Yaxley Farcett, having been elected the most responsible member of the gathering, stumbled off to explain to the Monarch why her train her been subjected to an emergency stop at seventy miles an hour. He lurched over the railway track ballast, almost losing his footing. This was partly due to the uneven stones and even more partly due to the nine pints of real ale he had quaffed in the previous four hours. After about a hundred yards he was met by the driver of the royal train, who had obviously been hand picked for the job. 'What are you doing, you Yobbo ? What's the hold up ?' Yaxley struggled to extricate his wallet from the back pocket of his jeans and he fumbled around amongst the petrol coupons, receipts and store cards for his ID. He eventually located it and flashed it in the authoritarian face of the driver with a flourish. 'There' he said. 'I am here to inform you of the reashun for this delay', he slurred. The driver took the ID card and squinted at it using the headlight from the train for illumination. 'A Drainage 
Inspector !' he exclaimed, 'What in hell is that ?' Yaxley again went into his stock response to this embarrassing question and was just explaining in beery terms the importance of the 'twenty two yard rule' when there came a loud cough from behind them. A head was poking out of a window from one of the coaches at the front of the train. 'We would like to get to Sandringham tonight, if that's at all possible !' said the lady and she was joined at the window by an elderly man who shouted, "What she means is - get this bloody tin can shifted....now !"
Inspector !' he exclaimed, 'What in hell is that ?' Yaxley again went into his stock response to this embarrassing question and was just explaining in beery terms the importance of the 'twenty two yard rule' when there came a loud cough from behind them. A head was poking out of a window from one of the coaches at the front of the train. 'We would like to get to Sandringham tonight, if that's at all possible !' said the lady and she was joined at the window by an elderly man who shouted, "What she means is - get this bloody tin can shifted....now !" Both the heads then disappeared and the driver shouted at Yaxley. "So, what's the hold up ? Now that we've established you're an officer of the law". Farcett pointed back down the track to where his new found friends were still engaged in rolling the pigs off the track. He could make out the shapes of Johnny Swift and Mick Brawdmore leaning into one of the pigs and the sound of disturbed grunting and snoring became louder as the pigs objected to being manhandled so inexpertly. The driver groaned and said, 'I can't tell her that she's been held up because of a load of pigs can I ?'. Yaxley glared at the driver and snapped, 'Just tell her the truth man. What difference does it make?'. Scratching his head, the driver admitted that honesty was the best policy and said that he would simply tell the Queen that the Royal Train had been subject to a 'Porcine Intrusion' and leave it at that. 'Just give us a green light when you've 
got the track clear and we'll be on our way' he said before climbing back up into his cab. Farcett nodded his agreement and lurched back in the direction of the crossing.
got the track clear and we'll be on our way' he said before climbing back up into his cab. Farcett nodded his agreement and lurched back in the direction of the crossing. When he arrived, the situation had improved. Clive Lancaster was a free man once more. He was leaning against the Signal Box trying to explain to Hummer Thompson exactly why he hadn't had the prescence of mind to 'stare out' the pigs. Johnny Swift and Clunch Parsons were rolling the last pig off the crossing onto the side the tracks. The other twenty four pigs were all laying together in rows four deep to keep them clear of the rails, like pork sand bags. The whole ensemble were breathing deeply, as only people new to pig-rolling can breath. 'Is anyone wearing green pants ?' shouted Yaxley, 'I take it you've all seen 'The Railway Children ?'
