Goodballoon's paunch

I've been everywhere there is to go, you know? I've dined with the best, the worst and the Japanese (they are their own terrible, terrible category) and I feel well placed to offer my opinion on everywhere, ever!

- France
I've always had a grudging respect for the French - the wine, the food, the riots - what a marvellous place. I remember having a brief fling with a brother and sister in Paris in the 1960's. No, that was a film. I've never been to France.

- Korea
I spent an evening with Jamie Oliver in Seoul. We both got quite drunk and hitch-hiked up to the Demilitarised Zone. Getting across the border to the North was far less of a problem than we thought it would be, and setting up a chain of 'Jamie's Wildcat Wonderplace' restaurants was a piece of cake. Getting enough lynx and pumas to fill the menu was far, far trickier.

- Australia
A country constructed entirely from low watt lightbulbs and skin cancer. I love it.

- Canada
Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! "Ab-oot"! Ha-ha!

- China
A once great country bought to it's knees by poisonous, nepotistic leadership and... Oh sorry - wrong country.

- USA
A once great country bought to it's knees by poisonous, nepotistic leadership and greedy, treacherous businessmen. Second only to Australia in my estimation.

- United Kingdom
Land of Jimmy Nail, The Daily Star, Kwik Save, Catherine Zeta Jones, Millwall Football Club, Hollyoaks, Richard Curtis, Sky TV, Tim Henman, FHM magazine, Ben Elton, The Observer, Emmerdale, Elton John, Tony Scott and rain. Home sweet home!

The National Film Theatre, London. An audience of two-hundred or so people are given the chance to see 'Angel-leg: The Jasper Goodballoon Story'. Following the preview screening Jasper himself is led onto the stage for a informal question and answer session. Here are a few excerpts:

Questioner: Jasper, are you proud of Angel-leg'? Does it accurately reflect the book?

Jasper: Oh yes, absolutely. It's marvellous. Marvellous. It takes the meat and gravy of the book and really gives them a modern twist. The aliens are great, aren't they?


Questioner: Are you upset you didn't have a larger part in the film?

Jasper: Goodness me, no! I think I played 'Mr Legg' beautifully and lets not forget the symbolism of his silence. And if you haven't noticed, that was me that Tom Arnold was playing.


Questioner: The sex scenes are very graphic; did you have a hand in those?

Jasper: Oh yes: a hand, a foot, a leg - you name it.


Questioner: Is the film likely to have a wide release? Do you have a distribution deal?

Jasper: I decided early on that this film should be seen by the largest possible amount of viewers. Those of you in the theatre this evening should constitute around three-quarters of the final total.


Questioner: There is absolutely no mention of David Niven in the film. Why?

Jasper: My lawyers have asked me to point out that I have never met David Niven and have never had a relationship, sexual or otherwise, with either Mr David Niven or any of the Niven family.


Questioner: Why are you crossing your fingers?

Jasper: Shhhhh...

The 1970's were an awful time; the three-day week, the winter of discontent, Marc Bolan... The list goes on. The nomination for the worst event of that godforsaken decade, however, must go to the evening I spent with our Lord Jesus Christ. It had begun, as so many did, with a snifter and a snowball with Trevor Eve. Trevor had been a friend for a while mainly because the relentless tedium of his conversation made me seem so much more attractive to those people he didn't scare off or bore to death. I had asked the waiter for twenty more John Player Specials and insisted upon his joining us for a "sniff 'n' splash" (Remember them? Me neither!) later on when I spotted the bearded chap across the room. He seemed calm, serene even, and the difference between His Lordship and Trevor couldn't have been more pronounced.

I invited him to join us at our table which he accepted and the first couple of hours were hugely enjoyable. The Godhead regaled us with stories of devil defiance, crucifixion and good Samaritan's which kept Trevor, myself and the by now, large congregation of heads and freaks entertained for a good few hours. His minor miracles were astonishing (his disappearance of Michael Parkinson's accent still amazes me 'til this day) and his pro-choice position blew us all away. Unfortunately his Holy Lordship wasn't quite ready for the effects of the animal tranquilisers and vodka martinis that I insisted he take and from there on in the evening was a disaster. He cried, he sobbed, he turned the wine into water and shat in the ashtray. After two hours of his moaning about Buddha having it "so bloody easy" he collapsed into a heap and had to be carried to bed. I eased him out of his holy robes and into something altogether more comfortable. The morning was hugely embarrasing for all concerned.

