Local man, and once prolific writer of absolute bollocks, crap jokes, sob stories, knob-related gubbins and generally unfunny shite, Martin Shuttlecock, today denied that he was all set for a writing comeback.
Speaking today from the tiny caravan he calls home these days, Shuttlecock told Skoob News:
"I've given up writing, and that's that. End of story.
"I haven't written anything for years now, apart from taking the piss out of Brexiteers on a certain right wing website, and I have no plans to do so at this point in time, or at any point in the future."
It's been fairly well documented during Shuttlecock's 'literary period' that the 'writer' endured a series of unfortunate events during the 'literary years,' including falling between a train and the platform whilst suffering from second degree pneumonia, nutting a lamppost whilst 'healthily refreshed' on a visit to London and ending up in A&E with a busted eyebrow and a broken thumb, and suffering a totally wrecked undercarriage, which resembled the underside of a Heinkel bomber flying low over concentrated anti-aircraft fire during the London Blitz.
"It was all too much," Shuttlecock explained, as he puffed on a roll up and swigged from a can of super strength Belgian lager, at 9am in the morning. "It was fucking killing me. It was a bit like living the rock 'n' roll lifestyle, but without the rock 'n' roll, the drugs, and the hot chicks.
"The only 'celebs' I met were Cockney gobshites, posh fuckers, irritating women and a couple of Yanks - people who were doing exactly the same shit I was doing. It was a waste of fucking time really, and that's why I'll never do it again. I'm done. Really. And that's my final say on this.
"No mas. Finito. I was never funny anyway. I was probably delusional or something."
Skoob News approached Shuttlecock's long-suffering wife, Anne, for comment, and it transpired that she'd left him three years ago, and was now living with a driving instructor from Eccles in Greater Manchester. She told us:
"I've filed for divorce. Something inside him changed when he reached the top spot in some obscure writers chart, and the daft bastard let it go to his head. He'd always been pretty unbearable, but he became a complete and utter arsehole. He spends most of his time these days getting pissed and pretending to be an otter. Useless, he is. I think he's got dementia or something - whatever it is, he isn't right in the noodle."
Truly shocking news to hear for anyone who likes jokes about two deaf guys in a pub.
More as we get it.