News, News, News, News, DINES!, DINES!, DINES!, DINES! With AA Gill Jr.: 'Pasta Sottovoce' in Cromer, Norfolk

My father always wanted me to get on the straight and narrow and make something of myself. With this new column, I think i've just about got there. 

NNNNDDDD will basically be a standard food critic's column, but with a twist, every restaurant I visit and review will have ear-splitting music blaring from the speakers above. Recent studies at the University of Cockfosters, Berkeley have shown that our taste buds react to piercingly loud noises by becoming more sensitive and responsive to flavour. Scientists conducted an experiment in which Nigella Lawson, Gordon Ramsay and Ainsley Harriot underwent brain scans whilst dining on a 5 star meal from a Michelin star restaurant. As they dined, 'I Spit On Your Clavicle' by Unctuous Pirate Stigmata is played on repeat at a horrendously loud volume. 

The scientists found that the three chefs responded far more positively neurologically to the food they had eaten when the music was playing. Of course, they could have just asked the three award-winning chefs what they thought of the food, instead of forcing them to undergo brain scans, but the scientists thought it necessary. 

The results, anyway, showed that the only way Humans can fully enjoy and savour the food we eat is to eat it whilst subjected to at least 120 decibels of noise. With that in mind, I visited 'Pasta Sottovoce' in beautiful Cromer, Norfolk, a new Italian restaurant opened by Alessandro Miadini and his wife Isabella from Bologna. 

Pasta Sottovoce, Cromer, Norfolk

AS ONE WALKS INTO ISABELLA AND ALESSANDRO MIADINI'S NEW RESTAURANT ON NEWMARKET STREET, ONE IS STRUCK BY THE AUTHENTICITY OF THE PLACE. MANY SO CALLED 'ITALIAN' RISTORANTES IN THE UK ARE SHAMEFULLY SUPERFICIAL AND FULL OF PETTY STEREOTYPES, BUT THIS FEELS FRESH AND REAL, LIKE ONE IS TRANSPORTED INTO A GENUINE BOLOGNESE EATERY, EVERY SIGHT, SOUND AND SMELL MEANT TO ENHANCE ONE'S CULINARY EXPERIENCE. 

EXPERIENCE IS CERTAINLY A KEY WORD HERE, THE MIADINIS TAKE GREAT CARE IN DESIGNING THEIR RISTORANTES IN SUCH A WAY AS TO MAXIMISE THEIR DINER'S JOY, THOSE WORKING IN THE SERVICE INDUSTRY PRACTICE A DELICATE AND HUGELY UNDERRATED ART FORM. ONE IS MADE TO FEEL SPECIAL, AS IF ONE IS THE ONLY CUSTOMER IN THE WORLD. AS I WAS LED THROUGH TO THE DINING AREA, PASSING THROUGH A RUSTIC CONCRETE ARCHWAY ADORNED WITH VINE LEAVES AND FRESH LEMONS, I FELT LIKE AN ADORED MEMBER OF THE LOCAL COMMUNITY, LIKE A FEARED MAFIOSO ENTERING HIS RISTORANTE WITH AN ESTEEMED LOCAL BUSINESSMAN HE'S TRYING TO ASSOCIATE WITH IN HOPE OF GAINING MORE INFLUENCE IN THE FINANCIAL STRATA OF THE CITY. 

