I receive an alarming telephone call!!!
“There are photographers in my front garden,” states an upset voice, “and reporters are harassing my family and badgering my friends for stories about me.”
“I thought I’d better warn you. They might be on your case.”
I replace the receiver, thoughtfully. (Actually there was a bit more conversation after this, but you get the gist.) I have always assumed that I would get drawn in to the Masturgate Affair to one extent or the other, but did not expect a crisis situation like this.
I have a bit of a ponder. Should I be doorstepped by the Daily Mail or Sunday Times then there may be unpleasantness. I think the Methodical Carpenter would be quite good in a scuffle, but he is still limping slightly and it would be unfair to involve him. I need a plan.
The kitchen window looks out down the drive onto the road, enabling me to easily spot an approaching tabloid reporter, who would give the game away with their London clothes.
An excellent idea occurs to me. I grab my video camera and set it up so it covers the doorway. Consequently, when I am doorstepped, I will be able to switch on the camera, establish that the journalist is from the Sunday Times or the Daily Mail and about to cause unpleasantness, then shoot them in the goolies with an air gun.
I can then send the resulting footage to the website ‘You Tube’, who will be bound to print it. There is nothing funnier than seeing a film of a man saying “hello I am from the Sunday Times/Daily Mail and our readers would very much like to know about – ” and then getting shot in the goolies and hopping around shouting “ow ow ow! Fuck! You have shot me! In the goolies!” I will easily get loads of comments against it saying things like ‘dude u rock!!!’
It seems an excellent plan, despite nagging doubts about subsequent implications of shooting people from major newspapers in the goolies.
I settle down to lie in wait.