He really does get about a bit though. I see that he's on a March front page of the Norfolk Gazette. "Batman spares sheep farmers blushes".
I don't know why he bothers. Some in-breed is seconds away from being spotted with his dick in a spring lamb by passengers on Easy Jet flight 2565 from Ganja, Azerbaijan, which is flying in low over Diss having been diverted to Great Yarmouth because Ipswich Airport is closed (due to fungus on the runway); so bloody, goody-two-batboots throws his cape around the philandering fool to prevent discovery?
I'll tell you why. Self-bloody-promotion.
It doesn't spare the poor sod's blushes at all. He is now having his ewe-poking exploits being read about by thousands, instead of maybe being seen out of the 'left hand windows just below the wing' by two dozen.
But it gets his royal Batness on the front page again doesn't it?
Thereby keeping me off. He doesn't seem to be in to take my calls, ever. Hardly respectful.
It was 'me, me , me , me , me' all the ruddy time, from the old Cape-flinger, there.
Well, that and being made to do the same tired, old "Holy..." jokes.
Imagine bowling up in front of a big crowd and playing your part in the damsel-rescuing (somewhere like, say, Love Clough) and then having to stick - in front of all the sexy, young things of the Lancashire Pennines town - to a script which has you saying things like, "Holy Inappropriate, Batman!" and punching your fist into your emerald-gloved left hand.
They'd think it was silly, and you'd look daft.
So he left.
Well, that, and the constant imposition, by Batman, of buggery on the poor bloke.
He wasn't allowed to be saying "Holy Inappropriate Batman!" on those occasions now, was he?