The following article works best if you can flick your internal monologue to Attenborough Mode, unless you happen to have a decent 1878 Gentleman Explorer on standby.
It had been a long and arduous trek, one I would've been unable to complete without the able assistance provided by Sherpa Kosming, but we had finally reached our destination. Wimbledon Common. I was here to learn more about the strange and peculiar creatures that made this place there home. Over the first few days of our expedition we had plenty of luck, all of it bad. Heavy rains washed away our supply tent and Kosming got a nasty cut on a bramble bush that I feared may become infected without further treatment. We were forced to abandon camp and repair to the Co-Op on Wimbledon High Street. After gathering a Twix and a Lipton's Peach Ice Tea we used a basic first aid kit to disinfect Kosming's wounds. This cost us literally an hour of our time.
|The horror, the horror.|
However it also led to our first change of fortune. After returning to our camp and gorging ourselves on the six pack of Monster Munch Kosming had purchased. So intent on fending off starvation were we that we neglected the refuse of our moderate feast and were soon surrounded by a moderate heap of litter. Before to long we noticed that the rubbish heap was had shrunk some what. We started to closely monitor the tiny rubbish pile. Within a few minutes the pile started to shudder and Kosming uttered the simple word on which we we'd been pinning all our hopes. “WOMBLE”
|I was surprised to, Wellington.|
The womble in question was a male who, due to his resemblance to my favourite fictional womble, I named Wellington. Wellington was fairly typical of the species although he may have been a few inches below the twelve inch height my research had led me to expect but the expect pattern of hair and the structure of the creature was exactly as my reading at the Natural History Museums library had led me to believe. The patterning of the fur was exactly as I expected as was the small knitted cap and scarf, as were the glasses. In addition the creature was accompanied everywhere by the soothing narrative tones of Bernard Cribbins.
Although initially startled when Wellington realised we intended no harm he soon relaxed and continued to gather the elements of our rubbish most useful for the construction of a small hang-glider for use in shenanigans later that day. We assisted him with his gathering and followed him through the undergrowth towards his burrow. A ramshackle building made entirely from the collected rubbish of the ages. The womble clan consisted of eight creatures, their leader was a large male who's fur was silver in colour. There were only two females in the group leading me to hypothesise that the creatures were somewhat less than monogamous, or that some of them were very lonely.
|I have no idea who Madam Chalet was fucking.|
Over the next few days I learnt much about the wombles and their ways eventually becoming accepted as one of the pack. The creatures seemed to bond entirely through charming misadventures of which I was involved in several. Myself and Kosming enjoyed this time thoroughly. I gained plenty of useful data and have started to compose the definitive book on these strange creatures. I belief that I managed to identify many previously unobserved traits. Both of us thoroughly enjoyed our time among the wombles, as the time came to leave I will admit that both of us shed a tear. I've had some trouble adjusting to life away from the wombles... I've actually had to hire Bernard Cribbins to narrate my life... and I will never forget my time among those Wombles in the Mist. Although I am trying to forget the multiple pop-hits the band performed.
eddie <remembers he's a womble>