Having taken in a ginger-haired streetwalker by the name of Rebekah Brooks, I was surprised to discover she was still in the wage of her former paymaster, Rupert Murdoch. After I watched her walk into an alleyway where there was a peculiar interchange with a chameleon-like man, I had my barnacled chum Lumpy Pete follow her, and he did so all the way to the icy wastes of non-London. It was here that he observed her meet with Murdoch, after which she transformed into a gigantic orb-weaver spider and had sexual congress with a poplar-hawk moth, which had itself once been Nick Clegg.
I met with two of my fellow Devotees of Rakuu, who explained that the purpose of the inter-arthropod intercourse was for the spider to birth a giant centipede with which Murdoch could bring the civilised world to its knees. My spirit wife came to me a few nights ago, and during the first act of love we have experienced together since her death, she passed psychic images to me, revealing that the centipede (which appeared to be of the genus Lithobius forficatus) has already begun its inexorable journey towards London, to wreak certain destruction.
As you can see, dear readers, I am in a pretty pickle. I endeavour to save the world from this creature - but to do so, I must harness of all my powers of deduction, all of my years of anthropological learning, and of course my numerous experiences of slaughtering things that are different to me.
Lumpy Pete has arranged for me to meet a fellow scientist, an expert in matters of myriapoda - something of which I have only a cursory knowledge. Let us pray that the meeting will be useful.
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