It was always inevitable. You appoint Doctor Evil and it is only a matter of time before you will have a stable of evil bastards, all spitting fury. Diop and Faye were the outriders, crude mechanicals paving the way for the arrival of the sperm, or phlegm, of Satan.
And so it comes to pass that a shadow has fallen across Chadwell Heath. The gates of Hell have creaked open and a fiend has slipped out, its throat clogged with bile and its forked tail poking unapologetically out of its arse.
Strange lamentations are heard in the air and a falcon, towering in her pride of place, is, by a mousing owl hawk'd at and kill'd. By the clock tis day, and yet dark night strangles the travelling lamp. Is it night's predominance or the day's shame, that darkness does the face of earth entomb, when living light should kiss it?
The creature opens its dull yellow eye and approaches Allardyce, muttering the words, "You are my father!"
Watch out, there's a spitting Diouf about!