Well, fans, I really don’t know what it is about me and watermelons, but it seems that whenever I eat any, I always have the most vivid dreams. Take yesterday, for instance. I had just consumed a splendid meal of tuna and macaroni salad topped with tomato sauce, and rounded this off with a lovely great hunk of pink watermelon. But afterwards I fell asleep, and before I knew it I found myself in an alternate reality where, believe it or not, I would soon play a pivotal role in a magical story of love…

As the dream began, I peered out of a hole in somebody’s kitchen wall to see what appeared to be some family preparations for a big event. It soon became clear that the woman in charge – aptly named Swindlerella – was the mother of two rather plain and obtuse girls called Dazey and Dulley. Swindlerella also had a beautiful stepdaughter by the name of Cindy, whom she hated. To disadvantage this stepdaughter in favour of her own girls, she gave her nothing but cast-offs to wear and made her do all the housework and cooking. But Cindy was as clever as she was beautiful, and each night when the others went to bed she would go online and secretly educate herself in all manner of subjects to train her mind. She hoped that by doing this she might one day escape her horrible stepmother and run away.

Meanwhile news had arrived that the king’s eldest son, Prince Frank, was looking for a bride, and for this purpose he would hold a fancy dress ball to which all the single young ladies of the land were invited. The ball was to last two days, at the end of which time the prince would publicly announce his engagement to the girl who pleased him the best. Knowing this, Swindlerella planned to send her two gormless daughters to the ball dressed as pop stars, in hopes that one of them would be chosen as the prince’s future bride. So when this first night of the ball arrived, she packed the glitzy Dazey and Dulley off to the palace in a taxi, and then tied Cindy to a kitchen chair so she wouldn’t try to go too.

Peeping out from my hole in the wall, I couldn’t help but feel sorry for Cindy, all alone in the kitchen and now starting to cry. So quick as a wink I climbed up behind her and chewed long and hard on the ropes till at last they fell off her wrists. Then as the poor girl turned to see her rescuer, she gasped at the sight of a white rat in a jacket and bow tie beaming up at her from the floor.

‘Lord Grumpkin of Grumblemore, at your service,’ I told her proudly. ‘Glad to be able to help you, Cindy.’

‘Oh, thank you, little friend, you’ve just saved me from the misery of a cold and hungry night!’ she exclaimed. ‘Tell me, how can I repay you for such a kind deed?’

‘Think nothing of it, I’m only too glad to have been of assistance,’ said I. ‘Although of course, a slice of watermelon wouldn’t go amiss,’ I added, spying a large ripe fruit on the kitchen table.

‘Well, you’ve certainly earned that, Lord Grumpkin,’ declared Cindy, reaching for a knife to cut it with. ‘I can’t tell you how grateful I am not to be tied to that chair. But of course, it makes no difference really, I’m still a prisoner here. It’s just so unfair that I can’t go to the prince’s ball!’

‘I don’t understand it, your stepmother must be a very cruel person to treat you this way,’ I said sympathetically. ‘If there was anything I could do to get you there, I’d take you myself.’

‘I’m sure you would, Grumpkin. But don’t worry, I’m pretty used to missing out on things by now. It’s no big deal, I’ll just sit quietly at home till the others get back.’

But at that very instant there was a blinding flash of light, and a wondrous creature appeared before us. She was dressed in floaty garments of pink, purple and turquoise, and hovered in the air by means of luminous wings that shone like soap bubbles in sunlight. I and the girl stood rooted to the spot as she answered our unspoken questions.

‘Don’t be afraid, Cindy, I’m Grace, your fairy godmother,’ she said with a warm smile. ‘For many years I’ve watched you suffer patiently at the hands of Swindlerella, but don’t despair, because your suffering will soon be ended. I’ve come here today to reward you for your courage and to use my magic powers to grant you one wish. Name anything you like, and I will give it to you.’

‘What? Is this for real, or am I dreaming…?’ murmured the girl in amazement.

‘No, it’s absolutely real, you have my word,’ the fairy replied. ‘Now, what is the one thing in all the world that you wish for? Whatever it is, name it, and it will be yours tonight!’

‘Well, I… I…’ Cindy was still too shocked to speak.

‘Erm, perhaps I might be able to help,’ I suggested, stepping boldly forward to address the fairy godmother. ‘As you may know, Grace, Prince Frank is looking for a bride, and so starting from tonight he’s holding a fancy dress ball which will carry on for two days. All the single young ladies in the kingdom are invited, but Cindy’s stepmother won’t let her go. She’s totally devastated! Can you help her?’

‘Oh, dear, what a pity, my sort of magic normally loses its power after one day,’ said the fairy. ‘But never mind, give me a moment and I’ll see if I can come up with a solution.’ For a little while there was a faint tinkling sound, like the music of wind chimes, as Grace undertook some pretty tricky mental arithmetic. And then, ‘Got it!’ she announced at last. ‘All right, Cindy, this is how we’re going to do it. Now fetch me two clean glasses…’

As the girl hurried to obey, I stared on in wonder. First the fairy godmother muttered some words over the glasses, which immediately filled with ice-blue liquid. Next she gave Cindy the following instructions:

‘In a bit I’m going to ask you to drink one of these,’ she said, ‘but before that I want you to put the other one in a safe place so you can drink it at exactly 6pm tomorrow night. Be very sure to put it where no one else can find it.’

