The Lynx effect.

In 1984 I had the misfortune to be captured by Russian forces whilst working under cover, assisting Afghan rebels in their quest to rid their country of communist encroachment. Elite Soviet commandoes captured me one morning at gun point as I emptied my bowels in a dry wadi.

I was taken in chains to a rather unpleasent re-programming centre in Tomsk, Siberia. After several months of legal wrangling between the British Secret Service and my communist bully boy captors I was allowed my freedom.
As I waited alone,naked and pennyless at a desolate rain swept air field awaiting the aircraft that would take me home to Briton, a tear rolled down my manly steadfast face. An old wizened Siberian porter took pity on me and upon hearing the sad news that due to the adverse weather conditions my airplane would be delayed for 2 days, this kindly old cove invited me to enjoy the hospitality of his humble home. This kind heated but simple minded soul clothed and fed me.

Although we could only communicate through exageratted mime and crude facial gestures, we soon discovered we had a mutual love of hunting. The old Siberian took me wild duck hunting. After many hours fruitless hunting in the sparse tundra we came upon a fine plump duck about to take flight. I was eager to bag this fine breasted duck to repay the kindness and hospitality shown me by my simple peasent friend.
Suddenly the duck took to the wing ! I shot instinctively from the hip ! Amazingly as the duck started to fly into the air,
a lynx leapt from some scrub and took the bird from the air. My shot hit the lyth leaping lynx in the neck. It was dead before it hit the ground, the duck still wedged firmly between its fangs.

My Siberian chum and benefactor was mortified with terror and shock. Apparently the communist state considered it a hanging offence to kill the endangered lynx. Together in a state of frenzid abject funk we burried the lynx where it would never be discovered. We returned to his humble abode and in terrified silence eat the plump juicy firm breasted duck. That night I was unable to sleep. My mind was filled with fright at the prospect of being hanged for a crime I did not intend to commit !

The next day I nervously caught my long overdue airplane back to London. Where after an intense debriefing session with the Prime Minister, the late great Mrs Thatcher, I recieved a heros ticker tape parade through the city.

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One nil to Lord Dimblem !