You won't find another fool like me, babe (New Seekers 1973) PS

There was another reason why I didn’t want to write about this; it wasn’t just about my being a fool. I felt, despite everything, an element of disloyalty. Yes, I know it sounds deranged, but don’t forget my strict French, Catholic, 19^th century upbringing – these things are hard to shake off, mes chers!

As it happens, after Stella had a go at me and I began to realise I’d never write another blog if I didn’t get the biker out of the way, I got another email from him. It was about an entirely unrelated matter – he just wanted the phone number of someone I'd mentioned who might be willing to help with one of his charitable projects. He was embarrassed to ask, obviously, but thought I would understand. I did. The Greater Good and all that crap.

But my conscience was pricking at me too. I knew I wanted to write about this fiasco, but – oh, you know - blergh, bloody scruples – I hate them. Remember I told you he was a poet and a writer?  We had, in fact, chatted about the possibility of co-writing something; I’ve never done that before and thought it might be fun.  Even the porno rewrite might have been amusing!

So I plucked up the chutzpah and I asked him if he’d mind if I wrote this story.  And he said, assuming anonymity was assured, not at all.

He… said… Not… At… All.       

He said he'd behaved like a prat, and as crazy stories go, it’s a good one. 

See - told you he was nice. Deep down.  

Oooh, what was that that just floated by?

Somebody ping it for me, for Christ’s sake!