Picture the scene: Working overtime, the janitors have set up the wide screens in the Clemons Auditorium of The Mighty Corrente Building, and, faces raised to read the gigantic lips, rows of skilled transcriptionists are feverishly typing the words of the gasbags, in real time. A cry goes up—“Copy person!”—and the latest pages are whisked, by uniformed messengers, to Room 42, where haruspicationists, faces white with strain, square their shoulders and begin the laborious task of decrypting Tweetie’s latest utterances… And those of his guests… A nation waits…

More to come shortly from Leah, Xan, Shystee, Lambert…