March 29

Of Whores and Journalists

After I mentioned this week that the Crimson Unicorn received a write-up in The London Gazette which had quite a salutary effect on our little business, many of you readers have been clamouring for me to post the review itself on Peep This Diary, that you may read it for yourselves. Before I do so, I will take pains to remind you that this blog is not a democracy and that your pathetic, self-serving entreaties have about as much sway with me as do the political opinions of a leprous beggar (or a woman) with the King of England. However, the write-up was really quite something to behold, and it had been my intention to post it here even before I was so rudely enjoined to do so by individuals amongst my readership. If I may extend my earlier metaphor to elaborate this point—when the wishes of the common people mirror the edicts of the King, we may be sure that we are in a nation that is well governed or—more likely—well policed. This is the article I was referring to:

The Crimson Unicorn brothel in Southwark, long regarded as one of London’s most notorious dens of sin, has reached new depths of depravity in recent months due to a change in ownership. Sean Fagan (a degenerate Irishman with no family connexions) and Jack Shepherd (a controversial local tea merchant) have brought this house of ill repute into the public eye through a series of weekly events and promotions that have evidently struck a chord with the baser instincts of many of London’s dissolute but well-funded men of leisure. 

The Unicorn’s most popular attraction, “Naughty Nurses,” is offered at a discounted rate to regular customers, and has, according to a representative of the establishment “been quite the moneymaker.” There can be little doubt that this weekly occurrence is the most vile, sinful, rotten abomination ever to defile the citizens of our once proud city. Naughty Nurses takes place on Wednesdays at the Crimson Unicorn on Southwark Street. Nurse costumes are supplied by proprietor.

September 24

Patrick, the "Hero"

Thanks to Patrick, we have found our way once more into that Godawful sensationalist rag The London Gazette. They arrived unannounced at my home last night, asking me to "confirm or deny" rumours that Patrick had returned from Indochina with the secrets of a Fountain of Youth, which preposterous suggestion I answered the only way I know how—by whistling for the dogs. And my reward for defending our country against such journalistic hackery? The following write-up, which paints me as some sort of heartless curmudgeon, and makes Patrick look like a heroic and resourceful young adventurer. It seems the only thing that you can rely on the press to print these days is the exact opposite of truth.

August 16

The London Gazette

It has been five days since the funeral for Patrick, and I am no closer to understanding the mystery of the fearful ghost that manifested itself in order to terrify the guests, and – I am quite certain, as I was keeping count – eat the last two slices of cake. Our little event even received a write-up in that dreadful rag, The London Gazette. Sean is so pleased with it that he has affixed a copy of the article to the wall of his room, and insists on reading it to anyone who is unlucky enough to find themselves in the vicinity.