"For the Love of God, Ms Wotherspoon, we struggle to believe that our readers could possibly be interested in learning of the dangers posed by Gary Lineker’s repeated appearances in Walker’s crisps adverts. Please stop inundating us with your batshit theories.”
The words still sting. Of all the rejection letters I have received in my lifetime there can be no doubt this was the most personal. For years I tossed and turned, questioning my very sanity. Could it really be true that the public did not want to know of the dangers posed by Gary Lineker’s appearances in Walkers crisps adverts? Was it really correct that they were not interested in hearing the grave warnings I had to give them? Or, alternatively, was it merely a case of the press not wanting them to know? Needless to say, this puzzle was not a difficult one to solve.
It is testament to the extent of the media conspiracy that after years of futile attempts the only publication that has agreed to let me preach my word is this sorry excuse for a magazine. With such a hopeless collection of colleagues it is difficult to see how this will possibly garner the mainstream attention I so desperately crave, nevertheless it is at least a start.
The irony is that after years of accruing such vast quantities of unpublished material, on sitting down to write my maiden column I became unsure exactly how to begin. I have so many secrets to divulge, so many evils to expose, that selecting a starting point became a desperate quandary in itself. But like a flash it hit me. What better place to start than by exposing the Anti-Christ himself: Phillip Schofield.
It is my understanding that such an exposure is likely to initially cause a certain degree of shock amongst my readers. Indeed when I carried out a survey to determine who the public regarded as the Anti-Christ, I was alarmed at how infrequently Schofield’s name was brought up - rather puzzlingly it was Theresa May who served as the most common answer. Of course it is quite clear that such a suggestion is ludicrous – May is far too blatantly an evil being, and it stands to reason that the real Anti-Christ must possess far greater cunning.
And Schofield is certainly adept in the art of disguise. Indeed, even within the cosy realms of early morning television, he does not appear the most conspicuous figure. That award is surely reserved for the burly hunk of Irish stew that is Eamonn Holmes -and indeed the Ulster meatloaf is himself a member of the Gammon Group, a secret society of C-list celebrities whom I will devote a column to at some point in the future.
However the activities of the Belfast beef steak Holmes are indisputably small-fry when compared to the deeds carried out by the ghastly Schofield on a daily basis. Word limits and stringent censorship laws prevent me from writing all I would like to about the red-horned, silver-haired beast at this time, but rest assured that I will explore his actions in far greater detail in my next column. Until then, let this be known: Wherever Schofield appears, lies great danger. Frankly I am unsure how Fern Britton has made it this far.