David Hadley's Blog, page 69

Celebrities in Space

Recently, a poll voted Podule Slingback as the celebrity most people would like to see launched into space on a one-way trip. However, such is the massive ego of such celebrity; he immediately claimed that he would be willing to give it a go.

‘I’m sure my many fans would dearly love for me to do something like this on behalf of all mankind. Especially those poor, underprivileged kids who themselves dream of one day going into space,’ he said.

However, his fan was unavailable for comment.

Some Twittergobs and others on social media did try, when the subject was trending on the various platforms to explain to Slingback, what a one-way try meant. But they were hastily drowned out by thousands of others, all encouraging Slingback to sign up for the trip.

Not only that, several fundraising initiatives were soon underway to raise the money to build the rocket and capsule needed to launch Slingback into space. Also, on several internet forums, groups got together to work out the best route for the ship to take. A route that would ensure Slingback reached the outer edges of the solar system as quickly as possible.

Seeing the amount of popular support there was for the mission NASA, the European Space Agency and other space agencies around the world all pledged their support and made offers to help with the engineering.

Several world politicians too, no doubt fearing they could be next if popular attention turned their way, also came out in support of the project. A contender for the post of British political opposition leader – claimed his party would come up with a national register of celebrities the populace wanted to launch into space. He claimed a government under his leadership would also instigate a ten-year programme to make one such launch ever year to send the winning star to the stars.

The party’s popularity shot up to record levels, with almost 3% of the electorate now saying they support them. Immediately, the newly-elected current government party promised that not only would they send celebrities on one-way trips into space, but they would also launch the losing politicians at each election on one way trips too. Consequently, their popularity doubled to nearly 4% of the electorate on the news.

However, 93% of the electorate still support the policy of sending all politicians and those diagnosed with politics on one-way trips into the sun.

However, Slingback has now become dimly aware of his fate. He has now offered to sign a guarantee that he will no longer appear on the world’s TV screens, or make any other attempt to gain media attention. He has even promised to move to Hull, planet earth’s nearest equivalent to voyaging into deep space. Unfortunately, every team of lawyers he has used have all found that the contract he signed, in a blaze of publicity at the beginning of this year, has several unbreakable clauses. There does not seem any way that any of his counter-arguments will be enough to nullify the contract. This includes his claim that a forced one-way trip into deep space would violate his right to a family life under European law. This has come as a major shock, not only to Slingback, but also to everyone else who has experience of European law.

Consequently, it does look as though Slingback will be saying his final farewell to earth in the next few months as soon as a launch slot becomes available. Many of the earth’s population still earnestly believe that that moment cannot come too soon.

 

Meringuenest’s Cake Orgies

Fondant Meringuenest is now one of the most famous TV personalities in the UK. Her Meringuenest’s Cake Orgies is one of the most well-known and – sometimes – watched programmes on British TV. Of course, it is a well-known fact that the only thing the average British person likes better than a nice cake is sex. Preferably, something of an unusual nature that would if undertaken by a celebrity, sports star or politician would make tabloid headlines for several weeks.

So Meringuenest’s stroke of genius in combining the two – sex and cake – meant that she had a sure-fire ratings hit on her hands. As well as several marketing deals with cake suppliers as well as local orgy arrangers and wranglers.

Meringuenest’s Cake Orgies easily outperforms all competition, such as the many TV cooking shows and ITV’s Nasturtium Knobgobbler’s Sexy Lay-By Time, in the TV ratings. What many critics believe made Meringuenest’s TV programme rise above the competition is that Meringuenest eschewed all that tedious business of actually making the cakes herself. Instead, Meringuenest buys her cakes from the nearest cake shop, or even supermarket, and then gets down to the serious business of organising the orgy.

Of course, since the sport of Inter-Village orgy matches took off several years ago; many rural villages in the UK now have their own competitive orgy teams. Most people, as a result, are now more than familiar with the tactics necessary for a good competitive village orgy, as well as a (very) friendly match against local opposition.

Some of the more famous teams in the upper Inter-village orgy leagues, of course, are more than familiar with the use of cakes, especially the tactical use of cream cakes in an orgy. However, this doesn’t mean they have nothing to learn from Meringuenest’s expertise and coaching strategies.

