And so it came to pass in the year of the Millenium, when all manner of dangerous prophecies and signs were spread about the place, that the green hills and merry cities of ancient Albion were afflicted, nay, Invaded, by a terrible WYRM of great and hideous aspect, well hung with wispy tentacles of Vaporous Vapidity and Malicious Mindlessness. As its terror and INFAMY spread throughout the land, it cast down from on high the sages of Oxford and of Birmingham. From its evil Eye burst forth tendrils of calumny and gossip which infected those of high and low estate alike, who settled squelching into the swamp called Superiority Complex, saying “Hah, hah, we’d never let our children grow up like that!“: but they did speak falseley for the BEAST fed itself upon those very same children. And the names of the BEAST were many and nefarious, but its true and secret name was Cliche.
And there went up a great wailing cry, as of a multitude of people crying “But it’s just an excuse to mock the poor! And who is this Davina McCall woman anyway?” but their howlings went unheard by the masses who had already succumbed to the dragon’s plague of Nonsense. For eight long and Tumultuous years their plight went unsuccored as the vapours of the Vapid spread this dreadful and undignified plague throughout the Continent and BEYOND! Gossip, Prurience and Mockery stalked the land leaving sticky footprints across all the newspapers.
But it did come to pass that in the dying light of the decade a new hero arose to confront the Shambling Horror of Elstree. As word of this drew nigh the dragon’s marketing department, it began to writhe and cry out in horror and disgust that its willing slaves should so reject a benign dictatorship. After all, it only wanted ten fools a year. Was that so much to ask? And so in its furious anger it did writhe about and smite the land with a spurious sex scandal or three, some blatant racism and a sacrificial mutton dressed as lamb. But this did not avail it ought, for while the outpouring of the grief of the plague-struck was vast and vaporous indeed it did not infect anyone new. And the dragon cried out in pain, saying “But it worked when we tried it last time!”. And the dragon’s marketing department replied, “Yes, but last time it was Princess Diana and this time it wasn’t. Also, you’d better settle the bill promptly, please.”
For in this time, in Albion, were heard the thundering hooves of Sir Tiny Attention-Span, and at his approach the dragon grew more desperate yet and declaimed, “Hey, look! Over there! Some tits!” But Sir Tiny was well girded in the armour of Apathy and replied, “Nonsense! Those are fake!” without looking. Then did the great WYRM roar and bluster, but its writhings afforded it no QUARTER, for Sir Tiny declaimed far and wide, “Hey, look! Over there! Sleazebag MPs and the police beating up some hippies! That’s much more interesting than a human zoo! And anyway, Question of Sport is on in half an hour.” AND THUS did the power of Apathy, Boredom and Absent-Mindedness come at last to the rescue of the peoples of Albion.
And the dragon’s ruinous death-throws passed almost un-noticed among the wide-spread clatter of the chattering classes saying “Ooo, I always knew he was a cad! Duck islands, I ask you!” and switching over to watch the World Championships on the BBC. Sir Tiny Attention-Span sailed to America where got a job in Hollywood and the victims of the dreaded plague soon found a new dragon to worship. But at least the Shambling Horror itself was no more.