- Help you?
- Did you write this?
- Jane Eyre. That was Charlotte Bronte.
- Right. Well I'd like to speak to her then please.
- Oh... I'm afraid eh... I'm afraid she's no longer with us.
- Well I can't say I'm surprised. Did she leave some kind of forwarding address? Where can I get in touch with her?
- No, no. I mean "no longer with us" in the sense of "dead".
- Dead?
- Quite dead.
- Oh. I see. When did she die exactly?
- Um ... 1855 I think I'm right in saying.
- 18:55? Oh. Let me see, that's what... five minutes to seven, isn't it?
- No. "1855" in the sense of the year "1855". Was there some problem?
- Well you'll have to do I suppose, since you sold me the thing. I want my money back.
- Do you mind me asking why?
- I'll tell you why. Because it's balls, that's why. It is complete balls.
- I'm afraid I have to disagree with you there.
- Oh are you? Well just listen to this then ... Oh yes, yeah... "I mounted into the window-seat: gathering up my feet, I sat cross-legged, like a Turk". It's just complete balls.
- Balls in what sense?
- Balls in the sense of balls. I mean what "window-seat"? This is the first page. She's never mentioned a window-seat before. And what Turk? Have you ever seen a Turk mount a window-seat? It's complete balls.
- Well I think you're supposed to imagine it.
- Ho? Oh really? All right, then, all right then how about this bit here, yes... um ... chapter thirty-eight ... "Reader, I married him." Mm? Now if that isn't balls, kindly fax me an explanation of what is. "Reader"? What reader? Or are you supposed to imagine this reader as well, are you?
- No, that's you. It's addressed to you, the reader of the book.
- OH BALLS. She couldn't know me, you just told me the stupid tart died in 1855.
- Well not you specifically, but whoever happens to read the book at the time. Jane Eyre is telling you that she married Mr Rochester.
- Jane Eyre is a made-up character! She doesn't exist.
- No but she writes the story. She is the "I" of the story.
- OH MAKE YOUR FRIGGING MIND UP. You just told me Charlotte Bronte wrote the blasted story.
- Well... yes she did ... but ...
- Well you're obviously as confused as I am. It's just balls from start to finish and now I want my money back. Give me something please to read that doesn't go on about window-seats I've never even heard of and doesn't have some dead bitch calling you "reader" all the time.
- What about this ... proving very popular.
- What is it?
- The Invalid by Myra Penworthy Fennerweave.
- Any good?
- Excellent.
- "Talbot entered the room in a feverish haste, bearing his precious cargo before him like a votive offering. Elizabeth lay back on her bed, her face pale and pinched. "Richard is that you?" she moaned". Oh it's just complete BALLS! Bally, bally, bally balls balls. Balls!
- It's not actually. That is true. Every single word of that happened.
- Oh double balls and bollocks!