In what can only be described as a masterclass in British exceptionalism, a rescue operation led by our finest has plucked five soggy souls from the watery maw of a Laotian cave. The ordeal, lasting a week, was a veritable symphony of stiff upper lips, damp tweed and the quiet realisation that nobody packed a map. The five, presumably tourists who took a wrong turn at the gift shop, were found clinging to a stalactite and reciting the Shipping Forecast.
'It was touch and go,' said a rescuer, adjusting his pith helmet. 'We had to use a thermos of Earl Grey to keep their spirits up.' The operation, costing roughly the GDP of a small nation, is being hailed as a victory for pluck over planning.
Meanwhile, the Laotian government is reportedly considering a law requiring all British visitors to carry a GPS and a signed affidavit that they will not attempt to find the source of the Mekong on a whim. The rescued, now recovering in a Bangkok hospital, have expressed their sincere thanks and a vague desire to visit Stonehenge next. 'It will be better signposted,' they said.
Their guide, a man named Barnaby, was last seen arguing with a map that he had folded into a paper aeroplane. 'I know the way,' he insisted, before disappearing into a jungle that definitely wasn't on the itinerary.