For example, the head orgy wranglers at some of the UK’s teams, especially those that take part in the European or world orgy cups have retained Meringuenest as a consultant. One Head Orgy Wrangler, for the Much Piddling Micturators, has admitted that if it wasn’t for Meringuenest’s invaluable advice they would not have made it through the group stages of last year’s European Cup. He was especially grateful for her  help on where to place the Dundee cake during the penalty shoot-out

But it is not the segment of her show dealing with the topflight competitive orgy teams that most people tune in for week after week. After all, Meringuenest’s advice to the newcomer to the rural, or even suburban, local orgy is the most sought-after. After all, how many of us know – for example, whether it is better to take a Victorian sponge or a simple, straightforward chocolate cake to the first orgy of the season. Or whether themed cupcake designs are all the rage (still) at some of the more traditional orgies that take place in village halls and local libraries every weekend?

Not only that, Meringuenest is also, as her work with the top-flight competitive orgy teams shows, an expert on orgy tactics. Especially those tactics for making the most of one’s orgying experience, whether one is a neophyte or an expert she will always come up with something in one of her shows. Such as the placement of a slice of Battenberg on a supply geography teacher’s inner thigh, that makes all the difference to any cake-based orgy.

It is for insight like that, and her innovative use of the fresh cream besmeared fireman, that has made Meringuenest such a household name for nearly every British orgy-goer.

 

Wild Accordion Wrestling Live!

 

Plumbline Campervan is probably best known these days as a major British sporting star. For a long time, up until very recently, the traditional sport of accordion wrestling languished without any major fan base, sponsorship, or TV coverage.

However, all that changed when a recent YouTube video of Campervan wrestling a wild accordion went viral and gathered almost 13 hits.

Desperate for a sport to cover not already snapped up by Satellite and cable channels immediately the BBC decided to act. They proposed several meetings to discuss whether they should look into the feasibility of setting up a committee. This committee would consider the possibility of putting forward a proposal to investigate whether the sports department should set up some meetings. The Sports department would use these meetings to discuss proposing a meeting with Campervan and other representatives of the sport. There they would see if there was a possibility of the budget for a programme about the sport gaining approval sometime in the next twenty years.

However, while the BBC were doing that, Sky TV secured the rights to broadcast up to two live wild accordion bouts each week in a three-hour Wild Accordion Wrestling Live Special at prime time. Of course, as anyone with even a cursory understanding of British history will know the modern strictly-controlled sport of wild accordion wrestling has a dark, murky and bloody history. Something which Campervan himself is keen to acknowledge. Consequently, Campervan himself will host a 12 part series also on Sky TV. The series will investigate the wild accordion hunt and its origins. Also, the programme will examine why the wild accordion became such a creature of fear and mistrust, especially during the Dark Ages and Middle Ages.

After all, most famously it was King Stan the Unmemorable, one of the last Plantagenet kings of England, who an accordion savaged to death while the king was out on a wild accordion hunt. There is also the legend that Robin Hood himself saved Maid Marion from a fate worse than death. This occurred when Robin fought off a wild accordion that was attacking her just on the edge of Sherwood Forest as she made her way towards the Nottingham City centre down Brian Clough Way.

It was not long after this, as the Middle Ages gave way to the Tudor period, that the indigenous English wild accordion was hunted to extinction. Although, some tamed accordions were still bred in captivity by special secret cadres of the folk musician sect for use in their secret covens ��� called gigs. There a highly-skilled folk musician would wrestle and cower an accordion into submission on stage in front of a live audience.

Many folk historians do now believe that the sport we now know as wild accordion wrestling had its roots in these secret rites of the folk musician sect. Campervan himself shares this view and claims that although not often ever admitted in public before, some of his ancestors were ��� probably ��� folk musicians. This is a fact that ��� of course ��� the family would have kept secret to avoid the shame.

Consequently, Campervan believes that it is an inherent ability he inherited from his folk music ancestry that has enabled him to become the most famous wild accordion wrestler in this country.

It remains up to everyone else to judge for themselves just how true this could be. However, what people cannot deny is that – at last ��� wild accordion wrestling is a sport that is here to stay and that Campervan is one of the leading exponents of that sport.

