Yes, fans, of course I’m only too aware that there’s no such thing as elves. That’s why when I saw some with my own eyes just the other night, I knew I had to be dreaming. It was an odd kind of dream really, the kind that while you’re asleep actually seems to be real. But the dream’s convincing imitation of life turned out to be the least of its powers. As I was soon to find out, it could also mimic something much more sinister – namely, the dark art of magic!

It all started as I was walking home from the store, laden down with groceries and grumbling to myself about the steep hill leading up to my house. However, I hadn’t got very far along the path before, to my great surprise, a stranger’s voice spoke clearly into my left ear.

‘Dear me, such a heavy load! Such a long way home, too,’ I heard it say. But before I had time to see who had spoken, a second voice echoed in my right ear.

‘Poor creature, what a tiddly shame!’

At this I stopped dead, dropping my bags to the ground. For glancing to my right and left, who should meet my stare but two identical elves, no taller than a rat! They were a portly pair, dressed in green jackets with yellow tights and scarlet shoes that curled upwards at the toes. They had pointy ears and wore red pointy hats too, with bells on that jingled noisily with every shake of their heads. Their human faces were smooth, round and cheery, and as my eyes shot nervously from one to the other, they peered quizzically back at me with concern and pity… the way you might gaze upon a caterpillar that was about to become a spider’s lunch.

‘Who are you?’ I asked them at length, my face scrunching into a puzzled frown.

‘Who are you?’ The one on my left repeated my words in shocked tones. ‘Did you hear that, bro? The rat creature can talk. It just asked me a question!’

‘I say, bro – a talking rat! That’s tiddly brilliant! I wonder what else it can do?’ his brother said eagerly.

‘I know, let’s see if it can obey commands,’ the first one replied.

‘Excellent, bro, what shall we tell it to do?’

‘Well, we could make it sit down, I suppose. That’s how they train dogs, you know,’ came the answer.

‘Tiddly good idea, bro!’ said the one on my right. ‘Do you want to do it, or shall I?’

‘I BEG your pardon!’ I interrupted them with a snort. ‘How dare you talk about me as if I were some stupid little canine? I’ll have you know that I am none other than Lord Grumpkin of Grumblemore, who, for your information, is one thousand three hundred and thirteenth in line to the Throne of Rattyland! I am also a well known gourmet cook who has just been nominated for this year’s Royal Rodent MasterChef award, as well as Genus Rattus World Super Brain of 2017, and Nat Rat Angler of the Year – and if that’s not enough for you, I’m an outstanding ballroom dancer, too! So if you don’t mind, kindly show me some respect!’

The two elves exchanged awed glances.

‘Fancy that!’ said the left one. ‘Who knew that rats could be ballroom dancers?’

‘Tiddly marvellous, I’d say!’ said the other. ‘Let’s see if it will give us a demonstration.’ And with sweeping movements of his hand, he began pulling musical notes out of the air until the place was filled with the big band sound of a rousing tango. Then before I knew it, and despite my best intentions to remain unmoved, I found myself twirling and whirling and hurling my body about in time to the relentless rhythm of the dance, till at the end of it all I fell down in a heap, panting fit to burst.

At this the elf on the right broke into peals of hilarity, his belly shaking with laughter. ‘Well, I give that a five point five for effort, and a four for artistic merit! What about you, bro?’

‘Okay, I’ve seen better, it’s true, bro. But maybe the tango isn’t his dance. Let’s try him with something a bit less energetic, like a tiddly waltz, for example.’

‘A waltz? Oh, no, one tango was enough for me, I’m bushed,’ I protested. But in vain. Next thing I knew, strains of a waltz came out of the air, and once more my legs took on life of their own. And so it was, that after what seemed like an endless frenzy of jumping and bumping around to the music, I finally sank to the ground for the second time.

There were guffaws of merriment from both sides of me, and then came the judgment.

‘Right, then, what would you give that, bro? A four for effort, and the same for artistic merit?’ suggested the elf on my left.

‘Yes, but definitely a ten for entertainment value!’ said his brother. ‘We mustn’t be too hard on him, after all. He is only a rat, you know.’

‘Now just a tiddly minute!’ I exploded. ‘No one has the right to score my dancing skills except the judges on Rattily Come Dancing. So who exactly are you?’

‘We’re Tiddly Dumb and Tiddly Dumber, of course,’ they said in unison.

