Bengie the dog is at it again: making predictions that have stunned the local community with their horror and foreboding.
If it was any other dog most folk would ignore his pointless ramblings, but Bengie's previous visions have proved so accurate and disarming that they tend to trust his word.
A small crowd had gathered at the front of Mrs. Wilson's back yard this morning to hear more prophesising from the canine seer.
Mrs. Wilson charged 20p to get up close to the mutt and an extra 10p to ask him a question.
The local dyslexic religious association came down by the busload.
"It's like listening to the word of Dog", said one, "he told me the milk in my fridge would be sour when I get home. He was right, he was"
By 10PM Bengie had begun to stir - Bengie's favourite pastime is making a nice bowl of porridge for his mistress, after all.
When he finished in the kitchen, he greeted the assembled mass with a yelp and a tail wag and then entered a deep trance.
"He told us that the World was going to end at five-to-eight tomorrow night, just before the end of Eastender's", said a terrified woman, "I may never know what happens at the Queen Vic...will Barbara Windsor's knickers fall down? Or not?".
Bengie said that there would 40 days and 40 nights of famine before the Apocalypse and advised those present to stock up at the local shops beforehand.
Another old-timer was told that he would wet the bed tonight if he stayed too long in the pub.
A small boy was warned not to steal apples from Mr. Hogwash's trees.
"He told me I'd be doomed...DOOMED, he said", shook the little innocent child.
Mrs. McGinty flatulence problems are probably not related to Bengie's prophesies.
They are more likely connected with all that chewing gum she munches and her diet of cabbage, ginger-nut biscuits and peanuts washed down with gallons of fizzy orange.
Bengie did predict that her toilet would be blocked for a while, though.
We shall just have to wait and see if the Nostradamus of the dog world is once again correct.