A travesty of the democratic process
I'm a bit busy with legal people this week, so in lieu of the Thursday vote-o, I have asked regular readers Joy and Ionicus to select a tale of mirth and woe for me. Spurning offers of sexual favours, a low-denomination coin was flipped and we have decided on The Great Chair Race.
So mote it be.
Brushes with Fame
The height of my worldwide fame came at the end of the Cold War when I was interviewed at length by an extremely hairy camera crew from Russian Television news.
It was a report on the state news programme "Vesti" about Russian news media and the problems it faces in a commercial world (total daily viewing fixures: about sixty squillion, most of those being desperate single women, if my spam folder is anything to go by).
I was captioned "Aleksandr Ivanovich Kolmanov, British Spy".
Well, that's just bloody typical of The Service, isn't it? No bastard bothered to tell me I'd been recruited. I gather that's the way they do things these day - on a "need-to-know" basis.
I have yet to be issued with my Walther PPK and magnetic wristwatch that makes young ladies' clothes fall off. However, that Rosa Kleb keeps giving me the come-to-bed eyes, the filthy old tart.
So, instead of vote-o-ing why not tell us how (in)famous you are.