Saturday, March the 13th, 2004
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Seldom referred to these days, the so-called Beerpint Scandal* of 1977 is worth revisiting. Dennis Beerpint (brother of the poet Gervase) tells the story himself, in this previously unpublished memorandum, hurriedly scribbled on a piece of blotting paper and deposited in a credenza located in the boiler cupboard of the Museum of Moral Turpitude in Lewdbag.
Hundreds of outraged citizens threw pebbles at me in the streets after I announced, in the pages of the Tungsten Railings Digest, that I had never been to the theatre, that wild horses, nor indeed any other savage beasts of the field, would fain drag me to the theatre, and that I had no intention of going to the theatre, ever, full stop, end of, BAM! When, every evening, I kneel down to lavish praise upon my Maker, my most earnest prayer is that icy claws shall hug me to the bosom of Death rather than that I be propelled through the gaudy doors of the playhouse. Is this so grave a crime that I should be pelted with missiles? I can only surmise that the hot-headed reaction of the townsfolk was occasioned by my tenure, for many long years, as drama critic of the Weekly Shackle. Of course I had never seen any of the thousands of productions I reviewed in its august, if tatty, pages. Given an assignment by my editor, I would note down the play-title on a scrap of paper, place it under my pillow, and dream it. I ask you, humbly—is that so wrong?
* NOTE : Given the decade in which it occurred, it is a wonder that this scandal was never called “Beerpintgate” (see “Nixon”, 26th February).