FOR STARTERS I ORDERED SOME BRUSCHIETTA AND A SMALL DISH OF CROUTONS. I RECEIVED A FEW BAFFLED LOOKS WHEN I TOSSED A CROUTON INTO THE AIR AND TRIED TO CATCH IT IN MY MOUTH, BUT THE WAITERS SOON LEARNED TO TOLERATE MY UNCOUTH BEHAVIOUR, EVEN EGGING ME ON TO TRY AGAIN WHEN IT FAILED TO ENTER THE ORIFICE. I THEN HAD A NEAR-DEATH EXPERIENCE WHEN I ALMOST CHOKED ON A FIDDLEHEAD WHICH GIACOMO, ONE OF THE DISHWASHERS, CATAPULTED FROM ACROSS THE ROOM. A BAFFLED PASSER-BY PERFORMED THE HEINLICH MANEUVER AMIDST THE PIERCINGLY-LOUD MUSIC STILL PULSATING FROM ABOVE. WHEN THE MEDICAL EMERGENCY WAS OVER, WE HAD A RATHER CRUDE BUT INTENSELY SPIRITED TOURNAMENT BETWEEN ALL THE WAITERS AND KITCHEN STAFF. THE TOURNAMENT DELAYED THE ARRIVAL OF MY MAIN COURSE, WHICH, WITHOUT TRYING TO BE A KILLJOY, WAS RATHER INCONVENIENT, BUT I'LL LET IT SLIDE AS I ADMIRE UNBRIDLED, RAUCOUS, SAVAGE MERRIMENT WHICH DELAYS IMPORTANT BUSINESS, IT'S WHY I WATCH PRIME MINISTER'S QUESTIONS EVERY WEDNESDAY. 

MY MAIN COURSE OF MUSHROOM RAVIOLI DID EVENTUALLY ARRIVE, AND WAS POSITIVELY MOUTH-WATERING. THERE WAS JUST THE RIGHT AMOUNT OF SPINACH.. THE PASTA WAS WELL-CRAFTED, THE PLATE WAS SQUARE AND FANCY. I FIND THE SQUARE PLATES, FOR SOME REASON, IMPROVE THE QUALITY OF THE FOOD. 

I MUST LEVEL WITH YOU, NNNN FAITHFUL, I KNOW NOTHING ABOUT FOOD. I'VE DINED AT MANY A REPUTABLE ESTABLISHMENT, BEING THE SON OF A RENOWNED FOOD CRITIC, BUT I PICKED UP VERY LITTLE. I'M NOT ENTIRELY SURE WHY, MAYBE IT'S A REBELLIOUS THING, I WANTED TO BE A SPOKEN WORD POET, OR A NORSE GOD, BUT FATHER HAD OTHER PLANS, THEY OFTEN DO. HE WOULD MAKE ME SIT AT A TYPEWRITER FOR HOURS ON END, TEDIOUSLY TYPING OUT HIS RESTAURANT REVIEWS AS HE DICTATED THEM TO ME WHILST ENGAGED IN RIGOROUS LOVE-MAKING. HE BECAME LAUDED FOR HIS WIT, EBULLIENCE AND SHARPNESS, BUT NO ONE REALISES THAT IT WAS ME WHO ADDED THIS INSATIABLE PANACHE TO THE ARTICLES. THE 1992 REVIEW OF SIR LOIN'S STEAKS IN MARYLEBONE? ME! THE 2001 REVIEW OF TOFFS AND SCOFFS IN NEWCASTLE UNDER-LYME? ME! 2003, JAMIE'S IN OXFORD? ME! 2005, ALAIN DUCASSE AT THE DORCHESTER HOTEL? ME! ME! ME! ALL OF IT WAS ME!

SO WHEN I WAS APPROACHED BY THE NNNN EDITOR TO DO A FOOD COLUMN IN MEMORY OF MY FATHER, I WAS ONLY TOO HAPPY TO OBLIGE, ON THE CONDITION THAT I COULD EXPERIMENT WITH A NEW AND INNOVATIVE FORM OF FOOD CRITICISM. NNNN, BEING AN OPEN-MINDED PUBLICATION, LET ME TRY OUT THE 'BURST EARDRUM/TASTEBUD THEORY', WHICH ORIGINATED AT UNIVERSITY OF COCKFOSTERS, BERKELEY. AFTER FINISHING MY MEAL AT 'PASTA SOTTOVOCE', I CAN REVEAL THAT IT'S ALL TRUE. THE FLAVOUR IN THE FOOD IS BLISSFULLY ACCENTUATED BY THE DISGUSTING DEATH METAL RAGING FROM ABOVE LIKE A HANGRY THOR. IT IS WORTH THE DEAFNESS, IT IS WORTH THE CLUSTER HEADACHES, IT IS WORTH THE BLOOD ON MY PILLOWS, IT IS WORTH THE SHELL-SHOCK. AND THAT IS THE HIGHEST COMPLIMENT ONE CAN GIVE A RESTAURANT. GRAZIE, ALESSANDRO E ISABELLA!

