Had a very strange lunch at my local Horrid Horse this week.
We turned into the car park to see that three parking spaces were being taken up by a huge white armoured vehicle with 'bomb disposal unit' written in large letters down the side.
We made our way gingerly into the bar, worried that we might be caught up with our fellow Christmas diners in a pre-emptive strike by the Turkey Liberation Front.
But the three bomb disposal officers in flak jackets were eating their meals and drinking their pints in a very blase manner, so our fears of instant incineration receded.
Then we realised that the table we had chosen to sit at gave us an interrupted view of what can only be described as a whalular woman.
This gargantuan beast must have tipped the scales at 30 stone and boasted the most extraordinary features ever to have graced a member of the fairer sex. It was impossible to see where her face ended and her neck began; everything above her shoulders was just a rubbery mass of chins, cheeks and rolls.
We stared at her in fascination and decided our friends from the bomb squad were on hand in case this Thing exploded.
But when the Thing left the pub, in a motion that can only be described as a slow rhythmic flowing movement, the bomb disposal officers did nothing, apart from sniggering behind their hands.
Our coffee arrived and then the officers were galvanised into action: suddenly one of them pulled a box from underneath the table and they all marched briskly out of the pub. They jumped in the armoured vehicle, turned on the sirens and flashing lights, and screamed out of the car park.
I wish I knew how the story ended, or even how it began, but sadly I don't. As I said, it was a very strange lunch.