Nannageddon

Oh the perils of growing old. Statiscally, well according to life insurance companies anyway, a womans life expectancy is four years more than a mans. They cite many factors for this but I think it's just that men give up earlier where as the granny brigade keep on marching. No way is granny giving up on her blue rinse and bingo just because the Grim Reaper comes to get them. You can just see him gathering all the OAP's up in a group and saying "Come on follow me" and the old people duly fall into line.

Arriving at the halls of death the Reaper is faced with Death himself and proudly says "Look Master, how many I reaped this time" to which Death replies, "Very good - but why aren't there any women?". The Reaper turns around looking astonished and pleads "But they were there - I had a load of them". Unbeknown to the Reaper, the women had spotted a Bingo hall and nipped in to try and win some furry slipper boots. The men meanwhile, grateful for the peace and quiet had just followed the Reaper.

So now we are left with a surplus of crotchety old hells grannies and with no men of the same age to pick on, they turn their venom on the rest of society. Too many times, poor helpless muggers are poked in the eye with an umbrella or beaten half to death with a handbag full of coins in case they pass a tea room. "Queue? Not me dear I'm old and frail my dear but if you want to hear the story about Aunt Enids colostomy bag in vivid technicolour, please, feel free to complain about me pushing in".

As the population differential continues to grow, we head towards the end of the world - Nannageddon. The world as we know it replaced by knitted park benches where grannies sit around burbling nonsense and encouraging pigeons to gather in flocks and attack children. Cats will multiply as Mrs Miggins and her pack of OAT's (Old Age Terrorists) have lost track of how many strays they have brought home - it got boring counting them after 30. There will be an overwhelming smell of Lavender everywhere and sports will cease to exist - can't have those silly young men running around in shorts.

TV programmes will change, Songs of Praise will be on every day for 6 hours followed by Antiques programmes where grannies come along and try to look genuinely surprised when there family silver is valued at 2000 pounds while actually thinking "Oooh just think of all the scones I could bake with that money". Sex will be outlawed as will provocative music, dancing or clothes.

The only way to avoid Nannagedon will be to create bogus Saga holidays with the promise of free knitting classes, jam tastings and Bingo. Once a group is assembled, the driver will have to provide the supreme sacrifice and drive the coach over a cliff, or crash his boat into an iceberg. That way, the granny-culling can help to rebalance the population and the Reaper won't be fired from his job after all.

You heard it here first.....