Friday, 23 January 2009


"...meant to say but keep forgetting, you should post some samples from
your book on your blog - the equivalent of letting a potential buyer flick
through a book in Waterstone's.
Best wishes etc.... "

The above is from an e-mail I received a little while
ago. And below is, not an excerpt from the book in question, but the version of
an extract which I myself posted, in the fall of 2004, to Gillon Aitken
Associates, Literary Agents, London S.W.10.

“As for the story I cannot really see the point in dwelling on it.“ I
wrote. “It has a beginning and an ending, a denouement where you would expect
it, some truly offensive language and some psychotically violent and
child-chillingly hideous villains. I know what you're thinking - I'm under no
illusions here - but it seems to me that in spite of an appearance of
considerable complexity, any story is only as good as the telling. The proof of
the pudding, in other words, lies in the reading.” And lets be frank about this,
I’m never even going to attempt a *great* fictional masterpiece. My passion is
philosophy and the pursuit of reason. But I am not, as might have happened once,
above writing a damn good social satire or, in the event, even entertain a few

Unsurprisingly, Kate S. was ‘not in love with it.’“I didn’t find myself
responding positively so I’m obviously not the right agent for you,” she wrote
with impeccable common sense. Bless her.

If the eminently sullen nature of my query produced a response which no
consideration of literary irreverence could mitigate, the fifth chapter would
definitely have put paid to any possibility of that. Not because it’s the
slightest chapter. But because the temperate Ms Shaw could not possibly have
approved of it. Frankly, I myself was astonished one morning in the summer of
2003, in the midst of my deepest slumber, to learn that I had been placed under
arrest. And, for those of you who might suggest that my life has been an ongoing
triumph of impeccable conduct, I am afraid to say, the allegation was one of a
serious sexual nature.
And here’s how the whole thing started.
My friend Benny told me about this party and how it was going to have all
the cutest chicks in town. The instant I arrived, he said “Try the Appleton
I had barely opened my mouth.
Then his pals and their girlfriends piled in. Six hours later I found
myself at a police station in Wembley Park - a West London district of whose
existence I had previously been altogether ignorant.
I was stripped naked. A desk sergeant asked me a quantity of highly
inappropriate questions. A custody officer advised me on my rights. I was then
supplied with a prison issue boiler-suit - entirely made of paper - and
"charged" with affray, sexual harassment and attempted rape!
Imagine that!
Then the cell! A bunk, a sink, a john.
No amenities, except for a paperback left lying on the bunk. ‘The Satanic
‘. I’m not even a fan of Salman Rushdie‘s. The only thing I like about him
is his incredibly lovely fourth wife. That said, I may not have the prominence
of Salman R., but the reason I don’t have his wife is not my lack of virility.
That thought cheered me up a lot. Whatever was going to happen next, I
blissfully drifted off to sleep.
My slumber was interrupted when an audible gasp arose from a startled woman
PC who tugged at my sleeve and pointed in the direction of my groin. I snapped awake. For reasons completely unrelated to my libido, an awkward matter had presented itself. It looked three-dimensional. It felt three-dimensional. It was unmistakable:
A giant erection!
As I lay napping on my bunk, a highly volatile and critical development had been unfolding in my boiler-suit. It seemed like the prelude to an explosion. Given the nature of the paper vestment, nothing substantial restrained the projection. The WPC then said that I could be guilty of an offence of indecent exposure with intent to insult a female under the 1824 Vagrancy Act. The maximum penalty, she added was three months imprisonment.
She was looking at the ceiling, not at me.
Nor could I possibly have conceived that the English criminal justice
system and a natural urinary inclination could be combined to form such a devastating indictment. I scarcely knew what to say. I also explained that my physical appearance was the result of too much Appleton Special, a giant hangover, and pressure on the bladder.
What else was there to say? That I was pleased to see her?
I didn’t tell her about Salman’s wife, though. No need to get cute with the
Nor did I mention that the Appleton Special was 100% proof. That it can
cause double vision, pink hallucinations and visitations from airborne
elephants, is what I have also good reason to believe.
As I was led into the interrogation room the constable simply waved me
inside. He did his best to ignore the fact that there was an unauthorized
hard-on on the make. Flushed with adrenalin, it was still straining to gain
altitude. The paper suit seemed remarkably compliant. There was nothing
ambiguous about it. The cops kept their distance. Once inside, though, there was
a universal gasp, and it wasn’t one of approbation. It was evident the
detective-sergeant in charge of the interrogation alternated between
astonishment and reprimand.
“Good Lord,” he said, stating the obvious.
Force majeure!” I replied, by way of explanation.
“Straighten up, man!” he said - not without awe.
Hardly the best move to make under the circumstances!
“Sit down!” he barked.I was happy enough to do that.
“Are you drunk?”I admitted I was.
“Do you have a drinking problem?”“No, Sir,” I said. “I have a problem
staying sober!”
He didn’t crack a smile. Privately, of course, I agree, my appearance told
heavily against me, even though the only credible piece of evidence produced by
the Crown was a substantial erection. How substantial depends on which account
you believe. Mine or the police’s.
And that’s about the size of it.

