Great title, eh? Yep, it's up and on the move again. Surfaced from beneath the pedestrian precinct of a shopping centre in Farnborough and as I write, threatens to lay waste to an example of urban blight that should have been razed to the ground years ago.
I am not getting involved; laissez faire I believe is the expression. Rather like watching a disaster unfold on the TV news. Or picking at a scab. Besides which, our task force is hors de combat (more impressive sounding eurobabble). Groida has fallen over and hurt himself. Diddums. Isn't it suspiciously fortunate that the Emperor of Inadequacy should graze all his knees just as heroic effort is required? Oh dear, the tube of Germolene has mysteriously disappeared.
I wouldn't recommend him for a job polishing the urinals at the Florence Nabbles Oompah Academy (and didn't; my vitriolic reference was a masterpiece of sarcasm and character assassination). The rest of our merry band are laid up with wobbly tummies after sampling Auntie P's first batch of Xmas puds. Not my good self, of course. Once poisoned, twice shy.
My only regret is not running a book on where our iron numpty would next emerge from the Earth's crust. Lack of corporate sponsorship was another failure of forward thinking, but I can't be held responsible for all policy decisions when I have such a dysfunctional crew to deal with.
Yet it may not be too late. If the unruly automaton digs in again, I urge you to be vigilant. Should it explode like a mad mole from the sod at a location near you, get in touch and you may be eligible for a prize. I am sure you would relish a large consignment of canned fruit, near to or just past its sell-by date. Registration pledges in Krugerrands or luncheon vouchers, please.
"Where in the World is Mr Prendergast?" may be a copyright infringement but it is snappy and to the point. Keep 'em peeled!
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