Apparently I can't sue the Sunday Mirror. They are allowed to do that. Come on Tony Blairs, it's time to curb the worst excesses of the press. What I like best is that I mentioned it to my manager and he sent the photos to the company lawyer, so part of their working day was to look at those photos and then come to a decision about the legal ramifications of the case. I am sure it was easy, but in order to do that they had to look at a picture of me naked with Daniel Craig's head stuck on my shoulders.
I don't know if Daniel Craig's lawyers have looked into it yet. He may just want to forget the whole unpleasant incident.
Still the exposure hasn't done me any harm. This afternoon I was offered two jobs. Coincidence? It seems unlikely. Admittedly one was another appearance on "Serious About Comedy" for BBC7 which I have done before and the other was on the radio version of 28 acts in 28 minutes which I did the live version of in Edinburgh. But I don't think it was those previous appearances that got me the work. No, it was people seeing that my body was the same body as the body of James Bond.
And maybe having my body used as the body of James Bond has given me more confidence, because I got to the library early (by comedian standards- 11am) and did a lot of good work on my re-write of "You Can Choose Your Friends" which I had completely failed to get anywhere with for the last three days. I should finish it tomorrow. I can guarantee it, what with my new James Bond body double status.
And maybe I imagined it but every woman and gay man I saw today seemed to be looking at me in a different, more provocative way and at the same time mouthing the words "I want you now. In the disabled toilet. But let me tell you we won't be doing wees. Or poos. We will be doing sexes." It may have been my imagination, but I think you know the truth as well as me. I didn't take any of the women or gay men up on their offer though. I may have appeared naked in a glossy magazine but that does not make me a whore. Had I been paid then perhaps I could be elevated to whore standards. But I was not paid. I am beneath a whore. And not in the positive sense. The positive sense of being so desperate for sex that I have to pay a woman or gay man to do it with me. No, in the negative sense of not being as good or as well paid as a prostitute.
Still having the head of a Hollywood star badly grafted on to my own body has given me something more valuable that money. It has given me two days worth of Warming Ups when there was otherwise nothing to talk about.
I could have told you that I have broken my resolution and played on-line poker, but I wouldn't want you to lose the little respect that you have left for me. I am losing too. Damn all respect evaporated. So soon the James Bond kudos is all used up. Have a nice Valentine's Day tomorrow and I hope you do not find yourself beneath a whore.
Get on top and get your money's worth.
