Rochester has caused something of a scandal in the South West. Here is some of this week's correspondence with the swarthy rogue.
Rochester: I performed poetry live on BBC Bristol the other day. They were a bit annoyed with me, as I said cunt on air. Afterwards, this red faced woman shouted at me - What does that word actually mean anyway? - I said - What ever it means to you, but my guess is we all view it differently, it is unfortunate that you feel offended but I make no apologies, cunt is an essential part of the poem. I'm too long in the fucking tooth to be having discussions about the rights and wrongs of cunt with uptight, anal Cliftonites. Jesus. I think you would have approved of the whole debacle. Off to sell more pegs now. I think you would also approve of my bryl cream and cuff link look you know. I look a right cunt.
Miss Underscore: I do approve of the cunt debacle! Can you send me the poem. Of course, I know it won't be the same just reading it. T'would be better to hear it recited in your seductive Geordie tones ( the ones only dophins and dogs can hear). I don't suppose it's available on I-Player?
By the way, Brycream and cufflinks? Why are you going to work in fancy dress? It's not twatting Children in Need is it? When are you seeing Nick Cave, try and get your picture taken with him please. I like the idea of having a picture of you and he together; one of my favourite misanthropic sex gods alongside a gone-to-seed middle-aged has been.
Rochester: To be honest, I was bored by the gig. So much so, I spent most of it sitting in the foyer bar. I was very underwhelmed by the whole thing. I had to be in Wales this morning to receive my golden peg award. So had to leave Manchester at 5.30 - It was worth it though as I swept the cunting board - 8 bottles of bubbly and a 4 day 5 star break to Hungary. You should sell pegs too you know.
Miss Underscore: I think you’ve been sold a pup with prize of a 5 Star holiday in Hungary. Isn’t Hungary a bit skanky? Their equivalent of 5 star is the same as a Blackpool Travelodge. Try a bit harder, Rochester. Let me know when you can take me to Paris, Rome or Barcelona. Please send me your cunt poem. I am assuming it was deeply autobiographical? Called King Cunt from the Kingdom of Cuntopia perhaps? Of course, I am aware that a good 95% of all your poems will obviously be about me. I am Sylvia Plath to your Ted Hughes.
BTW, I don't want to sell pegs. I have a vocation.
Rochester: You have access to the poem. Mynah Bird. One of the big guns. It was a request. Infact they all were apart from Lifeboat Appeal, which I always do, because it is the most powerful. These days, I have only myself to answer to. I leave in the morning with a bag of pegs and on a good day I return with an empty sack. (Reader (s): You can check out Rochester's 'cunt' poem here.)
Miss Underscore: I so love the image of you skipping off to market with your pegs wrapped up in a jaunty handkerchief, a little dog snapping at your ankles. It’s very Brothers Grimm (how apt). Of course, then the image of a Bryl-creamed, cufflincked twat in a BMW appears and the whimsical, fairy-tale magic is ruined.
Rochester: (talking about Madam Noir) Why is she fixated on being a lezza anyway? We all know that they don't really exist. They all have a Mars Bar in the fridge.
Miss Underscore: I am astounded at the assertion that lezzas don’t really exist. You make them sound like leprechauns or elves!
Rochester: Well, it is simply a belief that I hold very strongly. I have fixed a number of lezzas in my time.
Miss Underscore: So, you are claiming to provide to lesbians the kind of service that Lourdes provides the lame and crippled? If that is the case, when are you next North, you could try your laying on of hands with Madam Noir?
Rochester: I could fix her, for sure.
You know. Rochester may be a blunderingly offensive oaf, but he does make me smile.
It was a good one today, cherry (again) and so gargantuan that I needed 3 packets of butter. I am pleased to report that Madam Noir is coming to terms with her newly single status. There was no weeping today. Well. There was weeping. From me. So many beautiful things caught my magpie eye in the shops today. I resisted them all. I came home with a packet of sausages. But, these are today's trinkets.
A leather jacket the colour of Werther's Originals. It is as soft as a beagle's ears. Lovely. £150 from M&S.
A divine new Christmas palette from Bobbi Brown. Ten absolutely beautiful and wearable eyeshadows, 4 lovely lip glosses. Utterly gorgeous. £59.
Cath Kidston Macbook cover £20.
Chanel Lumiere Matte foundation. Luminous, whisper-light texture, excellent coverage and the shade 05, Faoence, is a beautiful porcelain ivory. Perfect for aging goths.
Noir perfume from The White Company. When it comes to fragrance I usually opt for the cool, clean and fresh. I'm not one for musky, heady or overtly sensual scents. So, it was a surprise when I fell in love with this perfume, which has a warm, amber base. I'm not sure I have the lifestyle to go with such a sultry perfume though. It would probably seem a little discordant with my hum drum life at the School of Hard Knocks.