It's too quiet, I tell you

I don't like it. There are too many wading marshes around here for my liking. Any day now, damnable disease-ridden foreign ducks are going to be landing in Strumpshaw Fen, where they'll intermingle with our native mallards before their heads explode with a bloody pop. Then, quick as you like, the H5NI virus is going to leap to humans and East Anglia is going to be laid waste, just like in that ace 1970s TV thriller, "Survivors".

But we've got a plan. We're surprisingly well-armed for a country with strict gun laws: our farmers have more munitions per head than the US Marine Corps, and they already do little all day but stand in the corner of fields taking aimless potshots at Chinese Water Deer. They're going to head down en masse to the Ted Ellis Nature Reserve and attempt to reduce Johnny Invader to giblets. It'll be just like Third Ypres. Only with wild fowl.

The only drawback I can see is that, to a man, our farmers are pathetic shots, and more likely to take out unwitting bird watchers than infected alien fauna. Keep out of here, Bill Oddie, cause it ain't gonna be pretty.