"Yup, and you are, Madam...?"
"It's me, Jules....you remember....last June. In Stockholm..."
"Ah - of course. *Jules*. How could I forget? Cracking boogie-woogie version of 'Tramp Smash', was it? Just you tinkling the old ivories and me in a pin-stripe lyotard and a bustier made from Mr. Sheen feather duster refill pack, wasn't it? Or was Benny on B.V.s? No, it was the one with the beard - Bjorn? Or am I thinking of Frida? Anyway, I digress. Planning any more Summer Solstice Hootenannys in the Land of the Midnight Sun Jules, me old pal? Count me in if you are sunshine..."
"No, Roberta, I think you're thinking of another Jules. I'm Julian Assange. You know - from Wiki-Leaks...."
"Gor blimey, stone the crows - of *course*! Well I never! So, how are you me old son? And how's the swelling? Those two bits of spare we hooked up with at the after show party *were* a bit of a handful if memory serves. Mind you, I was off me face on Smorgasbord most of that trip, so I shouldn't think anything I could say would hold up in court. And that's not all that wouldn't hold up in court these days, believe me...but I'd prefer it if you could keep that to yourself, obviously. It's bad enough with the all the publicity about me cock-rot, let alone the world and his wife knowing all about my erectile dysfunction. But I thought they'd dropped the charges against you at the time? Besides, isn't it all still perfectly legal in Scandinavia anyway? Not very good for the Emmendel, I'll grant you - but hardly a hanging matter..."
"Look, Bob, can I just butt in here, this is a rather urgent matter...I'd love to sit and chat, obviously but you'll be aware that I'm in somehat of a jam at the moment. Basically, if you've been following the news, you'll know that the CIA and MI5 and Interpol, not to mention half the dodgy P.I.s in the northern hemisphere are all after my ass and, look, the long and the short of it is that I need a *really* *secure* bolt hole - you know, just for a couple of days until all this blows over...somewhere completely out of the public arena where I could get my shit together and, you know, distribute a few zip files to my trusted fellow conspirators without anyone in the world knowing my whereabouts...hello, Bob, are you still there...?"
"...'somewhere completely out of the public arena where I can get my shit tog'....and *somehow*, *I* was the first name to, you know, pop into your head...is that it? Shit....I'm speechless...you randy, conniving, bogus, oriental old cable leaker...Look, you know, I may not have much of a profile these days, but I used to *be* someone *mister*. "I laughed..." You know who said that?? Stewart Lee - *Stew* *art* *Lee*, no less. *He* said that, you know. About *my* blog. (Well, it was about one of the songs, actually - a real tearjerker, I thought, but there you go. 'All publicity...' and all that... Besides, what's *he* done for a while, anyway, eh? Mister Jerry Springer The Opera Mister High and Mighty Stewarty Lee????) I've had stalkers you know... Oh yes. Proper cyber ones with hourly emails until my Venezuelan ex- hacked into the account. You see, there's a lesson for us all there - cyber crime doesn't pay...
So let me get this straight: basically, what you're saying is that you want to come and hang out here in Rothergavenny because you think it's the last place anyone in the the world will think to look for you?"
"...you would be doing me *such* a great favour Bob..."
"...and you promise you'll bring your own tights? I'm down to me last pair after the Comprehensive Spending Review. And they're all laddered...and not in a good way..."
"Pristine 80 deniers Bob, all the way..."