As a high flying orthanologist and word botcher, I am tweeted by the Royal Society for the Prevention of Birds for a crash audit. There's a flap on: numbers are plummeting.
At dawn, through my telescopic sight, I spy my flocking subjects who have navigated over sea and desert, back home to their summer paradise: Wigan.
And soon there is a flap on as it's breakfast, sorry BEAKFEAST time. Feathers fly when our avian friends quickly fall out and tuck into each other, pecking at Tweetabix or Shredded Beek; and for the ladies Rytweeta; while cannibal ducks dine on Quacker Oats. I spy proper raptors scoffing Stork Sausages and Corncrakes; or a tasty brunch of Magpie and Mushy Peas.
I report back the good news: Bird numbers have now stopped plummeting. Bad news: because they've all eaten each other. Awkwardly, as the audit has taken 19.5 years, the Royal Society is also extinct.
On a chirpier note, the Discovery Channel, which is still going strong with 19.5 viewers, commissions a film on Animal Psychology: Egyptian crocodiles - are they in denile? I don my naturist hat.
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