‘No problem, I’ll just pop it in the oven. Nobody else but me ever does any cooking,’ replied the youngster. And it was no sooner said than done.

‘Right, now I want you to listen very carefully. In order to make one day’s magic stretch to two, you’re only going to be able to appear in your party persona from six until twelve o’clock on both evenings. That means you’ll have to make absolutely sure that you leave the ball before midnight. I can’t emphasise this enough, Cindy, there’s really no margin for error here! You must realise that as soon as the clock starts to chime twelve, you and everyone with you will be changed back into your present form.’

The girl was mystified. ‘I don’t understand, Grace. What does changing back into my present form mean?’

But the fairy was no longer listening. Instead she ordered Cindy to pick up the glass, and began counting down the seconds till 6pm. Then at precisely six o’clock the potion was swallowed, and in a startling flash of light everything was altered. Cindy’s old clothes vanished, leaving her attired in a white satin dress and a purple cloak trimmed with fur. Her head was crowned with a diamond studded tiara, and her face shielded by a bejewelled mask to hide her identity. Out of nowhere came slippers made of finest glass, snapping magically to the size of her tiny feet. And before she had time to wonder how she would get to the ball, the watermelon became a stagecoach, six little house mice morphed into horses, and everyone including myself suddenly transferred to the road outside the house. But something was wrong. Grace and the others were all calling out to me, urging me to respond by some sort of action. Puzzled, I directed my gaze to my own reflection in a window, only to get the shock of my life. Grumpkin the Rat was a rat no more, and the moustachioed man now staring back at me was a coachman clad in full ceremonial regalia!

However, so excited were we to find ourselves thus transformed that we were quite oblivious to a secret witness, who had been noting the fairy’s activities from the start and was quietly drinking in every last magical detail. And as we were about to discover, the consequences of that oversight would soon turn out to be very nearly fatal…

To be continued…

Well, fans, this is definitely a first for me. I am writing this to you from the depths of a large cargo ship which is bobbing around on a rough and raging sea. I have absolutely no idea which British port we’re headed to, or when we’re scheduled to arrive. For goodness’ sake, don’t they have signposts out here? How else is the captain meant to know if we’re going the right way? At this rate, I wouldn’t be surprised if we ended up in the outer Hebrides instead of Dover, Hull or Newcastle! I mean, really – this whole affair has been nothing but a catalogue of errors from the very start!

Of course, I blame Bumble the Badger for getting me into this mess. He was the one who said, ‘I know, let’s see what’s in the bag by that man’s car, perhaps it’s something nice to eat.’ To which I replied, ‘Good idea, Bumble. You stay here while I take a look.’ And so I climbed into the hold-all, only to find it stuffed full of clothes instead. But before I managed to jump out again, someone zipped it shut, swung me up into the boot of the car, slammed all the doors, and then started the engine. Well, that was many days ago, when unknown to yours truly, I was about to become live cargo on a crazy journey with no end in sight! Now here I am in the belly of a ship in the middle of nowhere, cold, tired and hungry, and wondering if I’ll ever see Grumblemore again…

Let me tell you, fans, travelling in a car boot from Swansea all the way to Dover is no joke, especially when the human passengers insist on making numerous pit stops along the way to visit the rest room and take refreshments. But imagine my dismay when, after parking the vehicle at around noon, somebody took out my hold-all and carried me as hand luggage onto a cross-Channel ferry boat! More long hours with no food or water followed, and then at last I saw my chance to escape. The bag had been partially opened to remove a sweater, and now lay under the table of some sort of outdoor eatery while its owner decided what to order. The food smelled absolutely delicious, and so very cautiously I emerged into the light to see how I could get some. Unfortunately for me, however, that was when the trouble started.

Right across from where our group was seated, an elegant lady with silver hair was enjoying a hot chocolate and a fancy pastry. Somehow – don’t ask me how – she chose the exact moment when I dropped out of the hold-all to bend down and pick up her handbag. Then as her brain decoded that unusual sighting, a shrill scream ensued and the entire scene descended into mayhem. With this, quick as a flash, and abandoning all thoughts of a meal, I scarpered – hotly pursued by a fat man in a striped apron. The fat man wielded a broom and chased me all the way down the street, whacking the pavement behind me in futile attempts to kill me. I soon tired of this, however, and put an end to the chase by jumping into a flower pot just as he was beeped loudly by a car for running into the road without looking.

