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2779/5 = 558.8, 558.8/12 = 46, 46 + 47 = 93

  Thu 3rd November 2011

If this rake's present progress continues thus, I will be slapping a servant girl on the arse on Thursday week saying "Another stoup of port, wench! And for my friend!" In the space of a week, a second creditor relents.

Dear Sir,

We have accepted your offer to make Monthly payments of £5 towards your outstanding balance of £2,779.25, starting on 30/11/11.

Should this agreement fall into arrears then the entire balance will be due for immediate payment.

I will keep to that; you will get your five pounds a month. But even if I don't, you can forget demanding the principal, because I have no assets, having, five years ago, alienated a c.70K interest in a property to Kirsty.

Lord Chesterton's Advice to His Son is overdue for a re-write.


And with that worry dismissed until I am ninety-three, my mind turns eastward. Several years ago, in the Moscow Times's English-language arts section, I read a review of a book with which I immediately identified. Pavel Krusanov's The Blue Book of the Alcoholic is a record of his St Petersburg coterie's drinking, conversations and events he suggests had to be recorded before many of those involved died.

I've read the review countless times, wishing so much I could translate this and bring it to an English audience, especially my friends in Lancaster, for whom the fact mentioned in the review, that you don't know someone until you've drank with them, will ring self-evidently true. Teetotallers are a breed apart, a separate culture. Joining them beyond the pale in Krusanov's book, are the moderate drinkers to whom Sergei Korovin refers dismissively in the quotation on the right hand side of this blog.

A blogfriend with some knowledge of Russian, has obtained for me a pirated version of the book. Then, Lo! Immediately after telling Mary-Ann where my cock should be in relation to her cunt this morning, I turn from matters erotic to intellectual (they are indivisibly linked for me) and I open the London Review of Books to find an advert from a private Russian foundation, the Mikhail Prokhorov Fund, which is soliciting manuscripts in Russian for consideration for translation into English. From wank-exhausted sexting to demotic, drink-sodden St Petersburg, in one minute. Both imagined, let's caution.

Ideal outcomes:

She's incredibly pretty and I just want to kiss her straight away.

"If you don't have to get back tonight looby..."

"Dear Mr Laine, We are delighted to inform you that the manuscript of Pavel Krusanov that you submitted..."

My adaptation of the translated The Blue Book of the Alcoholic has them crying with identification and laughter in the bibulous capitals of Europe, from Galway, Dublin and Glasgow, to Budapest, Kyiv and Vorkuta.

8 comments

Comment from: [Member]

There must be an independent brewery somewhere courageous enough to pay for what wouldn’t be a hugely expensive translation.

Thu 3rd November 2011 @ 10:51
Comment from: [Member]

It would have to be one that doesn’t include the doleful injunction to drink in moderation on its bottles’ labels.

Thu 3rd November 2011 @ 11:36
Comment from: Pearl [Visitor]

I would read that book. Twice. Once completely sober.

Pearl

Fri 4th November 2011 @ 06:20
Comment from: [Member]

Hello Pearl. Thank you, I’m honoured to receive a comment from such a prolific writer. I’ll send you a copy when it comes out and you must give me your responses, both sober and straight.

Fri 4th November 2011 @ 15:20

I cannot imagine what the creditor is thinking.

Even if they don’t charge any interst, you won’t complete the payments until 2058, if you *coughs genteely into hand* survive that long, which quite honestly doesn’t seem that probable, considering your exceptionaly active love life.

I’d buy a copy of the blue book, but I’m afraid it will never be published.
The publisher will either:
A) take one look and dump on the discard pile
or
B) Think it’s an absolutely great idea, get it translated and then send you this letter.
Dear Mr. looby,
I’m sorry but we won’t be publishing “The Blue Book of the Alcoholic” as we read it last night and it was so good we all got completely pissed and we can’t remember where we left the only manuscript. This may be providential, as I am writing this letter from the airport in Kirkwall Airport in the Orkneys and have absolutely no idea how I got up here, or why I’m wearing a fur coat(bloody useful seeing what the weather’s like up here) and a pink PVC suspender belt.
This just proves how dangerous this book is,and in the interests ofhumanity I ask you to forget the whole idea.

PS Please send money so I can get back to civilization, or at least England, as the locals are beginning to give me very funny looks.

Sat 5th November 2011 @ 01:45
Comment from: [Member]

A story of such rich detail can only have come from personal experience I assume, but it’s probably the most exciting thing that’s happened in Kirkwall since the first ATM arrived last month.

Well, Krusanov’s publishing history so far hasn’t been exactly a soaraway success so far. This bit made me laugh.

“The often-philosophical debate was first published in a magazine called “Yo” that the participants put together in the mid-1990s. Unfortunately, there was only one issue.”

I wonder why?!

Re the debt: they’ll have bought it off the original creditor for a fraction of the original cost. I’d love to know at what percentage discount consumer debt is usually sold. So even if I only make a third of those payments, they’ll have made money. Also several hundred of the debt isn’t actually debt, but amounts they’ve added to it for things like letters at 20 quid a pop, a bounced direct debit (12 quid) etc. so that they can bump up the figure at which the debt is sold.

I’m hoping they’ll get a bit bored with collecting it after a while. There was a bit of a mix-up a while ago when I accidentally stopped paying the instalments on another debt and (fingers crossed), that was several months ago, and they seem to have given up on it.

Sat 5th November 2011 @ 04:06
Comment from: nursemyra [Visitor]

I’m prepared to pay $5 a month into an account to get that book translated

Sun 6th November 2011 @ 14:15
Comment from: [Member]

Until you’re in your nineties I hope Nursey! Let me see how I get on with the Russian foundation and then I’ll see if I still need your cash.

Mon 7th November 2011 @ 00:57


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looby, n.; pl. loobies. A lout; an awkward, stupid, clownish person


M / 60 / Bristol, "the most beautiful, interesting and distinguished city in England" -- John Betjeman [1961, source eludes me].

"Looby is a left-wing intellectual who is obsessed with a) women's clothes and b) tits." -- Joy of Bex.

WLTM literate woman, 40-65. Must have nice tits, a PhD, and an mdma factory in the shed, although the first on its own will do in the short term.


There are plenty of bastards who drink moderately. Of course, I don't consider them to be people. They are not our comrades.
Sergei Korovin, quoted in Pavel Krusanov, The Blue Book of the Alcoholic

I am here to change my life. I am here to force myself to change my life.
Chinese man I met during Freshers Week at Lancaster University, 2008

The more democratised art becomes, the more we recognise in it our own mediocrity.
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