Sam drove hastily through the midday traffic, gyring and gimbling round other cars as the midday sun shone brillig over the slithy toves.

Another 10-18, a Jabberwocky in progress – 2 hostages, SWAT team in position. Sam patted his hip – the trusty Vorpal 9mm he’d inherited from his father.

He pulled up outside Tumtum Tree enterprises – a warehouse on the edge of the docks. Sam stood a while in thought, then made his way into the building through the rear loading bay.

Long time he sought his manxsome foe, hearing nothing but the rustling of an occasional mome wrath or mimsy borogrove. Eventually he spied the Jabberwocky, eyes glowing red like fire, marching up and down in front of the hostages, whiffling and burbling incoherently.

He stood in uffish thought for a moment, then silently pulled his gun, firing shots – one, two, snicker-snack into its neck. The beast slumped motionless to the floor.

Galumphing back with the hostages, Sam smiled. It was looking to be a frabjous day after all.