Roskov book 17, p.14
Roskov, Book 17, page 14
Paul put in, ‘As a young man I was terrified of sex.’ The audience laughed. ‘Nothing to do with AIDS, I was just terrified of tall girls, and I always dated tall girls.’
They laughed.
Angus asked me, ‘And how’s your Traffic Jam system doing?’
‘We now have police officers signed up to make accident reports, smaller roads and “A” roads, and they benefit the most when people avoid certain roads after a crash.
‘And we’ve been looking for more regional van drivers, and now we have DHL and BluePost on board, so many of the rural “A” roads will now be covered.
‘We also want the police camera operators to be more involved, and we’re thinking of installing more cameras on motorway gantries.
‘So it’s a constant process of trying to saturate the country with coverage and to improve the devices - that way less wasted time spent in a traffic jams and less wasted man-hours for the economy of this country.’
‘Will it be installed in other countries?’ Ian asked.
‘Holland to start, Paris is interested, and Kuala Lumpur is getting a system. In the distant future you should be able to drive across Europe and get warnings on the same device, but in English hopefully.’
Angus asked, ‘And what went wrong with your aircraft simulator programme?’
‘We have a lot of lazy pilots, so they reported, not doing the pre-flights checks carefully. And these are current professional pilots flying around the UK – which is a worry.
‘Let me give you an example. During the pre-flight checks the co-pilot calls out bits of kit, and the pilot checks them, switched ON or OFF or to a given setting.
‘What the simulator instructors found … was that as the co-pilot called out the bits of kit on the checklist, the pilot just went yeah, yeah, yeah, and never really checked.
‘So the instructors turned off vital things, and our professional airline pilots all failed to notice and went on to crash the plane and kill everyone – all the simulated passengers.
‘Those pilots got shouted at, so hopefully they’ll do the pre-flight checks properly in a real plane and not – you know – kill all the passengers.’
Angus cut in, ‘And the pass rate was just four percent?’
‘It was, they all screwed it up. And when tested on accidents that actually occurred they all failed and they all crashed the plane, apart from a handful of men, one now working for me.’
Ian cut in, ‘He reported you as being expert on the 737…’
‘I read the manual and then had a go, and I got a plane down safely.’
‘Twin bird strikes at fifteen hundred feet, impossible to survive he said…’
I shrugged. ‘Beginner’s luck,’ I suggested.
‘He tried the same thing himself, and managed to get the plane down on the sixth attempt, and has now adopted the technique; The Roskov Turn Back.’
‘He named it?’
‘He did.’
‘Well … it might save lives in the future, bird strikes are an issue. And speaking as someone who expected to die in a tin can full of fuel, I hope the simulator programme is taken seriously by the government and our air safety people.
‘I’ll wait for the next Labour Government and then badger Tony Blair to force pilots to sit tests in the simulator.’
Angus noted, ‘Labour are twenty-two points ahead, the largest margin ever recorded in British politics.’
‘Good, we might fix the mess that the Tories have inflicted upon us. Did that documentary air about the Leicester Experiment?’
‘It did,’ Ian cut in. ‘And it basically concluded that in order to fix all the issues we have … we need only go back to how things were before Thatcher came to power.’
I nodded at that. ‘A winding back of the clock of progress that was not Margaret Thatcher. And could somebody please explain to me what she actually did day-to-day, all those years in office?’
The audience laughed.
The Editor put in, ‘She was busy running the country into the ground, by stealth, and by passing the responsibility all over to us. We have to protect our own homes and streets, we have to look after our own parents, and we have to step over the homeless on the way to the shops.’
They applauded him.
He added, ‘She handed us back control of our own lives, and the cost of course, for which we have insurance and should not bother the police. House broken into, car broken into, just claim on insurance and shut up.’
They laughed.
‘Never a more-true word spoken,’ I commended. ‘Thatcher outsourced the role of government back to the people that voted for the government - and paid for it. Something not quite right with that but … I can’t quite put my finger on it.’
They laughed.
I added, ‘It’s a bit like paying someone to bake your birthday cake for you, then they turn up at your house with the ingredients – which you paid for - and tell you to get on with it as they take the rest of your money.’
They laughed.
I added, ‘I’d be confused, as to who’s supposed to bake the damn cake I paid for.’
Ian quipped, ‘It’s about handing power back to the individual, so that you handle your own home when broken into, that freedom to fill in the insurance form a new right that you’ve now acquired – no need for the police or the courts.’
‘I’m not feeling empowered, or that I want this new right,’ I quipped. ‘Can we have the old system back please?’
The audience laughed.
I added, ‘In that old system, we voted for politicians, we paid taxes, and they did stuff for our benefit.’
‘How young and foolish you are,’ the Editor quipped, the audience laughing. ‘That was the old system. In the new system they still take our taxes but don’t do stuff.’
Paul asked, ‘What’s that new system called? Because when I was lad that was called theft.’
The audience laughed.
Ian noted, ‘It’s not theft if the Tories make their rich friends even richer, and the consultancy firms even richer – the ones run by their old school buddies. It’s called Thatcherism.’
‘Is that like fascism?’ I asked.
