Well.here we are again. At least, it's better than Twitter. I'm only saying that, because I can't work Twitter and haven't got a Blackberry.

But so much has been going on and in a way this "blog", if that's what you call it, is my guilty secret. I don't expect anyone to actually read it, but "Print the Legend", I feel, is a necessary part of cultural history.

Now, The Social Network......Of course you've seen it. I rushed in there because we have a vague family connection - my lovely daughter talented Claudia lives in LA, is married to Ack Ross who did the music........Well, sorry about that plug.......still, her mother Tanya just got a gong from the Queen of England and the Empire, so you'll forgive me bathing in their reflected glory....

Terrific film, very prerfeshonal. Mark Zuckerberg - ole Sugarloaf as we like to call him - (I use "we" in its broadest sense), quite liked it, but couldn't get the fact that no-one understands that people like to build things. For Messrs Sorkin it was because MZ couldn't get laid. Mark explained that wasn't his problem. He was like Steve Jobs or the Microsoft guy or the Sage of Omaha - it's the American Dream, fer chrissake! Sugarloaf has had the same Chinese girlfriend since before facebook and he's even learning Manadarin now, so they can communicate. If you don't believe me, read the Time magazine article.

What's interesting about it is that he loves fencing. That's his sport. Fencers are a particular specialised group who parry and thrust, scoring points when their opponent gets it wrong. So Sugarloaf is at war - as we all are.......

But I liked him better in the film than in "real" life. In the movie he's all bunched up, fast thinking and interesting. The guys who wanted to get laid so desperately were the giant twins who rowed -and lost- the Boat Race. You'd think those handsome monsters were getting enough poontang - but obviously not. Poor wee unhappy giants.

In real life (carrying on our theme of Print the Legend) all Sugarloaf's employees are telling us what a nice normal guy he is and they laugh at his unfunny jokes because he's such a great guy. And this has nothing to do with the fact that he's the BOSS.

Duh!

So, moving swiftly along, an equally - possibly more informative - movie is INSIDE JOB which i really want you to see. It's all about rhe financial meltdown. It's a precise unravelling of what happened, something we all need to know. It is pure naked truth - the stuff I like and what Print the Legend is all about.

Poor Bernie Madoff is in prison forever, the sacrificial goat paying for the sins of Wall Street while Lloyd Blankstein laughs all the way to the Bank. Bernie's son has just topped himself - nice Jewish boy, couldn't handle the shame. It chews me up. Why didn't the poor kid just get out of town until it all blew over?

"Bernie Madoff tsk tsk what a naughty boy!" -all the bankers on the Street are saying. How could someone behave like that? Making money for his clients, making a lot of people happy until it crashed. Sound Familiar??

As the 'Inside Job' makes clear: They're all running the same Ponzi Scheme, all taking investors' money and running off with it, all running the same Ponzi scam, but not one of them has said sorry, not one of them has given any money back, no one's kid has committed suicide . So I say, poor Bernie Madoff and poor Bernie's kid.

Okay, and so swiftly moving on from here - you're busy, I know. What about the King's Speech? Nothing wrong with that, you say. Even my Rabbi likes it. I haven'r seen it, but I'll probably have to. Turn my collar up on a rainy afternoon and sneak in, hoping nobody sees me.

I'm reminded here of Fellini fending off questions. When they asked him, "Do you see Anonioni's films?" he said:

"When he asks me, I am obliged to go..." Genius.

Still, you've got butch and Nasty Mr Darcy imperonating the slender and sensitive George VI. The Australian speech teacher is a better likeness. No, that's not fair really, because George VI (Bertie, we call him) was actually a good looking feller who looked nothing like D'Arsy.

So, why was he King - Bertie, I mean - what with his stammwering and everything. Isn't it obvious? He had children, even if they were only girls, like old Henry VIII, but at least he had children, I mean he could father children. Whereas his brother and heir to the throne, obviously couldn't or, better, wouldn't.

Penny dropped yet?

Hmm?

Yes, Edward was a fruit, When you have everything why not be gay? And Mrs Simpson was what we in the business call a 'fag hag'.

Don't act all shocked and say, like someone did the other day, "Who told you that?"

