So, what would a whale make of central London?

It’s probably a worrying sign of my mental health (and my fondness for all things HHGG) that I immediately thought of the poor sperm whale…

The Book: It is important to note that suddenly, and against all probabiliy, a pilot whale had been called into existance, yards from the House of Commons. Since this isn’t a naturally tenable position for a whale, this innocent creatre had very little time to come to terms with its identitity. This is what it thought, as it swam;

The Whale: Ahhh! Woooh! What’s happening? Who am I? Why am I here? What’s my purpose in life? What do I mean by who am I? Okay okay calm down calm down get a grip now. Ooh, this is an interesting sensation. What is it? Its a sort of tingling in my… well I suppose I better start finding names for things. Lets call it a… tail! Yeah! Tail! And hey, whats this roaring sound, wooshing past what I’m suddenly gonna call my head? A city! Is that a good name? It’ll do. Yeah, this is really exciting. I’m dizzy with anticipation! Or is it the smell of the city? There’s an awful lot of that now isn’t it? And whats this thing coming toward me very slow? So big and fat and round, it needs a big wide sounding name like ‘cot’, ‘scot’, ‘Prescott ‘, ‘John Prescott ‘! Thats it! John Prescott! Ha! I wonder if it’ll be friends with me? Hello John Prescott!

Tomorrow’s news: “John Prescott eats a pilot whate whole!”