Why I stopped working for Alexander Nix: Part One.

By the time you read this I may well have been prodded with a ricin-tipped umbrella, or mowed down by a car, or been blown up by a remote-controlled cat-bomb. This is what happens when you spend years shredding your mental health: something big happens in the world, something that you were a part of, so when you see a cat ambling towards you on a near-empty street your first thought is, “BOMB CAT?”

Let me explain.

Back in 2009, in the opening post of this blog I wrote, “Let me explain,” and went on to detail (somewhat) my previous life as a political speechwriter and how this harebrained scheme, Pitching the World, came about. Here is what I said:

“Prior to be stoned in Darwin, Australia I was a political speechwriter in St Kitts, the Caribbean. I left that job for reasons far too complicated and numerous to go into right now, but the main reason I left that job in St Kitts, the Caribbean was to go back to being a freelance journalist. That’s right: at possibly the worst time for freelancers I left my prestigious, well paid and more-exotic-sounding-than-it-is job to go back to journalism.” 

And so with Alexander Nix, Cambridge Analytica, SCL Group and that particular St Kitts election campaign screeching across the news, perhaps now is the time, some eight or nine years later, to go into those complicated, numerous reasons.

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 Umbrellas, earlier. 

But perhaps now isn’t the time, perhaps last year was.

Last year I was sitting in a Jacuzzi in a health club – borderline homelessness, even after eight years, can sometimes be glamorous – and I thought about drawing a curtain across this blog with one final post. Now readers, I was going to begin, I just want to say thank you. Thank you for all of the support and the comments and the offers to buy my never-to-be-written book. And not only do I want to offer my thanks, I also want to offer my apologies for often conducting myself in a lazy, haphazard and monstrous way – it’s just that sometimes I am a lazy, haphazard monster. I try not to be, but I’m a bit of a let down, to be honest. Yet this project has been very dear to me, and you all have been very dear to me, it’s just that all these years later I am still in psychological, emotional and financial ribbons and, come on, I think it’s time to draw a line under all of this. Things haven’t really worked out. I grind my teeth until my gums bleed. My drinking has ballooned. Other recreational peccadilloes have ballooned. While all the good stuff – relationships, my career, industry, health – have anti-ballooned. This is what happens, I suppose, when you leave prestigious, well paid jobs. Anyway, bye.

That’s what I wanted to write. I’m quite glad now that I didn’t.

Although last year, as silly as it might seem to me now, thinking about writing those words began to overwhelm me. Particularly the bit about things being dear to me. “Oh, good,” I thought, “we can now add Jacuzzi to the various other items – boiled eggs, hamburgers, pillows, voids – that I’ve cried into.”

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The only free photo I could find of a Jacuzzi (and I’m not even sure it is a Jacuzzi) earlier. 

Thankfully for me and for other guests of my health club, this Jacuzzi-crying soon stopped and segued into something better. I began to think about leaving my job as a political speechwriter in St Kitts, the Caribbean, and the reasons for doing so. And I thought that instead of writing a meandering, well-trodden final post about how Pitching the World has been an abject failure, I would instead write a post about how even though my life has fallen apart, I’m pleased that I left the Caribbean and pleased, too, that I no longer worked for or with Alexander Nix – that I might, in fact, be a good, honourable man. With piercing accuracy, I was going to call this post, “Why I stopped working for Alexander Nix.”

Because officially, I left that project on moral grounds. Unofficially, I also left on moral grounds. I’ve just re-read the email that I sent after leaving which begins with, “Gentlemen, You deserve an explanation as to why I hot-footed it out of there,” and ends with, “I feel terrible to have let you down. If it wasn’t for these bloody morals, I wouldn’t have done.”

Far out.

Do I publicly want to delve into these bloody morals? Why am I even writing this? It certainly isn’t any kind of expose. And I’m pretty sure it isn’t a clumsy attempt to piggyback upon Alexander Nix’s notoriety and raise my profile. I don’t really care about my profile – I don’t even have a profile, but if I did I wouldn’t care about it. I suppose what it might be is some sort of public record in case I get blown up by a remote-controlled cat-bomb. Or it might just be a neat bookend to my Pitching the World project. Opening post: I left my job as a political speechwriter in the Caribbean. Closing post: I’m actually quite glad I did.

