Jeffman
Jeff Mann knows not which way the wind blows, nor the cut of his jib. He is sometimes known to go to the foot of our stairs. Jeff Mann is an effervescent elephant of an enigma who was found wandering the southernmost shore of Tierra Del Fuego in search of a vending machine that stocked Ginsters’ pasties. This followed what has since entered into popular folklore as the ‘June the 8th incident’ when Jeff smoked the greater part of a King Edward potato before gorging on Agaricus bisporus, commonly known as the button mushroom.
Rediscovered, Jeff Mann returned to civilisation enlightened and free of the burden of responsibility that had plagued his formative years. His pledge to open the eyes of those who should know better fell on deaf ears, so instead he ran for Parliament on a ‘proscribe the internet’ ticket. The embarrassment of finishing last behind such luminaries as Thackery Von PigTickler of the Conservative Party, and Barry Jenkins of the Monster Raving Loonies, deterred Jeffman from further pursuing a career in politics and instead pushed him in the direction of confronting head-on what had become the bane of his more than substantial ire. That which he’d unsuccessfully tried to repeal; the heart of el Diablo itself: the internet.
This followed a passing remark by conspiracy theorist and well-known political agitator, Billy Dainty, who is reported to have said, “Well if you can’t beat ‘em, you may as well join ‘em.”
And so Jeff Mann, or jeffman, dependant on which way the wind does blow, carries on his crusade via the world wide web. This is his misguided attempt at righting the wrong that has been served upon the world. The evil that is progression and change.
Jeffman is keen to climb aboard that second-hand, clapped-out handcart with the dodgy wheel; the one that’s veering us all towards the gape of hell. But not before he’s made it clear that no matter how many E-numbers you throw into the recipe; no matter how much you try and sweeten the blow; life is Not What It Used To Be.
Lord Thackery Fotheringay-Fanshawe
Lord Thackery Fotheringay-Fanshawe lived the life of Riley right up until his thirtieth birthday, when without prior consultation his father married an Ox named Brenda and promptly booted his son out on his idle arse.
A meagre severance payment was quickly squandered on furious roistering; fast men; slow women; cut-price rent boys; and a spiralling addiction for Sylvanian Families; leaving his lordship with neither a pot to pass water in, nor a stove to boil it up on.
He now resides in a 1-berth caravan rented from a Romany Gypsy named Roland Browning, sat on a lay-by just off the A361. He makes ends meet where possible by selling flowers liberated from the nearby cemetery; banjaxing unsuspecting travellers; and the occasional spot of whittling.
True to his exemplary breeding, his lordship maintains a regal air in his day to day dealings; always finding time in his busy schedule to tip his Topper to the fairer sex, kick a passing prole, and indulge in the gentlemanly pursuit of buggery.
Lord Thackery Fotheringay- Fanshawe drives a three-wheeled Cushman Truckster.
Jeffman on 
