As if I didn't have enough to do with my own damned blog.
My name is Vicus Scurra. I am the lovechild of Dame Vera Lynn and Fidel Castro. I have my mother’s voice, and my father’s personal habits. I am a confidante of many senior figures, and should you see me hunched over my mobile telephone over the next few days, it is out of necessity. I have arranged with Watski to allow calls from Camilla, Charles and Rolf Harris. You have my assurance I will not abuse this privilege, in return I would request a little privacy should a call come in. After all, it would be inappropriate for you to be in possession of the information about state visits to
I should point out at this stage that I have never watched the television equivalent of this little exercise, and so will need some help in maintaining the appropriate etiquette. So far, all I can see are some impertinent questions from our host about what we will be wearing and what we have about our persons. I can understand that in
And, really, the contents of my suitcase are none of anyone’s business. Should anyone find themselves unable to curb their curiosity, I must warn you that the contents of that tube are NOT for internal use.
I need hardly list my qualities. Readers of my diary will recognise me as a wise, avuncular figure with a keen mind and big heart. While I prefer not to dabble in the affairs of others, I think that I should point out to Rob, in a very caring way, that if he wishes to represent himself of as an intellectual, then he should learn to spell a little more carefully. “Corduroy” is correct, I believe, although I confess I do not recall seeing any these 20 years.
Please, someone, lend Zoe some night attire. I do not wish to wake in the morning to see her bottom waving in my face. Again.
As for my gift, it is a slim volume, containing the first published work of
Love and Peace.