Written by CaptainSausage
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Friday, 18 January 2013

image for Sir Ranulph Feinnes becomes first man to reach Dorking by dogsled in winter The road to Dorking is paved with snow

It was perhaps one of the greatest voyages imaginable which remained as yet unconquered - travelling by dogsled from London to Dorking in the very brief British winter. It was a dream of many men and had claimed more lives than can be counted. But this week Britain's greatest living explorer Sir Ranulph Feinnes finally achieved it on his twenty-fifth attempt.

Upon realising that this weekend there would be perfect conditions for the voyage, Sir Ranulph assembled together his team and gathered them at Charing Cross train station at Friday lunchtime. Travelling with him were his manservant Jeeves, his friend of indeterminate origin Couscous, and his teams of dogs - Sausage, Pork Chop, Steak Pie, Chips, Soup and Chocolate Cake.

They set off at a terrific pace, easily overtaking the snow-covered traffic as they galloped over Westminster Bridge. Ranulph whipped his dogs onwards, Couscous held the reins, while Jeeves attempted to light a fire in the back of the sled to warm his iron kettle.

By 2pm they had reached Streatham and paused for a break. Jeeves had managed to boil some water so they feasted on Pot Noodle and a few cans of cider they bought. Then they had to press on as the snow kept falling.

By nightfall, they had reached a soulless desolate place, where feral creatures gawped at them from the shadows and shabby hands would grasp at their fine explorer's clothes as they breezed past. They were in the dreaded area known as Croydon, where smouldering ruins lit the darkened sky. Sir Ranulph did not dare to find a shop to stock up on crisps, so they had to "do an Amundsen" and ate one of their dogs, Soup, instead. At least it was better than the horsemeat that the natives enjoyed. They were then running low on cider, so they hurried onwards.

Night drew on. After leaving Croydon they came upon open ground. There the snow was fresh and easy to ride on, not like the slushy mess they had to drive over in urban areas. However, the terrain was also becoming hillier and the temperature was dropping. At that point Couscous began to suffer from hypothermia and Jeeves had to take over the steering.

At around midnight they came to the M25, which had thwarted Sir Ranulph on many of his previous attempts. Thankfully it was now late on a Friday night, and the few drivers who were still around were so drunk that they had already crashed their cars. Sir Ranulph led his dogsleds across the empty motorway and into the countryside beyond.

There were only a few miles to go, but soon they found an all-night garage that sold cans of cider. They bought a few tins then decided to set up camp and get some rest. Also Sir Ranulph was bursting for a wank as he hadn't emptied his plums all day.

After a few minutes in the one-man tent listening to the explorer fapping himself, Couscous began to despair. He got up and said, "I'm just going out for a packet of Monster Munch, I may be some time." He was never seen again.

At 6am, as the first light began to rise over the horizon, the two brave explorers got up and packed their tent. They finished another can of cider each to take the edge off their hangovers, after which they felt refreshed and surprisingly pissed again.

They found that one of their dogs had died in the night and the other dogs had eaten it up. Realising that they didn't need to carry so much dog food with them, they threw away the rest of it and travelled much lighter for the rest of the journey.

By 9am, the snow had begun to melt, and Dorking was within sight. Sir Ranulph took one last break on Box Hill for a dump and a packet of Cheesy Wotsits, then they sprinted to the finish line.

A great crowd of seven people were there to greet them as they entered Dorking, including Dorking's mayor Chesney Hawkes, who declared "Welcome, the one and only Sir Ranulph Feinnes! Congratulations on being the one and only person to achieve this unique one and only feat!"

They spent the rest of the day celebrating in Dorking's Wetherspoons, after which they fell asleep in the street with their dogs like the brave heroes that they were.

The story above is a satire or parody. It is entirely fictitious.

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