JOIN ME NEXT TIME WHEN I VISIT 'HUSH! HUSH! SUSHI!' IN BETHNAL GREEN. 

GB News Will Feature a Show Called 'Wokewatch'- Muriel Sticks

This is not a parody article, they're actually doing that. 

The demand for 'anti-woke' content will prove very lucrative to Andrew Neil and co. $$$

I would include a joke, but comedy is dead, it's been euthanised.

They'll be lapping it up. 

We'll be reading the wonderful works of James Baldwin, Maya Angelou & Toni Morrison. 

Nothing will change, the so-called 'culture war' will whimper on. 

I'm Muriel Sticks, may the Duke of Edinburgh rest in peace or whatever. 

Betting Odds for Wokewatch Presenter

Laurence Fox 2/1 

Another Fucking Cunt 10/1

Princess Eugenie and Jack Brooksbank's 'Tell-All' Interview With Oprah Winfrey Went Unreported By all Major News Sources

Amidst the media furore surrounding Meghan and Prince Harry's explosive interview with Oprah Winfrey late last month, another royal couple were also planning to cause quite the stir. News, News, News, News can exclusively reveal that Princess Eugenie, daughter of Prince Andrew and Sarah Ferguson, and her relatively new husband Jack Brooksbank, also gave a prime time interview with Winfrey in the US last month. 

The reason you, the reader, probably knew nothing about this interview is down to the fact that NNNN is the first major news source to report it. The reason for this remains unclear, although there are murmurs that many of the major newspapers around the world deemed Jack and Eugenie less bankable than Meghan and Harry, therefore refusing to cover their interview. 

NNNN's royal correspondent Lurpac De Moine received this bombshell-adjacent news when one of Brooksbank's representatives phoned him to ask why people weren't talking about their interview. De Moine was utterly aghast and confused, "Well, I hadn't heard about it. I was busy looking through Meghan's second cousin once-removed's garbage cans in Cancun looking for potential material for a story, I wasn't paying attention to the minor royals, who is? Perverts, obsessed fans, pedants & satirists, no one serious." 

De Moine was then told by the minor royal's representatives to inform the higher powers at NNNN, and after the editor returned from their annual trip to Bohemian Grove, permission was given to write this exclusive article. 

"I just cannot believe such a huge news story would pass by unnoticed" De Moine told us, "I realise Meghan and Harry are obviously going to be the centre of attention, or 'center' of attention, as Meghan would say (blasted Yanks). But still, no matter how obscure Jack and Eugenie are, them giving a soul-searching, explosive, controversy-laden interview with Oprah Winfrey is pretty important news. Even Piers Morgan didn't tweet about it, that must have been a real slap in the face for the couple, Morgan has his finger on the pulse of the average Brit more than any other media figure". 

In the interview, which is available online, albeit after a taxing, hour-long search, Jack and Eugenie describe the appalling racism they encountered on a grouse-hunting trip with a certain 'senior member' of the Royal family. 

"This 'member' shot a grouse from out the sky" recalled Eugenie, "then leant over to me and said "It's a shame, my girl, that these blackamoors and Chinamen cannot fly, otherwise we'd be able to shoot them instead of the birds!" 

"He also took my husband aside on Christmas eve and took him to a secret room in Balmoral where he keeps all kinds of racist memorabilia such as a Lord Haw-Haw scarecrow, an Oswald Mosley tea cosy, a trombone with Enoch Powell's Rivers of Blood speech inscribed on the horn, a Strom Thurmond mini-fridge packed with mini chocolate Klan hats, a fairground fortune teller machine with Joseph Goebbels spouting Nazi propaganda for 1d, a Tommy Robinson windbreaker, an ice sculpture of Liam Neeson attacking a black man, Katie Hopkins yoga mats, extra strong apartheid mints, a model of the Lincoln Memorial but with Robert E. Lee, a dozen live 1970s-era skinhead football hooligans and Donald Trump Jr.'s book 'Triggered: How the Left Thrives on Hate and Wants to Silence Us". 

