1 a.m. what 1 a.m.

Alrighty. I’m going to dive right into this. You’ll learn some of the more intimate details of my life as we go along and I promise to hold nothing back. As I write this I am sitting alone in my beautiful study at one o’clock in the morning. I’m wearing one pair of my ‘Where’s Wally’ pyjamas (ask me later). 

I added the study to Chateau El Paso right around the time the late lamented Celtic Tiger was getting skewered in the neck. The house was built with the money I made from shafting closing my construction company a while earlier. It was also at that time that I was taking to all things arts and prose like a vet to a rubber glove. I haven’t looked behind me since.

My lovely study is spacious and warm. It’s got a mighty view out over my garden and onto the road outside. The view is blighted only slightly by the sight of some of those pesky estates I didn’t get to finish back in the day – but that doesn’t give me any bother. The study has lovely deep-pile carpet (underlay too) and a half-size faux-polar bear rug in the middle of the room which I simply adore; it adds a real touch of class to the room I think you’ll agree. All in all, it’s a beautiful little niche. You really have to hand it to the lads at SteelTech.

Anyway, right now I’m sitting at my antique, Georgian writing bureau. It’s a beauty to behold I can tell you. I bought purchased it from one of the most prestigious antique dealers in Ireland, all in celebration of a big pay check many years ago after I sold an unfinished four storey house I was building to an very elderly, half-deaf couple.

The desk was quite a long thought process with a lot of back n’ forth and haggling. The dealer had impressed me with the great pains he went to in order to assure me that it was the finest that money could buy. It was over one hundred years old he had said, hand made by master craftsmen from wood that had been harvested from an area of Malaysia famous to this day for its long lasting, beautiful and durable timber – the Malaysian Dadu Forest, known to the locals as the MDF. I have often meant to visit but haven’t got around to it yet.

To my left, on my antique, Georgian writing bureau sits a half empty glass of very fine brandy. It’s a Hennessy Paradis Impérial. The bottle cost €1,199 from Brown Thomas. I don’t care to measure, but at a guess I’d say that I have about €48.27 worth of very fine Hennessy Paradis Impérial brandy in the glass. All in all, I generally drink imbibe about €200 on a week night. I am aware of course that this bottle was also a favourite of none other than the late Kim Jong-il, good company in certain triangles.

I don’t care to measure any more though. Why would I? I am long since past that. Measuring only matters to poor people or to accountants, or that chap down in Kildare who tailors my silk underpants (one pair, one wear – that’s my motto). My maid and other such riff-raff take care of such mundane daily matters as my cooking and cleaning and shopping and (because I promised to be open and honest with you dear reader) with wiping my exquisitely groomed backside. My rare end has been plucked to within a micro-millimetre of its dear little life at a spa down in west Cork, I duck down there two or three times a year.

Anyway, around here, that job is done with loo rolls made from alpine cashmere fibres (£15 per roll from Harrods FYI). The paper is colour co-ordinated to match the curtains in each of my three splendid bathrooms and my favourite handkerchiefs – a design decision that has caused many an embarrassing incident I can tell you (guffaw).

I know these facts. I know them because they are the sort of thing that me and my chums debate about down the golf club – how very high quality everything in our lives is. It’s a permanent game of one-upmanship and it’s such great fun. We battle about everything from the petite little thingy that holds my balls (Tiffany if you must know, the shop, not the girl) to our pens. Or my quills rather, which are made with the arse feathers of Dodo Birds. They were a real find at a market stall in Milltown Malbay a few bank holiday weekends back.

I am a little miffed tonight though. Why I hear you rush to ask? Because yesterday I was outdone in the loo roll stakes by a club chum (Tim, developer, Justin Bieber fan, you’d like him). Tim brought home an even more exquisitely crafted roll from his recent travels in the orient. His loo roll is made of the finest wood pulp from Canada – combined with water from Japan’s cleanest river, the Nyodo. Each roll is signed and dated by the factory worker who made it. Each roll is then not only inspected – but is personally tested by the company president. Can you imagine such luxury, and the fun to be had?

As a side note, I did a little light research on this lovely potty paper and I’ve discovered a few fun facts. The firm’s president is apparently a man who is particularly fond of spicy food. Many of his dishes are spiced up by all accounts with the Naga Bhut Jolokia chilli pepper. In case you don’t recognise the name, it’s also known as the Ghost Pepper. It was until recently rated the hottest chilli pepper in the world. According to the Facebook page of a rival (Orifice Supplies) the president of the company consumes so much of it that his own rear end is starting to look like the Japanese flag, which is hi-larious. I imagine that no amount of clean river water is going to fix that.

Anyway, besides its culinary and paper testing uses, the Ghost pepper also has other uses: the manufacture of pepper spray; hand grenades that are used to disperse mobs and break up riots; and in the manufacture of smoke bombs that are used to keep wild elephants at a distance. The fact that this red hot chilli pepper pretty much has the word butt in its name is not lost on me at all. Oh, and Tim’s brand of loo roll is also reportedly the favourite of none other than the Emperor of Japan himself. Tim so eloquently said that it’s “good shit.” I think I would have to agree. Do please let me know if you can top that roll readers, and I’ll wipe the smile off Tim’s face (keep it clean now). Remind me to tell you about Tim’s travels with his wife in a later musing, it’s gas altogether.

Back to business now because the night is pushing on and the weight of the world is on my supremely buff shoulders. Why I hear you ask am I sitting at my desk at one in the morning? Because, and it pains me to admit it, my most recent proposal for a literary masterpiece has been getting less than ideal feedback from the places that matter to those who are literary inclined – Bebo, MySpace, and the odd publisher of course. So right now I find myself under pressure to bounce back.

For those of you who are not up to speed, the idea for my book, oh it’s so good and so original. It was going to be a semi-fictional, tragic-comic love story following the adventures of Pseudomodo. I think it has the potential to be the greatest piece of fiction ever written, since I gave up the building trade anyway. Pseudomodo is a short, deformed, psychic, cathedral bell ringer. My book will be set long ago in the lofty heights of that famous cathedral in Paris – St. Denis’s. It will tell the tale of how Pseudomodo’s love for the unattainable Anastasia would have taken a terrible toll (guffaw) were it not for his powers of foresight. It’s going to be called: The Hunchback of Nostradamus. Well, it was going to be called that.

What did they say? Well, if you really need to know, and it will hurt you to hear this I promise. The man at the local advertiser said, ironically enough, that it seems “fairly predictable.” And that harpy over at Harper Collins said that it had the potential to be “worse than Twilight.” That doesn’t hurt as much as you might think strangely enough because I rather liked twilight, the movie of course. I didn’t read the books as I was busy with a few Peter Andre biographies at the time.
Another chap, who is clearly too thick to know when he is reading satire suggested, “you are clearly taking the piss!”

Assholes. That’s the only thing that pops into my mind right now,  that and a mental image of the sun rising over Tokyo for some reason. So, now I have resigned myself to creating a brand new masterpiece and maybe even a new genre of fiction. I have been working quite hard at it for the last forty minutes or so and now I’m on a well earned brandy break. So far, I’ve done a lot of Googling and I’ve managed to gnaw my way through a few HBs too. The HBs are the pencils by the way – not the ice cream, if it was the ice cream it would have to be the very finest money can buy – Vienetta, two slices.

So, any suggestions on the loo roll? Let me know with a comment below.

Want to know what incredibly original stories I came up with? Tough luck.
You’ll have to wait a few days. Toodles!


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