I: A Visit By Antoon Longbeard III
Quidditas Independent School For Boys and Girls
It is with great pleasure that we send out this end of year report to you, dear parents, marking as it does our first year as Head Lady Master of the school.
Following a most generous donation by a Middle Eastern gentleman – an alumnus of the school – who wishes to remain anonymous, we are pleased to announce that the Lower Sixth desert expedition to Gilf Kebir in search of the rock of Afsana will go ahead as planned as will the refurbishment of Quants Hall including the Shooting Range where new safety measures will be introduced following that unfortunate incident last term involving a year ten boarder and a senior member of the Sapphic Club and which club, despite a petition from members of the rival Devil’s Advocate Guild, has not been closed down. The club will mark its centenary in the forthcoming Michaelmas term by staging a musical production of Miss Settles play Beautiful Girls, Towards You My Thoughts Will Never Change.
In more good news, Miss Settle will be continuing with her self-defence classes following the decision by the local Constabulary not to proceed with the charge against her of assault following her intervention in a fight between her girls and some interloping male townies at the local hostelry.
Toward the end of Trinity Term our former Headmaster, Antoon Longbeard III, paid us a visit intending to give a shortened version of his annual three-hour lecture to the Upper Sixth, Soliloquy On Aeonics With Reference To Acausal Time And The Arabic Alchemy Of Al-Andalus in preparation for which we scheduled an exeat weekend resulting in attendance being limited to the few pupils who could not get away in time, plus Janitor Plunge and Head Groundsman Miss Tree. Antoon Longbeard III, always a stickler for upholding the sterling tradition of former Headmasters, was afterwards spotted asleep leaning against Big Oak, on the boundary of the First Eleven cricket pitch, clutching an empty bottle of a 12 year old single malt. Later that evening Miss Tree discovered him wandering aimlessly around the pond in Much Startling village having singed his beard and Tweed jacket after overfilling his prized briar pipe. We wish him well in his retirement.
Finally, we are sad to report that former Head Boy, Sefton Dolittle, while pursuing his childhood ambition to own the Star of Southern Rhodesia diamond, was apprehended in the vaults of a well-known London jeweller and has now begun a seven year holiday at Her Majesty’s pleasure.
We remain yours truly,
Head Lady Master
II: Is David Myatt Really A Satanist?
Special Report, by Miss Pointy Ears
Does David Myatt, confirmed poet and translator of ancient Greek literature, actually believe the appalling heresy that eating home-cured honey roast Ham from outdoor reared pigs is good for you? In the face of mounting evidence, can David Myatt the self confessed mystic continue to maintain that he is not in fact the swinging vegetarian we have long assumed him to be?
These questions have become all the more pressing after recent revelations linking the mysterious Anton Long virus to several outbreaks of diarrhoea and vomiting that have afflicted readers of a certain anti-fascist blog.
A Doctor at the world famous Institute for Mysterious Internet Diseases – who spoke on condition of anonymity because he was not licensed to speak – said, “It seems that the badly photoshopped picture of Myatt on the blog is to blame. I have been warning about the medical dangers of such digital trickery for years…”
We – I, Miss PointyEars of the PointyHat, and my sound recordist, Rumpled Hairpin of The NaughtyNice – tracked down one notorious MOAC [Myatt Obsessed Anonymous Coward] blogger to his secret hideout in Barking, where – hunkered down in his underground bunker surrounded by his precious collection of Barry Manilow vinyl records – he said, waving a beer stained piece of paper,
“F’tang f’tang o-lay olay biscuit-barrel… That’s one of theirs, of his, evil chants. He, Myatt the satanist, must be exposed, stopped, before he opens the Gates of Hell and lets loose The Dark Nameless Lord upon the Earth. He is a Fiend! The worst of the worst.”
“But what proof have you for your accusations about Myatt?” we asked.
“Proof? I have all these links to my own blogs!” he shouted. “Plus, I have dozens of links to other blogs and articles where people like me take the piss out of Myatt and make accusations!”
We were about to interject when he shouted, “I have other proof! Just look at those two articles by academics. There’s your proof!”
“The Fallacy of the Appeal to Authority, surely,” I said.
“Look,” and he glowered at us closely, “you’re Myatt in disguise aren’t you?”
“Disguised as a woman? With rather gorgeous mammary glands, if I say so myself,” and showed him.
“You don’t fool me! You’re all Myatt,” he ranted. “All Myatt. Shapeshifters, that’s what you are; aliens, lizards, from Outer Space. I’m a paid up member of the David Icke Fan Club, you know. I post on his forum.”
And off he went to his computer to tap away at the keyboard, mumbling to himself that Myatt was, must be, a sad lonely old man, and we just had to laugh because we knew the truth.