We mere mortals have long suffered through lack of knowledge of our beloved Manics. We, who are starved of knowledge as to what flavour pot noodles Nicky prefers, what colour Sean has just painted his bathroom, the exact nature of the smell of Richey�s farts. How can we live without such vital information?
Fortunately, help has always been of hand, thanks to that groundbreaking journalist, His Royal Highness Mister Sermon Prize. His book, Everything: A Book About HRH Sermon Prize (some editing was done by the publishers, but His Royal Highness insists on using the original working title) has been an inspiration to us all. Wit, raconteur, fashion icon, founder of the Manics-themed club night Stay Minging, HRH Sermon Prize is a true God amongst us.
And now, His Highness gives us his thoughts on the life that we can only admire. Hear him speak, and kneel before his mighty intellect.
His Royal Highness Speaks�.
I am a Famous Author
I am mates with the Manics
I have been to the pub with Nicky Wire
I have written a Book
Ahhhh, how these four simple aphorisms make me quiver with the sheer volume of my majesty. Truly, I am more powerful than Jesus and of greater intellect than Leonardo da Vinci. Hear me roar. Gaze in wonder upon my leopardskin shoes. I have a column in the Independent on Sunday. GAZE IN AWE UPON MY MIGHTY COLUMN!!!!!!!!!!!!
But of course, you wish to hear of my mighty work of literature. Being mere mortals, you shall no doubt fail to grasp the true profound meaning of my masterpiece, but I shall read to you a short extract anyway, in the hope that some of my greatness shall enter your tiny brains. I shall begin�.
June 1994. I have arrived in Japan, on a promotional tour of my greatness. The Japanese, being of Zen subtlety and used to paradoxical expressions of spiritual wonder, do not address my Godlike status directly, but attempt to achieve Nirvana by affecting indifference and using the Buddhist koan �so who are you then, you fat ugly fuck? Get out of my way, I�m here to see the Manics.� Ah, the subtlety of the Oriental mind, that they try to attain enlightenment by blaspheming that which is clearly holy and sacred.
As usual when I go on tour, that rather tawdry excuse for a skiffle band, the Panic Meat Screechers (or some such name) have followed me around, and at each city where I stop, they play one of their concerts, in honour of my sacred name. On this occasion, I have deigned to go visit their concert, so as to fool them into thinking such a deity as myself cares for them. I must do my best to please them, for they mean well in praising my name. And it was a pleasure to visit their �gig�, as they so quaintly call it, even though the music contained far too few synthesisers (clearly they should take lessons from such seminal musicians as Plastic Fantastic and Orlando, may their genius be forever glorified). Charmingly, the assembled crowds chanted my name in wonder. Japanese is such a curious language, that when they attempt to scream my name in awe, it is not pronounced �HRH Sermon Prize�, but sounds more like �Nicky�, or even �James�. How their grammar structure differs from ours.
After the gig, that scrawny little runt Richey came up to my hotel room and grovelled pitifully before my genius. Be showed me some of his miserable writings (I seem to recall some lyrics laughably entitled �Moped Emptiness� or some such description - clearly his work will never amount to a thing) and he begged me to teach him the secrets of being a Famous Author. I insisted knowledge cannot be passed on to mortals such as him, for once the secrets of the Gods have been passed on to Man, the damage cannot be undone. The poor Richey said that he could not bear to exist in the sight of my genius, and that if he did soon learn the skills of the Famous Author, he would have to leave to some far place and hide from the world. I suggested that in that case he should do just that, for him to gaze upon my wonder, and hence be truly aware of his own miniscule status, could only bring him pain. How I feel sorry for these mortals sometimes, they cannot bear the certainty that they will never be me.
Immolate yourself in the holocaust of your youth