Yes, it’s perfectly true. It would appear that I have become the head guy, the lard tsar, the supremo of a small but devoted cult of wordsmiths known as Lardists.
I know. You’re questioning your loyalties here. Your literary reputation. Your sobriety.
And I don’t blame you. Who wouldn’t under the circs?
But I want to make it perfectly clear that it all came about under the most innocent of guises: I was bored one evening, fed up with the interminable research for books three and four. That’s all. Nothing more sinister than that.
Yes, of course, in that situation, I did what one does. I went onto a social network and said I was bored and I wanted to play a game–the game being insert the word Lard as a substitute for a noun in any of your favourite or non-favourite book titles.
It is addictive. It is my fault. Absolutely. Lay the blame squarely at my door. Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa.
But can you blame me? I mean, with such offerings as Pride and Lard, The Small Lard at Allington, The Lard of the Mohicans, Lard and Peace?
Or these? Lard Hall, The Lard of a Geisha, Of Honest Lard, The Lard Menagerie…
And these: The Taming of the Lard, How Green was my Lard, Crime and Lard, The Da Vinci Lard…
You see how catching it is. And obviously, I was laughing for the next couple of hours and couldn’t sleep, I was laughing so hard.
By the next morning there were three hundred plus entries. It is equally true that some of the entrant-suppliers had become slightly obsessed.
And even today, the list continues still to grow, to delight, to engage…
Also, this morning, the whole took another turn for the comical when a charming and talented composer friend, R. Scott White, sent through a dirge he’d felt compelled to write, entitled simply: Lard.
It is a fine work, combining the soulfulness and chromatic harmonies of Porgy and Bess with the brash vocal cadenzas of Belshazzar’s Feast. (I do find it hard to play though because it makes me laugh so.)
And yes, it now further appears that those who’ve participated in this zaniness from the outset shall be hereafter classified as Lardists. A new literary phenomenon, it has been suggested.
And dare I say it, I am proud to be associated with this loose organisation, one which enhances literary erudition and well-read-ness with a shimmering of the absurd and a dash of mild subversion.
So there you have it. The truth.
And here is to lardism. Long may it flourish.