As we were wandering through a forest full of ancient trees,
my alter ego said he wanted to turn over a new leaf.

As there was a lot of mulch about, the two of us made a squelching noise.

Curious, I asked, ‘Why a new one?’

For all we could see were old leaves, which I suggested
might be due to a raiding party of new-age gardeners from
a commune called Leaf Us Alone.

‘Shush,’ he cautioned, ‘I’m talking to my alter ego, the pun master Tim Vine.’

He then stroked the ear of a rabbit, commenting,
‘We all know tree’s a crowd,’ but the poor creature just bared its teeth.

A hare looked amazed that I would allow such a liberty,
for rabbits are gods of the wooded domain,
then loped off into a shadowy enclave, under the branches of a mighty oak.

Under these were a party of ramblers from the
Farlow and District Outdoor Group,
sat on their overcoats made of finest silk.

Milrose Marmite, whom only half the members liked,
had forgotten to put milk in his tea flask, and was milking a cow.
Mavis Marple, owner of the Delacott Detective Agency,
remarked, ‘You’re being very bovine.’

‘Shush!’ said her pal, Beatrice Milady-Mackledow,
and everybody jumped when they heard what they
thought was the voice of BBC radio phone-in presenter Jeremy Vine.

‘Beatrice, I’ll deal with your text about the right to roam in a minute.
I’m trying to find a song to accompany it, 
as I’m a comic, not a disc jockey.

‘Before I do that, please tell that chap I want to interview him.

'Yes, that fellow standing behind you lot, looking very shy.’

Hearing this, I nudged my alter ego.
‘Oh, what it’s about, Jeremy?’

But he replied, nonchalantly. ‘It’s not Jezza speaking, but his comical brother Tim.
Big bruv’s doing a mindfulness session in his potting shed.

‘You wrote an article for Country Walkers’ Weekly,
about regenerating soil trod on by ramblers’ groups.’

‘What,’ my alter ego answered, looking at the boot-clad walkers,
‘like this fine body of outdoor types assembled here whom
I’ve just spotted dumping banana skins everywhere?’

‘Indeed.’

‘I think you mean the piece I wrote about the sanctity of forest earth,
entitled Mulch Ado About Nothing?’

The radio exploded with, ‘I do the jokes!’

My alter ego then laughed uproariously after
upstaging that famed punster Tim, and, 
turning to walk off, slipped and fell, which for
ever after became a topic to arouse much-needed mirth, 
among the Farlow and District Outdoor Group members,
who delighted in seeing my alter ego become the victim of a banana skin.

That was the last I heard of him, although I believe
he’s now writing scripts for a remake of a 1970s
comedy hit called Monty Python.