Kick Readers Out Of Your Book Clubs, Urges Mail

This is a book. Kick out anyone who says it isn't

The Daily Mail today solemnly advised the nation’s book clubs to eject the resident smartarse who actually reads proper books without being told - or risk feeling a bit dim for failing to come up with anything better than ‘Er I sort of identified with the main character.’

“cleverclogs-style bitches is spoiling the fun 4 sucessfull hard working busy career mums like u an me,” words expert Deborah Andrews warned the Mail’s skim-readers. “just cos they red 4 pleisure even b4 us papers told you how fashnible book clubs was an they done english lit a level, they recon they no moor than what u do (which is of course imposable cos mail readers r the best enformed an insighty out of the hole world lol) !!!”

“oh an for christsakes steer clear of midle march,” advised the paper’s resident literary giant. “That medeaval crap drones on and on 4eva an its full of long words nobody cd posably b expected 2 no!!! and b warned none of the characters do any steamy bonking ether not like what u bougt on dvd sos u wouldnt have 2 wade thru 700 pages of blah. u definitely dont want some smug bookworm pointing that out, just after uv all agreed how erotic the sex bits was!!! x”

‘I Have Breasts And Am Therefore Beyond Criticism’ Declares Guardian’s New Columnist

A fuming Louise Schmuck emerged today from the Guardian offices on Farringdon Road, where she has just been signed up to pen daily blasts against the monstruous regiment of men, to declare herself off limits to any form of criticism on the unarguable grounds that “abuse directed at women is always sexual or violent.”

Producing an onion from her sensible corduroy handbag, a sobbing Ms Schmuck revealed that, tragically, not quite everyone in the country had showered her with gratitude for her stirring defence of her sister’s publisher, the legendary feminist Rupert Murdoch - whose Sun newspaper has, for forty years, bravely run an outspoken campaign against the sexual objectification of womyn by allowing them to air their considered opinions on topics of national importance, along with their breasts.

Oh no! It's Millie Tant!

Ms Schmuck also railed against the book trade which, she insists, has brutally gang-raped the literary studies which she writes under the name of Louise Bogbrush - collectively, a throbbing social critique of devastatingly attractive, successful career womyn’s doomed efforts to acquire a tame penis that lives up to their expectations - by deliberately marginalizing them as ‘chick-lit’.

“Anybody who has a difference of opinion about anything I do or say is a serial murderer,” she asserted furiously, bearing down on a surprised traffic warden. “You there! Yes, you - police flunky! Arrest everyone in Britain immediately.”

Pupils Lose Interest In Dickens After Fourth Letter

Explore beyond the Dick, younger readers

Mrs. Tomalin - the lady biographer of Mr. Dickens, the Empire’s leading light of literature and letters – has this-morning bemoaned the standards which prevail among our wayward offspring; telling The Nev Filter: “It is oft said that all our hopes and dreams of advancement in this cruel earthly existence reside in our dear, sweet children. Yet it is my sad duty to inform your readers, that these youths are so abjectly deficient in attention; so lamentably devoid of the Christian virtue of persistence; that even that meagre amusement which they are disposed to take in our greatest living writer, has utterly spent itself even before the fifth letter of his name is read.”

After being revived by a dose of smelling-salts, Mrs. Tomalin ejaculated: “Loving parents! Shield, I implore you, your little ones from the sinful distraction of toys! The kaleid-o-scope may seem to you like a harmless diversion; yet its ever-tumbling shimmer is but a snare for impressionable young minds - a snare from which, once caught, their attention can never flee! Banish also the whipping-top and the hoop-la, I say! The ungodly fever of excitement which they whip up in innocent childish minds, leads inexorably down that sordid alley to pollution of the self. Oh my; I’ve come over so queer.”

Following the opening of a window, a restorative draught was fetched for the stricken lady moralist. After partaking of several glasses, however, Mrs. Tomalin was hastily ejected from the premises of this journal in a most parlous state of moral abandon, having wantonly loosened her stays in the shocked presence of your humble scribe.

Nice, Short Booker Choices Selling Well

Sales of the entries shortlisted for this year’s Man Booker literary award are booming, according to booksellers, who point to the appealing narrowness of the books’ spines as the major attraction to readers.