Dear BBC,

Thank you so much for giving me the biggest laugh I have had in ages. I am, of course, talking about the appearance of known thinker and renaissance man Rhona Cameron on your Question Time programme. Watching her dissemble the other panelist's arguments like some kind of sapphic forensic scientist made me wish it was my warm little minky she'd be nuzzling later rather than some butch bull-dyke's. Not since Emma Jones, the editor of Smash Hits, turned up next to Mr Dimbleby has there been such bravara exhibition of wit, intelligence and political fire and everyone involved should give themselves a big slap on the back. Or the fanny.

Yours sincerely,

Jasper Goodballoon

I suppose that some of you may have accidentally gone to Danny "fucking" Lipp's shoddy excuse for a weblog and read some of the nonsense that he has written. First and foremost I would like to deny some of the things he has said about me:

- At no time have I taken all of his or anyone else's money. I made a series of what I believed were very sound investments that turned out to be slightly less than blue chip. The fact that many of these companies had either myself or members of my family on their boards is neither here nor there.

- Danny was never tied or chained to a bannister in my house, or in any other house at my behest. Occasionally (on a Friday)one of the band (usually Danny) was asked (or volunteered) to entertain (sit on) my guests (David Niven).

- Danny's freedom from his contract with me came at the natural end of the contracts lifespan. The fact that Danny immediately entered into a new contract with me says a great deal about our professional relationship and a great deal more about my relationship with members of the Bosnian mafia.

I'd also like to try to nip in the bud any future allegations that Danny may, or may not, make about me:

- As far as I was aware they were all at least twenty-one. I assumed the uniforms were some kind of fancy dress costume, as did all the other members of my 'club'.

- I at no point asked any of 'The Dulcet Lads', or whatever they were bloody called, to smuggle krugerands, heroin, guns or people. None of them even had an HGV licence.

- It is not illegal to ask adults for pictures of themselves as children. I would have shared the proceeds.

- My drumming on '(The) White Witch of White City' was not limp and amateurish. Bastard.

Act One:

BILLY, a gruff North Londoner, enters a dusty church hall. Chairs are stacked up and sheets cover mysterious shapes that we must assume to be tables. Billy walks across to the large curtains at the side and opens them to allow in the cold, blue sunlight of a November day. He sets about moving stacks of chairs.

The door at the back of the hall opens and a slight, middle-class fifteen year old, JAMES, enters the hall. Billy stops his work and looks to the young man.

Billy:
Yes?

James:
Oh, I...

Billy:
Yes?

James:
The games field.

Billy:
The games field?

James:
Yes. Rugby, sir.

Pause. Billy inspects the boy.

Billy:
Not here.

James:
But where?

Billy:
Back down the corridor. Turn left. Out of the double doors...

Pause. James looks to Billy to finish.

Billy:
...games field.

James has the information he wants. He puffs up his chest and stares Billy in the eye.

James:
You mean "games field, SIR".

Billy is crushed. He stares down at his feet. James exits with a swagger. Lights down. The sound of a thousand innocent dead.



"A seering indictment of millitary incursion in the middle-east." Ross and Ronay - The News of the World

"Tommy Steele is marvelous" - Baz Bamigboye - The Daily Mail

"I laughed and laughed and laughed" - Sheridon Morley

"Goodballoon's dialogue sparkles. His plot: swift and sure-footed. I just wish he'd finished it." Lorraine Kelly - LK Today

"If there was a Nobel prize for being a top chap, Goodballoon would be number one on my list." - Russ Abbot

Had I known as a boy what I know now, I would never have gone to Eton or started their bukkake society. I would almost certainly not have invested in "drug of the future" thalidomide, and there is no question whatsoever in my mind that my involvement in the Korean War did anything but harm. Hindsight is such a marvelous thing, and yet it causes me no end of pain; here are a few memories I'd rather not have:

- Sunnyvale, California. June 1953. Nat 'King' Cole offers me a three-year recording contract that would make me millions of dollars and an international heart-throb. I attempt to throttle Nat, trip down a set of stairs and abscond with his piano. We still keep in touch.

- Crawford, Texas. May 1987. George Bush Snr introduces me to George Bush Jnr. I, in turn, introduce George Bush Jnr to cocaine, alcohol and gay anal sex. He has since given up two of these.

- University College, Oxford. February 1960. Stephen Hawking, drunk and excited by some kind of time & space discovery, tries to get me to prove a theory of his with a cricket bat and his head. You've all seen the results.

- Croydon Airport, Croydon. October 1938. "Step off the plane and wave the paper, Neville. You'll look like a hero and be remembered forever."

It is unfortunate that all these remain cemented to my cerebellum and yet my encounter with Faye Dunaway, Jack Nicholson and a bottle of poppers remains tantalisingly out of reach.