Gwendolin - Shakespeare's Embittered PA - My Life

I'm the one who has to preserve this maniac's reputation for the purposes of 'history'. And will the remember me? will they arse.

Tuesday, February 07, 2006

It's madness I tell thee, utter madness

The world has gone mad, reality mad. The evenings tv slots are full to the brim with shite reality tv programs and documentries of the worst kind of cads. We all look forward to that occasional new episode of Poiriot, and the recent Morse spin off - Lewis - only to be told afterwards that repeats of much loved Morse will be shown again! Hurrah! Only to be told it will be 2 oclock on monday afternoons! What what what! Eamon 'As smug as he is fat' Holmes and other daytime stallwarts have butchered their way into prime time slots, and the result is the real quality is forced into day time dead slots. It's madness. What a pile of crock.

Sunday, February 05, 2006

Crash Bang Wallop!

Bill got into another fight today. Some chap in a haberdashery claimed his profile was less than stunning and he had 'a nose you could ski down in the rainy season' and Bill took a swing at him. Before you could blink there were pantaloons and ruffs a-flying and Bill took a sweetly aimed knee right in the Shakespeares. He fell like a crippled one-legged goat in the midday sun and crashed his head against a stone paperweight. He did though manage to topple an usually placed column of crabs onto the culprit before he escaped clutching his rear end.

The press bods were all over it like a rash on a playwrite's tackle after a first night party and before long I was having to pay off people left, right and centre to hush this little affair up. Bill better get writing again cos the rate we're having to hand out payoffs it'll take more than another half-witted comedy to bribe the local fuzz.

On a plus note I kicked up a stink and managed to get the shoes replaced. Need a new bag now.

Friday, February 03, 2006


Shoes fell apart. What a load of shit.

Monday, January 30, 2006

Had it coming

Thou accursed pottle-deep coxcomb!
Typical. Absolutely typical. The gutter press have latched on to that latest horse and whore incident and splashed artist representations all over the place. Seems that Lady Willoughby has had it in for Bill since the whole sworded 'Truffle Shenanigan Afair' and has taken the opportunity to trash him in public. What a bitch. Bill's gone into hiding for now. He's taken his frustration out on parchment and penned a couple of truely terrible sonnets and a dirty limmerik or two. Thankfully the whore house is not legally represented or we could have been in hot water there too, but they have revoked Bill's lifelong membership. Today I bought some new shoes.

Wednesday, January 25, 2006

Serialisation? My Arse.

Seems the 'powers that be', f**kwits more like, have deemed the Master's latest piece unsuitable for public performance. They're brought in a group of hip young playwrites from Stage 4 to 'revamp' the language and make it appeal to their 'key demographic'. What? They'll look back on this and regret it. The master took it well of course, the gent that he is, and let down the shoes on the Director of Theatrical Performance at Stage 1's horse and chucked a pumpkin through his bedroom window. Disturbed a hooker too. She had an allergic reaction to pumpkin and fainted out of the now open window into the street along with the refuse and was trampled by an underage joy rider on a stolen filley. The kid then lost control of the horse and it bolted into a part-time brothel on George Street and took out another 6 whores, 2 pimps and the governer of the Bank of England before crashing headlong into a horsedrawn carriage that contained the Earl of Willoughby. He had an allergic reaction to the horse's makeup, which had rubbed off from the whores, and exploded into the street, showering the local beggers in truffles and seamen. Makes you wonder what and where he'd been eating. Of course it's all been hushed up and I've done everything I can to keep my Bill from the Old Bill but at this rate it's only a matter of time before it goes tits up, big styley with a re-e-wind, the audience say Bo! selekta. What a mammering idle-headed scurvy-knave!

Friday, January 20, 2006

Public Relations Knightmare

As much as I feared. The Parchment Signing was a complete washout. A bunch of teenagers dressed like fairies started throwing fish at the Master. He took it well and wipped his little general out and waved it in their faces. That left them dumbstruct with mouths open I can tell you. The master was drunk again, seems he went to a poetry concert last night and ended up at a back of stage party. Rumour has it he goosed a goose. That man expects me to work miracles. There's only so much spin I can manage. What he needs is an image makeover... any ideas?
Yours Gwendolin, in need of advice.

Thursday, January 19, 2006

Another bleedin' story!!

Seems that the master has bashed out another 'Masterpiece'. The arrogant git seems to be on a role. He claims the words come easy to him. Well they would wouldn't they? It's not him who has to get out there and plug this rubbish. Anyway, he's got a Parchment Signing on friday and I'd wager he either turns up late or not at all. There's only so many more excuses his 'fans' will take surely? If I can get hold of a snippet of his latest dross I'll let you see it.