NEW SOMALI PIRATE MENACE: THE ICEBERG STEALERS

Commander 'Oxy' Moron of Naval Intelligence reporting. Somali pirates have bitten off more than they can chew: hijacking a tug off Mombasa, they follow its towrope to find an iceberg on the end! The Abduls want it returned, or no cheap water for them and no oil for us. I join HMS Cockaleekie.

Battle commences when the Somalis fire heat seeking missiles, which we dodge behind the iceberg, sending them rocketing back to chase the pirates in a merry hornpipe around the ocean, sashaying the berg behind like an icy tail.

In Mogadishu, their evil mateys are backslapping and hugging to celebrate their big ransom booty, when the iceberg streaks by, freezing them even closer. Oppressed wives mock them mercilessly, singing 'and you know what sailors are...'

Prince Abdul Bin Liner and his umpteen fellow princes sunbathe on Shatt Al Murkey beach and execution site. But when the berg explodes over the horizon, its icy breath gives all the royals flu and their combined sneezing whips up vast sandstorms.

The pirates sneak back to Boosaaso, confident we cannot see them. But we soon hear them: my sonarman detects strange, ancient animal cries, followed by stampeding hooves and terrified shrieks and curses.

As the sandstorm clears, satellite imagery confirms their demise: equatorial heat has defrosted herds of tusky prehistoric boars preserved in the iceberg, to maul the Somalis, ending their piracy forever. Forever?

I log on through Inmarsat to Admiralty Signals, expecting their jingle 'Rule Britannia'.

But the screen flashes, addressee moved; and there is no reply, no jingle. Because there is no Britannia; pirates have hijacked and towed it away for ransom. But that's another story...