AN Abergavenny man has slammed the government’s “lack of vision” and “woeful failure to think outside the box” when it comes to supporting people who want to pursue paranormal research for an occupation.

Semi-professional paranormal investigator Johnny Turnip told the Chronicle that after deciding to go professional and set up what he describes as the “Welsh version of Ghostbusters” he was “left livid” when the “mindless bureaucrat at the job centre” told him that option wasn’t really on the table and perhaps he’d better set his sights on something more realistic.

“That’s what’s wrong with this bloody country,” explained Turnip. “A distinct lack of ambition. They’d rather I sit at home wallowing in anxiety and watching ‘Loose Women’ than make something of myself.

“With fear farmer’s government slashing money to the arts sector, the long-term unemployed, and other worthy causes, just to buy bombs and bullets, it shouldn’t come as a surprise there’s no fuel left in the tank to fund my battle against the paranormal pandemic. Yet it’s still an eye-opener the state this country’s really in!"

Turnip added, “Where are the men of vision, the builders of empires, and the pioneers of a new frontier? They’re all at home watching Facebook reels, that’s where, but not this Turnip!”

Turnip explained that after hatching a plan to look for government funding for a paranormal outfit that would enable himself, Big Tony and Puerto Rico Paul to “prove the impossible, realise the fantastical, and bring hope back to the people,” he approached the job centre for a quick cash injection.

“The plan was to secure enough money to rent a premises, pay the bills, hire a van, and for me and the boys to draw a healthy monthly salary, so we wouldn’t have to worry about getting a proper job,” explained Turnip.

“Originally I sold the idea as like a Welsh version of Ghostbusters because I felt it was something the vacuous-looking Gen Z type behind the desk could relate to. But when she looked at me all open-mouthed and blank I could see classic movies from the 1980s weren’t her forte.

“And so I told her, ‘Look love. There’s a lot of stuff out there that civilians like your good self are best not knowing about. I’m talking about the sort of nameless creatures that slither in the shadows, the dark angels that watch you from the empty places between the stars, and the inter-dimensional beings that live in the darkness on the edge of town. In short, you need people like me to protect this fragile reality from being torn to pieces by an infinity of weird crap!’”

Turnip added, “I could tell from the way she gazed at me with bovine bewilderment that the urgency of my message wasn’t really getting through. So taking a more direct approach I said, ‘Thing is, if you just write me a cheque for say £80,000 to get the business up and running, you’ll soon see a healthy return on your investment.’

“‘I think there’s been a misunderstanding Mr Turnip’, she said. ‘I don’t have the authority to write cheques and you’ll need to put together a business plan and book an appointment with my senior who’ll decide if it’s feasible or not.’

“’Trouble is’ I replied. ‘When you’re dealing with paranormal creatures like leprechauns and the like, all bets are off. You can’t put together a plan for tackling creatures and situations most people don’t think are real. It’s a kind of play-it-by-ear and hope-for-the-best sort of business. You’d appreciate that if you’d ever seen a dragon manifest itself spontaneously in a haunted house or found yourself in the Forest of Dean battling a half-man, half-pig person who was thousands of years old.

“‘What we need is a cash injection to keep on doing what we best, and that’s keeping the paranormal in check. It’s a dirty job but someone’s got to do it,’ I smiled.

Turnip added, “With a face full of botox, lips loaded with filler, and hair heavy with extensions, she just looked at me and smiled nervously as if I was some sort of madman, before saying, ‘If I take a note of the name of the proposed business I can certainly pass it on to my manager.’

“‘Name!’ I said aloud. Realising I hadn’t even thought of one and feeling like a desperado waiting for a train, I blurted out the first thing that came to mind, ‘Turnip and Sons.’ And then thinking of the terrible possibility that people might mistake me for Big Tony and Puerto Rico Paul’s dad, I quickly added, ‘Originally it was going to be called that, but due to reasons of possible litigation it’s now being rebranded as Turnip’s Twilight Paranormal Research Society!’

“‘Ok! Noted!’ She smiled. Now I’ve got your number and we’ll be in touch shortly.’

“Knowing when I’m being mugged off, I stood up and hissed, ‘How many times have you saved the world?’

“‘Pardon!’ She said.

“‘The world!’ I said. ‘It’s only here because of the stuff me and the boys have done behind the scenes. Not that we want riches or glory for what we consider our duty but a little recognition in the form of some government funding wouldn’t go amiss.’

“As she sat there all pouty and moody I said, ‘Don’t bother getting in touch. We’ll make it like we’ve always done, on our own and against the odds. But next time there’s an extinction-level event, it’s my face you’ll see riding the storm and saving your bacon. You’re welcome! Don’t get up, I’ll see myself out.’”

Turnip told the Chronicle, “Not for the first time, I stormed out of the job centre, raging and frustrated at a world that wouldn’t listen and a reality that didn’t recognise my true genius.

“As I left that terrible hell where dreams die and ambition rusts, I roared, ‘What woe it is to be a giant in a land of pygmies’ at the gathering clouds and a passing pensioner.

“As I softly head-butted the wall a couple of times and collected my thoughts, a fat figure in a red tracksuit with a dodgy perm appeared in the corner of my vision like an epiphany. It was none other than Mr Moneybags himself - Julius Geezer.

“‘Hello Julius! Long time no see.’ I said. ‘I’ve got a little proposition for you.’”

To be continued……