Journojism: Richard Littlejohn gonna sex you up
23 July 2004
It's increasingly difficult to be shocked by Richard Littlejohn. After you've read a few of his columns or seen him ranting on his rubbish show on Sky, it's pretty easy to get the measure of the man.
He's a tosser, obviously, but he's also selling a product: right-wing outrage directed at lefties, liberals, homosexuals, asylum seekers, the 'PC brigade' etc. There's obviously a market for endlessly regurgitating tired right-wing stereotypes, or the little England press wouldn't employ so many near-identical columnists, all making the same point: we're all going to hell in a handcart.
However, there's a side to Littlejohn that many people may be unaware of: the sensual, sexual side of his character. (If you have a weak stomach, you may wish to stop reading at this point.)
So how did we discover Littlejohn the sexual being? Easy - we read his novel, called, cleverly, To Hell in a Handcart.
To Hell in a Handcart is a 'hard-hitting, hilarious novel', according to the front cover. A more accurate description is: 'Mein Kampf with fewer jokes'. The novel centres on Mickey French, an ex-firearms squad policeman, and his struggles with the forces of evil: Romanian criminals, local gypsies, a hard- left fifth column in the police and legal system (no, really), ratboys, the Russian mafia, hard left agitators and other scum.
The plot is this: Mickey blows away a Romanian criminal breaking into his home, thinking it's one of the pikey travellers who've previously threatened his family. In fact, the Romanian has been sent by a senior policewoman and a leftie lawyer to torch Mickey's house to destroy a tape that incriminates them in a cover-up. Thus Mickey gets embroiled in a Tony Martin-style media circus... oh fuck it. No further details necessary. It's just shit. And deeply unfunny - unless you laugh at lines like:
'The waitress looked like a dog-rough version of Debbie Harry, Mickey thought.'
The only interesting thing about the way the story is constructed is how Littlejohn creates extraneous, one-dimensional characters to prove he's not a Nazi. Mickey French, for example, is married to a Greek Cypriot. There is also a highly principled black man.
Get the message? Richard Littlejohn is NOT racist.
So far, so bad. But as you labour through Littlejohn's subnormal satire, every so often you chance upon one of his appalling sex scenes.
Take the character Roberta Peel, a senior policewoman who is tipped to be commissioner of the Met. She's actually a Marxist infiltrator trying to destroy the system from the inside. Her sexual predilections include: masturbating with a bust of Karl Marx, masturbating with a truncheon, masturbating with a gun barrel and being handcuffed to the bed and being penetrated with a truncheon by a man wearing a balaclava. Oh, and masturbating with the handle of a knife used in an assault.
Here's a sample of dialogue:
'OH MY GOD! PUSH! HARDER! FUCK YOU! FUCKING FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK! JEEEEESUS! FAAAAAAAAAAAARK!'
Nice. It's worth noting that the aforementioned leftie lawyer is gay - and possibly a paedophile - with a penchant for spanking youths. Aren't they all?
Then there's the relationship between Ilie, a Romanian immigrant who's living it up courtesy of soft-touch Britain. He's engaged in a passionate relationship with Maria, another asylum seeker. Here's one of their couplings:
'This was raw sex in its literal sense. In other circumstances it would have constituted a violent rape.'
Well, what else would we expect from Romanians?
Even when describing his hero's sexual liaisons, Littlejohn can't resist a tawdry gag. Here is an only-slightly-edited sexual encounter between Mickey and his lovely Greek-Cypriot wife Andi, who are staying at a 'Goblin's' (geddit?) holiday camp. The 'Goblin's' bit is important, so keep it in mind.
'She looked up at him, doe-eyed, squeezed hard and lightly kissed the tip of his now-engorged dick. 'You just lie there. This one's on me,' she said as she took him in her mouth.
'you've heard the expression: when in Rome?'
'Uh, uuugh,' Mickey grunted in acknowledgement.
'Well, as the lady said,' Andi smiled as Mickey's scrotum tightened, 'Welcome to Goblin's.'
We don't know whether to laugh or become engorged. Or perhaps go and have a hot shower to try and feel less dirty. 'Andi smiled as Mickey's scrotum tightened.' There's a sentence you won't forget in a hurry.
It's not exactly shocking that Littlejohn's book is rubbish. But it is surprising to discover the cess-pit which is Littlejohn's sexual self.
You couldn't make it up. But Richard Littlejohn can.
For an extremely amusing argument between Littlejohn and Will Self, go here.