"Well, sir, this is a right ol' mess, innit? They're bloody tampin'!" The comment, coming as it did from a small, jolly welshman in ill fitting leathers, seemed a little ludicrous, but made perfect sense to his commanding officer, Colonel Smedley Smythe.
After all, while the inital reports had said the rioting force was "Another bloody bunch of Pankhursts", it had failed to mention that said women were both wilder than your average women's rights group, and were well versed in the older, bloodier form of druidry. Things were looking quite grim, and the situation was not helped by the lack of dignity in fleeing from said women in, of all things, Sgt. Barry Jones' mechanical monowheel. The experience was one that never failed to make Colonel "Smedders", as he was known among his men, wish fervently to never have the need for such a contraption again.
Alas, his wish was always fated not to be, and he hung onto his hat as Barry wildly swerved and leaned, dodging the rather large seedpods that were hurtling from the sky.
"Oh, sod!", cried Barry, and Colonel Smythe could quite easily see what occasioned such an undisciplined use of uncouth language. The bridge ahead, while still passable, possessed, as its central feature, an extremely large venus flytrap. One which, despite being of the plant, rather than animal kingdom, did a surprisingly good job of looking hungry.
Barry Jones, however, was a man of keen instincts, and, without further ado, hit the button on his single wheeled contraption. Everyone, including Colonel Smythe, knew what the button did, and dutifully averted his eyes as the rockets stationed on top of the wheel let fly...
The dreaded contraption skidded to a halt, and, with eyes tightly shut, Colonel Smythe heard only two things: A twin explosion, and Barry's ebullient cry of "Bloody 'ell, that's one 'ell of a sight, innit, butt!"
Slowly and cautiously, Colonel Smythe opened his eyes... and was horrified to find that, while the large plant was gone, so, in fact, was a good half of the bridge. Specifically, the middle of the bridge... Their only escape route.
Colonel Smythe was seething with fury, but, remembering his officer's manual, and the use of lighthearted jollity in times of stress, he simply turned to the still cackling Sgt. Jones, and stated breezily:
"Well, that presents a slight problem, doesn't it, Sergeant?"
Barry didn't really understand until he turned around.