 

New Kindle Cover: Dance on Fire

��Above ��� the new Kindle cover for one of my earlier novels:
Dance on Fire:

I have updated the Kindle cover for one of my earlier novels: Dance on Fire

��Dance on Fire ��� available here (UK) or here (US)

Description:

What do you do when sex and drugs and rock and roll are no longer enough? At one time, Transmission were probably the most famous rock band on the planet. Now, even as they approach their twenty-fifth anniversary they are still up there, one of the top ten bands of all time. However, each of the surviving members of the band feels something, somewhere, has gone wrong, and the rock and roll dream they used to believe in so much has become an empty and hollow routine. Dance on Fire is an exploration of the relationships between the remaining original members of Transmission, and their manager, as the band enters their 25th year together. The novel charts their growing realisation that rock music no longer has any meaning for them, and they are – at best – still going through force of habit – ‘We’ve become our own tribute band.’ Dance on Fire is a novel about the shallowness of everlasting adolescence and the vacuity at the heart of the rock and roll mythology.

��Dance on Fire ��� available here (UK) or here (US)

 

Summer’s Blade

There was a blade of grass right up against his nose. Each slow, shallow breath Groll took, blew the blade of grass away and back again against his nose, tickling it.

He wanted to sneeze and knew he couldn’t.

It would be his last sneeze if he did. Groll knew that.

Now there was some bloody insect crawling up the blade of grass. Groll hoped it wasn’t the sort of insect that bit or stung. As far as he knew, this was the closest he’d been to any insect without killing it. He watched it, fascinated. All those legs, how did it know which one to move next? He watched the insect, its feelers waving around less than a finger’s breadth from his nose. Drawing closer as each of Groll’s slow breaths made the blade of grass quiver as though in the gentlest of summer breezes.

Groll had his own blades too, the sword, Stormsinger, and his killing knife. Both lay in easy reach of his hands. His fingers opened, stretched and touched the worn leather of the grips. The blades had grass covering them so that no glint from the summer sun could warn….

Groll heard them, the clink of metal, the muttering, and the scuff of marching boots on the dusty hard ground where no rain had fallen for weeks.

To the left of him, Groll heard and felt the tension.

No-one said anything. No-one sneezed, no-one farted, no-one moved. Although Groll knew, they all must want to do one or other of those things. They all knew anything at all like that and they would be dead.

They could all be dead soon anyway. But at least they would die fighting, the way men should die.

Groll felt the shudder go through him, deep down into his stomach and beyond. The ice of fear, he knew it too well. His fingers reached for the reassurance of his sword, even though he knew he’d need his dagger first.

Groll shifted his head slightly. He was under the low overhang of a bush, thick with summer foliage spreading down, almost touching the dusty path where the soldiers, the enemy, would march.

Then the enemy were there.

Groll watched the first boots pass, then a long gap, then some more. He let them all march on past him. He tried counting, but he ran out of numbers.

Groll glanced off down the path and saw the last of the soldiers, a man limping, struggling to catch up. Groll saw the man’s boot, ragged and worn, the sole falling off.

Groll tensed.

Groll reached, grabbed. He pulled and the limping soldier fell to the ground with a yelp and a grunt as the air exploded from his lungs. His last ever breath.

Groll was up and on the fallen soldier before he knew what he was doing. Scores of his comrades poured out from the undergrowth after Groll, each falling on the nearest soldier.

Groll’s blade flashed as other blades flashed too.

Groll wiped the blood from his killing knife and reached down to take his sword from the ground as his eyes searched for his next target.

It was then that Groll realised he was screaming, yelling some wordless noise.

He saw an enemy, sword raised coming for him.

Groll raised his own sword, Stormsinger, as he screamed again, charging into the fray.

 

Summer���s Blade

There was a blade of grass right up against his nose. Each slow, shallow breath Groll took, blew the blade of grass away and back again against his nose, tickling it.

He wanted to sneeze and knew he couldn���t.

It would be his last sneeze if he did. Groll knew that.

Now there was some bloody insect crawling up the blade of grass. Groll hoped it wasn���t the sort of insect that bit or stung. As far as he knew, this was the closest he���d been to any insect without killing it. He watched it, fascinated. All those legs, how did it know which one to move next? He watched the insect, its feelers waving around less than a finger���s breadth from his nose. Drawing closer as each of Groll���s slow breaths made the blade of grass quiver as though in the gentlest of summer breezes.

Groll had his own blades too, the sword, Stormsinger, and his killing knife. Both lay in easy reach of his hands. His fingers opened, stretched and touched the worn leather of the grips. The blades had grass covering them so that no glint from the summer sun could warn���.