It's amazing how upset people get about it. "But, how do you know??" and "What proof do you have??"

There are pictures of them at swimming pools with pretty young gays. No girls anywhere to be seen.

Oh, you think that handsome Edward could have had any girl in the world but chose Mrs Simpson as his one true love above all others?

I'm losing patience with you. This the "Print The Legend" site. If you don't like it, go back to your Beano comics.

Old Adolf wasn't so stupid. He was also a pwrvert (don't say you didn't know or where's the proof?) he murdered his niece so she wound't split on him and his scatological sexuality.......

O gotta go.

see ya.
It's hard to believe I'm having yet another birthday. It seems only yesterday I had the last one. What's to celebrate? you made it through another year. Children love birthdays or at least are taught to love them, Load them up with presents and cake. You see a small child having a birthday - poor kid doesn't know what the fuss is about. Then they get used to getting these presents and have to make the linkage to surviving another year.

I was once asked what was my greatest achievement?

There's only one answer: Survival!

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I have an exciting announcement if you might be interested in revisiting Swinging London and the blameless '60's, the time when all was possible, when love was in the air. (Yes, it's true, we did really love each other.) Anyhow, the kind people at the British Film Institute are showing my film "JOANNA" at the South Bank NFT on Thursday July 23, 8.20 pm. What a thrill! No seriously. I get the fuzzy feeling that all is forgiven. I'm touched and a little weepy. As you probably know, British directors are supposed to get their funds from the Government of the UK, but "JOANNA" was the first US financed studio movie to be invited to participate in competition at the Cannes Festival. If you're reading this and you're around Thursday evening, I'll be there, say hello and please come as my guest. Seriously. You come up to me, say hello, we'll be friends for life. Better than Twitter! What? A bientot!

I just read that the little boy who never grew up, the peterpan of pop just didn't wake up from a heart attack. His heart had taken a lot. At 50 he wasn't young anymore. Poor boy. What can you say? Sometimes it's best to say nothing. The press, no doubt, will look at ways to slander or bitch, but he was a genius, no less than the King. Billy Jean, wow! Rockin' Robin! Thriller! That will live on in my mind. Thank you, Michael. Thank you so much.

And then, on another page nearby I learn that Farah lost her fight. Again, I'm not allowed to say, "Oh, it's not fair". How stupid is that? She's in my mind when I close my eyes. What a beauty, what a great performance she gave me. Sweet natured, too. I recall the Six Million Dollar Man acosting me on the set to instruct me on how how should direct her, what I should and shouldn't do. I had to bar him from the set. Everybody wanted her. What a sweet girl. It didn't suit her to be serious, but her lovers and husbands took her seriously.And then there was this film she insisted on having made, a documentary with a bloated Ryan and Farah getting excited about possible cures in Germany. And then the terrible moments when she learned - and we knew already - that the fight was hopeless. Once cancer gets to the liver - which is the clearing house of the body and has to get rid of all the chemotherapy they pump in - well once the cancer infects the liver, the only thing to do is buy a new liver. Heartbreaking. She didn't want to lose her hair..........

I've just been texted on that Michael Peter Pan of pop, left instructions for his ashes to be something or othered, so that kids can play with them............ When did he leave those instructions? Did he know something? He was so weird..... and wonderful.

Is it just me, or are more people dying htese days? Not so long agao it was Wendy, and for me the memories came flooding back. I couldn't say much at the time. But I did see her occasionally. Maybe I'll put it all in the book.

You know, us Jews aren't allowed to complain. When someone dies we say, "Blessed is the Truthful Judge." This is so important, because only the Almighty is in charge of life and death. Actually, come to think of it, death doesn't exist. It's merely the absence of life. And it is written that love conquers death, or rather, love is greater than death. If you think about it, it's true. People are going to go on loving Michael and Farah, maybe even love them more ...........

We say Kaddish when we remember the passed-away. I've said it quite a bit recently, because when a close family member dies we say kaddish every day. And I never bothered to read the translation in all that time. It's something you get to know off by heart. But the Kaddish has nothing to do with death. It is a prayer in praise of G-d, written in Aramaic, the language of the rabbis after the Babylonian conquest. The story I heard somewhere was - this is probably wrong, but anyhow - a man whose father had died dreamt that his father came to him in a dream and told him to recite the kaddish. This chap went to the famous Rabbi Akiva and told him about the dream and Akiva established it for all mourners.

