Revealed: the racy novel written by the world's most powerful climate scientist.
Yes, according to last Saturday's edition of London's Daily Telegraph "the world's most powerful climate scientist", Dr Rajendra Pachauri, distinguished chair of the UN's climate change panel, has just published a torrid Mills and Burn romance entitled Return to Almora.
"In breathless prose," according to the Telegraph, "Dr Pachauri, who will be 70 this year ... details sexual encounter after sexual encounter" including "group sex and more risque sexual practices".
It transpires that Randy Rajendra's hero is one Sanjay Nath, an academic in his 60s, desperately fighting to protect "denuded mountain slopes ... where deforestation by the timber mafia and local politicians has endangered the fragile ecosystem".
But it's not just geography that gets denuded, as the Telegraph reports. On page 16, Sanjay's already at it.
"She removed her gown, slipped off her nightie and slid under the quilt on his bed ... Sanjay put his arms around her and kissed her, first with quick caresses and then the kisses becoming longer and more passionate.
"Afterwards, she held him close. 'Sandy, I've learned something for the first time today. You are absolutely superb after meditation. Why don't we make love every time immediately after you have meditated?"'
There's plenty more but that's enough. Suffice to say, this is a wonderful development. Think about it. Here we have a work of fiction - some may say another work of fiction - from a top climate scientist. Better still, Dr Pachauri's already written a sequel.
And despite its title, Return to Amoral won't be a dreary academic tome analysing the ethics of stuffing 'scientific' reports with dodgy data. "It's hotter than a melting glacier," says top reviewer, Al Gore. "and that's the inconvenient truth!"
Well, you can judge for yourself as the Harold proudly presents a world-exclusive extract from Dr Pachauri's all-new raw and raunchy, hot and steamy, "Get your gear off, I've come to save your world" bodice ripper. Enjoy.
Return to Amoral
Sanjay Nath was tired. It has been a wild night with the gorgeous Juthindi, just back from one of her polar expeditions. Oh, the fury, the anguish, the sighs! For hours they had writhed and moaned and sobbed and gasped - and that was just looking at her polar bear photos.
The lovemaking had been even more subtropical. "There must be a way we can make those icebergs smaller," Sanjay mused, remembering the polar bears and the way Juthindi had whispered how his pale white, wrinkly skin and hairy back reminded her of one.
But that was last night. Today there was work to do and worlds to save. Sanjay pressed the intercom button on his ivory desk.
"Are you there, Ms Frangipani?"
She entered quickly, her voluptuous breasts heaving heavesomely beneath the wet suit, nightie, overalls and gown she always wore at work.
"By all the emails in East Anglia, you look ... efficient," murmured Sanjay.
"Thank you, Dr Nath," she blushed. "Sir, I've found that report you were looking for. The one proving we must crush and destroy every hideous gas-guzzling Western motor car this week if we are to have any chance of avoiding global warming so catastrophic that every hen in the Himalayas will be laying fried eggs long before the world ends in 2012, according to the Mayan calendar, Sir."
"Umm, remind me, darl ... Ms Frangipani," Sanjay smiled. "what report are we talking about?"
"Well, it's not exactly a report, Sir. More a couple of lines in a letter from some doped-out hippy who was trying to save the Tibetan mountain whale."
"At last, something authoritative on which to build a consensus. Release an IPCC report immediately!" cried Sanjay. "There's a planet to rescue. Things to ban. Carbon to trade. Guilt to foster. We can't let the facts thwart our heroic crusade, Ms Frangipani!!"
"Oh, Sir, you're the most wonderful, powerful, exciting 65-year-old climate campaigner I've ever met. I feel ... I feel ... strange stirrings in my polar regions. I think my icecap's retreating."
"Then let us retreat to my air-conditioned Humvee," exulted Sanjay. "We can make wild, passionate love as my chauffeur drives us ..."
Ms Frangipani sobbed. "I can't, Sir. It might increase your carbonk footprint ..."
"No, darling! It's a hybrid!"
"So are you, Sir. A magnificent hybrid. Half man, half horse, half Avatar."
"You're right. I joined the Na'vi to save the world. But that can wait. We've love to make. Right here. Right now." Sanjay clasped her to his throbbing loins.
"Oh, sir, is that a hockey stick graph in your pocket or are you just pleased to see me?"
"Both, my angel," he cried, as their lips crashed together like waves on a drowning atoll's shore.
"Oh, Sir, you're my kind of Gaia," she moaned, the heaving globes of her lobes naked as she removed her gown and slipped off her nightie - but not the wetsuit.
Afterwards, luxuriating on the whaleskin rug, she held him close. "Sanjay, I've learned something for the first time today," Fran said. "You are absolutely superb after meditation. Why don't we make love every time immediately after you have meditated?"
"After I've what?" gasped Sanjay. "I never do that ..."
"No," she laughed. "I said meditate."
"Oh, thank goodness," Sanjay sighed. "I think the battery in my hearing aid must be playing up."
He sat up, gingerly feeling his bruised and tender lips. "Ummmm, darling ..."
"I don't suppose you've seen my teeth?"