Day 62

5.03: Brilliant. The Italian publisher Mondadori has put out a book called L’amore Vince Sempre su Invidia e Odio (Love always wins over envy or hatred), all about everyone’s favourite lover-cum-piratical premier, Silvio Berlusconi  (coincidentally, the owner of Mondadori).

It’s basically an anthology of the well-wishing messages he got after someone knocked his teeth out with a model cathedral.

The best one, as the Telegraph has realised says, “Even with kryptonite they couldn’t knock you down!” Of course being a fictional element, kryptonite is rather less weighty and pointy than a flying, steepled, fibreglass work of Gothic architecture. It’s might rot the Premier’s teeth if he licked his TV screen, but it’s unlikely to smash the canines from their roots.

Pretty much as good is: “We beg you, don’t abandon us and do clone yourself if you can.” What I like about this is the idea that the guy, although he suspects Berlusconi might just have the power to clone himself, can’t rightly be sure. It’s a tenet of faith, for him, like thinking your father infallible as the Pope.

But if he’d thought this through, he’d be led to ask himself: “Why would Berlusconi have the power to clone himself and not use it?”

And that might lead him to consider the possibility that he has been using it, just in secret. Which might in its turn lead him to wonder whether the teeth dislodged by the cathedral were in fact not those of the real Berlusconi at all, but merely impressionist’s teeth. Second generation imitation teeth. Which might again give him to question his faith in everything he once held dear.

Just on the off chance:

Dear Berlusconi well-wisher.

If you’re the one who wrote to your Prime Minister, suggesting that he clone himself, and have now had your faith in everything you once held dear shaken by reading this blog post, please do get in touch. I’d love to hear from you.

Love,

Dave.

6.57: That didn’t turn out so bad, after a very sleepy start. Another chapter ticked off the list. I think I work better when three-quarters unconscious: you think less and just get on with things. It just takes a while to get going, and you do dribble a good deal more.

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~ by David Thorley on March 17, 2010.

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