God may indeed save the sheep, but He will not save that filthy swine, Buggeroll. Not this time. The kilted, preening prince of doggerel, animal-husbandry, and quasi-romantic drivel is about to meet his end as a celebrity in this town.

And I expect that we will shortly be assailed by an invasion of French tarts and impressionable and very stupid women from God knows where, wailing and carrying on as he is sentenced to a lengthy stay in the Tower of London or some such appropriate hellhole reserved for those accursed scum who are utterly beyond redemption. Ha! I laugh! Drinks all around, I say! Tally ho! The old fox has been taken, ladies and gentlemen.