The story had a fablelike quality.

Fiery darts in flaming volies flew.

In other words, we Mamils are pathetic creatures, cramming our spreading midriffs into unsightly spandex sports gear and spending unfeasible sums of money on custom-made carbon-fibre racing bikes.

But the children did; they were left to the tender mercy of their old Mother and were allowed to enjoy nearly a full hour of nakedising.