Born in 1722 to a family of hardworking spandex farmers, Nick grew upwards for several dozen centimetres and then didn’t. A keen student at school, at the age of fifteen he discovered masturbation and gave up all ambition, a decision he later called “Gerald the Wonder Badger”. Always carefully dressed to avoid a repeat of the impenguination incident that so marked his early adulthood, Nick is a raconteur, flâneur, bon viveur and pretentious arseclown, known far and wide for his unfailing habit of sniffing his own fingertips before offering to shake hands.
In middle age he embarked on a series of experiments with the aim of extending the human life span by injecting himself with live frogs, an experience he described in his memoirs as “horrible, just genuinely awful and of no benefit whatsoever. I mean, think about it for one damned second. It’s insane. Morally wrong, degrading and perverse.” Now in his twilight years, he is content, after sunset, to lope along the streets of the McLaren Vale township in which he lives, licking hapless passers-by without warning, and walking Gerald on a badger leash of his own design.