Written by Erskin Quint
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Monday, 18 June 2012

image for Pixie Lott Pixellated
What is that shock of silver as the moon casts its milky half-light: Cottleston Woods, yesterday.

The world of Brit music was reeling this morning after what happened last night when top pop paparazzi gathered to snap petite starlet Pixie Lott as she emerged from London's Smithfield Meat Market on the arm of her beau, trainee cheesemaker Oliver Wensleydale, writes Tripe News International Pop Editor, Briony Spasm.

All-round elfin artiste and sexsational sylph siren Pixie has wowed the pop world with her willowy winsomeness for three years now. Waiflike wonderkid Pixie has adorned the fashion and music pages with her delicate coltish charms. She's skittishly tossed her foalish mane as she's trotted the stages and red carpets. This girl's been a glam gamine gazelle, her lithe loveliness ensuring that she's every teen fan's fey fairy princess of pouting pop perkiness and frolicsome fash fabulousness.

But last night, outside London's chic Billingsgate Fish Market, the waiting photographic phalanx were stunned into slack-jawed silence and camera-kaput paralysis when Pixie and Oliver Cheddar came out from amongst the crates of cod, live eels and razor clams.

It wasn't picture-perfect Pixie's outfit that threw a spanner in the journalistic works. No, all was as it should have been there. Arm in arm with apprentice cheesewright Oliver - who sported a blood-red lipstick kiss on his cheek - our adorably dryadic doyenne was dolled up in good-enough-to-eat toothsome girlishness fit to out-cute even her own cute-as-buttons cutest.

In a long black and white striped Breton smock and knotted spotted fishwife's headscarf, she was every sensitive lobsterman's dream. The piece de resistance, a brown eelskin fishgutting bag, made her utterly hot-to-trot and a top trawlerman's treasure.

Oliver Stilton, Pixie's dashing dairyman date, had a real Breton Tess of the D'Urbervilles vibe going on in a genuine Normandy Cheesewright's Gilet, with faded camembert soilings, and miniature Pont l'Evêque dribbles on the epaulettes.

All seemed pretty as the pert-fect Pixie picture could be. Till they saw Pixie's face. For Pixie was all pixellated! All that much-loved lissome loveliness was marred by bars and stripes and blurry blobs! Pixie's mush was mush!

As the fans' screams rang out, as the paps went pop, Oliver shoved Pixie's fishgutting bag over her scrambled features, and the benighted pair dived into a waiting fishmonger's van, and so made their escape.

Overnight, the dreadfulness spread, like a pictorial plague, like a broadcasting blight.

By the early hours, online Pixie fans were soon reporting that images of their homespun hottie on her own 'Pixie-Wixie' webpages were also pixellated beyond recognition.

And by dawn, it was obvious that something big had happened.

Sherlock Holmes author and famous fairy and pixie expert Sir Arthur Conan Doyle had been out on a midnight fairy hunt in the woods near his home in Cottleston, Derbyshire. There he had taken some extraordinary moonlight photographs on his original Box Brownie camera. These photographs have really put the Cottleston cat amongst the already-fluttering Pixie pigeons.

For Sir Arthur, hearing about Pixie's pixellated plight, immediately realised the importance of his snaps. He put pen to paper and dashed off a telegram to the 'Pixie-Wixie' website headquarters, where Pixie's desperate fanclub helpers were spending an anxious night waiting for news.

Soon Sir Arthur had sped to London on the Express Milk Train, the 'Pixie-Wixie' staff had seen his five photographs, and they all appeared on the ITV Daybreak sofa to announce the breaking story to the nation, directly after an interview with Linda Chamberpotts, the Australian woman who claims that she gave birth to a kangaroo in 1978.

And now we've all seen the photographs, and we must make up our minds. Is that a tiny Pixie Lott, dancing in the moonlight deep in the glades of Cottleston Woods? Is Pixie Lott a real woodland pixie, clothed in nothing but translucent gossamer? What is that shock of silver, down among the beech roots, as the moon casts its milky half-light in the places where few men ever roam?

At the end of the interview, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle read a beautiful, stately poem by Winnie The Pooh author A A Milne, which really caught the mood of a truly amazing morning:

Cottleston Pie

Cottleston Cottleston Cottleston Pie,
A fly can't bird, but a bird can fly.
Ask me a riddle and I reply
Cottleston Cottleston Cottleston Pie.

Cottleston Cottleston Cottleston Pie,
Why does a chicken? I don't know why.
Ask me a riddle and I reply
Cottleston Cottleston Cottleston Pie.

Cottleston Cottleston Cottleston Pie,
A fish can't whistle and neither can I.
Ask me a riddle and I reply
Cottleston Cottleston Cottleston Pie.

Coming Soon From Tripe News International:

Is Will.i.am The New James Corden?

His heroics carrying the Olympic torch have sparked rumours that the omnipresent rapper is set to usurp irritating media fixture James Corden. His key role organising the recent Jubilee Flotilla, and his call-up to Roy Hodgson's England Euro 2012 squad, will have done little to scotch these speculations. James who? Patrick Stewart watch out!

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The story above is a satire or parody. It is entirely fictitious.

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