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Dreadful Nonsense

"I've read your blog. it's really funny. you should write a column." - Jon Ronson


It all began so well. Having passed out under the weight of his various prescription drugs all dissolved into a glass of Sunny Delight, Eoin was shipped off to Dublin to wake up half an hour after the event had begun. With guests still arriving, I’m told he seemed delighted to stand at the door taking hats and coats and being mistaken for a butler, until our publicists noticed him straining under the weight of so much fur, and brought him for the rounds to speak to journalists, politicians, and some people from Open House. He was apparently singing the theme tune to the Littlest Hobo most of the time and answered every question by picking quotes at random from a bible. When asked by Ian Dempsey where he got his crazy ideas from, Eoin answered “And surely your blood of your lives will I require; at the hand of every beast will I require it, and at the hand of man; at the hand of every man's brother will I require the life of man. Whoso sheddeth man's blood, by man shall his blood be shed: for in the image of God made he man.” (Genesis 9:5-6) Dempsey seemed happy with this answer.

I myself fared better in London – now that everything had been straightened up, there seemed little to concern myself with. I amused myself by frequently drinking out of the glass of the person beside me, occasionally using a straw when unable to wrestle it from their hands. I was pleased to be told that some of the cast of Coronation Street had taken up our invitation. I wasn’t able to distinguish them from any of the other “celebrities” present on the night, being more accustomed to serious artistic endeavors like programmes with Melvyn Bragg and Simon Schama.

Having tricked Eoin into eating a burger lined with a fast acting anaesthetic, he was shipped off to Dublin airport and flew in our private jet to London. I was collected as he landed, and had a brief glimpse of him lying on the stretcher, his thumb in his mouth and clutching his Fame Academy CD.

It was only when he woke up, slightly confused and disorientated, that he must have began to think someone was trying to drug him. Having quietly searched what he thought was the same room for the people that he had been speaking to earlier in the night, and unable to find anyone but our twittering publicist (who herself was slightly confused at this point, what with the cocaine), he began to form a theory about what was happening – he decided that, having killed Maxine Peacock with the mere tap of a crow bar, Richard Hillman was obviously coming after him next.

This entry was posted on 02 February 2003 at 5:00 pm. 0 comments

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