Before he publishes his excoriating review of the ‘coronavirus’ fiasco, Pissed-off Toff invites you to join him as he plays the organ at York Minster.
I’ve been lying in bed over the last fortnight, ruminating on my impending ruination and on the symptoms, which we see all around us, of the collapse of western society. I refer, of course to our craven reaction to the appearance of the ‘coronavirus’ … a virus no more or less dangerous than any of the others which visit us every winter, but which this time round has sent us into a state of senseless panic that threatens to destroy our very way of life. It is not, in other words, the virus that is a threat. But our own weakness and cowardice.
It is my intention that over the coming weeks I will write a diary of the madness of the ‘coronavirus’ panic as seen in London, that has closed down our country, and that will cause incalculable damage to all and sundry.
In the meantime, here is a video of myself playing the organ at York Minster. Someone once told me that it is the second-most important cathedral in the country, after Westminster Abbey. I must ask my neighbour – the Bish. of X – whether this is true.
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This video goes some way towards destroying my carefully cultivated anonymity. However, and as I knew from the outset, anyone who really wants to find out who I am, could. As my various posts have made clear (how could they not?) … I’m an OE; then Oxford; my life has been hugely privileged, and I’ve made quite a mess of it; I’m the first cousin of a marquess; I’ve lived for long periods in France and Italy and speak (or at one stage did speak) the languages of these countries like a native; I have earned a living of sorts as a journalist, translator and much else besides …
So put the MoD or MI5 on to me, and they’d identify me within minutes. Nevertheless, it tickles my fancy to remain anonymous to the casual reader.
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So where were we?
Oh yes! Here is a video of myself, taken randomly (by a godson of the Prince of Wales, as it so happens) playing the organ in York Minster. I had consumed a good half-bottle of gin the evening before, so God knows how I managed to play so well. But I did.
How, you might ask, did Pissed-off Toff gain access to this machine so powerful that it made his spine tingle as it lifted off the roof of the cathedral?
Simples: At the end of a memorial service which he attended only by happenstance, he found the key of the organ still in place, and he played competently enough that everyone assumed he was the cathedral organist.
Or so my hosts told me afterwards … no doubt to soften me up for the prospect of being on washing-up duty for the next few days in the kitchen of their large house in the country not so far away.
Anyhow: here we go … PoT, more-or-less gin-soaked, in York Minster: