Inhaling fermented turnips was Clarissa Cuckoo’s number 1 passion. She’d spent long, lonely nights, sat in the tub, balls deep with a bucket of stewing veg. When Markus Parkus slithered in all buttery and asked what she was up to, she would simply look up, smile lopsidedly, thud out her thumpers and say- “Markus Parkus, life’s grand.”

But it was a habit with filthy repercussions. Clarissa Cuckoo was an addict, which meant she was addicted. Her nostrils were swollen, her teeth sharp as shinsplints and her breath smelt awfully sweaty. When she went out to Ikea, the Swedes would vomit, and she would have to hide in flat pack furniture and inhale more fermented turnips. Which only made it worse.

So how did Clarissa Cuckoo finally kick this naughty inhalation habit? It was simple really. She admitted she had a problem, said it thrice in the mirror. Then she walked next door to find Markus Parkus, sliding around in his buttery hammock. She coaxed him out, kissed him once on the loafer, and told him her secret. Then, she forced a severed ski pole into his buttery palm, gaffotaping it on to ensure it wouldn’t slip. With an operatic cry to the Gods of the ocean, she launched herself at Markus Parkus, impaling her body with deadly impact.

Clarissa Cuckoo never inhaled turnips again. Why? Because Clarissa Cukoo was dead dead dead.