I am ordinarily a placid old gentleman, emotionally unruffled by the strongest storms of life; but you find me today quaking with rage at the unspeakable tabloid calumnies which this morning attempt to link my name with the police enquiries known as 'Operation Yewtree', as if I were an object of those enquires, when in all truth I am the pre-eminent facilitator of them. The seeds of the outrage were planted some weeks ago, when the head of Yewtree, Commander Spindler, rather naively allowed himself to be trailed to my spartan Mayfair apartments by representatives of the gutter press. The consequences were inevitable.
My life has been one not without a certain degree of controversy. I am frank by nature- some might say outspoken- and it has been my duty at times to make public observations to prevent mis-understandings in my areas of especial expertise, such as business, the arts, pharmacology, linguistics, computer science, literary theory, economics, education, capital finance, architecture, medicine, archaeology, plate tectonics, string theory, quantum gravitation, law, genetic engineering, ethics, cybernetics, neurology, global warming, politics, semiotics, and so on, and so on, and so on. As a result, I am not a stranger to the courts in which cases of libel are heard and, in my cases, won; and many are the Fleet Street editors with old scores to settle. Through bitter experience these hacks have developed a cautious guile, and their attacks upon me have become more subtle and nuanced. This morning's case is classic. I am described in front-page articles as 'helping the police with their enquiries', an exact literal truth camouflaged beyond recognition by resentful insinuation.
I may say that Commander Spindler's visit was to learn of the exemplary system of checks and balances that I designed and implemented to safeguard the innocence of the young ladies that are schooled at my Academy of Lap-dancing, which has been operating without incident for almost 15 years in a renaissance mansion in Tuscany.