Groll heard them, the clink of metal, the muttering, and the scuff of marching boots on the dusty hard ground where no rain had fallen for weeks.

To the left of him, Groll heard and felt the tension.

No-one said anything. No-one sneezed, no-one farted, no-one moved. Although Groll knew, they all must want to do one or other of those things. They all knew anything at all like that and they would be dead.

They could all be dead soon anyway. But at least they would die fighting, the way men should die.

Groll felt the shudder go through him, deep down into his stomach and beyond. The ice of fear, he knew it too well. His fingers reached for the reassurance of his sword, even though he knew he���d need his dagger first.

Groll shifted his head slightly. He was under the low overhang of a bush, thick with summer foliage spreading down, almost touching the dusty path where the soldiers, the enemy, would march.

Then the enemy were there.

Groll watched the first boots pass, then a long gap, then some more. He let them all march on past him. He tried counting, but he ran out of numbers.

Groll glanced off down the path and saw the last of the soldiers, a man limping, struggling to catch up. Groll saw the man���s boot, ragged and worn, the sole falling off.

Groll tensed.

Groll reached, grabbed. He pulled and the limping soldier fell to the ground with a yelp and a grunt as the air exploded from his lungs. His last ever breath.

Groll was up and on the fallen soldier before he knew what he was doing. Scores of his comrades poured out from the undergrowth after Groll, each falling on the nearest soldier.

Groll���s blade flashed as other blades flashed too.

Groll wiped the blood from his killing knife and reached down to take his sword from the ground as his eyes searched for his next target.

It was then that Groll realised he was screaming, yelling some wordless noise.

He saw an enemy, sword raised coming for him.

Groll raised his own sword, Stormsinger, as he screamed again, charging into the fray.

 

Politics and Basic Prevention Measures

Spasmodic Troutinverter is well-known in the UK as one of the country���s leading politicians. This means that most people when they see him out in the street or in any other public place immediately take their children to a place of safety and hide themselves until the all-clear sounds.

For a long time now, ordinary people have long called for stricter controls on those people diagnosed with politics. It is becoming increasingly apparent that merely quarantining them away either in local council chambers or the Houses of Parliament is no longer keeping this country as politics-free as people had hoped. Even the emergency measure of putting those with incurable cases of politics into the EU parliament has still left several hundreds, if not thousands, of otherwise healthy people walking around the streets while infected with politics.

Although, as most of us now know, politics is not as highly infectious as was once thought. No-one these days, for example, still believes that politics can be caught from a toilet seat. Folklorists believe this belief came about as it is well known that politicians talk through their arses. So, it seemed only reasonable to earlier generations to assume that was how the disease was passed on.

We now know, however, that politics can often be transmitted by unwitting exposure to politics. Such things as accidental reading a manifesto or when caught out not changing the channels quickly enough should a party political broadcast appear on our TV screens without sufficient warning are enough to transmit the virus.

Most people nowadays are sensible enough to avoid any TV or radio News programmes. A wise precaution in case they should accidently come into contact with the political virus that does, unfortunately, infect so many in the media. Luckily, these days there are many internet sites that relegate politics to its rightful place. These sites make sure they keep politics out of the news altogether. These sites often replace political news with cute pictures of cute cats doing cute things, or photos of celebrities trying to learn how to be human.

However, Troutinverter has claimed that politics is not the deadly mind-numbing and morality sapping disease that most people see it as. He claims, mostly to the derision of those who���ve seen the damage that politics causes, that politicians do useful work for society. Unfortunately, as yet, Troutinverter has yet to come up with any evidence for his outrageous claim. Consequently, without such proof no-one not already infected with politics is likely to take his claims seriously.

Political research scientists have studied the disease, in special politics-proof laboratories, for a long time. Some of these scientists claim that there must be some genetic reason, lost in the mists of history, for why normal humans and the political disease developed this symbiotic relationship. As has been said before – and empirically proven countless times ��� politics is show business for ugly people. Consequently, many political scientists believe that those infected with politics do somehow ��� very occasionally ��� have sexual intercourse with ordinary people. This despite the usual adverse reaction of people when confronted by someone obviously infected with politics. Controversially, therefore, despite the limited evidence, some political scientists do believe that politics can be passed down from generation to generation, citing many cases where politicians have passed the disease on to their own offspring.

