WELL, DIS COUNTIN' as de emergence o de fully-fledged feature writer, an' no mistake! Dis gonna be de spectacle o' de ol' creative talent in full flight! It markin' de passage f'om informed witty political commentator to king o' words ! Dis gonna show de Graham Browns an' de Norman Molars o' dis word where dey gittin' off, de hacks gonna have to shape up if dey wants to stay in de runnin' fo' de Nobel gong, you better believe it.
I bin asked to do de pussonal piece on de subberjeck: Indoor Sports. Could be dis bit gonna wine up in Cinnamonscope wid de Technicolor sound an' Steve de Queen in de leadin' role! Boy, it good to git away f'om de informed political analyses fo' once an' out dere wid de adjectives an' de simians an' de subberjunctive cases an' all dat flash stuff. Well, here goes. All About Indoor Sports by I. Amin, Fellow o' de Uganda Society o' Literature, also windows cleaned.
CHAPTER ONE De bes' indoor sport I know is goin' down de cells an sockin' de innermates in de mouf. It got action, it got human drama, it got topical appeal, an' in de case o' female innermates, it got sex. I was layin' about me one day wid de leadlined sock, when dis beautiful bird wid de long eyelashes suddenly materialisin' out o' de shadows.
CHAPTER TWO Wid one boun', I was at her side. Mah hot bref brushin' de ears. She lookin' up at me an sayin' You a damn handsome bugger fo' a politician, cheeky, wot say we go back o' de courthouse fo' a bit of a gobble? I lookin' down at her wid de meltin' look, but I a man wot standin' at de cross-roads o' destiny. No, I tellin' her, fust I got to make a mark in de worl', also collect de stuff f'om de dry cleaners on account of it early closin' day.
CHAPTER THREE I walkin' down High Road, Spain, an' a man comin' up to me an' sayin' Hum, you mus' be dis Ernest Hemmaroid we hearin' so much about, you gonna write about fightin' de bulls an' win de Nobel Belt? Point me at de bull, I tellin' him, you got de wrong international lit'ry figger, but you come to de right man. Anyway, soon as de bell go, de bull come out o' de blue corner an' start swingin'. I hit it wid a coupla lef' jabs, an' when I puttin' in de right cross, de bull goin' down like a Opposition spokesman. De crowd goin' wild, an' I gittin' de ears, tail, de liver, an' two pounds o' topside.
CHAPTER FOUR Dis where I chuckin' de electric fire in de barf an' Goldfinger gittin' fused to de National Grid, only I havin' a bit o' trouble wid de dialogue.
CHAPTER FIVE Look here, Anna Karenina, I givin' it to you straight f'om de shoulder, it cold enough out here to freeze de wotsits off a brass potto, I ain't used to dis Stalingrad climate, wot about openin' de door an' lettin' me in fo' de ol' Ovaltine? Ho, she cry, pull dis one, it got de bells on, you big dusky sod, do not trifle wid a woman's heart, or nuffin else, if you don't want de Palace guard to come aroun' an' chop yo' fingers off at de knuckle!
CHAPTER SIX It lookin' like I gittin' off de subberjeck o' Indoor Sports. Ain't no way back, far as I can see. It a damn sight harder dan it lookin', turnin' out de matchless prose, no wonder everyone makin' all de fuss about Ingrid Blyton. You don't come up wid Noddy overnight, dat's fo' sure.