Clan : Shartak Tiger Hunters

Tigers! Bally nuisance! Worse than suffragettes if you ask me. I remember the time one burst into the smoking room at the Carlton Club and ate Lord Halifax - a tiger, that is. Not a suffragette.

One duly notes the tiger epidemic on Shartak. It seems that a gentleman cannot travel more than a few feet in any direction without bumping into one of the blighters. Obviously one can�t rely on the natives to stay on top of it – too busy worshipping trees and poking bits of bone through their noses, and so on and so forth.

As is generally the case in matters of organisation and civilisation, the task of ridding the island of this striped vermin must fall to us brave ex-patriots. I think that Rousseau put it best when he said: “No civilisation can truly prosper and fully enjoy the bounties of its enlightened vantage, while tigers freely dine upon personages of note.”

In that spirit I call upon all blue-blooded Englishmen, as well as those two rarer breeds – the courageous Frenchman and the heroic Spaniard - to take up arms against this feline menace; to leave saucers of warm milk outside villages as bait; to doggedly refuse to take rest until every last tiger has been killed and the roads of this island are carpeted with their skins.

I also call upon the natives of Shartak to assist us in our noble goal, by serving as beaters. It is you, with your knowledge of the jungle and animal tracks, who will be a vital colonial asset in locating the tigers, so that your more civilised brethren may move in and shoot them