‘Similar, yes,’ Ian agreed. ‘In that you don’t dare complain about it. Have you seen your new Spitting Image character?’
My eyes widened. ‘I have a Spitting Image character?’
‘You do, and he punches the Tories a great deal. It has a halo.’
‘A halo?’ I puzzled. ‘I’m no saint.’
‘You’re a rich young playboy that hands most of his money to the needy, so which part of the definition of saint confuses you, Cardinal Roskov?’ Ian asked, the audience laughing.
‘Honorary Cardinal,’ I corrected him.
Angus asked, ‘And how many times have they tried to kill you now?’
‘I have no idea.’
‘You lost count?’ Paul asked me.
‘Yep.’
Ian noted, ‘When you lose count of the people trying to kill you … you need a desk job!’
‘I have a desk job now, I spend more time in my offices, I even type up letters and have a secretary and a lunch break.’
They laughed.
‘You have a designated lunch break?’ Ian asked. ‘You’re the boss.’
‘Well, yes, but I take a lunch break like normal British workers do.’
‘Do you fill in a timesheet?’ Ian teased. ‘Travel expenses?’
‘Not as such, no. But I do have my own mug now.’
‘And armed bodyguards wherever you go…’
‘Harry Stanulou is still out there, and our friend Gabby.’
Angus asked, ‘And naked women trying to get into your home?’
‘Perky … naked women.’
The audience laughed.
‘Perky?’ Ian queried.
‘Cold nipples,’ I told him with a straight face, the audience laughing.
‘The police handcuffed this lady, sat her in the car, then lost her,’ Angus noted.
‘She must have been a magician,’ I suggested. ‘Slipped the cuffs and escaped without anyone seeing her or hearing her.’
‘Your local police were most embarrassed,’ Ian noted.
‘I did release a statement, to tell anyone that wants to streak around my home town to do it in August.’ The audience laughed. ‘Cold at the moment.’
The Editor noted, ‘She gave them the slip the night before as well.’
‘My house cameras never filmed her, my high hedge in the way. But my security detail did suggest that we leave the door open for her.’
The Editor asked, ‘You found rare metals when constructing a dam?’
‘We’re building a dam, yes, and when the lake is flooded it will stretch back miles, and someone found a lump of gold in the river, which turned out to be an old gold crucifix that had come downstream over a thousand years, and it ended up all mangled.
‘So we started to look for more, and found one, but then found a cave with some shiny metal in it, which the experts said was palladium, Corsican Palladium not … London Palladium.’
They laughed, Ian putting his face in his hands.
I faced Paul. ‘Was that a terrible joke?’
‘Bloody awful, stick to making billions.’
‘So, anyway, we blew up the ancient cave with ancient drawings and they just picked it up from the ground, nineteen million quid’s worth. There’s still some in the ground, but it’s above where the water will reach so we’ll dig it out, but the water won’t rise for a year anyhow.’
‘You blew up an ancient cave?’ Ian challenged.
‘We discussed it with the government in Corsica and … then decided that we just didn’t give fuck and we blew it up.’
The audience laughed.
‘So it’s lost for all time,’ Ian noted.
‘We took photos first, and there are many such caves on the island.’
Angus turned to me. ‘And you’ll create a new town on the dam lake?’
‘Yes, villas and shops and a few nursing homes, a nice view of the lake and mountains, and we’ll help fix the island’s electricity problems as well.’
Ian noted, ‘You sacked thirty-two priests in Britain, Cardinal, and twenty-eight committed suicide…’
‘Bugger, we missed four of them.’
‘Those four are in prison awaiting trial.’
The Editor cut in, ‘Two committed suicide in prison, only two left.’
I began, ‘Part of me wanted to see a long messy trial, or series of trials, but this way suits as well, and we have compensated the victims some.’
‘You assisted the Epsom victims?’ Ian asked.
‘Some of the girls - quite naturally - wanted to run away, so we paid rent for them in new towns and we hired vans and drivers. They didn’t want to live in Epsom when people knew that they were infected, and they could hardly show their faces in their local pub.
‘And the locals report that the popular nightspots are dead quiet, and that local youngsters are all terrified that people will think they had sex with a victim. There’s now a real lack of casual sex amongst youngsters in Epsom, which is a good thing in a way.’
‘It’s had an affect everywhere,’ the Editor put in. ‘People are wary now.’
I faced him. ‘And the comments by Doc Malloy about promiscuous gays…’
‘He’s not wrong, and it is an issue, and ninety percent of AIDS sufferers are gay men that should have been more careful. But there are still clubs in London where a man can get twenty cocks inside him in a night, so … death stalks close in those places.’
‘And Freddie Mercury?’ I posed.
‘Was in those places regular, and the gay community has not learnt much since. Gay nightclubs in London have busy toilets, busy spreading AIDS by men that live for tonight and … just don’t care about tomorrow.
‘You’re spending money to help AIDS sufferers, and those men got themselves into the situation with reckless abandon. I’ve come across gay men who are infected, who don’t take the drugs prescribed but take hard recreational drugs instead and … don’t care if they wake up tomorrow.’
