Jack, when it comes to prose, you possess the subtlely and good taste of a drunken Australian Brahma Bull careening obscenely around a china shop, scattering spittle, urine, and dung in its wake as it goes.

None, that is. ;-) You are an embarrassment to the entire civilized world, rather like a snot-nosed downtown urchin, a rap star wannabee who insists on spraying "cock and balls" on the walls of all the municipal buildings with a red paint spray can, thinking it is hilariously funny each time he does so. He is amused, but no one else is.

********

Could this be the end for Jake Tillington? Surely not! After 17 bestselling volumes of Jake's incredible adventures his public would not stand for the author(s) bringing an abrupt end to Jake's storied existence.

No, it was not the end for Jake Tillington.

"Rumours of my demise," he said brightly, "are as exagerrated as Cher's last touring outfit and as unlikely as Lady Gaga's next stage presentation. In short, I am undaunted and firing on all cylinders. Now, let's see...where did I put my tourist's guidebook to cataracts, inundations, and unexpected plot twists?"

(reaching into his L.L.Bean backpack) "Ah, here it is! Capital!"