AFTERTHOUGHT
Mr Bigg's story
JOHN WELLS
This week we begin publication of the world's most wanted manuscript: the first- person story of the Great Newspaper Rob- ber MISTER BIGG. It has been suggested that this is not the work of Mister Bigg himself, that Mister Bigg has done no more than write his signature to other men's work. But we say this. Every page of these shocking revelations bears the unmistakable mark of the Great Newspaper Robber himself, re- cognised as such by experts in sensational tabloid muck-raking from all over the world.
It has also been suggested that by pub- lishing the story we are merely increasing Mister Bigg's ill-gotten fortune. This is not true. Elaborate arrangements have been made, in consultation with Mister Bigg's accountants and tax advisers, to ensure that not a penny of the money made can pos- sibly go to Mister Bigg. Or to his wife. It will go instead to a legally watertight trust fund for the benefit of Mister Bigg's children, to keep them in the style to which they would be entitled if their father had re- mained an honest dustman or journalist. The overriding lesson of this story must be that sensational 'cheque-book' journalism does not pay.
Mister Bigg is. of course, a rogue. He is a villain. it is no part of our purpose to glamourise him, to give publicity to the, niaster-mind who planned the biggest news- paper grab of the century. His plan to seize the Thomson empire's garish tabloids, to grab the salacious Ohverver, and to turn the Da;ly Teleeranh into a nude magazine smack of fantasy. His ambition to turn ever"thing into re'dy cash at the expense of literacy. decency and political beliefs strikes many as misouided. Threatened by kidnanners. Mister Beg lives the life of a
hunted animal. it he is the nroprietor of this newspaper and as such he has the right to fill it with his own INSIDE story, naked women, or any other mindless muck that will tickle the sixpence out of your grimy, tightly-clenched fist. He alto has the right to treat you with the hound)-ts contempt re- served in the cr.m.rel mind for THE MUG.
The idea of stealing Sexy Stories and the Red Dwarf had struck me as mildly intriguing come time hack when I was alrearly making a go of peddling the usual ingredients down under. Though we were not exactly short of two pennies to rub together the thought of the extra little bit that would accrue from such acquisitions struck both the wife and I as very accentable in nrincinle. if only in facilitating the instal- lation of oor third heated non] and the enlarging of our play' area for the kiddies by something in the region of seven hundred soliare miles. 13-'t things were going along very nicely, and I was very barmy sitting in the oaerien w,tehle. our tyro,, croct in th. nnni. I rl—ided that the years of buccaneering were over: I wanted to try go- "stra;nht" for a bit.
'On halan"e I had done very nicely over the years Tbo"eh newsnaner robbery ran in the U•rn:hr I prwc.lf hart 0'1110 from scratch. with the a-ldi'innal polish of a year or two at Oxford College in the Old Coun- try. I planned and executed one successful
'job' after another, and I had never once been arrested. I had never been in prison, a fact I only regret on the grounds that it does not enable me to enliven this narrative with any gems of Australian criminal lingo, which I am told is very colourful and ex- pressive. I had however acquired certain basic skills in connection with newspaper robbery which I mildly regretted having to allow to go to seed. The basic essential, of course, is a good deal of money, and once you have developed the best techniques for getting hold of it in the first place—freaks, shocks, scares, smut, tit and that kind of thing—the great secret is to spread it very very thin. In this way you tend to acquire a great deal more money and are therefore, all things being equal, in a better position to acquire more newspapers.
'All these thoughts were running through my head I imagine, and I was watching the kiddies splashing about in the water, when my dear wife came up and said that there were some men to see me. I shall not reveal their real names, but I will call them Boris, Tiny, Robert and Daphne. We had a few beers and talked about this and that, and watched the kiddies splashing about in the water for a bit, and then one of the men, who was called Reggie, asked me whether I'd like to make three or four million pounds. I said that sounded a very interest- ing proposition, and he explained that Sexy Stories was going begging and the Red Dwarf and going bust.
'So we drank a few more beers, and worked out a plan. We all decided to dress up in ties and expensive suits, and one of the other men who was called George Robey said he knew a hotel in London we could stay at while we were doing the "job". The only problem as far as I could see was to discourage the other villains who were trying to get hold of Sexy Stories, but as it turned out this took care of itself in a way. The only other problem was the Red Dwarf being a mildly "serious" paper. One of the other men who was called
Patrick Gordon Walker said the editor might kick up a bit of a fuss, but I said that if he did we could "do" him. I also said we could "do" the editor of Sexy Stories, let them get confused for a bit, and then put in one of our men, whose name I forget.'
The next gripping chapter of cliff-hanging excitement is even more compelling. We cannot afford to let you miss it—the scoop that gets to the bottom of the barrel at last!
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