That thin one on the bottom will do just fine, thanks

“This year, like the typical reader, we judges are all far, far too busy getting on with our gorgeous lives to read some overwritten cod-philosophical twaddle the size of a housebrick,” said ex-spy chief Dame Stella Rimington, before she was distracted by a bird flying past the window.

Bookmakers say that the award will almost certainly go to the author who has made the least demands on the panel’s easily-distracted minds, which makes Julian Barnes’ slender 146-page effort odds-on favourite to win.

“Like several other contenders this year, Barnes has shamelessly pinched half his plot from the undemanding murder-mystery genre, which is really all anyone can be bothered to read nowadays. That’s got to help,” explained a spokesman for Betfred whose job cruelly forces him to read all six shortlisted books from cover to cover. “Hopefully next year they’ll allow puzzle magazines and TV listing guides in. Then I can do the lot in an afternoon.”

PM’s Bold Plan To Give Your Library To The WI Set To Change The Landscape Of Britain Forever

Remember, this specky bitch gets paid out of your council tax

Prime minister David Cameron today unveiled his ground-breaking plan to take your useless library away from the council and give it to the Women’s Institute, in a bold plan which will drastically transform the lives of every man, woman and child in Britain in ways we cannot even begin to imagine.

“That your little local library is utterly at the mercy of wastrel librarians in the pay of your wicked, wicked council is a crime against humanity which shames us all,” he announced, to wild cheers from government and opposition benches alike. “Librarians who, it behoves me to add, deliberately wear glasses to look brainier than you, and in broad daylight.”

“Decades of their smarty-panted mismanagement have filled the shelves with all manner of crap that you really don’t want to read,” he warned a shocked nation. “If you don’t believe me, I urge you to work up the courage to step inside a library for the first time in your lives and see for yourselves that the boring non-fiction section has ten times as many books as the bit where you’ll find Catherine Cookson, Danielle Steel, Andy McNab and the Harry Potter series, which are the only books anyone will ever need.”

“Would you believe it, they have an entire section dedicated to politics!” he scoffed. “Now nobody in their right mind would touch that nonsense with a barge pole - yet there it is, bold as brass, staring you in the face and daring you to read it. But don’t worry, I’ve had a word with the WI and they’re quite happy to throw all that dull non-fiction rubbish onto a nice big bonfire, and put in a nice cream tea restaurant instead.”

Women Flapping About Something Or Other Again

Take cover, chaps

Women have got a bee in their bonnet about some damned thing or other, their long-suffering partners warned the public today.

It is difficult to gather exactly what it is that women are blowing off about this time, according to researchers - but the gist of it seems to be that, whatever it is, men seem to be the cause of it as usual.

“I heard something about Ken Clarke, I think,” said a man in Bury St Edmunds, who had taken refuge in his shed. “Apparently he writes about everything from a male perspective. Or was it Philip Roth letting all the rapists out of prison? God knows. I just said ‘I’m sure you’re right, dear,’ and decided it was probably a good time to do a bit of potting until EastEnders shuts her up for five minutes.”

A woman whose jaw was flapping nineteen to the dozen went, “Drip, drip, drip.”

Nation To Spend World Book Night Glued To BBC2

Britain is today looking forward to a nice relaxing evening in front of the telly, with viewers eagerly watching programmes telling them all they could ever want to know about the joys of literature.

Or you can listen to it while you're washing your pants

BBC2’s helpful contribution to World Book night kicks off with a short film showing the printing and distribution of a million free books which, by staying at home, they will not be receiving. Next, intellectual heavyweight Sue from TV’s Mel and Sue will go to Agatha Christie’s lovely house and visit a racetrack with the son of Dick Francis in a sterling effort to find out whether they preferred word-processing on Macs or PCs.

The next page-turning instalment of a gripping evening will see leading critics asked whether they think the boring old novel has finally had its day. Each will in turn put on their most ironic face when delivering to camera the line, “Er – um - not at all - um - no.”

Finally, in the highlight of the magnificently booky evening, viewers will be spared the effort of dragging a finger through a doorstop full of tedious long words thanks to the mercifully short film adaptation of ‘Brideshead Revisited’, written by somebody or other. They will then go to bed, where they will fall asleep comparing it unfavourably with Downton Abbey.

