Copyright 1999
Hi there !

God the excitement has been too much. Paradise Trailer Park has never seen so much

It’s all my fault really, well things usually are. I have a knack for causing things to
happen. Mum blames Molly, you know, my mate at the Ranch House Massage
Parlour. She had been giving  Mr. Holstein one of her specials. Of course Mr.
Holstein owns the place so he doesn’t pay, not that he would have to being a very well
put together gentleman with a nice house in Stanmore, a Mercedes and gold fillings.

I’d been telling Molly about Lionel and some of the chaps he had met down the
‘club’. That’s apparently what they call the toilets in Mandela park, down by the
canal. Seems one of them was very posh and took Lionel to a two star hotel for a few
hours wining, dining and a good seeing to.

Then last week, the papers were full of the story about a public figure, once an M.P.,
married and with six kids who had admitted that he had experienced sexual contact
with another man, just once  when he was going through a phase, but he was alright

Lionel laughed out loud when he read it. ‘Silly arse’ he called him, or rather ‘Big silly
arse’. Lionel thought it was the same man who wined and dined him and then, you
know, sort of ‘had him’

Anyway, Mr.Holstein, always out to make a few more millions, overheard us talking
and next minute he’s off that table and muttering into his mobile. Molly didn’t even
need to wash her hands. He’s only phoning the tabloids, isn’t he. Funny really, him
being so rich. I could understand him shopping one of the red rose brigade, but this
was one of your own, so to speak.  Still there’s no solidarity where money is
concerned, that’s my experience. Even Shane has stop phoning mum since she got a
mobile. Says he can’t afford it and he found someone cheaper on a card in a phone

Before you could say a Arthur Daily,. they are round there banging on the trailer door.
Lionel was shit scared. he thought it was the fuzz. He had to hide his magazines and
his Dusty Springfield records and told the twenty stone plumber he was just about to
show his inlet valve to, to grab his overalls and look real.

When he opened the door their was a whole crowd of photographers, reporters, T.V.
crews and half the population of the trailer park. Lionel was very impressed. That is
until one of the reporters, big mean looking fellow, I think from the Sun asked him
delicately ‘Did you shag an M.P.?’ 

Lionel, who hasn’t got the quickest acting brain on earth tried to be funny and said
something like ‘probably hundreds of them’ and that’s what the headline was next
day in every newspaper in the country ‘I SHAGGED HUNDREDS OF M.Ps’ 

The reporters all showered Lionel with cheques and told him not to worry, they would
fill in the details of the story later as long as he signed to say that the basic story was
true. Lionel signed everything he was given, even a contract changing the electricity
supply to the Salvation Army Power Company PLC some crafty salesman pushed at

Of course, as it turned out Lionel had shagged with lots of M.P.s but not it seemed the
one they were interested in and as he couldn’t put names to the others and it was
probable that the men in question had lied to Lionel about their profession just to
impress him and get inside his Calvin Kleins, the story died.

Most of the cheques bounced as well but he did end up making a few bob out of it so
he treated some of his mates at the Wednesday night disco at the Essoldo to a drink or
two and ended up pissed out of his mind in bed with a Japanese Sumo wrestler over
here for the Oxo Cubes North London Sumo championships.

I felt sorry for Lionel but he said not to worry, it was worth it just to disappear under
the fleshy folds of his Japanese wrestler.  He also got a cheque from the M.P. who
started the whole thing off and an invitation to his apartment in Park Lane. Seems his
wife and kids are away on a Thompsons Holiday in Majorca for ten days.

So everyone was happy except Mr. Holstein but then he’s never happy, that is unless
he’s making money. Strange world.

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