Alan the mummy was looking good last night, apart from the odd ear maggot. He was tanned, yes, but the weight loss suited him and the face was definitely his. His soul would recognise it, which was crucial to ancient Egyptians apparently.
Good on the cabbie from Torquay who answered an advert. God knows how that one went. "Terminally ill? Want to be a mummy after death? Call this number," or something like that. He came across as a very nice chap, happy to help the cause of science.
The boffins were thrilled, everything turned out just right. They were convinced this was a step forward. They talked of Alan's rebirth. There even seemed to be a suggestion there could be more of the same.
What! Imagine if we all fancied mummification. Where would they put us? Alan has a roomy fridge, but how many more could be packed in there comfortably? The scientist in charge had a nice line in preserved pigs' trotters. He kept them in his shed. Saved them over years, like a psychopath. Fascinating stuff, but let Alan be the last. Keep the ovens burning!
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