Therefore, despite Troutinverter���s pleas for us to treat politicians as human beings, most people would rather we made sure that we stopped them from breeding altogether. At least until we are sure we have forever removed the scourge of politics from our society.

 

Something for the Weekend: Free Kindle Novel – Hanging Around Until

Hanging Around Until
Free for the next five days –
Available here (UK) or here (US)
 [Extract]

Twilight had turned to darkness outside. The Christmas decorations threw pools of coloured light into the street where litter danced in the wind. Julia shivered and cursed as the wind threw the icy drizzle into our faces. I saw a taxi turn the corner in front of us and stop at the traffic lights. Grabbing Julia by the arm, I ran. We pulled open the door and tumbled into the seat as the taxi pulled away from the lights.

Julia, thrown off balance by the sudden acceleration of the taxi, slipped partially off the seat and fell so she lay half across me as the taxi illegally u-turned sharply back up the dual carriageway. The driver grunted and swore as he tried to push his way into the stream of cars leaving the town. I reached into my pocket for my tin. Julia nudged me and pointed around the taxi. On every available flat surface, a No Smoking sticker glared back at me.

As the traffic rolled from traffic light to traffic light, I automatically inserted noises of assent into the taxi-driver’s obligatory monologue. I shook my head and put my finger to my lips when I saw Julia was about to dispute some points with him.

‘What’s the point?’ I whispered into her ear. She stared at me for a moment or two, but eventually nodded even though she did not look happy about it.

Julia shivered and snuggled closer to me. I could smell the icy rain in her hair. As the street lights lit up her face, I could see the animation in her eyes as she looked out of the taxi window at the now familiar sights of the town. She stared out as though seeing somewhere far more exotic and novel than this tired town battered by a relentless wind and too much indifferent history.

The taxi drew up at the house, and Julia reluctantly got out as I searched through my pockets for the fare. By the time I had paid – and politely listened to the last of the taxi-driver’s speech – Julia had opened the door. She stood in the hallway silhouetted by the light behind her.

I stepped into the house and shut the door. We stood for a moment at the foot of the stairs. Julia looked at the door to the kitchen, then at the door to her room. I looked up at Alison’s room at the top of the stairs. Up there James Joyce was waiting, locked in a darkened room. I thought I had better go up there and turn the light on.

‘I’ll see you in a little while, after I’ve had a shower and so on,’ Julia said. ‘Remember, I want you to dance.’

‘You may live to regret that,’ I replied.

‘No. I don’t think so,’ Julia said, smiling secretively as she turned away to her room.

Hanging Around Until
Free for the next five days –
Available here (UK) or here (US)

‘Education is hanging around until you’ve caught on’ – Robert Frost.

Set during the mid-1980s, Hanging Around Until is the story of Paul Carr, who, at the age of 28, decides to become a mature student at a North-Eastern university in the hope that an education will help give a direction to his life. On arriving at the university Paul discovers he is to share a house with five other students. Two of those housemates – Alison and Julia, each in their own way – turn Paul’s simple quest for an education into a tangle of confusion and uncertainty amid the turmoil of university life during the height of anti-Thatcherite campus activism and the birth of the new Left.

Hanging Around Until
Free for the next five days –
Available here (UK) or here (US)

Something for the Weekend: Free Kindle Novel ��� Hanging Around Until

Hanging Around Until
Free for the next five days –
Available here (UK) or here (US)
��[Extract]

Twilight had turned to darkness outside. The Christmas decorations threw pools of coloured light into the street where litter danced in the wind. Julia shivered and cursed as the wind threw the icy drizzle into our faces. I saw a taxi turn the corner in front of us and stop at the traffic lights. Grabbing Julia by the arm, I ran. We pulled open the door and tumbled into the seat as the taxi pulled away from the lights.

Julia, thrown off balance by the sudden acceleration of the taxi, slipped partially off the seat and fell so she lay half across me as the taxi illegally u-turned sharply back up the dual carriageway. The driver grunted and swore as he tried to push his way into the stream of cars leaving the town. I reached into my pocket for my tin. Julia nudged me and pointed around the taxi. On every available flat surface, a No Smoking sticker glared back at me.

As the traffic rolled from traffic light to traffic light, I automatically inserted noises of assent into the taxi-driver���s obligatory monologue. I shook my head and put my finger to my lips when I saw Julia was about to dispute some points with him.

