Bill Bryson is celebrating as only Bill Byson can after he successfully lobbied the government to allow him to copyright whimsy.

‘I’m delighted that in a country of warm ale and warmer winter woollens, I’ve managed to find a place in your equally warm English hearts,’ Bryson told reporters gathered at his cottage in the heart of the English countryside. ‘The nation of Shakespeare, the world of the Morris Minor, the shires of the mighty oaks. Kettles over fireplaces. Old brass ornaments. Women who smoke pipes. Children with beards…’

Asked what he thought of the government’s announcement, Bryson’s eyes went misty as a single tear stole down his bewhiskered cheek. ‘Old English sheepdogs,’ he said. ‘Remote houses on cliff tops overlooking stormy seas. Cornish smugglers. Casks of rum. The ensign flying proudly in the wind. Beer mats. Teak bar tops in quaint old English pubs. Women called Doris, Maggie, or Brenda. Chipped mugs of tea. Old iron lampposts. Red pillar boxes. A places called Splodge Upon The Yawn.’

At this point, Mr. Bryson’s agent announced that the copyright victory means that Bryson is now the only writer working in the English language able to use whimsey in his work.

It was news that clearly delighted the popular author.

‘The Queen, God bless her,’ he said running his mittened fingers through his big soft cuddly beard. ‘The land that invented the sugar lump. Only the English could have invented the sugar lump and then sugar tongs. What a crazy but lovable race the English are with their Ovaltine. Beans on toast. HP sauce. Murray mints.’

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