The millions of provincial Britons too dull and uninteresting to live in London were moved to tears by the unimaginable suffering of the capital's residents on this, the second day of the devastating Tube strike.
"Oi got no idear wot a choob be, but oi'm sure oi cuddent servoive a minute wi'out wun," said Mr Wurzel McSpreader, a bumptious legal executive from quaint, rustic Birmingham. "Oi sorr all they bootiful Lunnen fowks on the goggle-box down Currys when I brung me pig ter maarket. Them porr buggas wuz orl sobbin' an' wailin' at a bus stop, and me 'aart furr wen' owt to they."
London's fabulous citizens have been advised to plan their journeys and to allow extra time for travel by alternative means. Mayor Boris Johnson, meanwhile, claims to have discovered something called 'feet', which he believes could be used to travel for short distances, especially in Central London. Haggard Londoners, however, reacted to the suggestion with fury.
"See these?" screamed one hysterical traveller, pointing at her shoes. "They're Manolo Blahniks, damn you. I didn't spend £800 so they could be torn to shreds on these ugly, rough pavements. If Boris bloody Johnson wants me to walk, he can jolly well spend a bit of my council tax on carpeting South Kensington."
Shocked by such hardships, straw-sucking bumpkins from the sticks have been moved to organise fund-raising events, hoping to buy a horse and cart to send to the aid of their betters before they die of apoplexy, inconvenience and despair.
"Oi be orkshunnin' moi proize turnip, see?" said Mr Denzil Cesspit, from the sleepy hamlet of Manchester. "Rowl opp, rowl opp, oo'll gimme a groat fer this 'ere luvverly swede 'ere to 'elp they faancy buggers daarn sowf? C'maarn me luvvers, 'ave a 'arrt!"
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