We grill the Edinburgh Fringe's cancelled, de-platformed agitator...
Who is the most awful person at this year's Edinburgh Fringe? No, not the one you're thinking of, although you've got a point. Surely the most objectionable figure - and we're including the evil witches over in the kids shows here - is Lucinda Spragg.
The anti-vaxxer, climate-denier and general do-badder is the sort of character that even Alan Partridge and Alan B'stard would think is a bit much. Very much cancelled after some incendiary comments about, well, pretty much everything, she's now tackling the liberal elite head on, by doing the Edinburgh Fringe.
Spragg is in town to promote her tell-all book, Jabbie Dodgers, which features a rogue's gallery of your top science-denying nutjobs; the real creme de la cretins. The accompanying show, An Evening With... is a compelling watch whichever way you swing, a big, bold self-aggrandising spectacle, with special guests, which then turns intriguingly dark. If you've ever wanted to see a K*tie H*pkins-alike implode live on stage - and who hasn't? - this is your chance.
But who is Spragg? What does she hope to achieve, and what does the Moonloaf theatre company and artistic director Grace Millie have to do with it? All of this may, or may, not be revealed...
How does your Evening With work then, Lucinda? Is it anything like Adele's?
It's uncannily similar, minus the loud braying from Guardian sycophants. An evening with me will consist of readings from my groundbreaking text, my ode to our long forgotten British Freedoms. There will be songs, anecdotes about my life as a mover and shaker, and poetry.
There's also a surprise element in the show, but I'd rather eat my own fingers than give that away for free on the internet.
Give us a synopsis of your new book - would you consider it a modern classic?
Ah, my first opus? The most dangerous self-published book since Milo Yiannopoulos' Dangerous? Described by the Portsmouth Chronicle as "certainly... something"?
Jabbie Dodgers: A look at those on the front lines battling the authoritarian mandate.
Does what it says on the tin. A cream pie in the eye of the liberal vax-pushers.
You've launched the Regain Party: does it have a particular philosophy? And, indeed, any members?
My talks with the fascists at the electoral commission are ongoing so we're yet to be bestowed full 'party' status. They're acting as tyrannical bouncer to hundreds of thousands of freedom-lovers queuing up for refuge at Club Spragg. I say to them, once again, open the floodgates. Let the people dance.
Who would you say was your political inspiration?
The inimitable Laurence Fox. He is my inspiration in all things, politics, music, upmarket scarf-wearing, reason, humility, dignity in the face of persecution. We've had many a pint over the last few years, too many, if you see Laurence and I not in the pub, we're lost, please return us.
What would your first act be, when you eventually become Prime Minister?
The Gary Lineker Act; anyone who has ever been affiliated with the BBC must agree to hand over all opinions to be kept in a government bunker.
Cast Islington into the sea. Ghastly place. All manner of restaurants and nothing edible for five square miles. Just cupcakes, cupcakes everywhere.
Ban goody bags. Nobody knows what's inside them. This is not only sinister, but a security risk.
There you go, that's three for the price of one.
Brexit - exactly how brilliantly do you reckon it's going so far?
I wake up every day and salute a framed photo of the Royal Family feat. James Bond. I didn't feel empowered enough to do this in 2019. I am untethered. Does that answer your question?
Any views on the Edinburgh Fringe? Does it need more Lucinda Spragg?
I'd been to the Edinburgh Fringe once before this. To my shame, I dated a man in my university days who was studying Anthropology. He considered the festival to be of some kind of cultural significance and insisted on showing it to me. He took me to a Stewart Lee show and I couldn't understand what everyone was laughing about.
Then I went to the Royal Mile and a troop of youths trying to sell their improvised musical made up a song about the chunky necklace I was wearing. Needless to say, I smacked one of them clean in the mouth. That was enough. Got the train back to London the next morning.
This month has been very hard indeed. There's nothing that couldn't be improved with a dash more Spragg, but this creepy liberal love-in may be beyond saving.
Are you at all concerned that, after weeks up here, you might wind up woke?
You have no idea how much my army of Spragg Haggs are laughing at you right now. Me? Go woke? I'd rather listen to 700 hours of Alastair Campbell's podcast whilst suckling at the teet of whatever animal produces this Açaí guff. It's not going to happen, is what I'm saying. What a ridiculous question.
Hang on, who are you again? This is for Guido Fawkes, right?