Twilight toothsome twosome Robert Pattinson and Kristen Stewart have had to throw a couple of fans out of their bedroom at the hotel where they have been staying, in a bedroom of the hotel where they have been staying, in a bedroom.
The hotel - The Ersatz Vampyre - is situated in Ajaccio, Corsica, where the preternatural pair have been filming the bedroom scenes for Twilight: Breaking Dawn, the latest fangtastic fillum in the franchise.
Ajaccio is the birthplace of Napoleon I, and, true to form, Robert and Kristen haven't a clue who Napoleon I is, or was.
"What's with the guy in the tights and buckle shoes like some kind of like British Redcoat dude, only in blue?" was Kristen's reaction to the full-length portrait of Napoleon I in the lobby of the hotel where they have been staying in a bedroom of the hotel where they have been staying.
"Say, is that Henry Wordsworth, or those kind of 18th century Elizabethan pirate guys, like Robert Crusoe Silverdrake, you know, that went bowling during the Fire of England? Cool!" was Robert's reaction to the statue of Napoleon I in the bedroom of the hotel where they have been staying in a bedroom of the hotel where they have been staying in a bedroom of the hotel where they have been staying.
("So why", asks my gentle reader, "given that we have already established that Napoleon I is far from germane to our tale, - why has so much space been devoted to the said former Emperor of La Belle France?" Dearest reader, I reply - for I reply to every query - how else are we to pad out this tripe?)
When it comes to Corsica (they tell me it will come next year), Napoleon I does tend to obtrude. He was always an obtrusive boy.
"We used to call little Napoleon 'a megalomaniac little bastard' when he was at L'Ecole Primaire here in Ajaccio", said former Rue Retraite de Moscou Sans Tapir neighbour Mrs Hag.
"Ooh, he was obtrusive, even then. He used to obtrude into everything. He once obtruded into the vicar's tricorn hat, when the poor vicar was being entertained by Mrs Merde. I said at the time, 'that boy will obtrude until it gets him into deep water.' And when he got that pet tapir shipped in by his eccentric Uncle Norman who was breeding capybara in South America, well, it was as if he was set on a course for life. There was little Napoleon, obtruding into things, and that awful tapir, tagging along behind, sticking its bent nose in everywhere. They terrified the poor Bishop. The last thing a man of the cloth expects to see when he lowers his vestments in the privy is a tapir snuffling about, or whatever they do with those wonky snouts."
But let us have no more of the obtrusive Napoleon I, or his boyhood companion the tapir. It is Robert Pattinson and Kristen Stewart with which we have to deal here, unfortunately. Never mind, the ordeal is nearly over.
So what happened, with Robert Pattinson, was this. Robert had to throw two fans out of their bedroom.
The amazing twist - which you must admit you could never have guessed - is this:
It was not the bedroom of the hotel where they have been staying in a bedroom of the hotel where they have been staying.
No. It was the mock bedroom where they have been filming their bedroom scenes for the Twilight fillum.
So, what it was, was, that one day, Robert was lying in the bed, before the filluming was due to start, smoking Park Drive untipped cigarettes and sipping from a chipped half pint mug of Mackeson and reading in the Readers Digest an article about the fertility rites of the Giant Ngunungunungu Pygmies of Southern Lotsopotso Land who worship Nicholas Parsons and whose Justominto Shamen enact the ritual game of Justominto every Friday night in honour of their suave deity as the red desert rings to the ecstatic shrieks of "hesitation!", "repetition!" and "deviation!" from their crazed acolytes.
His lithe lycanthropic lover Kristen was sat in her quilted bed jacket putting her curlers in and smoking a Players No. 6 at the Not Tonight Josephine Table de Dressing.
Kristen turned to glance sexily at her supine beau. "You know what, Bob?" she asked, for Bob is her pet name for her beau.
"What, Kitty my sweet?" asked Robert, for Kitty is his pet name for his blood-sucking belle.
"It's really cooled in here, Bob. We sure don't need those fans now. Plus they're in my way. How can I get into bed when they're there."
Robert acted quickly. He threw the two desk fans off of the mock-nuptial bed, and away, past the fillum crew and out of the mock-door, missing the Corsican Best Boy (a somewhat obtrusive tapir-obsessed youth who is a distant descendant of Napoleon I) by inches.
"There. They're not there now", quoth the hero.
And that is how "Bob" saved the day, or rather the mock-night, for "Kitty", the vampyre in curlers and a quilted bed-jacket not to mention the Players No. 6.
It is, or was, it really is, or really was. Really. In this narrative. We can't speak for what's beyond this narrative. That goes without saying. Well, I had to say it, so it doesn't go without saying, but that's life.