The wit of the discourse at the poolside bar is effervescent

This year’s Love Island, as befits one of the most romantic stories ever told, is to have a tie-in novelisation by none other than Emily Brontë. Read the excerpts:

Chapter One

Arriving at the island, I feared I should never see Heathcliff again. He had departed for sea, or perhaps the Army. My heart was wrecked like my father’s ship on the rocks, but I then I ascertained there were some pretty buff guys I might wank off.

Chapter Two

The climes are far more clement here than the bluffs and moors of Yorkshire, so I slipped into a bikini. A bequest from a maiden aunt before the voyage had seen a prudent investment in implants, making me 34EE.

Chapter Three

The wit of the discourse at the poolside bar is effervescent. ‘Is Transformers a true story?’ asked Cheryline. ‘I believe it is a fiction like those of Edgar Allen Poe,’ I contended. And was well rewarded with a charming compliment from Brayden, who proffered ‘You is well fit, babe.’

Chapter Four

After a childhood and marriage vexed and tempest-tossed, I have decided to make a gift of my heart to Brayden. Or is it Marco? Or Jaxyn? I fear I am having great difficulty telling them apart! Either ways, I boned one of them on top, so should not depart yet.

Chapter Five

As the snake in Eden, in this very paradise there is a succubus straight from Hell itself: Anna. She has her eye well on my Brayden, as I lamented in the diary room while calling her a bitch. But my spirit burns too bright for this Love Island, and I keep my eye on the £50k.

Chapter Six

Brayden and Anna’s close but scandalously false relationship caused me to fall into a terrible faint. I thought I might expire of the vapours, when a rough growl erupted from the sunken garden. It was Heathcliff, my love! He was not dead but had been coupled with Sally. ‘F**k off Brayden, you milksop’ he said, whilst getting right up in his face.

Chapter Seven

Deserved winners, Heathcliff and I have engaged a celebrity PR firm while we take in the marketing opportunities. Ours is a passion that will last longer than the limestone which underpins the Yorkshire Moors. Or about four to six months while we get our book out.

The Daily Mash

Of course.