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I first discovered Stephen Fry when I was thirteen, and trawling the library shelves for something a bit different. I certainly
found it, in "Moab is my Washpot", Frys' autobiography, which I read almost two years after its publication, and
I never looked back.
I have read all of Frys novels, and watched all of his films (Wilde, being my favourite)
as well as logging onto quickfry on a weekly basis, and writing to the man himself (and recieving a personal reply, which
made my decade.) If you haven't already, you have to go and buy, borrow, or steal a copy of "Moab.." so you can
understand, first hand, why I am rambling like a nutter, here. It may amuse you, make you laugh, at first, but when you meet
Mathhew! Your heart will break. Trust me! I cried, I cried so much when I first read about Stephens feelings for that boy,
of Stephens unrequited love. Because we've all been there, haven't we?
If you didn't know better, you might say
that this is an obsession, but I am just a dedicated fan, (that's what I told the judge)and am proud of it. It isn't the coolest
thing in the world, to be a thirteen-and-three-quarter year old fan of a homosexual forty-one year old, I can tell you, and
I did like to keep it a secret, until I needed to do a mock GCSE English oral.
My English teacher said that we
were to talk on something that we were passionate about, and besides that fat fella over the road, I knew there was only one
thing I was really passionate about, and that was Stephen Fry. So I took a deep breath, picked up my battered copy of "Moab
is my Washpot" and told the class that "When I was thirteen, I fell in love..."
And you know, I
think they respected me for it? At least, that's what Toni said, when she was battering me over the head with that chair.
So, say it loud: You're a Fry fan and you're proud! Or at least you will be when you've clicked on Stephen, and
visited the Quickfry Forum, and met some other fans. Go on! As that German bird, on the message board said, "Be proud
of your idol: he's worth it!"
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His head isn't even turned towards me, but I know.
How is that possible? How can it be that just the gait of him,
the stand of him, the shape and turn away of him, can be enough for me to know, and to know at once?
From, "Moab is my Washpot" by Stephen Fry
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It was so hard to connect this man with Cartwright. If Hugo had taught at another prep school and gone to another university,
the memory of him wouldnt be muddied by a sight like this alien Hugo who trembled and wept into his wine. It was another
person of course molecularly every part of the old Cartwright must have been replaced dozens of times since he had been the
most beautiful person whoever walked the earth. And the old Adrian who had loved him was not the same as the Adrian who beheld
him now. It was like the philosophers axe. After a few years the philosopher replaces the head, later he replaces the shaft.
Then the head wears out and he replaces it again, next the shaft again. Can he go on calling it the same axe? Why should
this new Adrian be responsible for the sins of the old?....
.....Its a common enough word, but it might mean something
different to you, than it does to me. Language is a bastard. So lets invent a new word. Libb will do. I libbed you. Thats
all there is to it. I was in libb with you. My libb for you informed my every waking and sleeping hour for...for God knows
how many years. Nothing has ever been as powerful as that libb, it was the guiding force of my life, it haunted me and haunts
me still.
"You were in love with me?"
"Well, now, thats your word..."
From, "The Liar" by Stephen Fry
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