Pangolin Matters - or does it?

 The Pangolin has received its First Review

Here it is, written by A Birch:

'Pangolin should be much more sensible. Such ill-considered levity can only encourage the belief that life is a random succession of amusing events, rather than a grim affair to be endured between cradle and grave.'

It appeared near a magazine called 'Practical Poultry'.

Meet the Pangolin Staff!

Like any reputable magazine you care to mention - Harpers & Queen, The Oldie, National Geographic, Hustler - we want you to know who you're dealing with when you send in your subscription moneys (currently 2/6) and write your innermost thoughts to our letters page.

So we've found a picture of the Pangolin staff!

From left to right... Murgatroyd, founder of the Pangolin brand and fine example of manis pholidota.  He is shown here on his lunch break (above) but can often be seen entertaining literary types in the Clerkenwell area when not emitting a noxious-smelling acid from glands near the anus.

Next:  the office window.  Oh dear, it's that twat Percy from the estate agents next door.  Must be fiddling about with our window boxes. Again.  Either that or he's mistaken ours for the window of the lapdancing club.  Again.  And he's dropped his ladder.  Again.

Then, moving swiftly on... we have Melinda, at 72 the youngest member of the Pangolin team.  She has mysterious blonde hair which waves about in the breeze and traps careless insects, but she is best known for waving her long fingers about in the air above keyboards and puzzling at her reflection in the computer screen.  She once managed to type a letter (j, possibly, but it was so long ago we're not sure).

Then it's Uncle Tarquin, who's been at the same desk since before the office block was actually built.  He lives on a staple diet of Dead Sea Rolls, several of which can be seen near his feet.  He does not hold with new-fangled things like typewriters, or, indeed, moveable type and printing presses. He has an impressive collection of quills, mostly gleaned from Sir Peter Viggers' bird table. He also has a pet cormorant called Vernon, who has written several highly prized illuminated manuscripts simply by landing in Uncle Tarquin's ink collection and then rolling around in the bedsheets.

Then we have Julius.  He is permanently legless, but manages rather well for a disembodied torso.  An extremely prolific member of staff, he has been editing a volume entitled 'Who cares about Centipedes?' for at least five years now. His previous works have included 'Wellington Boots for Centipedes' and 'I wonder if Centipedes get Chillblains'.

Our other lovely lady, Miasma (84), has recently informed us that you can write a novel very effectively by looking away from the machine while you type.  She has so far neglected to explain novel... what.... but we live in hope.  So far the results look remarkably like Welsh.

Then, finally... editor, Steve Wuss.  He goes around in a black mac and black hat and terrorises the likes of Prof Anna Prongg and Dr P J Whimbrel into contributing to the Pangolin on a regular basis. He spends so much time absorbing water, by not having the sense to come in out of the rain, that he can supply his own puddles - without the rest of the staff needing to go outdoors.  An example of this altruism can be seen far right.