It is with a heavy heart and an even heavier sense of duty that I feel compelled to address the latest scandal emerging from Elderberry Bottom. Whilst munching his way through the latest edition of ‘The Stage’ magazine (carelessly discarded by some local thespian), Spartacus's eye was drawn to an advertisement for the (soon to be vacant) position of the nations favourite spy. ‘Looks, courage, sophistication, intelligence and charm’ were the criteria for all applicants and ast

Hooves Down: Why Your Skin Is Begging for My Milk Listen up, hairless primates. I see you over there, scratching at your dry elbows and slathering on lotions filled with words I can’t even pronounce—and I can pronounce everything (I’m very cultured, I’ve eaten at least three dictionaries). If you want to stop looking like a wilted cabbage and start looking like the G.O.A.T. (Greatest Of All Time), it’s time to switch to natural goat milk soap. Why? Because while you’re busy s

Dear Subjects and Adoring Fans. I have recently been suffering a most undignified affliction of the ocular variety. My left eye—usually a shimmering orb of wisdom and judgmental precision—has been weeping like a pitiful (ex) Prince who has lost all his wealth, titles and credibility. For weeks, Poo Girl had been summoning a creature she calls ‘The Vet’ to ‘assist’ in relieving my discomfort. This young lady would poke about, dispense advice and unpleasant potions (whilst I a

Greetings, my loyal Subjects and assorted Peasantry, ’Tis I, HRG Myrtle , Queen of Elderberry Bottom, Duchess of Smithincott, and the only reason this entire establishment hasn’t crumbled into the mud. I trust you all had a splendid Christmas? I assume your servants brought you platters of ambrosia and adorned your horns with diamonds? Well, bully for you. My own festive experience was, frankly, a diplomatic incident waiting to happen. I am practically writing a letter to Un