I used to fight with my brother about three times a day. He pushed me to the ground. We didn’t have a dog so I couldn’t break his water bowl with my back. And I was never girly enough to wear a necklace so he couldn’t break it. But he would have. Instead he shut my finger in the door trying to keep me out of his room and I had to go to hospital to have the fingernail removed!! (The Queen didn’t get involved nor pass judgement… as usual!)

All fascinating stuff. And all falling into the “WHO GIVES A FLYING FUCK????” category. Yet I too was a younger brother and my elder sibling thus ‘the heir’. To… errrr… well, not much really, but I still felt persecuted, scorned upon, second-classed and… lots of other things which us ‘spares’ have to endure. Though I’ve never killed even one man, when not at the wheel of a car, let alone 25!!! But ‘it was just a game of chess’. Fortunately I was never much good at chess either.

The similarities between me and Harry stop there. Other than the drugs. But everyone tried those in the 70s, it was part of life. Degenerate life, but life nonetheless. Otherwise, I was never ginger haired, failed to have sex with an old woman on a football field and didn’t marry an American. I married a Canadian, in fact, but that’s not relevant here. Why’s it always about HER????

The moral of the story is: never trust a fucking Spaniard.

The book, about me and Harry, is out next Tuesday but ‘due to an error’, it was released last Wednesday in Spain. Ooops. Question: how do you sell 300,000 copies of a book ‘in error’? Oh, muchas apologias, they juss’a fell on’a shelves. Tosseros!

I don’t speak Spanish. But I do speak English, quite well at times. Much better than a Quebekee speaks French, at least. But even that won’t make me read that stupid book. Nothing on earth will make me read that book. I know H feels aggrieved but its enough. Netflix, interviews, now this. All in an effort to ‘make his family come together again’. Yeah, how’s that working so far, Harry?

Happy Saturday

The Spare
xxxx