UnBooks:The Seven Pillars of Wisdom
Chapter One: The Religion of the Desert[edit | edit source]
1.1 Sand, sand, sand. There is so much and and not a lot else. Why did I come here? What the hell made me agree to this
mallarky? I should be back in Cairo shooting up opium with a young man named "Bottom". Unfortunately I'm here surrounded
by sand. Sand, sand, sand - God I'm bored of sand. Or should I say Allah? Yeah, I'll say Allah as it'll make me seem a tad
romantic and a tad mysterious to all the birds back home. And I'll change my name by deedpole - no longer will I be T.E.
Lawrence - I will be Lawrence of Arabia!
1.2 There are not many trees out here. Or flowers. Or geraniums. And another thing you notice is the absolute lack of pubs.
Not a single Red Lion for thousands of miles. Neither is Oxford University here, or Mrs. Ransom's knickers. They are on a
washing line as I write - fluttering in the wind with all their seductive wafting... I think I'm off for a lye down.
1.3 Met a chap named Mohammed. Quite a common name rounds these parts of the desert. Told him my name was Lawrence of
Arabia. He asked me where I was from - I said Berkshire. He told me that I wasn't from Arabia. In actuality the
conversation went like this:
'Whats your name, Guv'nor?' questioned Mohammed in his lilting sand like language.
'Lawrence of Arabia' I replied with all the humility and respect that I had for these towelheads.
'Where you from then?'
'Berkshire'
'So your not from round these parts then?' He said in awe. I offered to show him a picture of a tree, but he assumed I was being dirty.
1.4 Mohammed explained to me that his people were a tribe called "Cock-er-knees." Their religion is one of respect and
peace. All other tribes in the area were wiped out by the "Cock-er-knees" sometime ago - in their "peace war". I am in awe
of their religion. I think I shall convert. It is hard to be a practising Anglican when there is no tea around.
Chapter Two: Mohammed The Tea Maker[edit | edit source]
2.1 So I speaketh unto Mohammed: 'Tea? You don't know how to make tea?!' Suitably chastisened I taught the infidel (for
whom I have such respect and time for) the basics of making a good cup of tea. After only several beatings administered by
me, he had learned the cornerstone of British society. Several more beatings and he was calling me Lawrence of Arabia and
not T E of Berkshire.
2.2 If one looks out over the dessert for any length of time, one finds it necessary to blink. The Dessert is so mind
bogglingly blank and devoid of stuff and things that one could go a little bit peculiar. So far Mohammed has not drank his
own urine - but I've told him that it is the cornerstone of British Society so hopefully he will come round to my way of
thinking. As the old saying goes "always be a little bit foreign" as I have done successfully at my parents house, since,
in fact, the day I was born. This revelation has given me a greater understanding of not very much, though this will not
stop me spouting some mystical mumbo jumbo when I get back to Blighty.
2.3 Oh! Ooooooooh! Oh! I am unwell. I am in my tent and I am unwell. Did I say tent? I meant I am resting on my camel
riding saddle and I am unwell. Last night, Mohammed introduced me to "Vodka" - a special Arabian drink imported from a City
near Cairo called "Ukraine". Oh! I am unwell. And I think I wet the dessert. I remember the reverence that Mohammed had as he
passed me the first cup of "vodka" - the almost palpable feeling that it was a ceremony, a time honoured tradition like the
breaking of bread at Easter. Or is smashing of chickens at Lent? Anyway, something religious. As I lye here I remember little
bits of last night - accusing stones of being disrespectful and trees of lacking moral fibre. I'm sure the experience has
taught me something pertinant - but I'm too unwell to care. Mohammed! Bring me tea!
Chapter Three: Sol Invictus[edit | edit source]
3.1 Posh title eh? See - I'm very well educated and yet a man of action. I call people by their full names. I am T E Lawrence.
Well, at least I was until I changed my name by deedpole. Now I am Lawrence of Arabia! Mohammed is still just Mohammed (but
only just). But other people have their full names said by me even when I am just scrounging cigarrettes off them - mother was
always Sergeant Frederick Snade Lawrence.
3.2 Sol invictus means "unconquerable sun" but I can't remember in which language. It was probably Welsh or something. Today
Mohammed showed me how to eek out existence from the harsh dessert land. We went to a McDonald's. There I had traditional
dessert bedouin food: a Big Mac Meal (large) with coke. I was amazed at how humble the food was, but at the same time careful
not to be disrespectful by spitting into Mohammed's face the half chewed cardboard that the food tasted of.
3.3 More bloody sand!
3.4 I met Prince Flippy-Flop. His was an amazing caravan - so large as to begger belief. It had operational shower units,
fully functional toilets, an inbuilt kitchen, and a person who sat in the corner reading out holy scripture from some book
they all talked about. Prince Flippy-Flop has taken me into his confidence - he said 'you're a bloody fool Lawrence of
Berkshire' which is of course princley code for 'I have taken you into my confidence'. Only us clever people understand rich
people.
3.5 Flippy-Flop has guessed my purpose here but is amused that they have sent such a heroic adaptable figure such as
myself: "Why they send you, oh wetter of beds and dessert floor?" Oh how I laughed. He has gathered that I am to apraise the
British Government of the usefulness of the Bedouin in our fight against the dirty people from Europe. And also, the arch
enemy of the bedouin, The Lemon Kurds. These evil bastards come from the Northern Middle East, somewhere called Turkey (which
is a silly name for a country). I remember before the name change when it was still Kenneth.
Chapter Four: The Shits[edit | edit source]
4.1 "Ha ya! Hiya! Haaarah! Mustapha!!! Didjyada!" Ah, the eloquent rendering of religious scripture by some chap ontop a
minaret. Or is it just a call to pray? Whatever, it annoys the shit out of me for I cannot sleep for all this damn religion
going on. Prince Flippy-Flop told me to never again shoot the person on the minaret, as apparently such actions are seen as
bad manners. He also asked me why I was wearing sun glasses. Because it is sunny, I said casually whilst looking heroically
aloof and dispassionately British.
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