SHAKESPEARE. Bill Shakespeare. William Wordsworth Shakespeare. Am I at the wordcount yet? Blast. Have these chapter outlines and give me some money:
Chapter one: Wherefore art thou, Shakespeare?
In fair London do we set our tale, where our bard made a name for himself through his skill, charisma and flowing blonde locks. We visit the Globe, the Daily Telegraph of its day, where plays were almost as respected as mildly satirical weekly columns are in our more enlightened age.
Chapter two: Taming the Shrews
One thing no Shakespeare expert can deny is that, like all great Englishmen, he loved to put it about. Ladies, fair maidens and the occasional wench, Shakespeare went through them left right and centre, and was well respected for it. Music was the food of love, and by music I mean a good solid rogering, and he did play on.
Chapter Three: The Many Wokes of Windsor
Ivory tower academics like to sneer at the Bard of Avon, saying that he was a bit racist here or a pinch sexist there. But the lesson old Shakey teaches is that no matter what you say, where it is published or who claims to have recordings of you saying it on his blog, time will make fools of them all.
Chapter Four: A Plague on Both your Houses
In the face of contagious disease and ruin, Shakespeare embraced the Blitz spirit and ploughed on regardless. Like any great man, he showed everyone that the best way to deal with a pandemic is to never mention it in anything you write or say and pretend like it never happened.
Chapter Five: To be or not to be Shakespeare?
That is the question. One can, however, safely say that Shakespeare was. With his actors his…centurions and Hamlet his Brexit, Shakespeare absolutely was a man of…the Union Jack. Truly he was the Churchill of playwrights. Big type, massive margins and that’s a book. Done.