I began, ‘I aim to help everyone, and part of the reason is to help the NHS and the poor old British taxpayer, so I hope that we take charge of the men that have lost hope and are still leading dangerous lives, not least for the sake of society.
‘But to be clear, if I knew of an AIDS sufferer who was still reckless I would report them to the police, and if such a man was assigned to my hospice then we’ll hold him, if allowed – to save lives.’
The Editor put in, ‘No one in this country, no politician, has the guts to condemn gay men for being promiscuous or to take any kind of practical legislative steps to stop them being promiscuous.
‘And for starters it’s near impossible to legislate the nation’s sex life, and no politician would try for fear of ridicule, so it’s a bit of a non-starter.
‘But the fact is that most AIDS spread in Britain this year is down to gay men in nightclub toilets being reckless and not caring about their own health or their own futures.
‘You’re creating AIDS hospices to help people that willingly jumped off a cliff.’
I responded, ‘When my AIDS hospices are open, and when I have the majority of late-stage AIDS sufferers in care, we’ll quiz them all about their lifestyles - yes, and I’ll report what we find to the public – the taxpayers – and report what the cost is to look after those men that wished to jump off a cliff.
‘What’s needed first is the solid evidence, a documentary or two made, then the mood of the voters will change, and that will change the attitude of the people we elect – pressure brought to bear.
‘And if it is as we suspect, and men who know that they have AIDS are willingly spreading it around, then I’ll open a soft prison and AIDS hospice for those men, and the government now has the guts to the hold men that willingly spread the virus.
‘I can create an AIDS hospice with bars on the windows and a high fence just as easily.
‘What I want to see, what the public wants to see, is the government legislating clearly … that if a man is diagnosed with AIDS, and says “to hell with you” and keeps having unprotected sex, they get charged and held.
‘The government won’t be keen to do that now, our prisons are full to bursting, but a few years down the road, when I have a large suitable facility, then the government – a new Labour Government – could act and could detain large numbers of men.
‘I don’t know if Tony Blair has a set of solid steels balls yet, and some commentators doubt that, so we wait and see what the next government looks like, Tony Blair being a detached headmaster or a young teacher that wants to be friends with the pupils and to share a cigarette.’
Ian quipped. ‘Are you suggesting that Labour will try and be popularists?’
‘They have been in the past. But in some areas it seems they’ll need that rod of iron. That or they let the NHS buckle under the pressure with an AIDS epidemic here.’
‘Well that’s all we have time for tonight, a proper political show tonight and less satire. Goodnight.’
Cameras off, I told them, ‘Blair won’t like my massage video.’
‘Why not?’ Ian puzzled.
‘I have a VOTE LABOUR flag sticking out the model’s arse at one point.’
They laughed.
I asked the Editor for his card, and told him that I wanted him on a few TV debates. He was keen.
Back at home we enjoyed a take-away curry, Pat, Dingle and Bill, and then the show aired.
After the show had aired, Pat began, ‘Lock up or shoot all the fucking queers!’
‘They are costing us a fortune,’ I agreed. ‘Less so when they’re in my care in years to come.’
‘I’ve heard about the toilets in gay clubs, and those filthy places need to be shut down.’
Ted called, just to say that Bonza was behaving and that Leo was quiet and sulking for some reason after a trip to his ancestral home.
I had him put Leo on the phone.
‘Ricky?’ came a teenage boy.
‘Your ancestral home bothered you?’
‘Of course it did, I walked on their unadorned graves and remembered each painful blow of the past,’ came from an old man.
‘It may help to put your mind at ease, and you may remember soon the good as well as the bad.’
‘The weighing scales are not in balance, not by a long way.’
‘You came back for a reason, so try and think what that reason might be.’
‘It eludes me at present, and part of me wishes to be still in the ground.’
‘You’re sixteen, so have some fun like a sixteen-year-old, find a girl and have a beer and leave the weight of the past behind for a day or two.’
‘I hope it is that simple, to leave the memories behind.’
‘Give it a try, or you’ll never be happy.’
He put Bonza on, and the two of them had been exploring the island and the old Leopold Estate, not much of that estate left but rubble, no treasure found, and my mother had been cooking for them both.
A late call, and I agreed with Trish to do the same ladies’ chat show, “Vanessa”, the next day.
Vanessa
In the morning I spoke to The Sun newspaper staff, and they were keenly getting ready to sell the DVD and VHS video of my massage technique, and they were hoping for good sales.
Today’s Sun Newspaper had the face and boobs of our massage model on display, so that would definitely get the men of Britain interested.
In London, at an early 10am for a change - our Traffic Jam device helping the smooth journey, I sat for make-up, teeth then cleaned again, grey suit checked, and out I walked to a loud applause from an all-lady audience, now live.
‘Welcome back, Ricky,’ the overweight Vanessa offered me with a handshake.
I sat, the glass behind me showing a grey London skyline. ‘Always happy to voice my opinion, loudly, and often.’
‘So what’s the latest on the Epsom AIDS fiasco?’
‘More like the Epsom mass-murder saga than a fiasco, and the police are still coming in for some loud criticism. And the latest is not good, we’re nudging towards two hundred people as having been infected in the cluster, and the local NHS are tracing them all.