‘Oh, I see, so you’re Tiddly Dumb, then,’ I turned to the elf on my left.

‘No, he’s Tiddly Dumb,’ he corrected me, pointing to my right.

‘Okay, so you’re Tiddly Dumber,’ I said to the same.

‘Oh, no, I’m Tiddly Dumber,’ announced the elf on my right.

‘But he’s just told me you’re Tiddly Dumb,’ I objected.

‘No, Tiddly Rat, you’re not paying attention. Now don’t blink, and watch us both more carefully next time,’ he said. Then for the merest millisecond the two elves blurred into a white fuzz before crystallising anew.

I stared hard at the elf on my right. ‘You’re Tiddly Dumb…?’ I ventured dubiously.

‘Course I am,’ he said. ‘Cool trick, wasn’t it! Me and bro switched places like a flash of lightning.’

‘You switched places?’

‘Well, obviously! How else could this have been me?’

I breathed deeply with my eyes shut for a moment. Then, ‘I think I’d like to go home now,’ I said eventually.

‘What, all the way home? Such a long journey with such a heavy load…’ sympathised the elf on my left, shaking his head gravely.

‘Oh yes, such a long, long journey. What a tiddly shame there’s no one else to help you,’ agreed his brother in solemn tones.

‘Well, thanks for the chat. I’ll say goodbye, then,’ said I, bending down to pick up my bags.

‘Of course, there’s clearly no one ELSE to help you,’ the first one continued pointedly. ‘But then you could always ask us.’

‘You mean, you would help me with my shopping?’ My face lit up at the thought.

‘We might be persuaded to consider it… for a price, that is,’ came the response.

‘A price? What price?’ I was instantly suspicious.

‘Ah now, there’s nothing to fear, we’ve no use for money,’ he told me.

‘Oh, no, certainly not! We tiddly elves haven’t used money for a thousand years,’ confirmed his brother on the right.

‘No, what we had in mind was something entirely different,’ the one on the left went on.

‘Quite so… call it a fun button, if you like,’ his brother said. ‘You do like fun, don’t you?’

‘A fun button? Never heard of such a thing!’ I exclaimed. By now I was hot and bothered and rather short on patience.

‘Oh well, Tiddly Rat, there’s really nothing to it,’ the first one assured me. ‘In return for our help, all you’ll have to do is to stand still while we whisper a secret word into your ear. Then from that time on, whenever we whisper that secret word again, you’ll be so happy that you’ll simply dance for joy!’

‘And that’s the fun button?’ I pondered doubtfully. In all fairness, it didn’t sound much like fun to me. But then again, I was pretty tired, so perhaps I’d missed the point.

‘Well, what do you say, Tiddly Rat? Is it a deal?’

There was an extended pause while I gathered my thoughts. Then finally –

‘Uh, well… Oh, all right, then!’

‘Tiddly marvellous!’ the first one declared. ‘Now let’s get those bags.’

What happened next is quite beyond explanation. All I know is, I blinked my eyes, and then my own front door just appeared before me as if by magic. And as I gazed round in amazement, there I was outside Grumblemore, all alone with the grocery bags at my feet, and not an elf in sight…

Well, as you can imagine, fans, since that night I have often thought about this strange and mysterious dream, and as to what to make of it, I have no idea. But one weird thing still puzzles me. From that time to this, whenever I go to my local store I always seem to end up very out of breath with a lot of other customers gathered round to look at me.

I mean, really! What could possibly be so interesting about my shopping?

 

I don’t know about you, fans, but I really enjoy cooking. And if I do say so myself, I’m quite the gourmet chef, which means of course that my ingredients are always locally sourced and one hundred percent organic. One of my favourite tricks is to toss all my leftovers into a frying pan, and then use my particular brand of magic to turn them into a new haute cuisine masterpiece. But alas, pride in our own achievements can sometimes cost us dear. And so it was, that wishing to show off my latest delectable dish to my good friend Bumble the miniature badger, I asked him over for dinner last night. But unfortunately for us both, in a rash moment I also invited him to help me prepare the meal – which, with the benefit of hindsight, was far and away the stupidest thing I have ever done in my life…

I had just finished collecting up the laundry for the weekly wash, when, at the stroke of six, a knock at the door announced Bumble’s arrival. So I put the basket down on the floor outside the kitchen and went to welcome my dinner guest. The badger came into the room with a beaming smile, then after pressing a large bottle of Rosé wine into my hand, exclaimed, ‘I say, Grumpkin, something smells absolutely delicious! What are you making?’ He began lifting lids off the many pots on the stove and sniffing with obvious delight.

