I hope you will all forgive my immodesty, she writes, but I thought it was time I laid to rest the spiteful canard that I am nothing more than a fragment of that Mrs Scrote's fevered imagination. This photograph, taken of me some years ago when I wasn't really ready for it, should dispel any doubts about my authorentoricity. I cannot leave this moment without expressing my disgust, as a vegetarian, at Mrs Scrote's dreadful indulgence in what appears to be the hindpart of a cow. I wonder how she would feel if someone hacked a slice off her bum and ate it. Very cut up, I shouldn't wonder.
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