JK Rowling Threatens Daniel Radcliffe With Lifetime Of Playing Pubescent Magician

Scientists say Harry Potter will look like this by the time he enters the sixth form, in 2067 or thereabouts

The actor Daniel Radcliffe, 21, is being restrained by friends after hearing that squillionaire word assembler J.K. Rowling is now threatening to assemble yet more words into simple sentences and put them inside covers bearing the name ‘Harry Potter’ in big shiny print.

Ms Rowling issued her ugly threat to Oprah Winfrey in front of millions of viewers, easily pleasing legions of unimaginative semi-literates by confirming that she could actually remember the bland, two-dimensional clichés with whom she has filled four books and two doorstops.

Literature’s foremost word assembler reminisced that she had initially met with rejection after rejection from hoity-toity publishers who arrogantly clung to the elitist notion there might be more to the art of writing than simply adding one word to another until you run out of A4.

“But the ultimate proof that I am with no doubt the talentedest user of words ever what the world has ever knew,” she laughed, “Is gathering interest in my bank account.”

Asked by a respectful Oprah how many more Harry Potter books she might generate, Ms Rowling suggested that she was considering the possibility of assembling a single but everlasting book, which would be delivered to bookshops chapter by chapter at £10 a pop. The film, she added, could be made simultaneously, with the latest reels delivered to cinemas as soon as they were made.

Meanwhile, Mr Radcliffe - who has been desperately trying to break into acting roles which do not force him to wear geeky glasses and pretend to have no genitals - is said to be assembling sentences of his own, all of them containing the word ‘fuck’.

Signing Demo A Huge Publicity Boost For Blair Novel

Fans of political memoirs always dress like this, no really

Gardai sealed off two main shopping streets in the centre of Dublin today, enabling former British PM Tony Blair to sit in an empty Eatons bookshop signing copies of his novel, ‘A Journey’ for a circular procession of Eatons staff.

Hundreds of anti-war protesters, frustrated shoppers and literary critics were held at bay by the police cordon, although some shoes were thrown at Mr Blair in what his entourage suggested was some sort of shoppers’ request to visit the shoe shop down the road and tell them what they had in those sizes.

Eggs were also hurled, which Mr Blair chose to interpret as a joint request from book lovers to hurry up and hatch another best-selling work of fiction.

Anti-war protesters had one success, however. A tanker full of blood was unable to push through their massed ranks, forcing Mr Blair to sign his name in red ink instead.

“I would like to thank the concerned citizens of Dublin for the welcome publicity they have given my book,” grinned the former prime minister. “£25 from all amoral bookshops, or already knocked down to £12.50 on Amazon.”

Man Arrested For Not Punching Leona Lewis Nearly Hard Enough

There were angry scenes at a branch of Waterstones today, as a member of the public punched X-Factor winner Leona Lewis so feebly that she didn't even fall off her chair.

The grinning, talentless clothes-horse was clutching a crayon and laboriously signing copies of the autobiography somebody else wrote for her, when a man suddenly stepped out of the queue at the bookseller's Piccadilly branch and delivered a pathetic girly punch to the side of her big empty head.

Police officers were called to the scene and swiftly placed the man under arrest, while Lewis left the premises in search of a doctor - possibly because the silly cow thought she might die from a thick ear.

"We think the assailant may be some sort of soppy romance writer to have hit her as softly as that," said DCI Savage of the Metropolitan Police. "If he was half a man, he'd have belted her so bloody hard she'd have spun round and round like a top as the chair hurtled into the dictionary section where a selection of massive hardbacks would undoubtedly have tumbled down upon her, one by one, until little tweety birds circled round her head."

"If he'd really meant to give her the walloping she deserves, a flying drop-kick to the jaw would have sent her crashing in slow motion backwards through the sponsors' advertising boards, accompanied by the unmistakeable sound of sheet metal being struck, leaving a Leona Lewis-shaped hole behind her and teeth all over the floor," he added knowledgeably. "If Ms Lewis would care to come round to the station once she's ascertained that she's still breathing, me and the lads from the reading club would be delighted to demonstrate just how bad this assault could have been."

Dreary Book About Something Other Than Pubescent Wizards Wins Prize

'Wolf Hall', Hilary Mantel's lacklustre book about the life of some dead guy with no supernatural powers whatsoever, has been declared the winner of the 2009 Man Booker prize, earning its author a £50,000 prize and the likelihood of a huge increase in the number of copies on the shelves of charity shops in almost mint condition.

