Low life
Bobbing and weaving
Jeffrey Bernard
The postman has got a terrific feeling for montage. Yesterday he delivered a letter from the House of Lords inviting me to a party in the House of Commons and another from the Bloomsbury and Marylebone County Court informing me that they have issued a warrant for my arrest for contempt. They go on to say that if I fail to appear on 4 March then I shall be Imprisoned. It's funny that because it is the same day as the cocktail party in the Commons and it is also my daughter's 17th birthday. What a busy day. There are also two race meetings at Wetherby and Worcester. It is the sort of day that puts it all into a nutshell. To get the full benefit out of 4 March I think I will try and arrange a working breakfast with somebody at the Connaught. I like a flying start. But I have no contempt for the County Court. Far from it. I think they do a wonderful job. They even put yellow ink over the words 'arrest' and 'imprisonment' on the warrant just in case my adrenalin glands need waking up. Yes, I'm being sued by a dentist. I could have paid hm ages ago but I have been reluctant to fork out £100 for a temporary filling. It seems a lot for putting a bit of cotton wool into a hole. Now, with £46 costs added to the bill 111Y petulance has cost me the price of a Ploughman's lunch plus 125 large vodkas to wash it down with. Or the return air fare to Dublin where a publican has invited me to stay with him. Does he want to kill me?
So the next day the relentless postman brought me a postcard from Irma Kurtz who seems to be in Washington in the Company of three raccoons, plus a smashing bill from the Inland Revenue. But I have cracked the Inland Revenue at last. I said to a mate on the Sunday Express, the brilliant Graham Lord, 'Look at this demand. What the hell shall I do?' He said, 'Pay it.' That is fantastic and so It has never occurred to me before that you can get these people off your back by paying up. For years I have been bobbing and weaving, ducking and diving, and all along I could have simply paid up on the dot. I think life is going to become a lot smoother from here on in. I am very grateful to Graham for that advice. With him around who needs an accountant?
I was going to spend the money on furniture for my new flat but you don't need more than a bed, a typewriter and a corkscrew. But I did get some very silly advice from a woman reader of the Sunday Mirror who wrote to me to tell me that I could furnish a flat from jumble sales. I don't know what sort of people she thinks work for Mirror Group Newspapers but I could tell her that the printers go to La Gavroche for their tea breaks. Well, the dentist and the Inland Revenue now put firmly in their places we can put our feet up and write a book. Come to think of it I can't unless I can find a desk in a jumble sale. Perhaps the Distressed Gentlefolk people have jumble sales where you can find useful things like old pith helmets, maid's uniforms, stuffed owls, collections of Not Wanted On Voyage labels, gaiters, tea cosies, croquet hoops, old Afghan War medals and desks. What an extraordinary flat it is going to be. And think of the shame and embarrassment it will cause my brothers and daughter when I am found dead dressed in a maid's uniform and wearing a VC. That, by the way, is one of the bonuses of being permanently in debt. You can't lie about rotting because these Inland Revenue and VAT people have a penchant for breaking down doors. I don't want to go in a dustbin liner.
If only friends were as punctilious as bailiffs about keeping in touch. It says quite a lot about someone as to how long they could be dead before being found. I read somewhere once that a man had died over his pint of beer in the corner of a pub early one evening and they never noticed until chucking-out time. I've known and do know some pub bores but he must have been the guvnor of them all. You'd think somebody might have asked him for a light or whether he'd care to make up a four at darts. I wonder too whether they put his beer back into the ullage. If he had got it on the slate they probably did. But what with VAT on coffins we must hang on and deny the bastards.
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