"My husband was traumatised by what he saw and immediately told me that he wanted to leave. We then felt completely ashamed and confused and angry, but most of all, scared. How could we stand up to this? It's the British royal family, 'the firm', 'the Windsor Headhunters', one cannot simply leave this family but this is what we decided to do. Turns out Meghan and Harry got there first."

The couple decided to contact Winfrey as they needed an experienced and compassionate interviewer more than anything else, and Piers Morgan was too busy tweeting about Meghan Markle's perceived vanity. 

"Oprah was amazing! She agreed to interview us, but did not tell us that she was also interviewing Harry and Meghan. We thought we'd cause quite an intense national conversation, so it was quite a shock when no major newspaper covered our interview".

De Moine, who is still being inundated by calls from the tabloids asking about the Queen's state of mind, is indifferent to the minor royals' interview, "Look, British Royalists/Conservatives only have a limited reserve of spite and anger, most of that was directed at Meghan and Harry. Throw Eugenie and Brooksbank into the mix, it becomes almost an overload of treason. A lot of bad stuff can happen and slip under the radar when ordinary folk are up in arms about something completely irrelevant. Matt Hancock, anyone?"

Britain's reaction to the Meghan and Harry interview is said to expose generational divides between older royalists, who favour tradition, subordination and the Queen, and younger roundheads, who are capable of empathy and understand what racism is. 

The interview was broadcast on Howard Hughes' little known network the Hughes Network in the US, but the programme gained only 300 viewers, mainly due to the fact that the Hughes Network is only available in a small fishing community in Alaska. Bill Hughes, a local fisherman in Nor'easterville, Alaska, shared his thoughts on the programme with NNNN. 

"Well, I'd just caught a 20Ib pike, so anything else that happened that day was guaranteed to be anti-climactic. Look, Mr Newspaperman, we don't get much television round these parts, and we consider that a good thing. We work and toil and fish and struggle and sweat every day, then this young, rich British couple are shown on our screens all made-up and looking a billion dollars, excuse us if we don't give a damn about it. Though I will say this, that Prince Phillip sounds like a racist moron, and you just know it's Phillip, don't you? 'Senior member' my ass, it's definitely Phillip. But other than that, we don't care, now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to make love to my wife, I caught a 20Ib Halibut earlier, that son of a bitch has made my year, so you betcha' i'm celebrating". 

NNNN asked Buckingham Palace for comment, but only received a voicemail advertising Prince Andrew's Hampton Court Palace laser tag tournament hosted by Lucy Worsley.

Dear Eileen: I Have a Sharp Kettle Chip Lodged in my Trachea, What Action Should I Take to Rid My Internal Plumbing of This Unwelcome Guest?

My name is (fmr) Sister Eileen Kirkup. I am 76 years old and I am a lapsed nun. I enjoy shrimping and baking.

This week's question comes from Alison in Peterborough. Alison Asks, "Dear Eileen, I have a sharp kettle chip lodged in my trachea, what action should I undertake to rid my internal plumbing of this unwelcome guest?"

My Child,

Before I give you advice pertaining to your urgent and very frightening medical emergency, I feel it's my duty to first of all provide a little backstory to my life and my understanding of the medical profession. Whilst training to be a nun at the Royal Military Academy, Sandhurst, a frightful incident occurred to the young boys training in the firing range. Many of the poor souls were injured and we sisters were tasked with stitching up their wounds and bringing them porridge, Rustler magazines and PG Tips. 

It was while caring for a lovely young chap named Edward, who'd been shot thrice in his abdomen, that I had an epiphany: I am destined to be a nurse!

Now, at that point, I was already deep into my nun training. I was sharing this 3-bedroom flat with Sisters Yvonne and Clara, still close, close friends of mine, and life was pretty much sorted out for me. We'd be nurses for 70 years, before retiring in our late 90s. We'd then proceed to travel the World spreading the word of God in deprived, poverty-stricken areas, telling them to avoid condoms etc. We had it all planned out, good heavens, how romantic and bursting with life the young mind is! Such big ambitions, it seemed so simple, my child, but, as the saying goes, 'try telling God your plans and he laughs'. 

But the responsibility of nursing, the nuances of the role, the sense of importance and the sense of duty, it quickly became addictive. This was how I wanted to help others. It was, quite simply, the coolest thing i'd ever experienced. And I wanted to be the best nurse that I could be. This was my duty now, not nunning. 

