Panic!

Panic!

Fear and alarm spread through the town yesterday.

People stood around, pointing skywards.

"It's an alien," said one.

"It looks like a spaceship," cried another.

A man carrying a sign saying 'Repent! The end of the world is Nigh!' walked across the park, mumbling.

"Who is 'nigh?' asked one woman,"Isn't that a Welsh name?"

"Yeah," said her friend,"He was that Welsh bloke that made the NHS, remember?"

The police were out in droves, much use of radio, personal phones and waving truncheons to keep back the panic stricken mob.

Eventually, dressed in all his robes, the vicar appeared standing on a van roof.

"Worry not my children," he cried. "The bright shiny thing is the sun!"

"Wot?" cried one man, "the one Murdoch owns? It can't be, I got one in me pocket, it don't shine like that."

"No,not that one. Nothing shines in that one.  This is the real sun, the one that heats the earth."

"Ooooooh!"  Cried the gathered crowd by now full of wonderment. 

"Who pays for it?" asked one. This is a Tory area.

"Nobody pays for it,the Good Lord gave it to us to keep us warm."

"The who?" came a shout.

"No, not the 'Who,' the Good Lord!"

 "So why does it never show, why always behind clouds, rain, hail, and mist?"

"Because you are here in the UK and not in Africa," said the preacher.  By this time he was beginning to wonder why he had come here.  "I may pop down to Maldon Quay and see if there is a banana boat going somewhere," he thought.  

The congregation was beginning to disperse.  Fear was eased, the sunglasses and T-shirts emblazened with unfunny slogans and adverts appeared.  

Then the English did what they do best, they went to the pub and had drunken fights with one another.