Paxman's Pants

Paxman’s Pants ©

By Michael Casey

I was just taking a gander at the newspapers when I came across Paxman being interviewed now that his Autobiography is coming out. How does an Autobiography Come Out, is the book Gay, or does it mean it is being revealed, so does that mean the Autobiography is a Flasher of some sort.

I always said if I wrote my autobiography I’d wait till my siblings were dead first so I could not upset anybody too much. I am the near youngest of the brood, then what happens it’s Me who could have bit the dust first, is it God’s way of saying Don’t write the autobiography, God the greatest Literary Critic.

Though I am writing my 11^th book now, so what sort of sense of Humour does He have? I was once told by a female priest that she thought I should write short pieces, and that’s what I do as I approach my 1,000,000 Word. Or did the priest have a short attention span or was she in league with the Lord.

So there is Paxman dressed in his Toga at the Woodcock Street Baths and Sauna in downtown Birmingham, a slave throws water on the coals, while a scribe write down his every word. An old woman in a piny wiping her snotty nose on her elbow, gives him his change with a dirty look, the look is free, the sauna is 6.99 plus 2 quid for a once spotless towel. It was used once by Arthur Dent, the motorway builder.

So Paxman tells how he was bored for 25 years, the slave looks up interested, bored does not mean bored you fool, can somebody whip him, no don’t bother he’d enjoy it too much, just put more water on the coals, I want steam. Peter Gabriel looks up from his position on the floor, and starts singing. Paxman gives him a withering look and Gabriel runs away crying, he’ll go back to Genesis.

If only he was by a river bank, with his rod, no slave nothing to do with punishment, though Rod Stewart music IS punishment.  Perhaps Paxman should use the word pole, a carbon fibre 20 metre pole, no you clot a pole not a Polish Pole. Why are slaves so one dimensional, you can’t get a good one for love or money.

Having dictated 20 pages to the scribe Paxman has a dip in the pool, before emerging like god from the water. He is peckish now after all the sweating, normally it was Politicians sweating, but those days are over, Paxman is so humble now, he could form a humble club with Donald Trump.

It was outside the Woodcock street baths that I bumped into Paxman, he did ask for my autograph but I refused, but I said I knew a good pub, The Churchill and he could bring his Black Dog with him. He was going to use a big word on me but he knew I was dictionaryless,  I probably couldn’t even spell serendipity let alone know what it meant. Go on, but not the Churchill, my Black Dog is not with me today anyway.

So I took Paxman to the Trader in Old Forge and Singing Anvil and introduced him to Wayne the barman, I suppose he’s named after John Wayne intoned Paxman. Actually I am replied Wayne as he took Paxman downstairs and showed him his cellar. Paxman returned 20 minutes later with tears in his eyes and holding a tumbler of 70  year old whisky, that’s unbelievable he mumbled humbled as if by almighty God himself.

Now that I’ve got your attention maybe you’ll listen to this business idea, Paxman looked up a freshly opened bag of pork scratchings in his mighty palm, anything anything I’m at your disposal. Wayne winked at me as I broached the idea. David Beckham has retired from advertising  for Marks and Spencer, so would you be interested in advertising  their pants.