Of course, my child, the elder sisters would not have it. I spent 3 months in 'pandemonium', which, to explain it basically, was a giant, wooden, spherical machine which functioned like a washing machine. One was placed in it, along with piles of dirty nun clothing and the odd scorpion, and two sisters would manually push the unfortunate sinner around until ye can bear no more, no more, no more, please sisters! No more! I beg of you! &^&$%*!!

Sorry about that, my child, this particular article is bringing back vicious memories. In truth, I was one of the lucky ones. Many young women I knew suffered such unbearable darkness, such malign, wretched sorrow. It was a rotten experience, but one which takes up a large part of the needlework in the tapestry of my life. One cannot just burn that portion of the tapestry, even if one, on occasion, stands beside said tapestry holding a candle, tempting oneself to let the candle inch dangerously close to the material, which gives one a palpable sense of excitement which perplexes one. One cannot just 'Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind' away portions of their lives, no matter how convenient and comforting such an act would be. I love that film, my child, Kate Winslet's character is my 'spirit animal' as you youngsters would say. 

I became a Nun, my child. And I was good at it. I was honest, true to my fellow sisters, to my fellow man and, of course, to God. But several crises, which I shall have to go into in a later column, forced my exit from that life. I did eventually become a nurse though, my child, when I was living in Mexico in the 90s. Not for a public hospital, but rather for another organised group of individuals who often got tangled up in all sorts of violence, and needed their own medics. I was only too happy to help, though, as you can imagine, my child, one is not allowed to divulge much. 

So, my child, you can trust me when it comes to medical expertise, you needn't worry about that. You've come to the right person, and I would very much like to assist you in your hour of need! So, let me see.. kettle chip lodged in your trachea.. oh my! Well, my child, It looks like i've been terribly foolish. I've been waffling on about my medical experience whilst you've been choking and spluttering about, gasping for air!

Well, my child, I must apologise for my incessant proselytizing, it may have proved fatal for you. Still, my child, at least the kettle chip is no longer a problem!

Yours Truly,

Eileen

Margaret Thatcher's Consciousness to be Uploaded to the Sun in the UK

Former prime minister Margaret Thatcher, Britain's first female prime minister and perhaps the most universally adored public figure from the past century, will have her consciousness uploaded to the British sun in a project announced by the Conservative Party this morning. 

The project, which has been kept top secret for 8 years since Thatcher's death in 2013, will cost the taxpayer in excess of £800 billion, and will require a new 'Thatcher tax' to keep the Iron Lady gleefully beaming down on us from the sky. 

As mentioned before, News, News, News, News does not possess a sufficient amount of scientific know-how, and knows next to nothing about artificial intelligence, computationalism, sentience, physics, consciousness or neuroscience, but, needless to say, the science involved in this procedure is very clever indeed.

Ever since the trail-blazing prime minister died in April 2013, the science wing of CPHQ (Conservative Party HQ) has stored Mrs Thatcher's brain in freezing cold temperatures. Despite requests by several leading scientists to transform her body into a Minotaur, her most ardent supporters within the party managed to keep hold of her. The PM at the time, David Cameron, gave the go ahead on the top secret project, and has said today that he's 'chuffed to bits' that it's finally come to fruition. 

"Well, I think many people will be delighted to learn that Mrs Thatcher will be making a return to British public life in a way no prime minister ever has. I've kept this secret for almost 8 years, and I will admit, it's been pretty hard to do so! But, finally we'll be able to look up into the sky and marvel at this truly remarkable woman. Let this be our gift to you, the great British public! Hazaar!"

According to reports, Mrs Thatcher's face will be visible on the sun during daylight hours, including her iconic hair and much-maligned nose. The iron lady will be able to speak also. In a press release this morning it was confirmed that she'll also sing. 

"Mrs Thatcher's voice is iconic, it is, one might say, the voice of the nation. Mrs Thatcher will sing her heart out each and every day. At dawn, she'll break in to a marvelous rendition of 'Ave Maria', at luncheon she'll perform a spine-tingling version of 'Jerusalem', 'Zadok the Priest' will be our early afternoon treat and 'Read All About It' by Emeli Sande will be her evening performance."

