Chapter 29 Connor #4
“It’s genius,” Mum said. “Because it’s honest—more honest than most people are when they’re trying to sell you stuff.
That’s what makes it funny. On the surface it doesn’t seem obviously funny; it just seems blunt, almost a bit rude.
The humor comes from… Hmm, how do I explain a joke to a dog?
Maybe you understand already. Do you? Do you, Champ-alo Soldier?
Yes, you’re a gorgeous boy, aren’t you? You are.
You are. Do you and your doggy friends already understand all the jokes when you arrive on earth?
Is that one of the many things we humans don’t know about you?
Well, anyway, just in case you don’t get it, it’s funny because it’s true.
We’re not going to be any happier, basically, if we buy this vodka rather than any other brand.
But Ricky will be—he’ll be richer and happier, like the advert says.
He’s not making any false claims about the drink; he’s just kind of saying, ‘If you like me and you also happen to want to buy vodka, I’d love it if you bought mine.
’ That’s it! And what does it tell us, Champ, when plain and simple honesty starts to seem so outrageously hilarious?
It tells us that most people are committed to being hypocritical and fake.
I don’t even like vodka, but I went out and bought a bottle of Dutch Barn when I first saw that ad, because I do like authenticity.
“And that’s why we love Ricky, Champy. He makes us laugh and he makes us think.
And he just gets on with making the world a better place for animals, to the tune of gazillions of quids every year, while being bravely willing to look bad in order to do good.
Amazing! But we mainly love him because he’s a big” (tickle) “fan” (chin stroke) “of gorgeous furry boys like you! Isn’t he?
And Furbert—he and Furbert are very alike, you know.
And we’ll let him off not believing in heaven, won’t we?
We will! Yes, we will. Because when we’re all up there together and we bump into him, he’ll have to admit we were right about death not being the end of everything. ”
***
Large, Ricky Gervais is an investor in the company that makes this particular kind of vodka.
The advert Sally’s referring to here is a big photo of him grinning, and it says something like, “Drinking Dutch Barn vodka makes a person richer and happier—and that person is Ricky Gervais.” I just happened to have seen that advert myself, so I knew straight away.
Gervais is also well known for not believing in God or an afterlife.
When I read that bit, something else fell into place too: the stuff about star words, and learning meditation in Abbots Langley.
You might not remember, but Furbert says in one of his chapters that his star word is “Ricky” and that he does a meditation that goes “Praise Ricky, Thank Ricky” when he wants to calm down.
I thought to myself, “What if that’s Ricky Gervais he’s talking about?
” I didn’t want to assume anything, since it could have been a coincidence—Ricky isn’t exactly a rare name—so I searched for “star word, praise, thank, Ricky Gervais” and got nothing.
Then I looked up places in Abbots Langley where you can learn meditation, and that led me to the explanation I was seeking.
Guess what? Sally Lambert, in 2018, went on a meditation course in Abbots Langley and took her dog Furbert with her.
The people who ran it remember him well.
Apparently he climbed up on the kitchen table and helped himself to half a pot of the vegetarian goulash that was meant only for the human guests.
This particular kind of meditation involves what the teachers call the “praise attitude” and the “gratitude attitude.” That seems to map on very neatly to “Praise Ricky, Thank Ricky.” Star words also belong to this same branch of meditation, and when you go on one of these courses, you’re asked to choose a word or name that represents (for you only—it’s an individual choice) the highest good in the world.
Some people choose “God” or “love” or “hope.” If you recall, Large, we’ve been told that Sally Lambert chose “Furbert Herbert Lambert” as her star word, and that’s why Furbert isn’t jealous that Champ’s got a day song and a night song—because he alone got the special distinction of being his mum’s star word.
Why am I telling you all this? Why does it matter? I think it shows how tricksy and manipulative Sally Lambert is. And clever—the long vodka marketing discussion proves that, I think. She understands humor, honesty, dishonesty, subtlety.
We all know dead dogs can’t write books, Large, so the late Furbert Herbert can’t have written this one.
It’s Sally, isn’t it? Pretending to be him and laughing right in our faces, basically.
Just blatantly taking the piss, making us read all about how her dead pet worships an atheist comedian so much that he’s turned him into a deity.
Remember the absurdity impediment? Sally Lambert’s using it against us, entertaining herself with some truly absurd comedy and having a good laugh at our expense.
And, sure, when we read it we notice the absurdity and even appreciate its entertainment value, maybe—but we miss what lies beneath it.
That’s Sally Lambert’s aim, I reckon. What she wants us not to notice (or maybe she does want us to work it out; I don’t know) is that everything she’s written, this book or whatever it is, has only one purpose and reason for existing: to contain, in a completely unprovable way, her confession to the murder of Tess Gavey.