Excerpt

"I had been backed onto the stage unknowing, while the crowd roared. The obvious solution to this was the BBC, which sucks talent like bits of fluff into that big white building, where it's safe forever. But I had my tattered pride. In fact, my whole array of virtues was intact; only the man behind them was missing. I didn't really give a damn anymore whether I was English or American, but the U.S. was still the prairie of record, the place where the garbled soul of Chatworth could re-create itself. Or failing that, become famous.

Because, let's face it, an Englishman in America was more impressive in those days than his clockwise counterpart. Before the cattle boats began disgorging secretaries, English voices were unheard between New York and the Gold Coast, and I had the best. So the old ladies who used to gush over my cute accent would now be made to pay through the nose for it. Young Chatworth gave a bitter laugh as he remembered how he used to flinch and try to hide that accent. Pah! Does the bearded lady shave? Does Tom Thumb lie about his height? Use it, boy. Sell anything you've got."

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