And I’m the world’s forgotten boy

Avast, ye Brexit-voting naysayers! After yet another unnecessarily extended hiatus, your beloved Angstrom has once again returned.

During my impertinent incarceration at the hands of all the (disconcertingly emboldened) tiny Angstroms, I had adhered dutifully to my absurd Brexiteering creed. But now, festooned with the glutinous residue of shame, I return to you, oh solipsistic reader, in the hope you may forgive my transgressions.

For today the European flag, the undying symbol of all that is just and holy in this swaggeringly appalling world, flies high over Castle Angstrom. All the tiny Angstroms have been dispatched to assorted prep schools, military academies and borstals, there to do battle with their chronically underprepared handlers. And my beloved Lady Angstrom’s legally-ambiguous “charitable activities” take her further afield than ever. At last, all is well with the world (barring, of course, a Trump-shaped hole about to be blasted through the middle of it).

“Whither the source of your Bremain enlightenment?” I hear you cry.

Well, my good friend Hamish Nickelback-Cummerbund set me straight on a number of key geo-political issues during the course of a not entirely unpleasant evening of light chamber music and speed metal at the local boozer, The Chastisement of Hubris.

The details of this conversation I shall not bore you with here, but suffice to say it contained the phrases “clear economic imperative” and “unmitigated arsequake”, as well as the blisteringly homophobic “turd-burgling cock-botherers”. What a guy.

Hamish, you will be delighted to learn, has recently published a tome collecting the very bonnest of his bon mots (The F*ck You Lookin’ At, Pal?, University of Crikey, 2016, £246.95). And with Christmas bearing down upon us like an angry and confused elk, it goes without saying what a perfect gift this collection would make for that special person in what I suppose we must refer to as your life.

Kindly send cheques, postal orders, sacrificial goats, Blue Peter badges, Magic: The Gathering cards, etc. and so on to the usual address. 

You tried to steal my fresh and you got cold busted

At last, I hear you gasp, Angstrom doth return. And lo! returneth I doth do.

Needless to say, dear cowering, tremulous reader, my prolonged absence has, of course, been put to good use. Despite the chronic inability of all the tiny Angstroms to maintain even the most rudimentary levels of common decency for longer than two or three minutes at a time, I have at last been able to analyse all 726 demo recordings of Nik Kershaw’s I Won’t Let The Sun Go Down On Me to within an inch of their pitiful, not to say pointless, lives. As you might expect, my report makes grim reading.

Discussions continue with my literary agent’s representative on Earth, Petronella Fudge-Wallaby, as to the precise timing of the report’s publication, but I remain hopeful that the editorial process, so eagerly conducted by the gibbering minions of Ms Fudge-Wallaby’s infernal master, will not dilute the essence of unbridled wrath contained therein.

On a lighter note, it is my great pleasure to be able to announce that my good friend Dr Hubert Whipsnade-Parallax, until very recently one of the most luminous of the leading lights at the University of South Mimms (formerly Newport Pagnell Sixth Form College and Soft Play Centre), has finally completed his exhaustive study of the calamitous effects of massive quantities of absinthe on members of the Women’s Institute (Diminished Responsibility: Adventures in Flower Arranging, Crikey Press, 2015, £167.95).

Readers of a nervous disposition may baulk at some of Hubert's bolder assertions. However, let me assure you that a rigorous adherence to the principles of the Scientific Method, combined with the very specific benefits of an Oddbins loyalty card, have resulted not only in one of the few studies of its kind ever to reach completion, but also in Hubert's immediate dismissal from the university’s worryingly myopic Department of Bacchanalian Studies.

I urge all of you, my faithful readers, to purchase a copy this instant. Postal orders, cheques, banker’s drafts, blood diamonds, etc. should be sent to: Knuckles ‘Nigel’ McTavish-O’Brillopad, 1348b Urgent Close, Upper Middlebottom, Wilts.