"This year the judges faced a really difficult choice," said James Naughtie, some bloke off the radio who doesn't play songs, who chaired the panel. "J.K. Rowling was too busy this year sorting her banknote collection into serial-number order to write any great literature, so we were faced with a load of non-magical rubbish thrown together by people whom nobody has ever heard of. I mean, does this 'J.M. Coetzee' even exist? I find it hard to believe."

"It didn't help that not one of these so-called books was worth making into an exciting family film, so we had to read them," he explained. "We took it in turns reading out a paragraph at a time, until we all fell asleep."

"Good job we found some thimbles," added little James, brightly. "Else we'd have ended up rubbing our fingertips down to the bone. Eurrgh! Skeleton fingers!"

Despite its misleading title, Mantel's 650-page doorstop contains no tragic figures doomed to transform into bloodthirsty animals under a full moon. Instead, it tells of the rise of one Thomas Cromwell, who overcomes his tragic lack of latent magical abilities to become the most trusted adviser to some big fat king by the name of Henry Vill, whose credibility is seriously undermined by his unimaginative failure to appoint a court wizard.

Mantel's tedious book ends in a big barney with the villainous Pope, who is the only remotely interesting character in the whole sorry saga as he unsuccessfully attempts to convince the king that he has mystical powers granted by an invisible fairy.

Death of Novelist Shatters Fragile Illusion of Post-Industrial Civilisation

Cold, detached observers - many of them called Jim, Ballard or Jim Ballard - have already begun to note the first signs of the breakdown of society, following the death on Sunday of cult novelist JG Ballard.

"It has only been two days, but already the thin veneer of civilised behaviour is beginning to fracture," warned Ballard, an alienated protagonist. "The death of a single novelist may, at first, hold little or no significance in any wider context. However, the repercussions of this seemingly-unimportant event will ripple remorselessly through the very bedrock of our complacent Western civilisation, challenging the norms of convention which we accept without thinking, and shaking our beliefs in all that we take for granted - until the whole edifice of our technology-dependent worldview falls apart, and we find ourselves fighting for survival in a post-modern tribal conflict."

Another clinically-aloof visionary, Jim, pointed to the rapidly-escalating torrent of pompous obituaries and other portentous Ballard-related articles in the media.

"According to my calculations, in a mere three weeks the amount of material written about Ballard will outstrip the entire global supply of paper," he predicted. "Even the internet will run out of capacity within six months. There will only be one permitted topic of conversation - JG Ballard - and our cosy world will rapidly disintegrate into mutually-antagonistic factions, which will bitterly wage relentless campaigns of extermination against all who favour any other Ballard book over their particular chosen favourite."

Jim then hit Ballard squarely in the face with a Mercedes hood-ornament, leaving a clear imprint.

Book Pile, with guest reviewer: Gordon Brown

First of all let me say a big ‘Hullo!’ to all you discerning readers of the Nev Filter. Thanks to my growing database, I feel that I almost know you personally. (I certainly know where you live!)

I think the biggest literary influence on my life (and by extension, yours) has been George Orwell. I believe that the first of his books I ever read was probably ‘Keep The Aspidistra Flying’, during my student days. It’s all about a young professional man of staunchly egalitarian principles, who wilfully descends into a squalid, futile life of poverty before necessity finally forces him to abandon his cherished beliefs and rejoin the suburban middle classes. I took Orwell’s message to be simply this: why bother with principles in the first place? It took me a while to get them all out of my system, of course, and you’ll find me in the eighties coming out with the occasional line of socialist dogma in interviews; but you can see my heart isn’t really in it!

Actually, now I come to think of it, I must have read ‘Animal Farm’ as a small child. That, as I’m sure you’ll recall, is the one in which Orwell described how a humble pig could rise to the top by pretending to be some kind of socialist. I don’t know why, but that book must have really spoke to me on an instinctive level because I’d quite forgotten that I ever read it. It’s as if its message has permeated every atom of my being. Memory can play strange tricks - as any of you who think you remember me admitting to talking like a socialist in the eighties will surely agree!

Talking of the eighties, that’s when I got round to reading Orwell’s masterpiece, ‘1984’. I remember thinking, “What a perfect vision of society!” and decided to dedicate my life to making his utopian world a reality. I explained the book to my then-friend Tony Blair (naturally, he was too lowbrow to actually read it) and together we set about making it happen. Even before the historic 1997 election, we had created a party in which dissent was ruthlessly quashed, so we were able to hit the ground running. Eleven years on, and just look at our achievements:

TV cameras monitoring people’s daily lives: check!

