
Gillian had me in hysterics yesterday (I hope this reads as funny as it was at the time).
Gillian took a book off the cataloguing shelf called Dear Editor . . . The collected letters of Oscar Brittle. And she read from the flyleaf : "To some newspaper and magazine editors, who don't have time for his 'exploits', he is 'opinionated' and 'divisive', while others 'don't know what to make of him'. to some readers he is 'living in the past'; an 'arrogant toff' who needs 'a drink poured over his head'. To his growing legion of fans - those who understand him - he is 'commendable' and 'heroic'; a man of ideas, of pedigree, of unimpeachable integrity, and, quite simply, the most significant and powerful contibutor to public debate in contemporary Australia."
Then Gillian read a few excerpts :
"There are so many things that make me cranky, I don't even know where to start."
Oscar Brittle, Killara, NSW in The Australian Monday February 27, 2006
"Dear Editor,
After six years of painstaking research, I am able to conclude that all of the world's conspiracy theories are the work of one man. That man is Derek Ronald Jenkins of 12 Millwood Lane, Cambridge, United Kingdom. (Block out the address if you need to.)
Facts simply do not lie.
Jenkins has been placed at the scene of some of the most newsworthy events of the last fifty years - the My Lai Massacre, the murder of Lord Mountbatten and the Oklahoma bombings. He has well-established links to the CIA, the KGB, the BBC and the Black Hand. He spends up to 80 hours per week on the internet and last year received England's fourth highest annual private telephone bill. His blinds are usually drawn. He has got to be up to something."
Rejected by the Hobart Mercury
and
"Dear Editor,
I have recently been self-diagnosed with prostrate cancer - thanks to the electric internet and some gentle prodding. However, I still have a few questions. How can I skip the middleman and convince a surgeon to go ahead and operate? Or is it possible to 'self-medicate' in these situations and remove the wretched gland myself? I'm very tempted by the latter, I must admit."
Rejected by the New Idea magazine
This all had me nearly hysterical and certainly in tears with laughter. My hysteria only increased when the next book Gillian pulled off the shelf was called An exact replica of a figment of my imagination.