Well it's Warming Up's first birthday. It was a year ago today that I wrote about the people on the tube drinking Special Brew through a straw.
This anniversary is not a cause for celebration. Another year of my life has vanished into the abyss and I can't pretend to you I've done anything incredibly significant, because you've all been reading my diary. Yeah, yeah, I've written a book. But it's about cocks. The two things clearly cancel each other out.
I suppose it's quite an achievement to have managed to have written something for this experiment every single day for a year (though I cannot claim that every single entry is actually worth reading). I've really enjoyed it, though sometimes it has been incredibly difficult and annoying. I am grateful to all of those of you who have let me know that it's given you a laugh, and also to all of those of you who think that it demonstrates how evil and big-headed and dismissive of humanity I am. You're all right.
Thanks for reading and for spreading the word about the site. Even when you've spread that word to insane people who want to hit me. Or who didn't want to hit me, but then read what I'd said and wanted to hit me. So far none of them have actually hit me. Let's hope we can rectify that discrepancy in the next twelve months.
Fittingly today's entry concerns Warming Up itself. You may remember, a couple of weeks back I wrote about
Ranulph Fiennes.
Basically I thought I was saying let's give it up to a man who has done something pretty bloody amazing. I thought it was quite a nice point. A bloke at the student section of the Daily Telegraph agreed and asked if he could print the piece in his right wing fascist paper. Being a fan of Hitler (as I hope I have made clear and that no-one mistakenly has thought I might occasionally employ irony on these pages) I happily agreed.
The piece was printed while I was away. They cut it down to about a tenth of its original length and achieved this feat by pretty much taking out anything remotely amusing. It's getting like you can't trust facists anymore (You can see it
here).
No matter, what harm could come from this? I thought it was still quite a jolly piece about celebrating someone who had done something remarkable, selflessly and not for self promotion.
Today the guy who had commissioned the piece sent me a letter of complaint he had received as a result of the article. In interests of balance I will include the main points of the three sides of A4 handwritten missive.
Firstly on the outside of the folded sheets it says "FATTY HERRING IS A MINDLESS WANKER IT IS TERRIFYING TO THINK THAT BRITAIN IS GOING TO BE RULED BY THE LIKES OF THAT, BECAUSE YOU LOT think they are BRILLIANT- WHY?"
OK, I guessed it wasn't going to be too complimentary. Although nice to know that he or she thinks that the likes of me will one day rule the country. It wasn't an aspiration I'd ever seriously had - admittedly in idle hours of Warming Up I suppose it has crossed my mind - but I didn't quite see why me or the likes of me would ever get to be in charge of the country. I am only a comedian. (But the House of Commons is full of comedians! I am funny).
Here is the rest of the letter
"Saturday Telegraph. Re Students page typical
Sir,
Your pet Richard HeRring is oozing from every one of his fat greasy pores with (deluded) self importance and grandeur. Fiennes -versus- Blaine: the bloke who it is oh so fashionable and sexy to HATE by the middle classes - let's face it most middle classed are not THAT brainy and not that THINKING. It is SO EASY for anyone to do ANYTHING if he is supported all the way and in the company of friends, doctors -no less- and people to greet him on every step of his journey. He is out in the OPEN Fresh air is good, it makes one feel alive as does walking running exercising dancing MOVING etc and food when desired - nice, good food
Blaine:got into a tiny SEE THROUGH SHAKY SUSPENDED (SPACE) BOX. For a long time.
I. He ate NOTHING which weakens one, makes one hallucinate paranoic, more astute, jittery - it is a fact one does not have to eat if one is inactive. I had a convent upbringing and am a nurse - liquid is all that is NEEDED to stay alive.
II He did not have lots of good pals with him -nor he or them could've stuck it- the STENCH.
He did not have a neverending choice of good food and wine or go out for entertainment. He did not have a good supply of SEX. How many of us could have done what he did? being mocked as well (an occupational hazard, but very demoralising) freezing at night, more because of weight loss + no solid food.
Not hardly sleeping
The STENCH
The clever dicks shooting or trying to dislodge his BOX
The actual STRENGTH OF MIND required to do that in such a manner for more than 24 hours is truly admirable and MAGNIFICENT.
It was nothing to do with illusion but all to do with GREAT STRENGTH OF MIND
Fatty Herring is a Mindless Wanker."
So there you go. I thought I was being quite positive about an amazing feat of human endurance, but in fact I was being self important. I hadn't really exactly meant to diss David Blaine, just to say that I thought Fiennes was doing something more remarkable. But I didn't take into account the huge amounts of good food, wine, entertainment and sex that he was having in the six hours between each run. And thinking about it that does detract somewhat from his achievement.
I want to say on record that I was wrong. David Blaine sitting in a box for his own edification is definitely better than Ranulph Fiennes running 7 marathons in 7 days (whilst shagging everything that moved) for charity.
The complainant unfortunately does not give their name, nor full address, but does reveal the town that they live in.
It is Carlisle.
