He was frozen in time for much of his life, empowered by his own ego and self will, the creator of his own universe, The writer of the year, huh!, In his head.
The journey has been a long and hard one, the rejection slips have become dog-eared memories of what should have been, and were now the flip side to shopping lists. He had fronted himself in protest marches in the hope he would be seen on the Nine O'clock News, even gleaned tickets to be in the audience of BBC TV chat shows, in the glib hope he might be spotted, that someday someone might exclaim, 'Is that not Ernst Thaklewaite sitting there!' Yet none so dared, it was just an illusion. His dream of becoming a popular writer of fiction was, fiction
Ernst could not, nay would not, dum down his dream, it was like the non stick coating to a fry pan, 'sticks and stones may break my bones, but names will never hurt me.', such was the resistance to any idea of failure, any distraction that Ernst Thacklewaite would one day arrive on the shelves of W.H. Smiths, would become gift wrapped and dispatched from Amazon.
Such was Ernst self empowerment that he even wrote his own obituary. The notion was that in the event of anything ever happening to him, like a sudden rush of over excitement, there in his pocket would always be this sealed envelope, his claim to fame. 'To Whom It May Concern', the envelope read on the outside. He knew it might attract attention appearing as if some kind of suicide note, yet inside the envelope a single page which read, rather sadly. 'The world wide web known Ernst Thaklewaite passed away today. His
writings will be greatly remembered. It then listed his efforts.
One cannot deny that his obituary would make interesting reading, for it was to be his self will to fame, the ultimate art of positive thinking. Like his series of letters to The Gosport Times regarding the abuse his car windscreen by Traffic Wardens affixing parking tickets to it. And then there was his appearance in the audience of the BBC Radio Three show The Verb, albeit unseen in the audience, one should not ignore the fact that Ernst Thaklewaite did here achieve his fifteen minutes of fame, that day Ernst Thaklewaite did actually arrive.
The Verb was a live radio show devoted to the spoken word, it could hardly be forgotten that evening as the show went on the air. It was nine thirty pm, The Verb radio show was in full swing. But Ernst was somewhat distracted, he was busy trying to conceal the fact that he was checking his Lottery Ticket numbers via his iPhone. It was just as Ian MacMillan was about to introduce a new and avant garde poet to the airwaves, 'Well I would now like to introduce someone who tackles the spoken word with the affront of sudden surprise.' It was then that an excited Ernst exclaimed aloud in no uncertain terms, accompanied with gestures of leaping in the air to shrilled exclamations of , 'I've done it, I've done it! I've got a full house.' It being a live show the audience at home were mesmerised as they listened to the radio broadcast. Amid the laughter of the audience they were sure it was the new avant garde poet, as Ernst continued to shout in excited tones as he fought to navigate his way out of his row of seats, while several security staff also attempted to reach him. ' I have done it, I am a rich man, diddle diddle diddle diddle dee, Ernst Thaklewaite has arrived everyone.'
Ian MacMillian looked in confused disbelief while the radio audience were convinced it was the poet he had started to introduce that this Ernst Thaklewaite was indeed him. They laughed their heads off and applauded as Ernst was bundled out of The BBC Theatre. All the time the radio show The Verb was broadcast live and it could not be ignored that Ernst Thaklewaite had arrived.
Indeed to this day his Obituary note, in its, now crumpled envelope, is still transported in his inside pocket wherever he goes.
His fifteen minutes of fame were all he ever wanted, though he still writes, to The Gosport Times, The independent, and The Radio Times, that lottery ticket did more for him than bring gold, it had been The Greyhound Bus of his life long dream, Ernst Thaklewaite, avant garde poet of BBC fame.
Sadly he was never amble to reinstate his name onto the BBC audiences list.
The End (perhaps! Obituary note in inside pocket of jacket.)