And by and by, word had got round about these pamphlets, mainly because of that pressed into the rotund hand of the overseas students at the Derek Sport College.
From the occasional student union meeting, to rallies in the park, before breakfast the next day, we had 3 warring factions, all united amongst themselves in their hatred of one another, but also, all curiously united, in their hatred of Robert Lipscombe.
And these factions, ceaselessly, indefatigably, populated the bridge at Westminster for ever congregating around Westminster in well-orchestrated shifts, chanting the following: ‘we all hate Robert Lipscombe, We all hate Robert Lipscombe! Who do we hate? Robert, Robert! Hate. Hate. Hate!’
It seemed that these rioters would never grow tired of chanting this hate-filled rhetoric, and just when you thought perhaps some of the vigor was disappearing from these ceaseless cries, a new faction could be heard in the distance, which would come marching over the bridge, and which would gradually replace the original party.
A faction of police was dispatched, over Lambeth Bridge, to quell this ceaseless chant, but they themselves, also came back, marching, chanting the same thing. And they too, individually took to their beds, and were still murmuring the same thing in their shaving mirrors the next morning.
London was brimming with people chanting the hatred of Robert Lipscombe.
Now one might wonder what it could have been within these pamphlets that could have inspired such hatred for poor Robert. But without any doubt, if any one of these revelers in hate were to be questioned as to the content of the leaflets they took as the pretext for their undying hatred, they would be unable to offer any indication whatsoever.
Several inhabitants of the house of lords were accosted and heckled on their way in to work, and all day long, for several days, day after day, they had to endure this ongoing, ceaseless, monotonous chanting, over and over again to the hatred of Robert Lipscombe.
All meetings were carried out in this undying din, until at last they resolved to try to quell this matter, perhaps deal with this queer fellow R. Lipscombe himself.