Nobody Asked Me, But ....

Description

Apart from breaking two of my mates' noses (one in the ring and one chasing a 'runner') I used to be known for my stories. And they were all true. I'd come back from distant shores and speak of my adventures. So much so in fact that people used to say, "You should write a book." My diatribes in my blogs and newspaper columns are simply my way of spinning the balls, because sometimes I like to see what number they land on. That’s all. But although I’m known mostly as a raconteur - and most of my books can be described as coming from the humourist vein – in ‘Nobody Asked Me’ I touch on some subjects that are surely going to upset a few people. I’ve never quite understood the politically correct brigade. Hardly any subject is taboo to the Englishman when he’s laughing. No longer simply a fad, blogging is now an important new literary innovation. This book is not a story, and if you’re looking for a book that is all sweetness and light, please give this one a miss. It’s not for you. I won’t be offended and I honestly wish you a great life. If everyone likes me, then I’m not being controversial enough – and trust me when I say that in this book I get controversial. Oh, don’t worry; the humour that my fans seem to enjoy so much is still there, but right now the planet’s spinning in new and scary directions, and this needs to be addressed. So inside the covers of this book I take a look at some of the challenges we’re currently facing. And some of my opinions are going to rattle a few people. So is a comedy writer honestly the best one to challenge some of the perceptions we’re facing nowadays? Well, I’ve always believed that if you can make people laugh then they tend to listen to what you say when you’re serious. And my goal, my life’s ambition if you like, is to give direction to comedy, purpose to satire. So why the rabbit popping out of a tin of soup on the cover. Well ‘Rabbit & Pork’ is Cockney rhyming slang for Talk, and on more than one occasion I’ve been accused of rabbiting away excessively – mostly at parties, and generally by my wife. But why a tin of soup? Well I tend to believe that everyone is born perfect. Nobody is born with an inherent capacity to hate. It has to be taught. All of our experiences – family, school, work, the books we read, the newspapers we peruse, the music we listen to, our friends, our social life, the opinions of those around us, religion, sports we play or watch, those we love and those who love us, those we desire and those who desire us, those we travel with, our hopes and dreams and ambitions and achievements, our triumphs and disasters - go into a metaphorical cooking pot that we carry with us throughout our lives. All these ‘ingredients’ make up our Soup of Life. Now, when making a soup, once you’ve added an ingredient, it’s forever blended in and you can’t take it out again. You add a sprinkling of finely chopped garnish; cumin or oregano, and you can never take that ingredient out again. Never, ever, ever. So say at the age of six you add black pepper or rosemary or hatred or love or comedy, from then onwards it’ll always be part and parcel of your ‘soup.’ And as you add more ingredients the ‘recipe’ of your life evolves, and before you know it you can’t taste the coriander or the love any more, but it’s still there at a deep subliminal level. Remember that. Some people may not add hatred until they’re in their twenties, and most of us never add it at all.