Dearest Gentle Reader,
A whisper reached This Author not ten minutes past, delivered by a breathless footman who had the good sense to leave the note upon the silver tray and retreat before questions could be asked. The contents were so delicious, so varied in their scandal, that This Author very nearly upset her inkwell. But composure, as ever, prevails, and so to you, dear reader, This Author turns with Friday’s choicest morsels.
The households of this Kingdom must brace themselves, for the fires beneath their hearths shall soon cost a good deal more to keep burning. The Cornwall Oracle now forecasts that the typical annual energy bill shall leap by some £332 come July, a consequence, we are told, of the turmoil in Persia and the attendant surge in oil and gas prices. The Energy Regulator shall set its cap on the 27th of May, but until then, the figure may yet rise or fall with the whims of wholesale markets. Political pressure mounts upon Lord Starmer‘s government to offer relief, though whether such generosity shall be spread thinly across all or directed with precision at those most in need remains a matter of spirited debate. This Author notes only that the cost of keeping warm has become, itself, a rather heated affair.
And now to a gentleman who has made an art form of saying whatever is asked of him, provided the price is right. Viscount Farage, leader of the Reform Society and Member for Clacton, has been discovered to have recorded some four thousand personalised video messages through the Cameo Portrait Service, pocketing north of £80,000 in the process. Alas, among those charming little performances were clips that lent encouragement to a man convicted of violent disorder and what can only be described as warm regards directed towards a neo-Nazi gathering. The Viscount‘s people insist he acted “in good faith,” reading only what was written for him. One might observe that reading aloud without scrutiny is a curious habit for a man who aspires to govern. The account has now been “paused for security reasons,” which This Author suspects is a rather creative way of saying the curtain has been drawn before the final act.
From the shores of literary society comes a most exquisite case of selective memory. Mrs Winn, celebrated authoress of The Salt Path, has long declared that stirring memoir to be the very first book she ever set pen to paper upon. “The first thing I’ve written since leaving school,” she swore. How curious, then, that a Broadcasting Society investigation has now confirmed she previously authored a book under the alias Izzy Wyn-Thomas, published in 2012 by a company she and her husband owned, and sold as part of a raffle to win their home in the Principality. The lady collected a £10,000 debut writer’s prize for The Salt Path. “Debut,” it seems, is a word with rather flexible boundaries.
In matters of ambition that border upon the fantastical, Sir Polanski, leader of the Verdant Society, has confided to the Broadcasting Society that the notion of becoming Prime Minister is “definitely on his mind” – though only, he hastens to add, because people keep asking. His target of thirty to forty seats now feels “under ambitious,” he declares, with his true goal being to hold the balance of power in a hung Grand Assembly. This Author admires a man who can dismiss the highest office in the land whilst simultaneously leaving the door conspicuously ajar. The season of spring does make optimists of us all.
Finally, those rascals who have long made sport of slipping into football grounds without so much as a ticket shall find their fun curtailed. New laws now make it a criminal offence to enter a match in the Southern Kingdom and the Principality without proper admission, with offenders facing banning orders of up to five years and fines of £1,000. The legislation arrives just in time for Sunday’s League Cup final at Wembley, and was prompted by the shameful chaos at the 2021 Continental Championship final, when thousands stormed the gates. This Author approves. If one wishes to witness a spectacle, one ought to pay for the privilege – a principle that applies equally to the theatre, the opera, and, apparently, to Viscount Farage’s video services.
I am, as ever, your most devoted observer – Lady Whistledown.