Beady-eyed readers will have noticed that this is called, “Why I stopped working for Alexander Nix: Part One.” This suggests there is going to be a part two – possibly even parts three, four and five. Let’s see. I’ve had a few beers since starting to write this and am starting to feel a little heady.

Anyway, bye.

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A remote-controlled cat-bomb, earlier. 

 

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22 responses to “Why I stopped working for Alexander Nix: Part One.

  1. Steve, I love you.

    • Really! If you are going to show a pic of a remote control cat bomb it at least aught to be cute!

      • Are cat bombs cute? Thought the above was sinister-cute – plus, well, there wasn’t a great deal of bomb-like cats on google free images. Good to hear from you.

      • I have never seen one, but yours did look sinister and so to be avoided. Where as we would all let our guard down with a cute fluff ball. Even take it home and share the jacuzzi with it alive and ticking. Great to hear some words from you again. 👍

  2. Ha, thank you, Hugh. You are very dear to me.

  3. From nowhere! Like a sweet nicotine hit after giving up for a few months (weeks…hours, really).

  4. I spoke to Laurence earlier earlier about things – yep, things – and told him that vice-captaining Run DFC was perhaps the highlight of my soon-to-be-cat-bombed life. I meant it, too.

  5. there better be a part 2 now you’ve started with that. I’m glad you’re still alive. though.

  6. You would think so, Eliza, but my appalling track record in such things does cast some doubt. I’m glad I’m still alive, too. Thanks for popping by.

  7. Good to get a chapter from you Pitchthing, I was sure the silence was due to your capture by bandidos on the Camino Santiwotsitsname.
    I guess I should know who Alexander Nix is/was but I’ve no idea.
    Keep your chin up. I’ll look forward to a pork pie and pint meeting one of these days

  8. Good to have you back.

  9. I was just thinking about you. Because I met a poker player and I pitched an editor of a magazine with a story about him, and the magazine editor said tell me more, so I told him more, and then he disappeared. And I thought, Pitchy would never disappear. And then I remembered that you had disappeared. And then you reappeared. And now you tell me that you used to work for Alexander Nix. And that in a moment of moral highgroundsmanship, you ditched that quite clearly sociopathic fuckturd. Ditching the world! I am proud of you. Don’t say goodbye yet. There are plenty more things in which to weep before you say goodbye.

    Goodbye.

    X

    • Ditching the World is inspired, Karl Webster, but much of what you write is and I would expect nothing less. Did the ed disappear or the poker player? Or both? I’m not planning on disappearing.

  10. Please post sordid details of how you and Nix entrapped innocent (?) Caribbean politicians. Can’t wait for P2. You are a dark horse Pitch-burger

  11. Pitchy!!! You’re back. I missed you. So glad u alive and still writing… don’t forget I am down for two books you won’t believe this but I’m at a conference about the benefits of writing in mental health recovery! !

    Since you last pitched up my life changed utterly. .. my husband left me…yay. …
    And I had a long court battle with him as he wanted to leave bereft as well as divorced.

    But o am free now… free to go on conferences and live and learn….

    Write your book… people love failure. .. be the Eddie the eagle of writing! !!!!!

  12. Julie – what a delight to hear from you. I like the sound of that conference; I was going to write something along the lines of “Hope the life stuff isn’t too gruelling…” but you seem buoyant as.

    • Steve yes I’m buoyant as. In Lincolnshire on a home made writing retreat with some fellow authors. It’s fun.

      Had some good news after Scotland. Really good.

      Will let you know when it’s all safe to do so.

  13. BarefootMermaid

    You’re alive!! I’m so glad you’re back; I LOVE your bizarrely existential rants.
    ~ seriously though, beyond thrilled you’re not dead

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