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Mash True Crime: 'The police say my podcast is jeopardising the case. What are they hiding?'

Podcaster Jade Grimes doggedly investigates the latest crimes despite her complete lack of qualifications to do so and police pleas to stop

WHILE I work on episode 29 of our series Steele: The Norman Steele Murder, sponsored by the Hot Honey Deluxe Chicken Wrap at McDonald’s, I thought I’d give you all an update on the investigation.

I’ve long been a believer that journalists can crack cases that the police can’t. After all, who knows more about the psychology of sinking to the depths of depravity?

As you all know, since Norman Steele’s brutal murder last month, I’ve left no stone unturned trying to catch his killer. I’ve doorstepped his grieving widow dozens of times, sent hundreds of letters to his GP, and even managed to question his granddaughter by posing as a child at her nursery.

I’m making steady progress. Everyone will recall last week’s shocking revelation that Norman ate a low-fat ready meal carbonara in the days before he was killed, information I gathered from good honest detective work and some rifling through his bins. What could it mean? Was Norman attacked because of society’s latent fatphobia, or because he was trying to lose weight?

I’m sitting on another bombshell of similar magnitude, but, out of respect for his family, I won’t reveal it until the latest episode hits 15,000 downloads.

A lot of you ask me ‘why hasn’t the case been solved?’, and the simple answer is a lack of collaboration. While I’ve been more than willing to share my findings with the world, a major player in the case is staying tight-lipped. And it’s causing speculation to run rampant.

Now I’m the first to admit that I can be something of a lone wolf when it comes to investigating. I built the Brother-In-Law Theory from scratch; it was me who uncovered that he had a speeding ticket in 2003, so I do feel a certain amount of ownership over my research.

But the police are taking it too far. Asking simple questions like: ‘Can I see the body?’, ‘Can I see the evidence?’, ‘Can I visit the crime scene?’ are met with a wall of silence. In fact, the only contact I’ve had with them thus far was a visit to my home asking me to stop emailing Norman’s niece. How am I to believe that they’re ‘working hard’ on the case when they’re wasting time and resources on me? Is this what our taxes pay for?

Keeping pressure on law enforcement is the best weapon we have to discover why devoted family man Norman ended up dead after a normal Friday evening indulging in cocaine and male strippers.

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Make your hideous menopausal face halfway acceptable with lymphatic drainage, by our TikTok beauty influencer

With Gloria Goombs, a woman who’s seen it all but who can still pass for 22 as long as she remains perfectly motionless

ARE you a perimenopausal woman in the workplace today? Then you’re disgusting. Sorry, ladies, but someone had to tell you the truth. 

Your ugly, puffy eyes are distracting colleagues, demotivating the workplace and reduced turnover by between 18 and 35 per cent last year. They sacked people because of them.

But don’t worry: I’m here to tell you the mirrors of your soul can still be saved. Because real woman don’t see the world from behind bloated, scrotal shrouds but from razor-honed, almond shaped slits, like Willow Smith in the Whip My Hair video.

Can I just say though, you won’t get far without the ‘No Woman No Cryo’ lymphatic drainage reamer, £144.95 for 6mls, which literally transformed my life. The key is to brush upwards against all the inner corner creases you gained while feeling utter self-loathing.

45 minutes of that – set the alarm early – and the bags should be pulsing and slightly phosphorescent. At this point increase massage pressure. Get some leverage and really put your back into it. It needs to hurt.

Within minutes the yellow starts to disappear, and my pupils lose their nocturnal vulpine shape. Gently wipe any excess acidic secretions with a non-conductive sheath: this week I’m loving Kylie Jenner’s Glow-Up Gauntlet of premium Bolivian tungsten on sale at £320.

All done, and you’re no longer offensive to the world and all reflective surfaces. You’re ready to go into the office and perhaps pen a quick email to Willow Smith castigating her for letting herself go. Include a selfie.

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