Epilogue:
Tidying up

Rowling’s thralls who did not quickly realise their mistake and resume academic work were routed out and made to attend career training courses. Mr Lime made a living performing street art: standing still all day in make-up to resemble a statue. He became known far and wide as Simple Simon, and rhymes were invented for him although, as far as is known, the meeting with a pie-man is fictional. As for what was left of Rowling, he was taken away, treated for some years in a clinic for the woefully inadequate, and spent the rest of his working life in happy obese obscurity, painting white lines along the middle of roads. Fifteen years later, a few days before he was due to retire, he was knocked down and killed by a journalist rushing to photograph the last breath of a minor celebrity still trapped in the tangled remains of his profligacy. Neither the photographer, not the medical team nor the local newspaper were aware that this latest victim of others ambition once had evil plans for the total and ruthless domination of a mediocre provincial university. At their next formal meeting, the Brethren, who had ways of keeping an eye, or two when they could spare them, on ex-members, had one of their number, a Mr Roland Weasel make the long trek to the Great Record Office in Minas Mawddwy to make the necessary amendments to Rowling’s file. As he re-entered The Green Dragon, all eyes turned towards him. “Well, I’m back.” he said.



© nesthole.com 2009. An animal was hurt or subjected to undue levels of stress in the making of this drivel. Any resemblance to people, real or imaginary, or to authors, is pure fiction and will be denied rigorously. Such a flight of fancy is sheer coincidence, honest. The author has asserted his right to absolutely everything, including freedom to urinate on his own compost heap, no matter what the neighbours think.