(Don't) Spare Us the Gutter
The serial strap-hangers-on to the "Low Life" column at The Spectator these last three decades (primus inter pares Jeffrey Bernard, 1932-1997) have held down, as it were, their sometimes more than lexicographically titular brief(s) in their weekly filings from pub, racetrack, alley, gutter, boudoir, and, not least, serial engagements with and in one or another of Her Majesty's houses of attempted correction. Within the books columns of the selfsame weekly, Nicholas Lezard of the Guardian reviews Low Life: One Middle-Aged Man in Search of the Point, the latest collection by Jeremy Clarke, the current occupant of the Speccie's column and rustic miscreant to Bernard's lamppost-clutching urbanite:
The regular reader of this magazine is presumably familiar with his oeuvre, so this is the column when he goes to an NHS anti-smoking therapist, having been refused Zyban, a drug which reputedly does the trick but carries with it a risk of causing epilepsy. Clarke, admitting that he only smoked when he went to the pub, is asked to describe his previous evening and the effectiveness of the nicotine patches he’d been prescribed. He tells the therapist that the pub was easy, he hadn’t wanted to smoke there at all; but he had wanted to smoke after the fight that broke out afterwards; he’d wanted to smoke when the police arrived; he’d wanted to smoke when someone pushed an Ecstasy tablet into his mouth, and when he’d sneezed all the cocaine off a mirror ... and so on. It is a masterpiece of narrative comic timing.
And there is so much like that. At a meeting of well-meaning bores against air travel, he tells us of a man who
couldn’t understand why people flew when train travel was so exciting. He went on to describe an arduous and degrading four-day train journey he’d once undertaken across South America.
It is that ‘degrading’, worthy of Evelyn Waugh, which announces that one is in the presence of safe hands (and makes one laugh). Columns are brief, and the joke, or the point, has to be made in as small a space as you can. Luckily, English has enough words to deliver the right punch if you can dig them out. Clarke can do this. His life is also truly low. Rural, where Bernard’s was mostly urban, it also includes a cast of ne’er-do-wells which, frankly, I envy (for professional purposes). His own self-revelations are eyebrow-raising, too, in their fearlessness; he has no problem confessing to the occasional bang on the crack pipe, for instance. As Orwell said, no autobiography can be trusted which does not reveal something scandalous. He can do various registers beyond the comedy, but comedy is hard. I finally got to read out his account of a visit to the Scientology Centre (he pretends to be a deckchair attendant. ‘Stressful job?’ ‘Nightmare’). It took some time. The room was in stitches, and so was I.
Here's Jeremy Clarke himself, in a recent installment of The Spectator's sporadic "Shelf Life" feature, by which the question "What are you reading?", when asked of published writers, answers its last-gen incarnation ("What are you wearing?") made proverbial in, most recently, cable spots for State Farm and, before those, so I gather, phone calls between friends and relatives in disparate climes subject to wild swings in overnight temps:
4) You are about to be put into solitary confinement for a year and allowed to take three books. What would you choose?
Solitary Fitness* by Charles Bronson**, Matchstick Model Making for Beginners, Improve Your Matchstick Model Making
... 11) What book would you give to a lover?
Oral Sex He'll Never Forget by Sonia Berg
*
Most Helpful Customer Reviews
27 of 27 people found the following review helpful
Solitary Fitness, 29 Jan 2009
This review is from: Solitary Fitness (Paperback)
An interesting read, that does 2 things. Firstly, it improves the physique and general fitness. Secondly, it gives an insight into Charles Bronson, through his narrative and unique pictures. For the price the book is informative and good value way to improve fitness and physique on a low budget and without having the hassle of joing a gym. Great for these credit crunch days!Perhaps the most unusual chapter is on the solitary organ- how to improve sexual stamina, strength and health of the organ in question! Possible a great confidence booster to those searching for more length, girth and performance!Throw away all those gimmicks, apparently all you need is a heavy towell!
Overall, a good book for the money and in these frugal times when we are all searching for ways to achieve the same effect for the minimal outlay.
A word for the publishers- it would be nice if the photos had better definition, otherwise the drawings get the points across.
