What happened next

Here is the latest news from sky, we have filmed footage of well I'm not sure what they are I'll hand over to our reporter on the ground Bertha (of the strange and unusual whatevers)

Bertha extracted the Sky News reporter's microphone which suddenly had appeared to be inserted up her nose. "We appear to have been shifted into an H. G. Wellian universe", she said, adding, "Good luck everyone!" Then

she said 'Please stay indoors and keep everything locked, don't go outside until we say it's safe to, it's very dangerous outside and the group that's here know what they are doing. Please stay safe'. Bertha handed the microphone back to the reporter and told the crew to go inside Melissa's house and lock themselves in her cellar. Bertha looked at the group and said 'this is it, all or nothing'.

The intrepid reporter of Skye news was adamant. "My editor will expect me to meet these tricatops and get an exclusive interview as do most hacks. I'm only as good as my last scoop. Who will come with me?All of them were hunkered down, surreptitiously, peeping, frightenedly out of the shuttered windows."I will" said Cedric although he did not think he would be much use. "ta" said the reporter and dragging Cedric and with Wills , in tow squeezed through the girt wooden door.(Will was determined not to be left out. If anything should happen he wanted to be part of the headlines. The main character and why shouldn't he be! He was the mainstay of this story after all! Over the ridge, clanking and grating in synchronisity the disciplined ranks of the tricatops were gearing. Metal upon metal. screeching and rasping were descending. menacingly down to the seething pit.Cedric, Wills and the Skye news reporter, microphone in hand, sidled to the edge. cowering, almost skulking, trying not to be seen. An eqquidistant clashing filled the glen. Time was halted or so it seemed to all the spectators. "Look", uttered Cedric. "they are.........[/map]

defecating on the fair land of our fathers, not put mothers, I hope you know that our mothers were purchased elsewhere, but they are manuring the ground like crazy , is nothing sacred? 'Not a thing.' snickered Will, 'these abominations have no thought for the niceties it is evident. To arms.' and attempting to brandish his vorpal blade which had become slightly bent owing to the many vicissitudes of the group and refused to leave the safety of the scabbard he ran crying snicker-snack in lieu as the vile menace galumphed on and

the lined ranks of the welsh voice choir, filled their enormous lungs and gave voice to their national annthem. Cedric was awe-struck and, secretly admired the defecating tricatops: "We have drained our green and pleasant land for millenia and now they are nourishing our earth. Giving back what we have taken and fertilising our world. This can only be good." Turning to the gob-smacked skye reporter he said: "Behold the feccal matter is well-rotted and does not smell at all! Indeed they are nourishing our Earth. (In his small way, Cedric knew all about manure-he had not potted in his potting shed for years without appreciating the finer composting methods) The Skye reporter whipped out his microphone and pleaded with Cedric:"Can you understand the sounds they are making?" Cedric shrugged his puny shoulders: I'll give it a go". The tricatops, clanking and metalling, intent on their task were oblivious of the pair. Cedric emptied his mind and took deep breathes, let his whole body go limp. Could he communicate with them? Could he tune into the wave lengths, their tortuous, tentacles of their thought waves? Suddenly a smaller member of the group Lifted a menacing steely claw and with one foul swipe cast the reporter skywards- a heart rending screech filled the air- as the inntrepid reporter, still clasping his microphone fell. Even the Welsh male choir ranks suspended their singing, casting aside their leeks and daffodils akimbo. Cedric gasped,lost his shaman-like trance and ..............