Regarding the naked cycle ride from London to Wellingborough on my old Penny-Farthing to raise money for Battersea Dogs' Home (or is it the cause of Terri the transvestite who hangs out in laybys turning tricks with strangers), I have been pondering the best way to stage this, for maximum publicity.
I sat this afternoon in the Banquet Hall. Ideas seem to come naturally to me here. It's a place of solace, to be honest, in the far wing of my mansion, away from noise and the prattle of serving wenches.
My velveteen, Prussian blue chaise-longue, itself an Italian antique, was pushed dangerously close to the fiercely crackling log fire; my nervous indecision, perplexed at this conundrum, was easied by the taking of a double measure of vodka martini, a pipe-opener on these cold winter afternoons. Things were soon presenting themselves more lucidly.
In the side of the chaise-longue is a 'secret cupboard' and in it, I recovered an old photo of my first boyfriend - a blue-eyed, 23 year old Texan farmer called Beau - who worked as a stuntman in the 1980s. The above shot is him, riding on a gigantic, fifteen-metre high Penny-Farthing.
If only I could get hold of a Penny-Farthing bicycle of these dimensions, and then ride naked from London to Wellingborough, my protest would be a victory. At such a height, everyone would see me, and know exactly what I was campaigning for!
I shall give it some thought!
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