The Diary—Old Hoax or New?

[Iconoclast]

I realised recently that - since Admin had closed down The Greatest Thread of All recently - I had been inadvertantly posting to a thread whose title was 'The Diary—Old Hoax or New?' and that that didn't make much sense for the world's most brilliant and famous Maybrickian (and therefore the one Ripperologist history will acclaim as having been right all along), so I resolved not to post on it in case foolhardy fellows and fellowesses thought that I was actually endorsing one possibility or the other. I'm not. It's not a hoax. Just in case anyone was in any doubt. Different thread, same theme from the Ikester.

But you have posted to it in my specific direction so I would hate to be seen as an unfriendly sort. What - I think - is required is a new pro-Maybrick thread with a really clever name that captures our dear readers' attention for fifteen years or so. But I can't think of a suitable title! Can any of my dear readers help, I wonder?

I see old Algernon Orsam has given up the ghost and formally retired from all future escapades never to be heard of again so he won't be making any (suitable) suggestions, I suspect. I will miss his Spandau Ballet-themed wit and wisdom. 'This much is fa-hake, this much is fa-hake', et cetera. Okay, I know he'll read this so I'm just winding him up. He's not retired at all. He has just resigned from everything ...

Ah, Newcastle!

Ah, Newcastle, indeed. Was back there just yesterday amongst the old back alleys and bloody rain.

I thought of you the other night, Ike. Don't be alarmed; let me explain.

You don't need to explain to me, RJ. I understand.

The political landscape on this side of the pond is so bleak among us left-of-center types that I am determined to permanently escape reality and devote the next four years to wholesome, family-oriented stories and films that will, with luck, soften my brain and lead to sentimental, addle-headed happiness while Western Civilization collapses.

Have you tried reading Orsam's articles on Maybrick? That should speed the brain-softening and addled-headedness, but probably do very little for the sentimentality aspect of your present condition. For the record, I'm hoping that Trump doesn't become the evil overlord he could be with such a powerful mandate from your neighbours (if not you), though I'm not putting any money on it. Can you imagine Trump, Xi, Jong Un, and Putin out on the piss in Times Square next Christmas? I'm not sure if there'll be room for all the tanks but at least Putin won't be able to turn Hell's Kitchen into a de facto oblast (I assume).

The first movie I came across was called 'The Rag Nymph.'

Ah, Catherine Cookson, Tyneside's finest author of mindless, utterly misogynistic claptrap. I particularly loved 'The Mallon Streak' where some posh bloke raped a young servant girl, she moved into a cave in a nearby hill to have the baby rather than be harassed as an unmarried mother by the disgusted locals, and he later 'sponsored' her life to help her with the mortgage, and I think possibly married her or something. I could be mixing-up my stories a little bit, but you get the gist of the sort of outrageous tales it was okay to tell in the 1970s or whenever. Still, the TV adaptation featured that wonderful quintessential English rose Honeysuckle Weeks so it was sort of endorsed by the unofficial 'British Establishment', I guess.

To my dismay, the opening credits alerted me to the fact that the story would take place in Newcastle in the 1850s. And what a dirty town it was.

When I left it for Edinburgh in October 1987, it was still quite grubby. You'd think someone would have got a mop and brush out?

Perhaps you are familiar with 'The Rag Nymph'; I wasn't.
Here, I thought, was a heart-warming tale of an orphan taken-in by a rag-and-bone woman. It would be mildly akin to Anne of Green Gables or Pollyanna--or your favorite, Annie.
Alas, it soon became apparent that the story dealt with child sex trafficking.

See what I mean?

By the way, my favourite song from Annie is 'Tomorrow'. Check out Sydnie [sic] Christmas' [sic] recent version on Britain's Got Talent - that girl's got some lungs on her, I can tell you. And some tonsils, I assume.

Which, by an association of thoughts, brought me back to our current political landscape on this side of the pond.

Aye, 'strange times, strange times' [thank you, Local Hero].

And then other stay thoughts started to pop up; Newcastle Brown Ale and Sandro Tonali faking an injury against Man City, and finally it led to our old friend Ike, the Maybrick guru (my knowledge of Newcastle is woefully limited).

I'm currently reading 'All With Smiling Faces', a light-hearted look at Newcastle United's formation from the old Stanley FC and then East End FC. If you want an introduction to all things Geordie, it's not a bad place to start. Except the bits where it mentions Sunderland AFC (formerly top of the English Championship but now not), obviously. I think 'Maybrick guru' sells me slightly short, but equally it was sort of a compliment too so I'm thinking about having it tattooed onto my arm. Let's hope the bugger [not a swear word in Newcastle, note], doesn't use Diamine ink, eh? [Maybrick joke for the uninitiated.]

By the way, old fruit, I have four books in front of me as I type - all by that much-lauded hoax-buster (pah!) Melvin Harris. Let no-one say that the now rather poorly-named Society's Pillar 2025 (due out in about 2030) will not be a balanced affair!

Unlike the game against Wet Spam on Monday evening (fortunately, I had screwed a hole into a gas pipe - no joke - and was therefore rather distracted from the action) ...

Ike

[rjpalmer]

I resolved not to post on it in case foolhardy fellows and fellowesses thought that I was actually endorsing one possibility or the other.

My apologies, Ike. I assumed (obviously incorrectly) that you had abandoned this thread because you could offer no coherent explanation for the strange and suspicious oily patterns on the inside cover of the photo album. I stand corrected.

I suppose Sir Jim could have taken Mary Kelly out for her final meal of fish & chips and what we are seeing is oil and vinegar. If I squint my eyes that kidney pattern mildy resemble a piece of cod. If I squint even harder, the whole diary resembles a piece of cod.

I could be mixing-up my stories a little bit, but you get the gist of the sort of outrageous tales it was okay to tell in the 1970s or whenever.

Actually, this bit of claptrap dates to 1997, but I realize that the Maybrickians tend to backdate bad art by two decades or more.

Alas, I gave up on The Rag Nymph half-way through episode 2; it became too much of a romance novel for my liking. I never heard of Catherine Cookson. Thanks for the warning. Much appreciated.

By the way, old fruit, I have four books in front of me as I type - all by that much-lauded hoax-buster (pah!) Melvin Harris. Let no-one say that the now rather poorly-named Society's Pillar 2025 (due out in about 2030) will not be a balanced affair!

Somewhere I have a magazine article Melvin wrote, knocking Our Lady of Knock; perhaps I could poke around for it to supplement your already substantial collection. If I recall, his theory involved a magic lantern, and he was afterwards condemned by the Pope.

Speaking of hoaxes, a friend of yours recently informed me that there was no analogy between the Maybrick Hoax and the Loch Ness Monster because Barrett's album physically exists. However, photographs of the Loch Ness Monster also physically exist, so I don't accept the logic. The most famous photograph was made using a toy submarine and the head of a plesiosaur fashioned out of plastic wood. It took nearly 60 years for the hoaxer to come clean, so provided your theories of authenticity are wide of the mark, we are still in the early days.

Cheers. It's turkey day here and must get my act together.