It is not yet known how often Mrs Thatcher will speak during daytime hours, but several pundits have suggested that, despite being invisible, she'll also be able to speak at nighttime. Jacob Rees-Mogg privately told colleagues that she'll bark her infamous words "No! No! No!" on a continuous loop during the night. These three words send quivers of halcyonic calm through every Briton's spine, and is expected to cool the raging tempers of those who wish to disobey the British state. 

Thatcher performing the infamous 'Tory Haka' at the party conference in 1981. 

It's also being reported that Mrs Thatcher will bellow out many more of her famous sayings, such as "The lady's not for turning!", "it may be the cock that grows, but it is the hen that lays the eggs" and "Yet I do fear thy school, it is too full o' the milk of human kindness to catch the nearest way".

Current PM, Boris Johnson has hailed the project as an example of 'supreme British ingenuity' and 'patriotic, capitalist energy'. "I think I speak for everyone in the country when I say how happy I am to welcome Mrs Thatcher back into daily life. I remember when I was a student visiting Downing Street when Margaret was in power, I shook hands with the woman and haven't washed it since. I was shaking hands with COVID patients on the 3rd of March last year, and they were delighted to receive some authentic, Thatcherite, privatised, free market DNA. Hazaar!"

The new initiative will "calm, soothe and subdue the fiery passions of Britain's noisy troublemakers", according to the Conservative Party press release. Said troublemakers, including those currently protesting the government's new policing bill, have accepted that Mrs Thatcher's presence will bring compliance and order. Leader of the opposition, Keir Starmer said in a statement, "This isn't the exact route I would take personally, but if it's what the government want, I will support them fully in their endeavours. Mrs Thatcher was an inspiration to many young woman, on the left, the right, and most importantly, the centre ground, which I have 'marked' as my territory. Hazaar!"

"Everything will be OK" Johnson assured the British public, "Maggie is back! She is watching over us, literally! Her dulcet tones will see us through crisis after crisis, her lungs will fill the sky with great big, bustling, bombastic, brutish, brilliant clouds of good old-fashioned steely, British, bulldog, world-beating, bourgeois, patriotic, powerful resolve and inimitable wit and charm. I will not lie to you, I am getting an erection just thinking about it". 

There are whispers of some members of the public who are not supportive of this highly unusual endeavour, but News, News, News, News interviewed the entire UK population and found no one willing to speak out against it. One older woman did crack a joke, saying "Well, if she's being uploaded to the Sun, we won't see much of her with all this bad British weather! Ha! Ha!"

The Labour Party under Keir Starmer is reportedly in talks with former PMs Tony Blair and Gordon Brown over uploading their consciousness to every single one of Britain's blades of grass to counteract the Tories having Thatcher in the sky. 

The Liberal Democrats want Nick Clegg to be uploaded into the wind to be blown whichever way he chooses. 

The SNP were in talks with Nicola Sturgeon over her transcending into Scotland's waters, but, in a cruel twist of fate, Mrs Sturgeon is now in choppy political waters herself.

As for the remaining parties, the Brexit Party wants Nigel Farage in pork scratchings, the Green Party want Caroline Lucas in wind turbines and UKIP want Tommy Robinson to be King. 

From the Archive: Robert Louis Stevenson Angered By 'Jekyll and Hyde' Fans Swarming 'Kidnapped' Book Signing

From the Archive will dig up old News, News, News, News articles from throughout the publication's history. NNNN has been operating since before historical records began, making it the World's oldest continuously-running newspaper. The origins of NNNN are unknown, but one theory suggests it was created by a cabal of stoned apes who bemoaned the quality of journalism in the prehistoric era. This theory claims that the apes wished to document important events in the lives of their communities, and to investigate and report on major geopolitical crises. 

The first article in this series is dated September 19th 1886, and concerns the Scottish novelist Robert Louis Stevenson.

