The worst is feared

Drawing by: Jules-Descartes Férat (1819-1898?); engraving: François Pannemaker (1822-1900) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

In the war room things are heating up.  Field Marshal Anstruther is not pleased.
 "I say, Carruthers, those damn Yanks are really being quite annoying."
 "Yes, sir, they seem to be really doing rather well, if I may say so."
 "What on earth is going on over there now?"
 "Um, they appear to be drinking, sir.  The one named Robert has just taken a pounding from Michelle."
 "And what about that mascot of theirs?  Why is it sat in a chair giving instructions to the rest of them?"
 "I believe the dog holds some sort of Doctorate, sir.  There is every chance that it will be President of the United States in the near future."
 "Well I won't stand for it! Get me our mascot, at once!"
 "Yes, sir."

 A few minutes went by while Carruthers rounded up Colin, who was busy sleeping off a heavy meal - a pigeon, even after seeing Colin, had not taken flight in time.

 "Cat!  Yes you there!  What do you have to say for yourself?"
 "Meow" Colin said, falling back asleep in Carruthers arms.
 "And what is that supposed to mean?"
 "Well sir, I think it meant that he recorded a video promoting the UK's political system the other day, and that's really all he was planning to do."
 "Was it really? Well, tell Mister Colin here that if he wants any kitty chunks for supper he'll have to pull his socks up!"

Hopes are not great for the British side as they appear to have retired to the lounge for cups of tea with tiffin, but we hope that we may yet turn the side against the army of Life, Explained tomorrow.  Stay tuned for tomorrows explosion, it's going to make your eyes water.