In a development that would make even the most hardened biblical plague enthusiast raise an eyebrow, Australia is currently drowning in a sea of vermin. A mouse plague of such staggering proportions that it threatens to turn the entire nation into a setting for a particularly grotesque children's cartoon has swept across the farms of New South Wales. The rodents, showing a level of coordination that suggests either a union or a particularly intelligent single mother, have destroyed crops, infiltrated homes, and quite literally eaten the profits of farmers who can no longer tell if they are growing wheat or cultivating a mouse city.
And now, in a twist that has British farmers choking on their tea, the Australian government has turned to the United Kingdom for agricultural research. Yes, the former convict colony, now a thriving economy built on the backs of kangaroos and ridiculous accents, has admitted that their own scientists are as useful as a chocolate teapot in a heatwave. The British offer of 'assistance' should fill any right-thinking person with trepidation.
What exactly do we have to offer? A wealth of experience in dealing with vermin, surely, given the state of our own food supply chains? Or perhaps a technique for turning mice into a respectable profit margin?
The only sure thing is that the British agricultural 'research' will probably involve a lot of paperwork, a suggestion to form a committee, and a final recommendation to import more cats. Which, in Australia, would likely be interpreted by the local wildlife as a new menu item. The image of a British expert trying to explain the concept of a 'cat' to a kangaroo is one that will stay with me for some time.
Meanwhile, the mice continue to breed with the enthusiasm of a teenager after a flimsy 'no parents at home' promise. They have been spotted climbing walls, falling into beer glasses, and even forming what appear to be surveillance units on top of grain silos. Some farmers have reported mice falling from the sky, presumably jettisoned from the bowels of low-flying eagles who are simply overwhelmed by the sheer number of targets.
The Australian government has been reduced to pleading for a 'magic mouse bullet', and the best their brains trust can come up with is a chemical cocktail that hasn't worked since 1975. In a truly surreal twist, they have also suggested that farmers employ the use of 'screaming women' to scare the mice, a tactic that would likely have the opposite effect, attracting anyone within a five-mile radius. But perhaps the most damning indictment of this whole sorry affair is that the mice have started to show signs of civilisation.
They have formed communities, established trade routes, and reportedly have a better understanding of crop rotation than the average Australian farmer. It's only a matter of time before they start demanding voting rights and complaining about the price of cheese. So, Britannia, prepare to send our finest minds to the land of the upside-down.
We'll be sending them over on a plane, not a boat this time, and we can only hope they have the good sense to bring a lot of poison, some decent traps, and a very large gin and tonic to steady their nerves. Because if they think they're going to solve this problem with a conference call and a report, they are in for a very nasty surprise indeed.
