A colleague told me a story that I just had to share, and it does fit in rather well with bonfire night.
She popped off down her garden to top up the compost bin, and on opening the lid, discovered a rat, his wife and kids and possibly the in-laws blatantly staring right back. With all that under-floor heating going on, they were having a right old tropical holiday. All that was missing were Bermuda shorts, bad shades and Barry Manilow crooning ‘Copacobana’ in the background.
Her husband (keeping rather more than a safe distance), urged her to “poke about a bit and see how many there are”.
Foolish advice indeed. She ‘poked about a bit’ and managed to spear one. Slightly ruffled, she span around to her husband, brandishing a squeaking rat on the end of her garden fork, and demanded, “now what do I do?”
He jumped back even further, and shouted, “chuck it!”, so she did.
As she flicked the fork, the rat flew off, and the forward motion flung his limbs and tail out into perfect symmetry – whilst spinning. He was also making a noise like a deflating balloon with its neck being pulled apart.
Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeek he wailed as he sailed over the hedge into next door’s doing a perfect impression of a Catherine Wheel…