What Ho Proles!
What a day I’ve had, faced with litigation on all sides. Barely had the old alchopops worn off from last night than I’m accused of being an imposter! Well, confound it all, I say! When will an Englishman be allowed to be who he is? Why don’t you open these veins and tell me that’s not true English blood ruining the carpet.
Regretfully, on the advice of my lawyers, I’ve decided to revert back to my maiden name for the sake of this virtual existence. Gone is any semblance of similarity to any other political figure – though if there was any similarity, it’s one I’ve never spotted. Besides, I would think it a fine thing to be like Yours Truly, and I’d quite like to meet the lucky spike who bears such a lucky resemblance. Must be damn handsome fellow, and pretty lucky with the ladies too, I should warrant.
So now I am a new man. Quite literally. Though my man is still the old my man, if you see what I mean. I must say, he’s found it all quite amusing. This morning I had to resort to threats to get my boiled eggs free of his supposedly witty quips.
Perhaps I can now be left to get on with what I do best. We Murgatroids are an independent bunch, never happier than when cutting our way through enemy hoards, storming barricades, or withholding winter fuel allowances from the villagers.
This evening I’ll be attending a little dinner in London so the update might be a little late.
Ta ta.
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