On pointing and laughing at our island neighbours

On pointing and laughing at our island neighbours

They recently held an emergency planning exercise up on the island, just in case there's a nuclear leak.

Portland is often host to nuclear submarines – being the first port of call of the USS Nautilus after it made its historic first trip under the Arctic icecap – and the easily scared are forever carking themselves should one of these underwater menaces blow up whilst its crew are away enjoying the fleshpots of sunny Weymouth.

So, they held another hand-out-iodine-pills-and-a-leaflet-bearing-the-words-Don't-Panic on Portland recently.

Result: Actual blind panic from the cousin-licking residents of Fortuneswell, running in the streets, dogs and cats living together, the whole nine yards.

And, naturally, the Outragederati ran to the local paper, so the rest of the district can point and laugh at them. And now, thanks to the magic of the electric internets, so can you.

Far be it from me to stoke the flames as the Dorset Echo ran no less than two stories on the affair, the paper's comments were left wide open for rampant flame stoking:

I can confirm there was no panic at all in Wyke. In fact, I led an orderly procession to Ferrybridge, and was ready to blow the charges in order to keep the irradiated hordes on the island when the authorities had me stand down.

All in a day's work.
I am not mad.

and:

I understand next month's exercise will deal with the threat of a fifty-foot tall radiation-mutated rabbit rising from the harbour, demanding carrots with menaces from the terrified residents of Castletown.

But there will be NO NEED TO PANIC. The chances of this actually happening in real life are no more than fifty-fifty.

Not to mention one from the mind of poor, dead Benny Hill:

Was it a dirty bomb? The only dirty bombs were the ones in Portland residents' underpants

Also in the news: Weymouth demonstrates to the outside world the fate that befalls rowdy stag parties

Warned, you have been.