Читать книгу The Lost Diaries - Craig Brown, Craig Brown - Страница 86

Nelson Mandela is one bloke I hugely admire. I can’t imagine being locked up in a cell for literally days on end without a personal assistant or even face-cream. I wrote a song about Nelly’s time in prison – ‘It’s Those Little Things I Miss So Bad’ – and I was privileged to sing it at a concert in his honour:

Larked up in jay-ul

Cos my skin’s not pay-ul

Yit’s those lit-tul thungs I myiss swooo bad –

Thwose lit-tul things

That Santa brings

Like dia-mond riiiings

An’ pure gold wiiiings

An’ thwose pearl yearrings I once had

When I finished singing this soulful tribute, I glanced over at the great man. The guy was in tears.

Afterwards, I attended a ceremony at which Nelson Mandela was going to give a bit back to society by presenting yours truly with an honorary degree. It was a marvellous moment as I received my degree from Little Miss Mandela, truly a legend in her own lifetime.

SIR ELTON JOHN

Now I hear that the brave firefighters, lovely, decent lads, are going on strike to try and stop this whole ghastly business of the government’s secret time-changes.

I pop into the local home furnishings store, march up to the bedding counter and ask for some Polos. They say they sell pillows, not Polos, and they show me one. ‘Well, I’ll never be able to fit something that size in my ear!’ I exclaim. What a bunch of proper Charlies!

Eventually, I locate some Polo mints at the sweet shop next door. ‘Do they come with batteries?’ I ask, but it turns out these are extra, like so many things these days. So blow me down if they haven’t even privatised Polo mints! I have no wish to bring personalities into it, that’s not my style, never has been, never will be, but I place the blame fairly and squarely on that smarmy, self-satisfied, grinning lickspittle Tony Blair.

TONY BENN