Barbara lay back on her chaise longue, nestling amongst the silk cushions, eyes closed, and murmuring softly, as if in a trance. "Chapter One ... " she - no, no, Mrs Angry, don't tease.
Brian, Brian lay back, not Barbara, of course. (Although as we know, Raine, Countess Spencer, is an awfully good friend and confidante of Brian Coleman, and her sadly departed mother Barbara Cartland must have been inspired, at some point, surely, by her daughter's escort's manly charms, no? No, maybe not. Anyway.
Yes, as you may have heard, the hugely popular former London Assembly Member, former Chair of the Fire Authority, and former Barnet Council Cabinet member Brian Coleman has decided that, in order to reclaim some of the headline grabbing attention he so clearly misses, he must write his memoirs.
What a brilliant idea! Already queues of would be readers are forming outside Waterstones in North Finchley, just opposite Cafe Buzz, where his biggest admirer, parking campaigner and suburban terrorist Helen Michael spends her days making Mrs Angry tuna baguettes, and frightening small children and secret policemen with her posters of Brian Coleman. Ah, I say queues of would be readers ... most of them appear to be shopkeepers brandishing pitchforks and flaming torches ... draw the curtains, Brian.
Councillor Coleman is far too busy to write his own memoirs, of course, and so he has asked Mrs Angry to ghost them for him, and act as his amenuensis: Boswell to his Johnson, if you like. You may be surprised, but in fact Brian and Mrs Angry have formed an intimate new friendship, based on their mutual dislike of organised sport, the Olympics, and Boris Johnson. Yep: we do lunch regularly, now, you know. Of course Mrs Angry picks up the bill, since Brian's on his uppers. Vincenzo is very discreet, slipping him a doggy bag as we leave, worrying about his favourite customer. Ah Signora Angry, he whispers, with a sad face, ... But where were we?
Brian lay back on his chaise longue, nestling amongst the silk cushions, eyes closed, dribbling, and murmuring softly, as if in a trance. Mrs Angry scribbled away in shorthand. She can't remember any, so none of it will make sense, but then no one really wants to know what the old fool is banging on about, do they?
"Chapter One", announced Brian suddenly, in his more usual robust and forthright tone. "The Early Years".
"I was", said Brian, "Without Question, an Exceptionally Beautiful and Talented Baby."
Mrs Angry peered at him over her glasses. 'I think perhaps', she observed, you need to stop talking in Capital Letters, Brian ...'
Brian arrives from outer space'I was not born on earth, of course', he continued, dreamily, 'but brought here by my scientist father, just before the destruction of our planet Krypton, then raised in Kansas by a kindly farmer and his wife, who guided my formative years with the influence of A Strong Moral Compass.
Brian is a good boyIt was clear from the beginning that I had Superhuman Powers, which, upon reaching maturity, I resolved to use for the Benefit of Humanity.
I changed my mind, however, joined the Conservative Party, and went into local politics'.
'Hold on,' interjected Mrs Angry, 'you've skipped a bit ... what about your schooldays, Brian?' QE Boys, wasn't it? Cufflinks, and a spot of unpleasantness behind the bicycle sheds and all that?
Brian teaches his masters a lesson in politics'My school career was one marked by Unsurpassed Academic Achievement and Immense Popularity with both Masters and Boys alike. So well thought of was I, that in later years I was invited back to the old school as Governor ...'
Brian makes a triumphant return to his old school'Dear me, said Mrs Angry, 'And then what happened?
Brian sat up. 'That, Mrs Angry', he snapped, 'will be the subject of the next volume ... Part Two: These People: My life as the Most Important Person in the Entire World, at least inside the Narrow Confines of my Own Imagination.
Mmm, said Mrs Angry: oh look, my pencil's broken. What a shame.
To be continued.
But not in the near future, hopefully.