Robert Louis Stevenson Angered By 'Jekyll and Hyde' Fans Swarming 'Kidnapped' Book Signing

Report by Aaron Kosminski, Whitechapel

This Sunday, novelist and poet Mr. Robert Louis Stevenson attended a book signing at Samuel Johnson & Son's Bookshop in Marylebone. Mr. Stevenson was finely-dressed in a three-piece suit and stovepipe hat. The acclaimed author arrived at the venue 20 minutes early as to avoid the onslaught of  over-zealous literary fans swarming his carriage.

Mr Stevenson's tactic was doomed to failure, though, as the fans had suspected the author's early arrival. The fans, mainly younger ladies from the upper echelons of society, are said to be of a 'reckless disposition' and 'maintain a frenzied devotion to Mr Stevenson'. 

This sudden eruption of popularity for the writer has arisen since the publication of 'The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde' earlier this year. The novella, about a lawyer who investigates strange occurrences between his friend, Dr Henry Jekyll and the evil Edward Hyde, examines the dual nature which is said to exist within us. The concepts portrayed in the book are believed to have excited and mesmerized a particularly enthusiastic contingent of literary young ladies, many of whom have taken to stalking the famous author outside his Edinburgh home. 

One studious young lady told News, News, News, News that she's read the book seventeen times and regularly writes long letters to Mr Stevenson concerning minor, obscure details from the book. "I send Robert fabric from my petticoat, along with a lock of my hair with the letter. It comforts me to think that Robert has touched a part of me. I do so long for his roving hands on my delicate bosom, methinks his hands be delicate and warm and stained with the most expensive ink. I would harpoon threescore and twenty men at sea if it meant sniffing a lock of Robert's hair. I care not for your judging eyes, I am resolved to make an honest man of him, I will have his hand in marriage and if I do see any harlot in his arms, I will slaughter the both of em'". 

Before Mr Stevenson could enter the bookshop, an endless sea of screaming young women propelled themselves onto him and his entourage. The horses that pulled his carriage were spooked and proceeded to rampage through the crowd, rendering 15 dead and many seriously injured. Before the author was able to sign even one copy of his much-anticipated new novel 'Kidnapped', the owner of the bookshop, Mr Harold Pennywise, decided to cut the event short, much to the chagrin of a few older gentlemen and ladies who had been waiting quietly for a signed copy. 

Mr Stevenson was then escorted out through the back entrance with his suit draped over his head to avoid being recognised. This gambit also proved fatal. A few dozen eager fans had suspected Stevenson's escape from this exit and had gathered at the doorway. As the writer exited, one fan leapt onto him and stole his pocket watch, whilst another plunged a quill into his face, asking him to sign her copy of 'Jekyll and Hyde'. Many posters have been erected around town inquiring as to the whereabouts of Mr Stevenson's pocket watch. Only one man, who used the alias 'Jack', has replied, he claims he saw a young maiden hide it in her undergarments, and, upon following her for seven days, witnessed her sell it alongside other wares at the Sunday market. 

When asked by News, News, News, News for comment, Mr Stevenson sent the following short letter:

"Dear Mr Journalist,

You mock me to bring up such a futile and ridiculous matter. There is, in case one hasn't noticed, a severe shortage of ink up here in Scotland, precisely due to the unnecessary and overly-liberal exchange of letters between literary persons. 

But, if I must comment on these farcical proceedings, I feel it necessary to issue a warning to my so-called 'fans'. I am sick to the teeth of finding starved, semi-naked young ladies camping out in the tree in my back garden. I cannot continue to bear witness to the depravity and the torturous obsession that stains these poor women's souls. I am merely a writer, and a man. I should not need seven large pugilists to patrol my estate at nighttime, searching for ladies of ill repute loitering and waiting for me to make an appearance. There once was, I feel implored to admit, a part of me which would have relished such unadulterated female devotion, but when one is in the thick of it, one's standards and one's need for self-preservation take priority over one's ego. 

I feel I also need to remind those fans that I do have other books. My new book, Kidnapped, is currently available in all self-respecting bookshops. I quite literally wrote The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde whilst seated on the privy. It was over in a matter of minutes, I am that good. I could whip out seven or eight 'Jekyll and Hydes' a year and you would all lap it up. Your enthusiasm, whilst strangely flattering and much appreciated, is killing innocent people. And I hope not to open my trusty copy of News, News, News, News every morning and read of more deaths related to my book. Read something else, maybe 'Pamela' by the great Samuel Richardson. But, I implore you, when you discover the joys of Pamela, do not dig up Mr Richardson and steal his pocket watch, you damned thieves!

