In a development that has shocked Fleet Street, it transpired today that the world has run out of news. Pensioners were seen roaming the street, befuddled at the lack of stimulus from their cathode ray sets, and commuters on the Tube were heard to wonder, “don’t we have some kind of bat-signal that summons Amy Winehouse?” Guardian Editor Alan Rusbridger, interviewed by the Daily Telegraph in a vain hope of a newsworthy utterance, responded:
I don’t know; aren’t the government trying to ban anything at the moment? That’s usually good. Has someone given Max Clifford a ring?
Never wanting to be seen to let The Public down, the BBC gamely tried to wish news into existence, but its efforts only highlighted the global shortage:
Rupert Murdoch is believed to have secretly assembled a crack team of news-creating professionals, working in secrecy to concoct a global pretext for newpaper vending, but the effort was abandoned when it was pointed out that this was the plot of the awful James Bond outing Tomorrow Never Dies.
Indeed, all fresh newsmaking efforts have thus far been in vain, and the assembled members of the press are currently reduced to asking each other for comments in between running repeats of past glories. In one particularly upsetting incident, a confused Michael Buerk had to be turned away from a central London drinking establishment after he stormed the bar and demanded to know where the Ethiopian infants were being kept. He was last seen heading north on Charing Cross road, berating pedestrians with an unplugged lip mike and a heavily-gnawed fried chicken thigh. Members of the public are advised to phone their local news bureau if he does anything particularly outrageous.
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