Full disclosure

Close up portrait of attractive Caucasian woman in Maui, Hawaii, USA.Yes, full, unremitting disclosure this time. I mean, we’ve all known for ages that Google, Facebook and the rest spy on us, target us for advertising purposes and so on, but I, for one, didn’t realise that the CIA followed this blog. And, naturally enough, they have every right to do so because I’m a foreigner. So, to make it perfectly clear that nothing I write here has any ulterior motive, coded message or other intent than to be completely open about my attitudes to life and writing, I just want to clear up any possible misunderstandings.

First, my name is not Bill Kirton. I am Freda Dirge, a woman of a certain age (I’m sure even surveillance operatives allow a lady the usual discretion re. her birth date), and I have two convictions for shoplifting and one for arson. Otherwise, my conduct has been blameless, which is more than can be said for the writer of the books to which I refer on this site, my great-nephew, Jason, who is at present a guest of Her Majesty in a relatively lenient correctional facility near Watford. The photograph I use on the site’s home page was copied many years ago from an article in the Daily Mail on ‘Tell-tale physiognomies – The Faces of Evil’. As part of this disclosure, I’ve used my real likeness to illustrate this blog. It was taken at my parents’ wedding in 1953.

I have been married three times, once to my cousin and twice to Gerald String. The cousin episode was a mistake, which was rectified at the reception so no harm was done. I’d first married Gerald in 1959 when he was working in a pet shop in Soho. His conviction for indecency two years later made me turn to my cousin for comfort. I divorced Gerald, married the cousin on the rebound, but then, at the reception… well, I’ve already mentioned that.

Gerald and I remarried when he was released. He operated a barrel organ on the promenade at Brighton until that unfortunate incident with the budgie. Since it was his second offence, he was put on the Veterinarians’ Recidivists List and has since found it difficult to find employment. I wrote about his peccadilloes (is that how you spell it?) on my FaceBook page and was touched by the warmth and sympathy I received from my many friends there. Overwhelmingly, they said I should ‘get rid of the bastard’ so I did. Unfortunately, his joblessness means that the (theoretical) alimony I receive from him has been halved, which is why my IP Address has changed. I am typing this on a computer in the library (as you obviously know already from your records) since I can no longer afford one of my own.

Two of my six children live in the tenement next door. The other four (my daughters) are in the army. None of them speaks to me any more, which is fine by me because they all take after their father. (That’s Gerald, not the cousin.)

I hope this clears up any misconceptions about the mythical ‘Bill Kirton’ and his ‘books’. He is, in fact, a very unpleasant character I’ve invented to unmask the stupidities associated with leftist thinking. Finally, can I say that I think you’re doing a wonderful job protecting us? Thank you.


  1. Goodness me, Bill, with all this imagination I think it’s time you got into the middle of writing your next book too. I hope your wife approves of all these marriages and that she will bail you out when they take you in for more questions!!!

    1. Gwen, how could you? I was claiming full disclosure and now you’ve exposed the fact that I’m also married to a woman. I was leaving that revelation for a future blog.

  2. Oh, so that’s where you’ve been hiding out, my lovely! My sniffer-peccadilloes tracked you as far as Torry but after that, well, you know as much as I do about that business with the fish.

    I’ll be over this afternoon if I can hack my way through the variegated spooks (a kind of goldfish, wink wink) – hope you still have the, ahem, stockings. Yours aye, Gerry “how long is a piece of” String.

    1. Don’t you ‘Gerry’ me, you… you… fish-pesterer. As for the fact that you still use that nickname ‘how-long-is-a-piece-of’, don’t you realise that, when I coined it, I was referring to… Oh never mind. You’ll never understand me.

  3. I knew you weren’t you, from the moment I (who wasn’t me) talked to you on that non existent isle under the fictional statue.

  4. What a wonderful way to start my day! I would love to see you do this sort of thing more often. Not daily, because then it would become “normal” (if that’s even possible) – but once a month or so. There is nothing quite like a belly laugh to accompany my first cup of tea in the morning. P.S. I wish you lived next door.

    1. Oooh yes, being neighbours would be fun. We could watch Mamma Mia, have girls’ nights, tupperware parties, Victoria’s Secret sleepovers…

  5. Well, thank heaven for that. I thought Bill Kirton was a real person. Such a relief to find out he’s not.

    1. Yes, Jenny, it was unforgivable of me to foist such a monster on you all. I now know how Mary Shelley must have felt.

      1. Coco always did think the beard was fake. Even after the second Gender Re-Alignment Surgical Procedure (GRASP), or was it the third?

        1. I prefer not to envisage which anatomical aspects might come within the reach of Coco’s grasping, deceptive smile but I can confirm that it was the third procedure and it involved Gender Implants Relating to Libido Intensification For Intelligent, Competent, Active Transexual In-patients On Novocaine.

  6. Look here Linda, a young man like you shouldn’t be so cynical. Girlification is no snachering matter, innit? (writes Gerald Q. String, our Gender Theory Correspondent). Indeed, at the CIA HQ in Dundee, we (oops, I mean They) process as many as four girlifications every three days, a couple of manning-up ops, fifty-seven penile enlargements (black and white or colour is extra) and the occasional further de-clarification womanoeuvre, invulving stroke neutron pulse cliterography of Persons of Uncertain Persuasion or PUPs. (Include me out, sez Coco).

  7. “The cousin episode was a mistake, which was rectified at the reception so no harm was done.”

    Now why does this immediately make me think you stabbed him with the knife you’d just used to cut the wedding cake? Oh, wait, he *was* the wedding cake…

      1. Funnily enough that’s just what the nice gentleman in the blue uniform with the handcuffs has said to me…

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