Monday, 10 September 2007

Paul McKenna's I Can Make You Gay

Sorry I haven't posted. I've been very busy. Tirpitz Tait, Pavarotti, the Duke of Buccleuch. You name 'em, they're dead. Remember what Horace said though: quid rides? mutato nomine de te fabula narratur. So there.

What can I tell you about books? I can tell you that Paul "I Can Make You Rich/Thin/Stop Smoking" McKenna is annoying me to all get out in the pages of The Times.

Exclusive extracts from his new book and CD:

I Can Make You Gay

Take a deep breath. Imagine yourself in a comfortable place (perhaps the Coleherne, or Compton's). Fill in answers to the following questions:

I don't want to be gay because...

I wish gay people would....

I'd be gay if only....

Now take a deep breath and relax. Think only positive things about yourself. Don't think about me with my very successful amounts of money and large cars and not being gay at all. Remember a time you liked watching a Take That video, or perhaps the Wizard of Oz. Put on some soothing music. Gloria Gaynor's I Will Survive, or something by Puccini. Go to church, preferably St Mary's Bourne Street, but any very High Anglican service will do. Sit back, pour yourself a Campari and soda with a twist of orange and replace the word "gay" with the word "Welsh". Think of Russell T Davies. It's much the same thing. Try not to think of Ron Davies, unless you are Ron Davies. And if you are, look, just get over it, dear.

Think of the possible endings to the first sentence. "I don't like joining in the chorus of all of Judy Garland/Shirley Bassey/Erasure's hits and revelaing that I know all the words"; "I can't afford those stylish trousers"; "I'm ashamed of my mother's net curtains". If your answer was "I don't want to be mistaken for Paul McKenna", you're on the wrong track there, sonny.

Otherwise, replace the word "gay" with the word "Welsh". Is it so very different? There! Step one!

Unless your answer to question two is "Get out of my trousers", proceed to question three.

Imagine you're on a long, unsullied stretch of sand, pure and white and with no other footprints on it, such as the beach I was on last week in St Lucia thanks to gullible fools like you. Lined up next to you are your cars: a Masarati, a Bentley, and a Smart car or G-Wizz to show you care about the environment.
Behind you is your Seth Stein-designed beach house, from which you can hear the strains of Stephen Sondheim's lesser-known television drama soundtracks drifting across to the pure, unsullied waves in front of you. Admire your expensive clothing and thank goodness you don't have to worry about school fees...

Look, you're just so gay, or you wouldn't have read all this drivel. Nice shirt, by the way.

Tomorrow: I Can Make You a Nazi.

Take a deep breath... go back to a time you were very happy. Raise your arm to the point that you were happy. Picture yourself in Milano Centrale. Think of Leni Reifenstahl. What is it you like about large-scale art deco pre-stretched concrete? Think only good things about blond(e) people...