Now, as it happened, there was great interest in the Case of the Returned Time-Travellers: they were fêted wherever they went and Scientists, Historians, and Littérateurs were popping up everywhere in the Media and especially on Day-Time TV to discuss them and their exploits in Milan in 1496 – and indeed they all appeared en-mass in a special edition of Question Time to give their views on Topics of the Day! oh, there was great gnashing of teeth in the 'Bouncer' Ball camp at the sight of her sworn enemy (and legitimate Leader of the Unionist Party in Holyrood) Roxy Davidova MSP dismissing as a mendacious Conspiracy against her cousin, Leader of the Nationalist Party and First Minister of Scotland, Ginger Goldfish MSP, in the salacious and prurient interest in certain parts of the Media with their slurs and Fake News about the Private Lives of Prominent Persons; and there was also the justifiable praise being lavished on Peter Boo WS and Solicitor of Edinburgh for his valiant conduct in ridding Milan of the vicious murderers Ptarmigan MacFarlane and Damien Doubleday who – historians were able to disclose – had fled Scotland just a year earlier after a catalogue of murders and tortures which had made Edinburgh the Murder Capital of the World at that time, until they were unmasked by a mysterious stranger who went under the name of Tam Cobley and who, for his pains, had been knifed to death by MacFarlane and thrown from the parapets of Edinburgh Castle by Doubleday, in full view of 325 witnesses, and whose body had never been found despite extensive searches at the foot of the Castle Rock! and now here he was, with his first name anglicised and the very embodiment of the ancient painting which still hangs in the Castle in tribute to his bravery and silent accusation of his murderers! and there were the two famous actors too – Peter Lorre and Lesley Howard, alive as you and me, and the paparazzi surrounded them snapping away with light-bulbs popping all around, while agents from Hello! and other Yah Boo Sucks to You rags and The People's Friend vied for their tales, their derring-do and their mysterious shadows! and historians of Nazi Germany and WWII flocked around Geli Raubal and Unity Mitford, desperate for first hand accounts of life in the Third Reich! and modern Artists flocked to meet Laszlo Licinic, the Dadaist Martyr of the Cabaret Voltaire Bombing and Shooting – Questions. Questions, Questions! and Shelley threw a crumpled newspaper at the television as Gandolfo knelt to massage her feet: "where's that fucking whore?" she asked, rhetorically, "they promised me, the bastards!" which was when a photograph of the Young Pretenderess appeared to fill the screen and the newsreader's voice filled the room: "it has now been confirmed that the purported 12-year-old daughter of the Present and Former First Ministers of Scotland is in fact Lilly Bannion, a 27 year-old Belfast-born prostitute who specialises in playing the role of school-girls for customers at a Brothel in Edinburgh's New Town," and this news, not unsurprisingly, drove Shelley into a right funk – she began to beat Gandolfo about the head with a tea-tray, while screaming at the television as if it were to blame: "cunts wankers fucking bastards they should have let me see her I would have been able to tell how auld she wiz and that she wiz Bog-Irish the stupid fucking rat-faced cock-suckin twaddlers," she berated her cousins who were not even present, but rather were already distancing themselves from the débâcle and blaming it on the forgers, nuns, DNA Clinics, hoodlums and Mormons who, to their minds, were treacherous shit-mongers, indulging in a piece of forgettery which enabled them to pretend to themselves that it wasn't their-very-selves who had come up with the wheeze in the first place and had merely bribed their confederates to provide the false evidence; but poor Gandolfo got the worst of it: Shelley had come to the conclusion – not, perhaps, correct, but to her fevered mind, it explained everything: "men!" she screamed at Gandolfo, "are nothing but upside-down people, their mouths have become shit-holes and their brains are in their baw-sacks," whenever in a fury she became rather gallus in her speech, "their hooters have become dicks, their heids are swollen cocks an nuthin but slobbers cum oot their gobs, when am Furst Minister, am goanie pass a law that they'se got tae walk aboot on their hauns and use their taes as fingers, keep their heids zipped up inside their breeks and their cock-a-doodle-doos hingin adoral ower their arses that they'se gotta speak oot o! huv ye got that, Squeak? type it oot an send it tae The Weekly News – Furst Cless, mind ah'll want tae see it in the pepper the morn or you're Sliced Breid! – Gottit, Pip-Squeak?" – her dismissive pet-name for the putative father of her 15 sturdy sons (and the girl, we mustn't forget the girl, though Shelley often does) despite none of them bearing much resemblance to him, most inheriting their features from their mother's strong jaw, proud nose, flaring nostrils, firm brows, sharp cheek-bones. broad foreheads, sticky-out ears (sticky-out ears? does she have sticky-out ears? or are they not perhaps the one feature inherited from Gandolfo?) pugnacious chins, and thick, flaxen hair! oh, and well-developed bosoms to boot!