The ‘Guy Cohen answers me pretending to be Paxman’ post seems to have stirred up a hornet’s nest, albeit a Lillipution one.
As the mysterious and Bond-esque sounding ‘G’ quite rightly points out, never in the long and illustrious history of Number Twos has a post provoked so many comments.
Finally after 294 posts I’ve discovered the secret to successful blogging.
Just get someone other than me to do most of the writing.
If only I had known earlier.
But back to Guygate.
Ever since the incident where I threw a Jammy Dodger at legendary Beatles producer Sir George Martin, I’ve made it my strict policy to steer clear of controversy.
(And too much champagne.)
So I don’t wish to fan the iddy-biddy flames of debate any further.
My aim here is not to antagonise or insult.
As Ray Davies sang, I’m a lover, not a fighter.
(Unless I’ve had too much champagne and I find myself within range of the ‘Fifth Beatle’ with a shortbread-and-jam based biscuit in my hand, in which case I’m terrifying.)
But I would just like to clarify – and I think we’re all grown up enough to appreciate this – Number Twos has always been about my experiences with ulcerative colitis.
Good and bad, funny and sad, everything on here is written from one point of view alone, and that is mine.
It’s not my place to recommend this drug or that therapy, I just write about my life with UC.
I understand that’s a very simplistic viewpoint, and I am aware there is a certain responsibility that comes with writing about a subject like this on the internet.
And from the beginning I’ve always taken care to be totally honest and not to mislead.
The Guy Cohen thing is no different to the time I wrote about trying Chinese tea.
(Incidentally the Chinese herbal doctors claimed they could cure my UC and unlike Guy, they did charge me a hefty sum for it – how come they don’t get any stick?)
I am trying Guy’s therapies and I will be writing about it.
And as far as my progress goes, rest assured you can expect the same in-depth, behind-the-scenes, impartial investigative reporting that brought you such journalistic gems as On your marks, get set, poo!
It’s the very least I can do.
Now, before I get any more sanctimonious, for those of you who prefer Number Twos a little lighter in tone, below is a book on toilet paper origami.
It’s ten quid on Amazon!
Linda Wright, the author, should be hanged for peddling this kind rubbish to vulnerable people who spend way too much time on the loo.