Monckton of Brenchley perambulated through the gentle snow, whistling three parts of the Messiah simultaneously while thinking through the mathematics of radiation transfer in the atmosphere. His eyes were fixed on the horizon, so he failed to see the snow-encrusted gin trap McShane had set for the rabbits that were plaguing the Tannochbrae lawns. His scream brought foxes out of their dens, and a golden eagle looked down from its lonely patrol and began a slow, circling descent.The case of the missing curry.
"The researchers were frauds, writes Lord [sic] Monckton, the dogged critic of global-warming hype. . . . This means they were not only frauds but dangerous ones."
— Patrick "P-Dendro" McIlheran