The Nobel Double

My dreams of winning the Nobel Prize for Literature were rudely interrupted this morning by the man I’d placed my hopes and dreams with. When he first applied to be my agent I was a young, naive writer with nothing more than a recycled notepad and a Ladbrokes pen. Until that point the best lines I’d ever written were a couple of runners-up at the Cheltenham festival and a reverse forecast at Wembley. Unfortunately, though, I’d picked the wrong sport at the Wembley event and my line was declared void, but at least I got my initial investment of 20p returned minus tax, admin costs and 30p postage and packing.

Anyway, this agent promised me the world. The News of the World to be precise. But first I had to pay him. He said something about being in it to win it and who dare wins and you can’t put a better bit of butter on your knife, which is when I sat up and took notice that he was the real deal and not one of those low-fat agent impersonators.

Well, back to this morning and my rude awakening. The sun hadn’t even begun to stir when my phone first rang so I ignored it. However, it rang and rang until I could take no more and decided to get up for a pee. Feeling much better after that I removed the battery from my phone and returned to my conversation with Stephen Hawking at the Nobel Prize picnic in the park. I was just beginning to get my head around what Stephen was trying to say when my doorbell rang. One long continuous buzz. I made my excuses to Stephen and lifted the handset of the intercom to discover it was him, my agent, breathing so heavily and talking so fast I couldn’t make out a single word. I thought of asking Stephen if he could work out what was being said but he’d buggered off to be the Star in a Reasonably Priced Car on Top Gear.

Reluctantly, and with sleep still clogging my eyes, I let my agent in. I stood watching him wheeze like the Olympic hopeful he was and only offered him a cup of tea once he agreed to making us both one.

Apparently, according to my agent, demand for my as yet unwritten novel was so high a bidding war had broken out amongst, not only the large mainstream publishers, but also the Libyan and Chinese governments who were looking for market diversification strategies.

Although thrilled I assured him I couldn’t write Chinese but I would give Libyan a go if push came to shove.

“But that’s not the best part,” he continued in between still trying to get his breath back. “The International Monetary Fund and United Nations have clubbed together and entered the bidding war too. They see your as yet unfinished novel as crucial to the stability of the international markets and world peace.”

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” I asked, rubbing my eyes so hard they were now a bit sore.

“Yes I am,” he answered. “You could be the first to do the Nobel double.”

I tilted my head towards the heavens in a cultured manner, placed my thumb and forefinger on my chin and thought of my acceptance speech. Thank you citizens of the world. I know how honoured you are to witness this great occasion. Believe me when I tell you how humbled I am. There have been unfounded reports in the press about me just being in it for the money, but these slanderous remarks are…well…wide of the mark. I, my friends, am in it to win it. The financial rewards are nothing more than a sideshow, a red herring to distract attention from the real burning issues of this world. Issues like…

“Dad, dad, dad, dad! Get up, the house is on fire.”

I sprang up, grabbed my three year old son and ran for the door screaming, “Aaaaaaargh! Don’t burn meeeeeeeee!”

“Jeezo, dad. Calm down,” said my son. “If I knew you were going to react like that I wouldn’t have played any April Fools on you. You need to lighten up a bit.”