Permanent state of war: check!

Faceless, unaccountable bureaucracy: check!

Rewriting history to airbrush out embarrassing incidents: check!

The proletarian masses kept docile by beer and undemanding entertainment: check!

Regular media-led Hates to harmlessly dispel the people’s frustration with their powerlessness: check!

Creating an artificial language devoid of all meaning (e.g. ‘New Labour’, ‘war on terror’, ‘patient choice‘, ‘lessons have been learned’, ‘Private Finance Initiative‘, ‘credit crunch’, ‘Employment and Support Allowance’): check!

Job pretty much done, I think you’ll find!

Anyway, recently I’ve been finding the time to read some more of Orwell‘s works. ‘The Road To Wigan Pier’, for example, painted a fascinating picture of how people in the thirties had such a community spirit, despite living in abject poverty. So, as I recreate a similar level of poverty, I’m sure that we’ll soon see a return to the happy, thriving streets of yesteryear! I’ve also taken Orwell’s uncertainty about council housing to heart - which is why I’m encouraging local authorities to flog them all off cheap to private landlords. High rents and the constant fear of eviction certainly gave people a mighty powerful incentive to stick at their soul-destroying, poorly-paid jobs, working all the hours God sent just to keep a roof over their heads.

Finally, having just turned the last page of ‘Down And Out In Paris And London’, I’ve been inspired to rack up the pressure on the jobless. I’m looking into all manner of new ways to cut off their benefits as a means of encouraging the feckless workshies into the welcoming clutches of big business. Those of you who can still afford to drive can look forward to seeing armies of the unemployed shuffling along the highways and byways of Britain in a desperate search for work of any kind or, if they’re humble enough to grovel, maybe a grudgingly-given charity handout. Eventually, I hope, they will sod off to France or one of our other European partners and cease to be a blight on the landscape of this wonderful country of ours.

Of course, as an author it has to be admitted that Orwell has his failings. He adopts a hectoring, superior tone at times which I, for one, find seriously irritating. It’s as if, having created and defined a perfect world, he can’t be happy unless he finds some minor fault with it! Honestly, some people are never happy, are they?

Finally, somebody mentioned to me the other day that Orwell also wrote a rather  unpleasant book called ‘Homage to Catalonia’, in which he described a nation wracked by bloody civil war, in which the population rose up in favour of socialism - only to find themselves riven by petty internal divisions, brutally crushed by the dark forces of inhuman authoritarianism and subjugated mercilessly under a pitiless, cynical dictator for the next forty years.

Although I must say I don’t really have a problem with the ending, as such, nevertheless the starting premise of this book sounds highly dodgy to me. Fortunately, though, it wasn’t anywhere to be seen on the bookshelves of my local Waterstones - and if they want to be on Peter Mandelson’s list of businesses in line for a life-saving windfall courtesy of the taxpayer, they’ll keep it that way!

Happy reading!

US Pop Teen Memoir A Shoo-In For Nobel Prize for Literature

Miley Cyrus, the 15-year-old star of US hit show Hannah Montana, has put the finishing touches to her eagerly-awaited memoirs, which critics are hailing as the most important book ever written.

The early chapters of the pop sensation’s autobiography are said to cover the period from her conception to the development of her limbs, leading up to her dramatic birth at the tender age of 0.

“My dad was like, ‘Wow!’ and my mum was like ‘Jeeesus-H-Fucking-Christ!!!’” says the teenager. “I thought, like, wow, like some appreciation here would be kinda nice? But then I realised like, hey, I’m actually BREATHING, like totally BREATHING AIR. Then - talk about unprovoked assault, which is like a felony, right? - this so-called doctor, like, SLAPPED me on the fanny? Hel-lo? Lawsuit Central! That‘s just like such an invasion of my personal space, not to mention SO disrespecting me as a woman?”

In later chapters Miss Cyrus movingly describes the agony of teething, and the lasting trauma stemming from the awful moment when she realised that her father, Billy Ray Cyrus, was responsible for ‘Achy Breaky Heart’.

