Mock The Leak

Jesus, Wikileaks. Steady on here.

I’m just getting over your awe-inspiring revelations that have already come out.

That Prince Andrew’s a spoilt thick cock.

And Nicolas Sarkozy’s a short authoritarian tosser.

And David Cameron’s a featherweight fuckwit.

And George Osborne’s an unreal dick (although to be fair, I beat Wikileaks to this one. A quick glance through my archives will show you that I personally and single-handedly broke this earth-shattering story bloody months ago. And nobody believed me, and just accused me of having a repressed sexual crush on him. The fools.)

And that Russia’s a bit on the corrupt side.

And now you seriously expect me to believe that Saudi princes shag hookers and disobey Islamic law by drinking lots of expensive booze?

Sorry, Wikileaks. Not buying it for a second.

And you can stick all that ‘Catholic Pope’ rubbish up your arse and all.

J x

PS - I’ve met someone lovely. This is a bit like Spinal Tap getting a new drummer. Never ends well.

If I was fifteen, I’d draw Tipp-ex hearts with his initials and mine all over my books and folders.

And that Katie Melua song The Closest Thing To Crazy sounds like it’s actually insightful and moving, rather than pass-the-sick-bucket nauseating.

But there’s a saying that’s aimed towards writers of fiction ‘if your characters are having a good time, your readers aren’t’- and this would seem to be equally true of factual writing such as my own. Ironically, it’s much much much much much much easier writing a funny, engaging post about my love life when everything’s shit.

So wait a few weeks, or possibly days, and I’ll almost certainly be back on form again.

Optimism 3, Experience 0.