Low life
Life class
Jeffrey Bernard
T write to you as we go into the last day of
the fifth and final Test against the West Indies. At the beginning and until recently I was a little depressed by the England performances but now I find them quite hilarious. In the Coach and Horses we also have the benefit of Norman's commentar- ies as we watch the games on the telly. He knows about as much about sport as I know about nuclear physics. It doesn't, of course, stop him declaiming and prognosti- cating. Last week he told us that Botham was finished and then Botham picked up five wickets. He also announced to the saloon bar that Zola Budd would 'piss it'. But one of the few things that haven't made me laugh recently was the appalling behaviour of the American running person Mary Decker. The tears, moaning, whin- ing and whingeing were pretty sickening and, as they say, if the kitchen's too hot, get out. But now I find the Olympics altogether a bit of a bore and I'd much rather watch England's middle order bat- ting collapse or see joggers .having heart attacks around the perimeter of Regent's Park. Yes, Decker is a harmless baby and games aren't about being harmless. I bowled a bouncer at Michael Foot a few years ago and he still got to lead his party.
The other test of a sort which started last week was my going to Colchester to address a group of American art students. I can never get it out of my mind on such occasions just how ridiculous and absurd it is that I should be addressing anyone at all. I was supposed to be talking to them about journalism (you put the paper in the typewriter and then go out for a drink) but we ended up having a discussion about, would you believe, life. I ask you. Life' Luckily one of their minders started feed- ing me vodkas half way through this embarrassing exhibition so there was no danger of drying up, in fact as time went by I felt that all the mysteries of life had been opened up for me and I explained every- thing to the buffet car attendant on the way back to Liverpool Street. I hope it all comes back to me one day. Anyway, I think I might carefully place the odd advertisement in the press offering people the opportunity to join my life class.
There was one awkward moment, though, after the sixth vodka, when I thought I'd discovered the meaning of life. I put my arm around a very pretty female student and she went as rigid as a fright- ened rabbit. I've just checked up in the mirror and yes it really is time to stop such nonsenses. She must have thought she was being groped by a ghost, poor girl. But they asked me back and one girl asked if I'd show her around Fleet Street. I'd thought kamikaze was strictly Japanese but if she really likes playing away fixtures we'll don our green eyeshades, take her out for 'the one' with George Gale, Bill Grun- dy and Richard West and arrange with Mike Molloy to let her press the button to get the first edition rolling. We might even try to get her a job on the Sun writing a weekly column on the meaning of life.
I sometimes wonder how I get involved in things. I mean, it's a good thing to make things happen but the things that happen can be a little mad. Never mind American students, take tomorrow and the rest of the week. I'm being filmed by the BBC talking about wives and mistresses, and what the hell do I know? Not a lot. I've had four wives — by the way, if you're reading this, Ashley, I wish you'd take me out to lunch and stop threatening to — but I don't know anything about women at all. Television people expect you to talk in aphorisms and I can only do that to the police at midnight. Well, I must leave you now, Botham is at the crease and Norman is in his heaven. God help us all.
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