ON his most recent album, Bob Dylan may have sung a song about containing multitudes, but after meeting him in the flesh an Abergavenny man has confirmed that the old song and dance man harbours a host of different personalities.

“It’s not like he’s mentally ill or possessed by demons or something,” explained semi-professional paranormal investigator Johnny Turnip. “It’s just when you speak to him face to face you don’t just see one Dylan, he keeps morphing into all these different Dylans. And it’s not just a mental thing. He actually visually transforms right in front of you, outfit, haircut, hairstyle, the whole banana!”

Turnip added, “One minute he’s the earnest and fresh-faced singer from the early 1960s, the next he’s the amphetamine fuelled, wisecracking ‘Like a Rolling Stone’ Dylan or the lonesome cowboy ‘Blood on the Tracks’ Dylan. And then he’ll blindside you by turning into the mid-eighties ‘Every Grain Of Sand’ Dylan and start quoting from the bible. He’ll follow that by knocking back whiskey, and clicking his fingers like the Frank Sinatra Dylan, or talking in tongues and sighing a lot like the world-weary elder statesman of the blues Dylan.

“It's a lot of Dylan to take. Way too much to be truthful. Still, we weren’t all that shocked. The ghost of Dylan Thomas had warned us that Bob Dylan was a sorcerer and I knew from previous experience that practicing wizards and necromancers were usually a bit weird and in your face.”

Turnip told the Chronicle that after chatting to the ghost of Dylan Thomas in the White Horse Tavern, the dead poet advised them to seek out and enlist the aid of the highest-ranking magi in the land to help them find Potato Creek Johnny’s fabled pot of fairy gold.

“It just so happens that the magic man in question turned out to be Bob Dylan!” Said Turnip. “I said to the dead poet, ‘That’s all well and good Dil boy, but how the hell are we gonna get an audience with Bob Dylan? We’re just three Welsh boys on the make and he’s rock royalty!’

“‘It’s easy!’ He replied. ‘You’re in New York. So just head to where they sell postcards of the hanging and they paint the passports brown.’

“‘Desolation Row!’ Said Puerto Rico Paul who was a bit of a closet Dylan fan.

“‘Or as we used to know it - the Bowery!’ Said the Swansea ghost.

“‘Great! You’ve been a lot of help poet!’ I said. ‘We’d best leave you to get back to the land of the dead and we’ll be on our way.’

“‘No problem boys!’ Said Dylan Thomas.

“And as we turned to leave the tavern where he’d drunk his last, He hollered at our backs, ‘One more thing boys!’

“‘What’s that fat lad!” I said merrily as we turned.

“‘Do not go gentle into that Bud-Lite!’ He roared, before winking at us and disappearing in a puff of red, green, and white smoke.”

Turnip added, “As we sighed despondently to see one of the great Welsh wordsmiths being reduced to trading bad puns in a yuppie wine bar, Big Tony noticed that we were getting strange looks from a lot of the plastic-faced and glassy-eyed clientele.

“‘Christ JT!’ He said. ‘We’re still wearing those weird orange jumpsuits that Brooklyn Benny and Freddy the Fish gave us when they fished us out of the sea. We needed to change and pronto!’”

Turnip explained that using some of the half a million in used dollars that Tom Cruise had left them they paid a visit to a clothes store called Paul’s Boutique and brought some jeans, t-shirts, jackets, and trainers.

“We all went for stonewashed double denim, complimented with some Reebok classics. It's a timeless look!” Explained Turnip.

“The best thing is you could customise your own t-shirts at the shop. So Puerto Rico Paul had one with the words, ‘Don’t be the triggered, be the trigger! Written upon it. Big Tony opted to keep it simple with ‘Welsh Girls do it better!’ And I had one emblazoned with ‘Team Turnip does America!’ Needless to say, we looked ice cool and ready to rumble as we hailed a cab and barked at the driver to take us to the god-damned Bowery.”

Turnip explained, “Fair play to the cabbie, you could tell he was intimidated by our rock star presence, but he kept his cool and eyes on the road even when Big Tony asked earnestly, ‘Busy day drive?’

“When he asked where in the Bowery we wanted to be dropped. Puerto Rico Paul just said, ‘The place where all roads end and the lost things gather in the shadows and wail for all they’ve lost.’

“‘McSorley’s Old Ale House it is’ Said the cabbie before dropping us off.

Turnip explained as soon as they walked through the doors of the old boozer they felt immediately at home.

“It had the sort of dingy, low-lit, and battered and bruised vibe that we thrive upon,” explained Turnip. “As we lined up the ales, began toasting ourselves as winners at life and Big Tony began singing ‘Hen Wlad Fy Nhadau’ loudly, we almost forgot we were here on a mission to save the world. But first, we had to find Bob Dylan, so I asked the guy behind the bar if he knew where the washed-up rocker was hanging out these days.

“‘Sure thing!’ He said in the breezy and untroubled manner of a soul raised on TikTok and shared experience. ‘He’s out in the alleyway with his mate Abe Lincoln.’

“I wasn’t sure if this was an attempt at sarcasm by the young Gen Z barman, but after thanking him for being his authentic self, I dragged Big Tony and Puerto Rico Paul from their heated argument about who would win in a fight between Robert De Niro and Donald Trump, and herded them outside to check things out.

“As Big Tony kept withering on about how De Niro’s ferocity and savagery would be no match for Trump’s superior height, weight, and laser-like focus, Puerto Rico Paul insisted that De Niro would probably come to the scrap tooled up and whack the President before he had a chance to throw a punch.

“‘For Christ’s sake!” I snapped. ‘Will you two cut it out? Making up playground scenarios is not helpful right now. We’ve got bigger fish to fry!’

“As the boys stropped into a surly sulk, I led them down a dark alley near the bar, and by the light of a fire burning in a trashcan, I saw two figures.

"One was unnaturally tall, dressed all in black, and wearing a really weird hat. And the other was a lot smaller, had a mop of frizzy hair, and was playing a harmonica.

“As we walked closer, the smaller one stopped playing, looked at us with a grin, and said in a high and wheezy voice like liquid mercury, ‘I sing the songs of experience like William Blake. I have no apologies to make. Now come warm yourself by the fire and sing me your song.’”

The Manifest Trials And Tribulations Of Johnny Turnip is now available on Amazon.