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Cerys has lived in Cardiff for all her forty years, which, combined with working for the mobile Hog Roast company for the last three, means she's seen a thing or two that she finds hard to explain.

But nothing like this bloody great leather bird, dropping out of the sky like a nightmarishly beaked thunderbolt, seizing the entire roast pig, complete with spit, in those terrible claws and carrying it away skyward as though it were as light as a feather.

Cerys thinks it might be time for a new job. And a large gin. Not necessarily in that order.