The Archdruid squelches through the pelting drought, down through the marshlands where, before the Great Drought started, there was but dry heath, and approaches the Wicker Person.
Archdruid: As this Wicker Person burns - so may the sun rise on our land and dry up the Drought under which we drown.
She attempts to light the Wicker Person, but fails dismally due to the saturated state of the drought-sodden wood.
All: Stick some petrol on, Eileen, or we're gonna be here all night. And we're getting soaking wet in the droughty drizzle.
Hnaef may leap forward with the lighter fluid or, as it may be, petrol (Don't try this at home) But the drought overcomes even the petrol and a pile of unsold copies of Tony Blair's "A Journey". In a frenzy, Eileen attacks the Wicker Person (now redefined "Wicker Man" due to its uselessness) with her cricket bat, reducing it to soggy kindling.
Archdruid: That's it then, kiddies. Winter's gonna last forever, and no Christmas - mark my words. Let's hit the White Horse.
All: And also with you.
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