���What’s the point?��� I whispered into her ear. She stared at me for a moment or two, but eventually nodded even though she did not look happy about it.

Julia shivered and snuggled closer to me. I could smell the icy rain in her hair. As the street lights lit up her face, I could see the animation in her eyes as she looked out of the taxi window at the now familiar sights of the town. She stared out as though seeing somewhere far more exotic and novel than this tired town battered by a relentless wind and too much indifferent history.

The taxi drew up at the house, and Julia reluctantly got out as I searched through my pockets for the fare. By the time I had paid – and politely listened to the last of the taxi-driver’s speech – Julia had opened the door. She stood in the hallway silhouetted by the light behind her.

I stepped into the house and shut the door. We stood for a moment at the foot of the stairs. Julia looked at the door to the kitchen, then at the door to her room. I looked up at Alison’s room at the top of the stairs. Up there James Joyce was waiting, locked in a darkened room. I thought I had better go up there and turn the light on.

���I’ll see you in a little while, after I’ve had a shower and so on,��� Julia said. ���Remember, I want you to dance.���

���You may live to regret that,��� I replied.

���No. I don’t think so,��� Julia said, smiling secretively as she turned away to her room.

Hanging Around Until
Free for the next five days –
Available here (UK) or here (US)

‘Education is hanging around until you’ve caught on’ – Robert Frost.

Set during the mid-1980s, Hanging Around Until is the story of Paul Carr, who, at the age of 28, decides to become a mature student at a North-Eastern university in the hope that an education will help give a direction to his life. On arriving at the university Paul discovers he is to share a house with five other students. Two of those housemates ��� Alison and Julia, each in their own way ��� turn Paul���s simple quest for an education into a tangle of confusion and uncertainty amid the turmoil of university life during the height of anti-Thatcherite campus activism and the birth of the new Left.

Hanging Around Until
Free for the next five days –
Available here (UK) or here (US)

Real Justice at Last

Recently there have been several cases where victims have received compensation for crimes that took place several decades ago, with the perpetrators of those crimes imprisoned.

However, there are still several more cases going through the courts for crimes committed in the past. Yet still more victims are coming forward too, all making claims for compensation for trauma and hurt caused years or even decades ago.

Many blame the lack of adequate compensation for injury ��� either real or imagined ��� caused by living in decades where there was little or no compensation culture. Sometimes younger people today are horrified to learn that in decades even in living memory it was possible to trip up in the street and blame no-one for one���s own clumsiness. Back in those days, though, there were no desperate law firms ever eager for customers. All willing to take on the flimsiest cases with little or no regard for common sense, natural caution or even an ability to watch where you are walking.

Back in those Dark Ages, anyone tripping, stumbling or falling into water would be the one blamed for their own stupidity, clumsiness or drunkenness. It would be them and them alone who suffered the consequences of their actions. Nowadays, however, we live in more enlightened times where it assumed that everything that happens must be someone else���s fault. Thus, compensation should be paid no matter how stupidly people behave. After all, these days, we are all so perfect that whatever happens to us must be the fault of someone other than ourselves. Therefore, it is only through someone else���s negligence, thoughtlessness or outright malice that we have walked into that lamppost left so carelessly by the side of the road for several decades.

After all, what country can call itself civilised if it forces its own citizens to watch where they are walking? While, at the same time, leaving rivers so carelessly flowing through its major cities for them to fall into? It is not just an accident waiting to happen; it is deliberate negligence, if not outright malice.

Not only that, the actions by manufacturers of consumer goods in previous decades must also be brought to account for the hurt and suffering they caused the innocent in those past decades of injustice. Take, for example, the case of Glans Vas Deferens, who through no fault of her own was sold a Slinky by a faceless, uncaring manufacturer. This despite the fact that her family lived in a bungalow. ���I will never ever get over the trauma and heartbreak that Slinky caused me,��� a tearful Vas Deferens said on the steps outside the courthouse. Speaking not long after she had been awarded ��100 million in compensation for her hurt and suffering caused by the immobile Slinky.

Not only that, Worcester City Council were, only last week, made to pay considerable damages to several people. All of whom had accidently got slightly damp when the City Council knowingly let the River Severn flow through their city. ���Such callous disregard for the dryness of the people of this country cannot go unpunished,��� the judge at the council���s trial said.

So maybe – at last – this country is getting the justice its people deserve.