Ben Elton - Inconceivable

“ Please, I have to go now,” I said. “I can’t be strong for much longer. Will you call for a cab? Please?”

And to his great credit he did not try to persuade me further. He just said, “Of course,” and rang for a taxi. I could see that he was as upset as I was. For some strange reason he really has convinced himself that he’s fond of me. Christ, I hated leaving that big beautiful bed.

“ This time I really won’t call you again, Lucy” Carl said as he kissed me goodbye (on the cheek). “It wouldn’t be fair on either of us.”

The gig was pretty dreadful. I don’t think I’ve ever heard anything so loud in my life. The engineers assured me that it sounded better on the radio, but it was rough going for the audience. I think all arena shows should be banned. They’re utterly soulless. I don’t care how good the act is, it could be Elvis come back from the dead but if you have to watch it at two hundred metres in what is basically a concrete aircraft hangar it’s going to be pretty dull. Anyway, the kids seemed to enjoy themselves or at least they acted as though they did. Then again, if you’ve paid twenty quid you’re going to make the effort, aren’t you?

Afterwards there was a line-up to meet the Prince, but I was excluded because the Head of BBC Manchester had muscled his way in and nicked my place. I didn’t really mind. I imagine you’d feel a bit of an idiot in one of those royal line-ups. I’m sure the royals do.

Anyway, as I say, me and Joe and Woody Monk ended up in the bar at the Britannia. I managed not to drink too much, although I did have more than I meant to. Joe kept getting the rounds in. I’ve noticed that about people who’ve given up the booze. They’re always very anxious to buy other people drinks. Vicarious pleasure, perhaps, or else they just don’t want you to think that they disapprove. Anyway, after Joe had got me my fifth bottle of Pils I had to explain that I was taking it easy as I was likely to be called upon to provide sperm samples in the near future.

“Oh, blimey,” he said. “Paternity suit, eh? I get one of vose a veek. Fahking DNA, ruined the art of the casual shag.”

Well I’m home now, drunk and feeling very strange. Angry with myself for so nearly doing something very stupid, and angry with myself for not doing it. I know I’ll feel terrible in the morning, even without the appalling hangover that I’m definitely due. But the main thing is that in the end I resisted temptation. Whatever I may have thought or desired, I did not actually do anything. Well, almost nothing anyway, and that’s what matters. I know I let him feel my breasts, but I’ve decided to pretend even to myself that this hardly happened. Ditto tongue-sandwich style kissing. Yes, I freely admit that I wanted him to shag my brains out for hours and hours, but we didn’t and I’m glad.

One thing I do feel is that I’m very much in love with Sam. I hope that’s not the booze and the guilt talking because I do feel it, perhaps not often, and not in the way Carl excited me tonight, but I do still fancy him. I mean it. It’s not just because I’m drunk. He does still turn me on, and that’s because I love him. And love is something to be cherished and protected. You can’t go through life hopping from bed to bed. You can’t just keep redoing the first few nights of a relationship, can you? Of course not! If you want the love and the security that a proper relationship brings then you have to go for the long haul. Even if you do really really really want to shag another bloke.

Anyway, what I really want to say is that I feel very close to Sam now. I rang him at his hotel and told him so. I hope I didn’t sound too drunk because I have specifically asked him to cut down on the booze because of our IVF business, which I did not give a thought to tonight like the disgusting slapper that I am. Also I hope I didn’t make him suspicious. I mean I do sometimes ring up to tell him I love him. Well, it’s not the first time. I’m far more effusive than he is. Oh well.

Actually I think I’m going to be sick.

I just spoke to Lucy, which I’m really glad about. I’d just been thinking how much I missed her when she phoned. It was so nice. I haven’t heard her as affectionate in ages. I suppose she was feeling the same way I was. It’s not often we’re apart.

I really am a lucky man. A lucky, lucky man. I just don’t deserve a girl like Lucy, she’s beautiful and funny and interesting and I’m just a git. In fact I’m worse than a git. I’m a bastard, a deceiving bastard, because I’ve already betrayed her trust over my movie script, and now I’m planning a second and even greater betrayal that I can hardly bear to think about, let alone write.

I hope I didn’t sound like I’d had a drink.

Dear Penny

Well, it’s been a week since the night I choose not to mention and I feel a bit better about it all. The weird thing of feeling guilty and frustrated isn’t easy to deal with because there’s no doubt that I do like Carl and in another world I could easily see myself with him but I’ve been really trying to push these thoughts from my mind because I’m absolutely committed to my love for Sam and there’s an end to it. In fact we’re really getting on at the moment. I don’t know why. Perhaps it’s doing this IVF thing or perhaps I’m making more of an effort because of “you know what”, but we do seem to be happy together.

I think it’s partly Sam, actually. He seems very positive about things and about himself, which is quite a change from the way he’s been, well, for years really. It’s very nice.

I’ve been sniffing my drugs every night. This way of pumping them up your nose is all right, but it does mean that you go to bed making the most appalling honking snorts. I can’t believe Sam can still fancy me, although he assures me he does. It doesn’t matter anyway at the moment because sex is now out for us. I think theoretically we’re still allowed to do it but I don’t feel like it. These weird hormonal drugs are taking effect, I expect. That and concentrating everything on the big day.

Dear Self

Lucy is snorting and honking like a pig in bed, poor thing. It’s these drugs she’s taking up her nose. I’ve had to come through into the spare room, which is where I’m writing this. To be honest I don’t think I’ll get much sleep anyway. You see, I’ve finally made my big decision.

I’m going to read Lucy’s book.

I have to if I want this script to be as good as it can be. If I want to have any chance at all of it having genuine heart and soul then the heroine’s voice must be authentic. I’m sure I could get it right in the end on my own, if I had time. I could talk to Lucy, coax it out of her. I’ve already used lots of her lines. There was one about telling a doctor to sit on a traffic cone and see if he could relax that I put in only today. But you see I don’t have time. This script is hot now. It’s coming together now and I have to finish it.

I mean Lucy would want me to get the woman right, wouldn’t she? Of course she would.

I tried taking a look tonight while she was in the bath. I felt like a thief, which of course is what I am. The damn thing was locked, of course. She’s got one of those leatherbound journals from W. H. Smith. It’d be easy enough to pick but I might break it and then the game would be up. What I must do is go and buy another one. I’m certain that all the keys are the same. They only cost about a fiver.

I feel terrible about this, but what can I do? If I don’t blow it, within six months or so I could have my own movie. The ultimate dream of every single wannabe writer on the planet. Courage, Sam. You have no choice.