Uncritical Dr Who Fans Queue Up To See Another Tedious Shakespeare Play

Millions of Dr Who fans with nothing better to do will be descending on Stratford-upon-Avon for the next few weeks to drool over David Tennent reciting his lines on stage in an Royal Shakespeare Company production of Love’s Labour’s Lost, a flimsy attempt at romantic comedy by the world’s most overrated playwright.

The show - which is about three lords struggling to keep a three-year vow of celibacy, but might as well be about the inside of a ping-pong ball for all the uncritical anorak brigade know or care - is a complete sell-out. And the tickets have all been bought, too.

“I’m hoping the Cybermen get at least a walk-on part,” said one fan. “We know they acquired time-travel technology back in the Colin Baker era, so it’s distinctly possible you know.”

Other rubber monsters tipped to create renaissance-themed mayhem for the scruffy Time Lord include Sontarans, Ice Warriors, Sea Devils, a giant Krynoid plant, the Meddling Monk, a mutant pantomime horse and of course the ever-present bloody Daleks, who seem to follow Tennant around like puppies.

“Next year, we hope to bring the bard’s work to an even wider audience by presenting a run of classic plays showcasing the unbounded dramatic talents of the Chuckle Brothers,” announced an RSC spokesman.

Poetry In Motion

Andrew Motion has complained that the job of Poet Laureate is a “thankless task”, berating the Queen for never expressing any opinions about the poems he writes for her. He gave full vent to his hurt feelings in a poem delivered to the Ealing Arts Festival:

Oh queeny queeny queeny queen,
You’re the top monarch there’s ever been.
So don’t keep quiet and don’t be mean -
Say this is the best you’ve ever seen.

Andrew Motion, age 55.

They Told Me I Was Going to Lose the Fight

Widespread ridicule has greeted Gordon Brown’s identification of himself with a controversial figure from the annals of great literature.

In an interview in yesterday’s New Statesman magazine, the Prime Minister was told that women identified him with a certain brooding, intense character.

“Yes, I’ve often seen myself as that great man of action, Captain Ahab,” mused the PM. “Here is a man who was totally committed to hanging on to the bitter end, regardless of the wavering support of his unfaithful crew. Some say Ahab was blindly obsessed with following the great white whale - whose very existence seemed to taunt him from afar, mocking him mercilessly - and was callously blind to the catastrophic consequences of his flawed leadership. But in my analysis, Ahab was in fact an inspired, visionary commander with the guts to see things through to the bitter end, come hell or high water. You can’t blame him for slavishly trailing in the wake of Tony Dick - especially after the terrible mauling he had received from that monstrous freak of nature in the past.”

Other Parliamentarians have lined up to say which fictional character they would rather compare the Prime Minister with.

“I say, he’s rather like that Yossarian chap in Catch-22, isn’t he?” chirped David Cameron. “Trapped in a war not of his making, at the mercy of ruthless, greedy commercial forces and with nobody listening to a word he says. I haven’t read the book, I’m afraid – too many pages – but I saw the film once.”

Nick Clegg suggested that the character of Miss Havisham in ‘Great Expectations’ might be appropriate, reposing in a once-great house that was falling to rack and ruin about her, obsessively trying to manipulate those around her out of spite for a slight she received in the past. “I know it’s a bit obscure,” said Mr Clegg, “But that’s the kind of guy I am, I’m a Liberal Democrat.”

Meanwhile, the people of Britain – well, the ones who could read, at least – grudgingly continued to act out the role of Winston Smith, the trapped Orwellian hero of ‘1984’.

Less and Lessing

Veteran author Doris Lessing says that receiving the Nobel Prize for Literature last year has turned out to be a “bloody disaster”. The 88-year-old writer claims that increased media pressure means she will probably have to give up writing for good.

“It has stopped,” she explained sadly. “I don’t have any energy any more.”

“All I do is give interviews and spend time being photographed,” she added.

However, famous-for-being-famous celebrities Amy Winehouse and Pete Doherty were quick to offer their support.

“Welcome to our world, wossyername, Doris yeah?” said occasional singer-songwriter Winehouse. “Our agents worked out a deal for us where we just bum around filling the papers wivout actually doing no hard work no more, apart from rememberin’ to stay upright, well mostly, while the cameras are rollin’. ‘Seasy innit? Fancy a night out wiv us at Annabel’s? Come on, get yer togs on, we’ll just ring the tabloids an’ let ‘em know we’re comin’.”