‘Thanks, Bumble, I call it Fried Surprise, because it has a really big kick-back. You don’t get the full taste till after you’ve swallowed it, so don’t say I didn’t warn you!’

‘Sounds marvellous, what can I do to help?’ he asked eagerly.

‘Well, how about chopping up these ingredients?’ I suggested, passing him a cullender filled to the brim with vegetables.

‘Twizzle my whiskers, there’s enough here to feed an army!’ exclaimed the badger, gazing wide-eyed at the colourful heap of produce. ‘Are you sure we really need all these?’

‘Of course we do, Bumble. And we haven’t even started on the main course yet, so I hope you’re a fast worker. After all, when we’ve finished that, there’s dessert to prepare, isn’t there!’

‘Right, well, I’d better fetch my glasses, then,’ he said. And with that he went into the hallway to get them out of his jacket.

But I was just turning up the heat on the frying pan, when all of a sudden there was an almighty thud!

With the house still shaking from the impact, I rushed out of the room to find the badger sprawled face down on the floor, clothes scattered everywhere.

‘Bumble! What happened? Are you all right?’ I cried.

‘Oh yes, I’m perfectly fine! I’m ever so sorry, I must have tripped over your laundry basket. Yes, yes, I know – I really should get some new specs,’ he said apologetically, wiping them with a handkerchief before replacing them on his nose.  ‘Everything looks hazy through these, and I’ve been meaning to go to the optician’s for ages.’ Then as I started picking up the laundry, ‘Oh, don’t worry about that, Grumpkin. I’ll put the clothes back in the basket, you carry on with the cooking.’

Sure enough, moments later order had returned to the hallway and my guest was busy dicing vegetables. By this point I had also washed some strips of fish to add to the fry-up. There was quite a bit of it, so I laid it all out in neat rows on one of the chopping boards, ready for Bumble to slice into bite-sized pieces. Meanwhile the badger was making such good progress with the vegetables that he actually had time to clean up as he went along, sponging down the work surfaces and then drying them off with a tea towel. I was well impressed!

‘What a super job,’ I told him. ‘If you carry on at this rate we’ll be ready to eat in an hour!’

‘Really? Oh, good, I’m starving!’ he said, handing me a bowl of chopped tomatoes. ‘Preparing all this food gives you a real appetite.’

Indeed, we were now working with such seamless coordination that no sooner had Bumble finished cutting up one lot of produce, than he passed it to me for the masterchef touch while he got on with another batch. What a great team we were! Who could possibly have guessed things would go so wrong?

Well, after a while the phone rang in the next room, and as I went out to answer it, I left him strict instructions:

‘Could you keep stirring the soup, Bumble? And the tomatoes need more salt, I think. Oh – and you can throw away those vegetable peelings if you like.’

‘Right you are, leave it to me,’ said he, slinging the dishcloth over his shoulder as he got to work. Then I remembered a couple more things. ‘And while you’re at it, now should be the right time to add the fish to the main dish,’ I said. ‘Could you slice it up for me and put it in the frying pan? Oh, and you’d better reduce the heat, too, or else it’ll burn.’

‘Will do, Grumpkin, but if you don’t hurry up you’re going to miss that call!’ he pointed out. And so taking the hint, I hurried to the phone and left the badger to get on with it.

The caller turned out to be a pretty lady rat named Tracy Treat whom I’d recently met at a party, and who just happened to have no plans for the evening. Well, once I knew this, seeing that my abundance of wonderful food was far more than two people could eat, clearly the most logical course of action was to ask her to join us for dinner. So with the invitation graciously accepted and the meal preparations now complete, all that remained for me to do was to get spruced up, pour myself a drink, and look forward to a lovely evening with friends…

It all started so well. As Tracy stepped into the house and slipped off her coat, I couldn’t help but be awestruck by her red satin dress and diamond necklace, set off so superbly against her sleek brown fur. She wore perfume, too – a seductive, musky scent that held me totally captive to her rodent charms. And the feeling was clearly mutual. Handing me the coat, she dipped her eyelids in a display of shyness that was the sure sign of how attractive she also found me. I can tell you right now, fans – I was smitten! After exchanging polite greetings, it wasn’t long before we were sitting down and relaxing with some Elderflower wine while the meal finished cooking. And then at last there we were at the dining table – me at the head, Bumble on my left, and the lovely Tracy seated on my right. As we slowly sipped our steaming soup, my latest lady love was lolling at my side, gazing lazily into my eyes and making soft little sucking sounds as she strained the spoonfuls through her teeth. Could there ever have been a more delightful creature on Planet Earth? From that moment on, I tasted, saw, and heard nothing else in the world but Tracy Treat!

