply can’t conclude my memoirs. They are sitting here frozen on my machine. How to I proceed?


70,000 words and no way on.




Monday, April 09, 2007

Sanity Sweet Sanity

What Ho Proles!

Bank Holiday Monday and I look back on a few weeks of bliss since I had my nervous breakdown in January.

You might have been wondering what happened to me but I’ve spent two months away in the Caribbean, enjoying the cricket, and otherwise learning to live like a native. I tell you that I feel quite odd not having neither sand between my toes nor a mango within easy reach.

When I’m not feeling the stress of jet lag, I’ll tell you about my breakdown. There are some amusing elements to it, though the outcome was far from humorous. However, my mood is now much calmer and I think I’ve discovered a kinder side to the Murgatroid personality.

That’s why I think I managed to control my temper, nor fire My Man on the spot, when I came home yesterday morning and discovered that he’s been living the high life. He seemed quite put out by my return and it took a good ten minutes for him to relinquish my dressing gown. I think in the long term I might have to reconsider his employment. I won’t need him as much, you see, as I’ve discovered a new pleasure to be hand by being self-sufficient.

Dr. Gruber, my medical man, suggested that my nerves had been fraying for a while and a total collapse was only to be expected given my tendency to direct blame to my staff. Part of my cure has been to see the consequences of my own actions. And I feel a better man for it. From now on, this blog is going to change. I’m a new man, a new Murgatroid, and a new type of Tory.

Your humble and now officially sane servant,