The air of excitement was palpable at the Abco building. Everyone from Finance to Building Control was excited about explorer and naturalist Simon Hattenstone-Flitch giving the team building speech this year.

Posh, handsome and possessing both an army background and impeccable green credentials, there was something for everyone to admire in the presenter of “Canoeing with Crocodiles”. All were looking forward to his speech “Teamwork in the Natural World”.

They flocked to the glass atrium-style conference building like a slice of lemmings headed for a cliff and mingled like a colony of penguins before swelling like a mummeration of starlings when they heard the adventurer had navigated his way into the building.

At that moment Les Dawkes, a window cleaner from Epping was slowly descending the glass face of the atrium in his cradle, no one, had informed him about any conference.

Hattenstone-Flitch strode onto the stage to hysterical applause that sounded like a pandemonium of parrots.

“What a welcome” he said before raising his hands like a religious leader and launching straight into his first joke about the day Chris Packham, Ben Fogle and himself had all turned up at a badger sett with different camera crews. He couldn’t believe the hysterical reaction he received, the audience sounded like a riot of kookaburras.

What he could not see was that at this precise moment Les Dawkes, with back to the assembled throng had leant forward, almost out of his cradle and revealed his not inconsiderable, window cleaner’s bottom to the assembly.

The rugged hearththrob continued his speech, and things settled down again, what a great start.

A few moments later the intrepid pioneer tried a second joke, he wasn’t noted for his humour, but this was going so well, he felt emboldened. The one about his name getting mixed up with that of Ray Mears on the One Show was substandard, even by his levels, so he was surprised to hear his audience roaring like a cartload of howler monkeys.

Behind him Les, was leaning even further out of his cradle than before, once more revealing his rose-hewed arse which resembled that of a Mandrill.

The audience composed itself again and Hattenstone-Flitch continued, warming to his theme “It is only by teamwork” he declared sombrely “That we can stop an area of rainforest the size of Wales from disappearing every day. Thousands of species including the white rhino are now on the verge of extinction!”

His audience failed to show the required gravitas, instead collapsing into hysterics reminiscent of a cackle of hyenas as, in the window, Les knelt on the rail of his cradle suspended only by his safety equipment, his unbelted trousers round his knees. He seemed to be grasping at thin air.

Hattenstone-Flitch stormed offstage in disbelief, if this was all people cared about the environment he might as well give up, “I’m not a fucking performing monkey” he shouted, as he stepped into his air-conditioned car and was driven away.

Meanwhile, on the window cleaning cradle the oblivious Les was holding in his filthy handkerchief the tiny baby bird he’d rescued from its precarious position on a thin wire ready to place it gently back into its nest on the ledge. It had been a good morning’s work and he was ready for some grub.