As explorer Robert Scott landed with his men on the icy continent of Antkentica, they were met with sub-zero temperatures and snow and ice.
'Right, men', he said, as they unloaded their Japanese sledges that weren't built to run in such poor weather conditions from their ship the H.M.S. Drama Queen, 'this will be very, very tough.'
'As we're English we have no idea how to manage doing things in such atrociously diabolical sleet and ice, but there's nothing the English do better than anyone else than become heroic failures, so let's carry on to our certain doom', and after such a rousing speech they all set off on foot to try and make their way to the Southern Softie.
Soon their sledges began getting stuck in the snow and some of the men began to get frostbite, but they bravely continued - then as night fell they made camp at a place they named Ashford. 'Break out some food, Oates', Scott said to that man, and 'What food, sir?', was the reply.
'The delivery boat couldn't make it to our ship yesterday, sir, it got trapped in the ice.' 'Hmmm, well lets get a fire going and make some tea, then.' 'Yes, sir. Smith, go and get the kettle from the other tent', and Smith left but after ten minutes he hadn't returned.
'Where has he gone?', asked Scott, looking out of the tent, but Smith had decided he couldn't manage doing any exploring in such snow and ice, and was walking back to the Drama Queen to read a book instead.
By next morning the temperatures had fallen to minus 22C, and they packed up and started heading north again, though they were continually slipping and falling over as they had summer shoes on, and the large bags of grit they had brought with them to help them clear their way had run out after only ten minutes.
'Men', Scott suddenly said, 'we can't go on in this, the worst tragedy to befall the English people since that winter in 1979 when it was worse than this for months on end', and he failed to spot a team of huskies zooming past them carrying some Norwegian explorers to get to the Southern Softie, 32 minutes after landing on Antkentica.
'Where is our newspaper man? Ah, Jones, please kindly write up a heroically tragical tale of our brave struggle against the elements in the name of Good Queen Broon, and don't mention how Russians, Norwegians, even Scots don't even notice such weather.' 'Yes, sir.'
'And use plenty of words like 'struggle', 'cope', 'problems', 'deterioration', etc., etc., etc., to make it sound dramatic for the people who live in the London area and work in the press, and have never seen a snowflake before. Oates, where are you going?'
'I'm going outide, sir, I may be some time - waffling tosh about average, harmless, wintery conditions that anyone over the age of 10 expects at this time of year in the UK, anyone north of Watford, that is.'
'Millions of Britons just carry on as usual in the snow, including farmers and emergency services and road gritters, even delivery drivers, but it wouldn't make a very good black and white movie, now would it?'
'No', and Oates left and then sneaked back to the Drama Queen, where he sent off a cable to London to accept the offer of the post of BBC Director General.