Droning on...and on...and on...and on...and on...
Lies, Lies, and more damned lies...
HAMISH DIXON'S DIARY
Tuesday, May 11, 2004

AMONG THE WHITE COATS

Since I was locked up in this place it has taken until now to find a way to share my musings with my many readers. It may not have been clear before, but until my incarceration I dictated my thoughts to my trusty 24/7 secretary Geraldo, who dutifully typed them into the machine. I am sorry now that I never mentioned this, or gave Geraldo the acknowledgement that he deserved. It would have been some compensation for the fact that he is now, no doubt,jobless and teetering on destitution. (I do remember, however, that he had a very pretty wife whom he can, no doubt, send out onto the street to earn a crust for the family. I shall try to get word to him that he should send her over the river to Manhattan to do so, as all such services command a higher price there than in Jersey or the outer boroughs.)

Anyway, once they had removed the straitjacket, I put in a request for a copy of the Mavis Beacon Teaches Typing software, which I can recommend wholeheartedly to anyone who needs to do their own secretarial work. It took a week for the software to arrive, and another couple for me to become proficient. And so here I am.

I'm not entirely sure where I am or why I am here. Dolores has not been to visit me, and neither have the children. I am surrounded by people in white coats who refer to me in the third person plural.

"Are we going to take our medicine today, or are we going to try to bite nurse's ear off again?" for example. "Are we a great real estate mogul today, or are we Donald Rumsfeld?"

Have they got the wrong man?



and on...and on...and on...and on

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