My Sincere Felicitations,

Robert Louis Stevenson

Poem of the Month: 'Normality' By Oxford University Professor Emeritus of Poetical Evocation and Whimsical Euphony Sir Barnard G. Fentonthwaite

I miss this.

My former colleague Andrew Suction, the current Shadow Poet Laureate of the United Kingdom and a close, personal acquaintance of mine dating back 40 years, introduced this new poetry column last month to great fanfare. I won't lie to you, dear readers, he's become so successful from that one column that cocaine has developed an Andrew Suction habit. 

He's not been seen in his Kensington office in over a month (yes, we poets have offices. Lord Byron used to be that boss who leans over his female colleagues inappropriately whilst helping them on the computer, Percy Shelley would lob balls of paper into the bin and celebrate over-zealously, pissing off his co-workers, and John Keats was the office weirdo who nobody knows outside of work and can often be heard crying in the office toilets) and people are starting to worry.

Let me reassure you, he'll return to his perch when he has one of his 'visions'. Ah yes, the legendary Suction visions. To adequately describe what he looks like when having one of these visions, one needs to cast their mind back to the end of Captain Phillips when Tom Hanks is rescued from the Somali pirates in a traumatised and catatonic state. Imagine that, but without the heroic and intensely moving backdrop of a man having gone through hell to save the lives of his crew, and replace him with a man who hasn't been published in 15 years and cannot please his wife. 

I know I sound bitter, but I can assure you I am not. We two go back a long time. He knows my acid tongue, I know his buttons, he knows mine. We fight, we go back and forth like an old married couple, just like him and his wife, whom he cannot please. 

I cannot stop myself. OK, I'll come clean. I hate his guts. 

But, lest we get carried away, i'm not here to talk Suction. I'm here to provide this month's NNNN 'Poem of the Month'. Last month's poem was terribly underwhelming, and that's not just another shot at old 'Sucker' as we used to call him. It had no recognizable rhythm or flow, it was full of cloying, vapid, nonsensical appeals to emotion, and i'm pretty sure he stole from Auden in one of the verses. It was the work of a man desperate to put his stamp on the 'COVID poetry boom'. Every poet I know has written about the blasted pandemic. It's become a whole category in and of itself, just like WWI poetry. Everyone's spilling ink and jostling to become the COVID era's answer to Wilfred Owen. Suction, at best, will become this era's Ivor Gurney, not because of his poetry, but because Gurney was suspected to have had syphilis, and I regularly see debates on poetry forums about Suction having it.

So let me try and write something that has absolutely nothing to do with COVID, social-distancing, hand gel, toilet rolls, loneliness, grief, despair, numbness, misinformation, depression, addiction or face masks. As Caius Martius Coriolanus so eloquently put it before banishing the plebs for banishing him from Rome (knobhead), "There is a world elsewhere".

Normality

People, everywhere.

Wading through watery crowds,

Waiting for a lull,

I yearn to scratch my back. 

People, everywhere.

Mashed on the tube like Play-Doh,

This is an orgy,

I yearn to scratch my back.

People, everywhere.

I long for solitude and smoking,

My heels are aching,

I yearn to scratch my back.

People, everywhere.

Pungent whiffs of body odour,

marijuana ghosts outside Ladbrokes,

I yearn to scratch my back.

People, everywhere.

I cannot catch my breath,

"Pay as you go with O2",

I yearn to scratch my back.

People, everywhere.

Blurred faces on Millennium Bridge,

Busker plays Ed Sheeran song,

I yearn to scratch his face off.

People, everywhere.

Evening Standard abandoned on bench,

George Osborne's ectoplasm,

I yearn to scratch my back.

People, everywhere.

Waterloo Station pigeon flurry,

Upper crust businessmen with headphones,

I yearn to scratch my back.

People, everywhere.

Everyone respects each other,

This is the facade economy,

I yearn to scratch my back. 

-Barnard G. Fentonthwaite