When I eat cheese I get nightmares (Day & Night) - so here's a cheesy story!

Jimmy Memory Man Magpie on Air

It was a mighty battle. A mighty mighty battle; mostly for Jimmy- it was a battle to keep in the air and broadcasting.

General Motor Stoat had his orders. Assemble the troops to run over and overrun Pea Stalk Hill and devour the inhabitants, poderise them into mushy green heaps.

The General revved up his boys into the red and away they tore at a speed of zero to one foot in two minutes, looking all around. In the Army of the Centre Mamo Hedgehog and The Girls were waiting and it was all over in a jiffy bag. Those Hogs were united closely and using their spikes knitted the interloping intruders into inter-looping loops.

The Girls formed a Forum and stitched up the enemy, purling them, slip-stitching them, and once picked up by a hedgehog, no attacker was dropped until they could be cast-off and dip-stitched back to their Fair-Isle where they could be slugs, slugging it out with each other for a chomp at a cabbage leaf.

General Surgeon saw this and decided to go Private, but before he sloped off he gave a field promotion to Private Anaesthesias, to General. His job now was to lead the Carrot Fly Brigade and lull the carrots and parsnips into sleep with his gaseous gasses, great gas one felt: once not down wind of his flatulence, flaunting, flavour.

“Cheesy Belling-ham Blue .” Wallace roared as he threw himself into battle with Anaesthesias. “Meet me Wallace the La-nark Blue and gird your lions, or what ever you lads gird. It's Gort-Na Mona for you lot. Caber toss them lads, into the Mossfields. Stay up-wind, for yer lives stay up-wind.”

General Electric saw the current state of play and ran and tried to volt over the wall when Tumper came bounding towards him, but alas alack too late. With hare-springing agility Tumper thumped him not once but several times, giving Electric a hare-lip all the way from across his head, and body, and foot, and tail. Oh! Everywhere a weasel can have!

From now on Electric was horribly, hare-lined, and hare-lipped. His career in Harry's Army was hare today gone tomorrow.

General Character showed he hadn't got any and hid under a flower pot. When last seen he had gone potty and like Pal's dog was not trained for the house.

General Nuisance? Well he raised himself up on his tail and charged into battle shouting “I'm a General. I'm a General. I'm a General Nuisance. “ He was . He kept bumping into combatants and generally making a nuisance of himself by getting in the way.

Frog Hedda was hopping in and out of the fray gobbling up the enemy bugs. It was a tough decision: deciding who was on her side, or against, or tourists just out on a rubbernecking day. Finally she decided friends is friends, anyone I recognise is safe, the others are foes to the fodder.

Fly On The Wall, kept buzzing up and down, hither and thither, in search of information. All he heard however was Crunch, Biff. Me Eye. Me Foot. Me shudda not come to gawp. Me shudda, couda, stayed at home. And the Centipedes who were singing “Foot Loose and Fancy Free and Lotsa More Where Them Came From.”

Jimmy Magpie, back from the brink, flew fleetingly furious but not fast above the battle. Who said a bird could never fly on one wing? They were not speaking of Jimmy, Take-a- Memo Magpie. No not me. Concussed I may be but the war and the program goes on.

I see tremendous feats of bravery and cowardice. I see mice and men, and frogs in the throat of battle, and ants, aunties of nephews and nieces, antiquating and stinging.

I see the Sack Flies have gotten their P45's and are on the way home. The Beef Leaf Hoppers are getting minced and The Beat Worms are out of time and not in step with the rest at all. It's a rooting rout of rectitude.

I've just been passed a note, in mid-air on one wing and a prayer. Holy holy, it seems George Eel Worm has withdrawn from the battle and Charlie Bird-seed has flow south for the Winter.

Folks, the band plays on; in the midst of the carnage. A three man band, it looks that way. A large Bagpussing Lady with a Bag-Pipe under her arm, and a lady with a Banjo playing a deliverance tune and a little scruffy fellow stamping time, either that or his foot's gone asleep.

The sound of the trio drifts up to me now on the hot-air uplift from the heaving mass of mayhem. What are they playing? Do they even know? Do we care any more? No. Because It's all over folks. The Cats in Bags Army have carried the tune and the day. The Weasels, the Badgers and their allies are out for the count. It's round twelve and the fight is over.

Now Jimmy thought to himself not out loud. Which of those two trees will I land on and rest, it's been a trying day, but then I was always a trier. I'll go for the one in the middle. Aarrggh.