So when we say Kaddish we strip away remorse and blame and, let's face it, remorse is a big item for those in mourning! Instead, Kaddish allows you to say, "It's nothing to do with me. The Almighty is in charge of this and He is the Truthful Judge." Very important.

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Hi, well I'm most touched that so many people saw my unimportant appearance in "Doctors" and were kind enough to say such nice things.

I didn't realise how many of you watch daytime tv. I suppose the credit crunch has something to do with it. But I'm glad you did.

What else? Oh yes.

I'm getting lots of requests for my autograph from Germany and Eastern Europe. I've ordered up a batch of repros and they're all gone. I'll have to order up some more. Different ones this time. The question I ask myself is, which era shall I go for?

Me and Wendy Richard during our time to gether on Come Outside? She was a wonderful, funny girl and extremely pretty, a beautiful figure. We almost....almost .... well, now's not the time.....

Or then there's the Joanna swinging London photographs, cool Duggie Hayward suits.

Then the hippy phase

Then Brazil

Then the family man

the years rush by..........Do I send photos of young Mike?? Or old Mike??

show biz can be so cruel.

Something must have happened in Poland, Hungary and Rumania

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The word, boys and girls, is "PRINT THE LEGEND"

It comes from Wyatt Earp who was on a train, whistlestopping his way round the States and talking about how he cleaned up Tombstone and beat the Clanton Gang in a fair fight.

Yeah, sure.

So, on the train there was this reporter - what you might call 'investigative' - who spotted certain inconsistencies in Wyatt's story. One minute Wyatt's quick on the draw and a sharpshooter, next minute he's never handled a firearm and settled everything peaceful-like.

He kept needling Wyatt. He wanted the facts: "What's the truth, Mr Earp? I need to know what actually happened. My readers ...."

"Print the legend!" Wyatt interrupted brusquely.

Print The Legend.More on "Print The Legend"..........

The most ridiculous "Print the Legend" example is the "Jesus of Nazareth" legend. This, girls and boys, is all about a spelling mistake.

Jesus, JC to you and me, was not "of Nazareth" as everyone knows. He was born in Bethlehem, Bet Lechem in Hebrew. But that's a detail.

And he certainly wasn't "of Nazareth" ..... He was a Nazirite. A Nazirite is not from "Nazareth". This mistranslation is to show you that the New testament was written by illiterates.

So. A Nazirite is someone you can find in the Torah - Old Testament to you. Samson was a Nazirite, which is why he wasn't allowed to cut his hair or drink alcohol. Look up "Nazirite" and you'll find JC.

In Josephus we learn all about the Nazirite community called The Essenes who wre massacred by the Romans. Nazirites are holier than thou, which really annoyed the Pharisees and Sadducees. of the Temple.

Jesus's behaviour is typical Nazirite. John the Baptist was another one. So - I could write a book on this...



Nowadays Charles Darwin, the "genius", is selling books by the million. No one doubts he was the discoverer of Evolution, the survival of the fittest etc.

But was he? Or, to be more to the point, does he deserve the credit of being The First?

Well, not exactly.

After travelling to the Galapagos and elsewhere and marrying into the Wedgwood family, Charlie retired to his greenhouse, baffled by the sheer variety of organism in nature, collecting beetles, frustrated why some ladybirds have four spots and some only two, and so on.

Socially, he was well up there, about as good as it gets. Lots of kids. His health, he claimed, was delicate. He was working on cataloguing beetles and plants. He thought he might get round to writing another book. He had theories, sure. Like the one called "acquired characteristics" where the giraffe gets its long neck by stretching upwards and the baby giraffes have long necks, having inherited it from mummy and daddy. It's why the English upper classes are the way they are. They acquire the characteristique of pomposity at public school and the kids are born that way. His other theory which many would agree with is that birds like peahens have great aesthetic appreciation and always pick the prettiest peacocks. By this theory Elvis would have had thirty-seven children before he died ............

So there was CD shambling round the house for twenty years doing not very much and thought of as a bit of a dullard, a dunce really. Having had a famous grandfather, Erasmus, Charles was something of a disappointment.