Meanwhile, I want to set your minds at ease as much as I can. I want you to
know that I was granted bail in accordance with the Bail Act, 1976, under the
provisions of Section 34/37 Police and Criminal Evidence Act 1984, and granted
unconditional release. Would it bother you if I also claimed that I am less
disturbed by the evidence I presented to the Crown, than by seeing that the
question of my gender should have become the subject of so much hesitation on
this board? Conflating fact and fiction, I would remind you, is the essence of a
writers' license, and so far as you are concerned, gentlemen bloggers, perverts and doggers,
rest assured that I always considered, and shall continue
to consider, myself delectably, scrumptiously, deliciously...

Miss (!!) Selena Dreamy


strombombolino said...

I am quite conscious that your historic revelations represent a turning point in blogging history, Miss Dreamy, but would you mind being a little more specific about the "allegations of a serious sexual nature"?

Bob said...

The image of Miss Dreamy with an erection is now forever scratched in my memory, alas.

When I read a piece I usually hear the voice of the author in my mind. When the voice changes, so does the content.

Selena Dreamy said...

You know wht my biggest fault is, Bob? And I hate to say this about my own voice, but I find it hard to ignore... presumably, because it dispense with the formal conventions of gender, cultural association and human moral conviction!

Selena Dreamy said...

would you mind being a little more specific about the "allegations of a serious sexual nature"?

Always fishing for information, Strombo, and I, as usual, have none to give you. I can, however, confirm, that I am increasingly taken with British jails. Service aside, the food is excellent, and the force, though somewhat right of centre, good-humoured and very attentive, especially the WPCs.

Hope that helps!

Crushed said...

Funnily enough, I was chatting to a blogger before Xmas about the differences between blogger's persona and reality. We were actually talking about a particular blogger who masquerades as a good old fashioned champion of family christian values, but in reality, is a bit of a drooling pervert, as well as a closet Nazi.

Anyway, we jokingly got on to gender and whether any of the female bloggers were- not, basically.

And he brought you up. I have to admit, I actually thought that he was only saying that because you wrote about quite deep phiosophical stuff, the nature of reality, etc and that it was merely stereotyping. Though I did read through the next post you did humming and hawing and a-wondering. But still came down on the side that it was gossip based on the fact that men don't believe women can be bright.

There is actually a test you can do online which says whether your writing is very male or very female. It'd be interesting to put your blog into that, see what the result was.

I'm kind of assuming that the allegations, whatever they were, were false and ultimately found to be so.

btw, I served a year in Winson Green and a year in Sudbury (AKA HMP Butlins) for Possession with intent to supply Class A drugs. I admitted it on my blog over a year ago, because some evil little troll spilled the beans, but in the end I did a week long series of posts relating my memoirs :)

Selena Dreamy said...

There is actually a test you can do online which says whether your writing is very male or very female. It'd be interesting to put your blog into that, see what the result was.

And I thank you for that Crushed!

Indeed, I very much trust that such a test will finally put paid to the persistent and totally unfounded allegations that I happen to be of a dubious gender -

strombombolino said...

You're off the hook, Selena. I have just subjected a sample of your writing to the literary Polygraph, and successfully established, that you are neither male nor female!

Selena Dreamy said...

I'm not sure how I am supposed to be comforted by that, Bombolino, but luckily, I have said all along that I am from a different galactic system!

Here's a thought, though. I myself have submitted two samples of Gordon McCabe's prose to the Gender Genie and, surprise surprise, the man's a woman...

Vince said...

Selena, post a picture of your hands holding a piece of paper with the words "These hands belong to the blogger Selena Dreamy" written on it. Hands are a give away.

Do it within 24 hours, if you are not a fraud.

Anonymous said...

apparently, i'm a woman too, according to the polygraph.

Selena Dreamy said...

Yes, Elberry, but are you, like myself, a woman of the world, naked, supine and in the throes of perpetual ecstasy...?

Selena Dreamy said...

"Selena, post a picture of your hands holding a piece of paper... "

Ahh Vince, I do so wish I could oblige, but my hands are scheduled, today, to be exfoliated and enriched with a moisturizing emollient and then, for the next 24 hours, carefully eased into heated gloves, in order to allow the nourishment to penetrate...!

Would a picture of my breasts satisfy you, Honey? Inscribed with a logo of your own choice, needless to say...?

Vince said...

Yes, I'd settle for a picture of your breasts, with the name Vince on them LOL.

percy stilton said...

You will always be more than a woman to me, Selena.

Selena Dreamy said...

...looks like I've been wrong all along, Sir Percy, and you are what you always claimed to be: a true gentleman - and a big-hearted one to boot!

And now boys, Selena is off for another one of Jessica’s Deluxe Manicures,(it's the best deal in London)- love you all...


Anonymous said...

It is always best to leave them gasping for more... that is how I have always approached my appearances in Police cells and Magistrates courts and I see you have done the same Ms D! On a lighter note I have a bag of Toffee bob-bons and some White Lightning and I could be over in - say - half an hour? I would be happy to massage your feet...

Selena Dreamy said...

...I'm afraid Mutley, I'm waiting for the plumber (seriously), but I'm rather hoping he'll do to my pipes what you would be doing to my feet...

Name: All Shook Up said...

"Nor could I possibly have conceived..." Yep. It's your own work alright - there's the trade mark 'nor'!

I long ago realised that everyone except me were the same person.