**Wikipedia on "Charles Bronson", "most violent prisoner in Britain" - and thus worthy, I should think, of a regular feature in the raffish comic "monthly" Viz*** all his own (eat your basher's heart out, Biffa Bacon):
***
Top tips
DRIVERS. Avoid being nicked by the new 'average speed' blue cameras by driving at 90mph for two minutes between them, them stopping for a spliff.
Ray Wilson, e-mail
OBESE RADIO 1 breakfast DJs. Why not discuss with your colleagues on air how you intend to spend your £600k salary? Your listener demographic of 16-25 year-old van drivers, warehouse workers and sixth-formers will really appreciate the insite.
Shifty, e-mail
GIRLS. MAKE people think you are a nurse by growing a massive arse.
A Miller, Leeds
His first job was at Tesco, which lasted two weeks before he was dismissed for attacking his manager.[9] He passed through a number of jobs, working as a hod carrier and in a number of factories.[10] He faced prison for the first time at Risley, serving time on remand for criminal damage after he smashed some parked cars following an argument with his girlfriend's father; following his trial he was fined and given probation.[11] He then worked as a furniture remover, whilst regularly fighting on his nights out.[12] After getting involved in petty crime, he got into serious trouble for the first time after crashing a stolen lorry into a car.[13] He ran from the scene all of 90 miles to his parents home, where he was apprehended.[13] ****
****Cf. Documentary on Boxer Ken Clean-Air Systems (John Cleese):
Every morning, he jogs the forty-seven miles from his two-bedroomed, eight-bathroom, six-up-two-down, three-to-go-house in Ryegate, to the Government's Pesticide Research Centre at Shoreham. Nobody knows why.
The driver of the car survived the collision and so Bronson again got off lightly, receiving yet more fines and probation.[13] *****
*****Recalling the birth of the terrifying London gangland duo The Piranha Brothers:
Doug and Dinsdale Piranha were born, on probation, in the slums of London, in 1929. Doug was born in February that year, and Dinsdale two weeks later, and again the week after that. Their father, Arthur Piranha, was a TV quizmaster and scrapmetal dealer who was well known to the police and a devout Catholic, who in January 1928 had married Kitty Malone, an up and coming East End boxer. Doug and Dinsdale were found too mentally unbalanced even for National Service, and became extortionists, running a protection racket after several false starts. Having acquired enough money, the Piranha Brothers formed a gang which they called "The Gang".
After his trial he again returned to petty crimes and menial labour.[14] In 1972 he married Irene Kelsey, with whom he had a son, Michael Jonathan, later the same year.[15] At the age of 19 he was convicted for his part in a smash and grab raid, but was given one last chance by the judge, who gave him a suspended sentence.[16]
And that, of course, merely ends the section on "Bronson"'s "Early life" up to age 19 - with forty unforgettable and very colorful years to follow. Is it any surprise to learn of his link with the notorious real-life models for the Pythons' Doug and Dinsdale Piranha (with the real-life Detective Superintendent Leonard "Nipper" Read, leader of the team responsible for the Krays' late 1960s arrest and conviction, inspiring the Pythons' answer in Harry "Snapper" Organs [Terry Jones])?:
... At Wandsworth he attempted to poison the prisoner in the cell next to him, and so was shipped over to Parkhurst in 1976, where he befriended the Kray twins,
who he described as "the best two guys I've ever met".[26]
... Brief taste of freedom and change of name
Upon his release from Gartree he was met by his family, and stayed with his parents for a few days in Aberystwyth.[53] He then took a train to London, bought a water pistol, modified it, and used it to intimidate a stranger into driving him to Luton.[54] Bronson then embarked had a short-lived career in (illegal) bare-knuckle boxing in the East End of London, on the advice of long-time friend Reggie Kray.[55] He changed his name from Micky Peterson to Charles Bronson in 1987 on the advice of his fight promoter, Paul Edmonds,[56] this was despite him never actually having seen a film starring the actor Charles Bronson.[57] He offered to fight Lenny McLean, but was refused.[58] He also claimed to have killed a rottweiler with his bare hands in a £10,000 underground fight, though later said this was "not something I'm proud of because I love animals".[59]
Comments
Post a Comment