“Pretentious twat.”

Such was the verdict of the esteemed Nottingham Evening Post commentariat, shortly after a shortened version of my “emotional journey” piece appeared on its website this morning. (The same piece is in today’s print edition, complete with a nice photo taken by K and a bloody awful photo which I don’t recall seeing before. I’m all chin! Eww!)

“Bring it on, Philistines”, I smirked, eagerly awaiting a torrent of similarly pungent insights throughout the course of the day. But alas, it was not to be. Well, it would have been tricky to insert the usual “Zanu-Labour”/”we pay enough council tax“/”Bottler Brown’s broken Britain” rants into a piece about a prancing poof on a plinth, even for the most zealously committed of regular commenters.

All of which gives me a handy excuse to wrap up this bumper month of plinthage with a couple more links. Adrian Sevitz has a cute little video of a bunch of impromptu “fan dancers”, paying their own twisted form of homage at the foot of the plinth last Thursday – and my official portrait artist Lucy Pepper (see graphic in top right corner) has immortalised my hour with a lovely drawing, attached to a post that seems to place me as some sort of poster boy for Generation X. (I see myself more as nestling within the Baby Boomer/Gen X cusp, but I’ll take my compliments as I find them.)

Another footnote. Having repaired to the Ship And Shovel for a post-plinth drink with friends and family, we found ourselves sharing boozing space with the presenters and crew of Channel 4’s Time Team. On my descent to the toilets, I found myself just behind one of the presenters, Phil Harding, who was being accosted by an enthusiatic fan.

“It’s Mr Harding, isn’t it?”

(Gruffly) “Yes.”

“Oh, could you tell me, are any of the episodes of Time Team available on DVD?”

(Even more gruffly) “I AM GOING. FOR A SLASH.”

“Oh, well, can I ask you about it when you come out?”

* SLAM *

He left the pub pretty sharpish after that. Fame, who’d have it?

And now, if you’ll excuse me, we’re off for a beer in Beeston with Buni and his bloke. Please pray for my safe return. (As older readers might remember, I have a healthy suspicion of Nottingham’s academia ghetto, as friends have had a habit of moving there and never being seen again. This archived piece from Troubled Diva’s Golden Age will make everything clear.)

genx-plinth-pepper

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