Meanwhile, in the South Seas of Malaysia, the Celebes, there was a lonely natural historian, a specimen collector who also collected beetles which he sent back to museums to earn his keep. He, too, was fascinated by the variety of nature, how it seems to adapt itself to its environment, specialising with the right shaped beak, dark or light colouring, mimicry, etc.

One day this man whose name was Alfred Russell Wallace, caught malaria. It was so serious that his body shivered and his hands shook, which meant he couldn't write or make notes ........

So, he decided to sit and think. He imagined the world where species die out for want of food and a variety survives which then becomes dominant because it is the only variety that is adapted to its environment. Suddenly, like a flash of lighning from above (he was a religious, or rather spiritual, man)he perceived the world of Life like a branching tree.

It was the answer everyone had been looking for.

When the fever subsided he wrote the essay which he called "On the Tendency of Varieties to Depart Indefinitely from the Original Type." Which means a variety that can't go back becomes a species.

This he sent to Darwin, asking him to read it and pass it on to Lyell, a geologist who decided what was worth publishing in the annals of the Linnean Society.

Now Lyell and his colleague Hooker, a botanist, were pals with Darwin. Wallace was stuck in the South Seas and wouldn't be back for a couple of years. Apart from which he was a poor man, didn't have a rich wife, had to work for a living and had been silly enough to send the essay to the one man who could make use of it .........

As they say: "The best thing you can do with a good idea is to steal it."

So Lyell and Hooker told Darwin to say he's had the idea 40 years ago. He just hadn't been bothered to release it. Kept it to himself, such a modest chap, tra la la. Yes, we saw a pencil sketch of this idea many years ago. Darwin had it. Didn't think much of it, then ............

Sure.

So the con men got to work. Suddenly Wallace who had the legal priority by writing it down, sending it off, having it passed along to a third person, was numero due, and Darwin Number One.

And that's what's called "Print the Legend".

OK, since you ask, here's one more and then I really must go.....

You can't mention Hitler without adding, "He committed suicide." Or he shot himself with Eva Braun. Isn't it?

He was a sort of honourable Roman emperor, falling on his sword. "Aah!" I hear you say, "Precious. Decent chap in the end." He wasn't into porn. The bunker wasn't literally a "bunker" where everyone was bonking, drinking, grabbing the last few precious seconds of life ............

The Russians were fifty yards away. He said goodbye, went into the room with Eva. Bombs were falling into the courtyard. Eva has a tab of prussic acid. Hitler has just had her boyfriend, Fegelheim, shot. The boyfriend had married her sister as a cover, was planning to joing Himmler in a deal with the Americans. He sent a message to Eva to join him. The message was intercepted. Hitler's bodyguards went and picked him up, brought him back, shot him. Eva had nothing to live for. Marry the Fuehrer. Sure. Whatever. She cried throughout. Poor Eva.

In the room, she didn't mess about. Pop went the weasel. Hitler was really shocked his hands trembled so much he couldn't hold the gun, let alone point it at his temple.

Outside in the corridor his valet waited for the final shot. The Fuehrer was so brave, even children were out in the streets getting themselves killed for Hitler.

Twenty minutes went by. No noise. The valet didn't dare barge in. Hitler had seen what prussic acid can do. It finished off Blondi, his dog, in double quick time. He sat there, trembling. "I can get out of this" Even now. Look at all my narrow escapes. Something will turn up. I've fooled everybody. I'll fool them again." Twenty-five minutes ............

The Russians were nearly at the bunker. You could hear their artillary. "Nu?" said the bodyguards at the end of the corridor, eyebrows raised. The valet shook his head.

The Fuehrer is taking advantage of our good nature. The bodyguard pushed the valet out of the way, opened the door. There he was, the scourge of the world, shaking and shitting his pants. The bodyguard took the gun, pointed it at his leader's temple. Bang. A job well done. Now let's get the fxxxxxxxx out of here.

Burn the body. Print the Legend.

Stalin caught the valet. What's the story? The valet said Hitler shot himself.

"I don't believe it." said Uncle Joe, "And I never will".

That's why the valet stayed in jail. He was more scared of the other Germans than he was of Stalin.

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