Perhaps that was why I was the last person to notice that not all of my dishes embodied the textures and flavours prescribed by the recipes. For example, the fried fish pieces were long and straggly and very hard to chew, whilst the tomato sauce which covered them was still lacking salt, but now possessed a gritty, fiery kind of quality that did not settle well in the stomach. And that wasn’t all. The chocolate dessert had a distinct curry flavour, the apple pie smelled really fishy, and the strawberry trifle was too salty to swallow. Of course Bumble was far too polite to make mention of those anomalies. Tracy, however, had no such inhibitions.

‘Mama Mia, what on earth have you done to these chips?’ she demanded suddenly, drawing my attention to one of the few culinary cockups that I had yet to savour. A bunch of contorted potato strips sent tendrils twisting like corkscrews from the end of her fork.

‘Chips? Ah, you must mean the frittes frisées,’ I corrected her, scrambling my wits to explain away the aberration. ‘Yes, I’m glad you like those, they’re quite a novelty, aren’t they! I used an old Breton recipe that’s been in my family for generations.’

‘But – my, they’re so black! They look burnt to a crisp, are they safe to eat?’

‘Safe to eat? You won’t find a better batch of caramelised French fries anywhere in the land!’

‘And these peas – at least I think they’re peas – they seem to be an odd kind of pink colour… Erm, is that normal?’

At this I burst out laughing. ‘Oh no, Tracy, of course that’s not normal! These are Rose Peas, a very rare variety indeed! Rose Peas are at a premium, you know. I had to have them specially imported from India where they grow them as a niche vegetable. Now do tell me what you think of them!’

‘Uh, well…’ My glamorous guest appeared slightly queasy. ‘I think I might pass on those,’ she said finally, ‘but the fried fish looks nice, though.’ She popped a dark, dangly piece into her mouth and began to chew. Then ever so slowly her expression changed. She gulped hard several times and for a moment seemed to struggle for air. ‘Erm… can I please… use your rest room?’ she gasped at length, slapping a hasty hand over her mouth. Then without another word she jumped from her chair and bolted out of the kitchen. I shot a questioning glance at Bumble, but to my dismay he wasn’t looking too bright either.

‘Apologies, Grumpkin, but I’m feeling a bit sick,’ he said. ‘Mind if I ask you a favour? I know there’s an awful lot of dish washing to do here, but I really think I should go home to bed. I need to get out of these tight clothes and into something more comfortable, if that’s all right with you… if you don’t mind my asking, that is?’

I couldn’t believe it, within three minutes both my guests had left, and now here I was surrounded by heaps and heaps of delicious gourmet food that I couldn’t possibly demolish by myself. Well, the ungrateful pair! It was a disgrace, that’s what it was! If that was how they rewarded a friend’s hospitality, then they certainly didn’t deserve to dine with ME again! And so, ruminating on these and plenty more angry thoughts that are better left unsaid, I began picking up plates to start the great clear-up.

It did strike me as odd when I saw scouring powder amongst the various herbs and spices standing next to the cooker. I was even more surprised when I discovered a large pile of fish strips in the pedal bin. Here was the ultimate proof (as if I really needed it) that Bumble the Badger is totally useless in the kitchen! But that wasn’t the worst thing. To top it off, when I went to load the washing machine, I couldn’t find my pyjamas anywhere. Huh, isn’t that typical of him! Trust him to talk to me in riddles! ‘Can I ask you a favour?’ he begins. Then he goes on, ‘I really need to get out of these tight clothes and into something more comfortable, if you don’t mind my asking.’ Well, he keeps hinting that he wants something from me, without actually spelling it out. I mean REALLY! If he needed to borrow my jim jams for the night, why couldn’t he just bite the bullet and ask me?

Oh, I say, terribly sorry fans! Got to stop here… I think I’m going to throw up!