Built of debris, detritus and rubbish: Landfill, covers the whole of what was once the south-eastern British Isles. In a world from which humankind has long departed, the other life that once survived as urban scavengers, has followed his path to greater triumphs and mastery on a wider and broader stage.
Their leader's face on the scarlet banners, while furry and inhuman is benign - multiple it gazes down from the telescreens: Great Uncle is Watching You. Their starships each built around the miracle of the Wellington-Tobermory Drive, will spread their careful and parsimonious ethos across the universe: but it is hinted that there is a dark secret at the heart of their Womble paradise.
When they became the masters they left a niche in the great pattern of life: a niche exploited now by things that by evolutionary necessity are as much more ruthlessly driven to recycle, as the Wombles are not to waste.
Needing to live on so little they have become shambling parodies of their once kin, things to be feared in the the darker commons. Overground, underground wombles all flee, the xombles.
Simon BJ [Today's post. Back in sync!]