And just like that his world turns upside down and goes inside out. Those slight provocative paranoid perturbations in the periphery become full on inescapable attacking realities which require instinctual reflect to evade lest this be the end of it all for him.

Having been winded by the fifth dimensional tesseract blow of Madeleine L'Engle's further attempts to beat science fiction and fantasy into an accessible question of existence for innocent minds to query he is left asking "Which who whatsit?".

And so once again we have a wolf in sheep's clothing, a man purporting to be a feminist looking out for his sisters, someone open to the idea of practising polygamy while suggesting that his competition in that arena are somehow all inferior feeble-minded irradiated genetic disasters and mistakes to take a chance with, looking for people to find ei incumbit probatio qui dicit, non qui negat, or at the very least a redemption path, when such thoughts were as far from his mind when it was others, some whom he knew well, who were accused of such things.

Another grandiose peacock who forgot that his tailfeathers shed and their markers tie them directly to him. Easy to spot for those with an eye for such things, but for those new to the game a surprising truth which they've known all along in the darkest recesses of their soul.

Who had "Male feminist who authored a book about a teenage girl who becomes homeless in London because she dropped her reality and has to hang around with egotistical fantasy paraphilics in an effort to save the world" on their bingo card?

How true any of this or is not, it was always going to be in play as it always has been and always will be. The game is now who is next and will anyone question who is doing the hunting?