“I mean; look. At the roadside. There is a dead fish.”
“Perhaps it is only injured” – Martin supposes, as he stoops and gently places a hand upon its shimmering form. “Ah, no. Cold as stone. Must have been hit by a vehicle, poor thing.”
“How strange” – Sir Martin continues, once he has discarded an expression announcing concern for another’s intelligence. “But it is only one of many unnatural phenomena we have witnessed that seem to warn of the perils humankind are faced with – from the consequences of climate change to those encountered as a result of the hostile interactions between the world’s leaders.”
At that moment, the kerbside is violated by the roar of a tired old engine, squealing rubber and a dull flash of aged, black paintwork, from which a brassiere is fired towards the astonished pair at an astonishing velocity.
“YAROO!” - Sir Martin shrieks, when the speeding brassiere slaps him in an eye. Sir Martin slumps to the pavement, while a large, leather-bound notebook bounces from Martin’s forehead, which encourages him to stumble into the path of oncoming traffic. Caught in the glare of headlights, Martin begins to behave as though a rabbit – he lowers his trousers and hops in frantic circles, while constantly emitting perfectly spherical pellets of poo.
“MARTIN!” - Sir Martin bellows, warningly, a moment before Martin stops hopping and raises his head.
Martin’s face is illuminated by rapidly approaching headlights – his eyes are wide with terror, and his ample nose twitches nervously above a comically downturned mouth sporting upper teeth protruding over lower jaw.
“GET OFF THE ROAD!” - Sir Martin insists, at considerable volume.
As though still behaving as a rabbit, Martin’s legs become at once straight and rigid, resulting in an incredible bound that sends him sailing through the evening air and over a high fence encompassing a suburban garden.
A panel of fence swings open – some moments after a terrible crashing sound – which presents a growing number of sorrowfully wailing children covered in cake, ice cream and jelly, and then Martin, who pushes them roughly aside before sprinting towards Sir Martin with arms flailing, as though tossing the word ‘run!’ in every conceivable direction.
The two friends run until they reach their lodgings, where they flop onto their beds and begin to contemplate the evening’s events.