Wiki-leeks...

"Hello, Roberta?"

"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..."

"Why-yiy-oughda...."

xxx
Bob

Post #955...

Dear reader. Dear gentle reader - and, for once, I'm being factual and precise here in using the singular, can even give that reader a name, so fabulously have I pursued my quest to alienate you all - read on, dear reader just a little further. We're almost there, have almost reached the end, Dave - you don't mind if I call you Dave, do you? Dear Sancho Panza to my Don Quixote, Dave. Dave and Bob may not have quite the same ring, but there you go. What does? It's the credit crunch, perhaps? Nothing holds its value anymore, does it? Everything gets squeezed, squashed, shrunk - 'downsized'. Whatever it is that's happening, it's not sparing the language. It's some kind of word crunch that's pinching bloggers into tweeters, perhaps. Like the economy, we just can't stretch to it anymore can we? The longer piece. It's just too costly, too dear. We run a deficit of words; so pare it down, bring on the cuts, the slash and burn. We haven't got enough to spare or spend, it seems - have we? The time, that is. Reserves of that are running low, just like everything else. This is a little bit embarrassing actually, but...um...we're a little bit short at the moment, actually; of time and patience, of effort and thought. Look, I'll keep this brief; can you come back next week?

And so - and here's an irony of the language - as the economy has shrunk, economy of words has duly become the dominant style. The tweet, for instance - can you get more economical than that? Not outside the haiku. You could be forgiven the thought that the blog has had its say already; too vast and epic in scope, those paragraphs just seem to go on and on and on, don't they? There's just too much of them, too much...character. Or too many characters. And so we flee from the forest of words. If you don't believe me, just roll your gaze up and down the blog list a little further down at the side of this page. So many of the old stalwarts have fled their homes it seems - reading up from the bottom, back up through the mists of time and the rolling tumbleweeds; Istvanski (last post four months ago), Billy (last post four months ago) Ro-mo (last post one month ago) Dick Headley (last post five weeks ago), Betty (last post 3 week's ago), Photon (last post 2 weeks ago)... Perhaps it's just a go-slow, a work-to-rule. Or maybe they're just battoning down the hatches, riding out the storm; laying low until the good times return. Perhaps. But many of them, I'm sure, like so many around the globe, are ekeing out their words. Parsimonious of parse and tweet; their blogs now just too unwieldy, too sprawling. Couldn't afford the upkeep any longer. Too high maintenance, they've abandoned their old country seats, downsized, moved out to the margins to see the hard times out. Hoarding their words like misers in those smart little one ups-two downs, the little bijous that are springing up all over the shop; low maintenance, cheap and cheerful, no hassle. Small perhaps, but with plenty of character - well, 140 of them, to be exact.

But Dave - (you are still there Dave, I trust...*you* haven't deserted me too, have you?) - there's still a little way for us to go too. This is not another 'retirement' - not just yet, anyway. No, just a pause for thought; a reminder. Another downpayment on the old pile. But maybe a countdown, of sorts...


xxx
Bob