My memory is a little hazy on the sequence of events after that. Suffice to say that my flight included rides in a taxi, a bus, and a train with a strange name – something like Yuri’s Comet, or some such similar term. Along the way I snatched drinks and snacks wherever I could find them, although here it must be said that my poor knowledge of French did turn out to be a bit of an issue. For example, who knew that the French word for bread was ‘pain’? Well, clearly if I’d known that, I wouldn’t have thought they were trying to sell me some sort of home remedy for stomach aches, would I? Meanwhile, when I asked for a boiled egg in another establishment, the manager got quite shirty. Believe it or not, without any provocation from myself, he came right out with it and called me an oaf! And to top it off, when I tried to buy a cup of coffee there, he wouldn’t take my cash. He kept saying ‘Yuri’s, Yuri’s,’ as if I was trying to pay with Yuri’s money instead of mine. Who is this Yuri guy, anyway? He must be jolly rich if he owns a train called Comet.

And speaking of the Comet, that was another fiasco, wasn’t it! I was sure I’d read somewhere in English that it was going to Dover, so I boarded the train at the first opportunity and found a nice quiet seat where I duly fell asleep from sheer exhaustion. But when I awoke I got a shock. How could I possibly have known it would take me instead to a place called Amsterdam, where they actually have people who don’t even speak French? Well, the only Dutch word I know is ‘tulip’, so whenever I needed to ask anyone anything, as a matter of good manners I always made sure to include it in my question. Thus when I wished to know where to find trains going back to the UK, I felt that it sounded much more Dutch to say, ‘Please can you tell me where to get tulips to Dover?’  And they all understood me perfectly.

As it turns out, May is a very good time for tulips in Amsterdam. Indeed, I spent the better part of a day admiring whole fields of them. However I was forced to admit that this was rather less than helpful for the purpose of getting me home to Wales. And who knows whether I might still be there today, were it not for the kindness of a passing stranger who took pity on my plight. He gave me a free map of the city and then circled the area marked Amsterdam Port, advising me that I could hitch a ride back to the UK on a cargo ship. A cargo ship, of course! Now why hadn’t I thought of that? So map in hand, off I trotted to the seaside.

What a beautiful day it was, the sea like liquid glass, and the sun shining out of a clear blue sky. Gulls circled lazily in the warm breeze, hardly needing to flap their wings at all. They called plaintively to each other as they caught rides on the currents of air, alternately dipping and soaring as they homed in on their edible targets below. And boats! As I stood by the docks, I realised I had never ever spied so many sea-going vessels of such different shapes and sizes. The only question that remained was, which one of the dozens before me was planning to dock at a British sea port? And genius that I am, I soon decided that it had to be the one with the most English labels stuck to its containers. My reason for that was that these labels displayed such critical warnings as ‘Flammable liquid’, and ‘Explosives’, written in the English language alone. This led to my confident belief that the consignments were on their way to one or more linguistically challenged customers of the English speaking variety. Well, once I’d deduced that much, the ship’s destination was pretty obvious, really. After all, who could possibly be worse at reading foreign languages than the native inhabitants of Great Britain? And so on the basis of that stunning leap of logic, the correct cargo boat was identified in pretty short order.

Thankfully, getting aboard this vessel was an entirely straightforward affair, as most of the crew’s attention was focussed on readying both ship and cargo for imminent departure. Then I quickly found myself a cosy little spot to hide in, down in the bowels of the boat in the place that they call the hold. It was filled with wood chips, which smelled delightful and made a very comfortable bed. Beneath this cargo I could hear the soft droning sounds of the engine, and all the while I was being gently rocked by the swaying motion of the water. There was food aplenty, too, as this ship boasted a large and well-stocked kitchen. Indeed, I was pleased to note that with such a lot of on-board amenities, it might even be possible to enjoy my journey home! Sad to say, however, all hopes of a pleasant trip vanished like smoke once we had set sail and finally hit the open sea…

The doors here are mostly left ajar, so for the first few nights I found it really easy to get up to the crew’s quarters and scavenge food from the kitchen while they were asleep. The trouble began on the fourth night, when, as I repeated this routine procedure, I was surprised in the act by the ship’s cook. I had finished eating and was just putting some food in my pocket for later when suddenly the lights went on. Then before I had time to turn tail and run, there was a lot of hollering and somebody grabbed me by the jacket. I promptly slipped out of the garment and made my getaway, but as I fled towards the door the man was right behind me with a butcher’s knife in his hand. Luckily for me, the commotion woke others from their sleep, and some who saw the cook brandishing a knife thought he was an armed pirate who must be overcome. And after wrestling him to the floor and then frog-marching him to the deck, luckily for the cook, one of the crew recognised him just in time to stop him being thrown overboard to the sharks.

Well, I’ve now been aboard this ship for more days than I can count, and it’s so hard to get food that I haven’t eaten since yesterday. It’s really cold down here, too, and there’s nobody to talk to. And as for the weather, I’m sick and tired of the never-ending storms which are tossing this boat about like a feather in the wind! My only pleasure is sneaking up to the deck when no one’s around to see if I can spot any land on the horizon. Surely we should be there by now! I mean, how far away can England be? I think I’ll go up again and take another look…

Okay, fans, here I am once more on the deck, peering through a powerful telescope that one of the crew members has conveniently left unattended… and so far all I can see is water. But wait, I think I may be wrong. Looking to the right and left I’m sure I can make out land. There’s something straight ahead, too. It looks like a woman standing very tall on a little island. She’s got a large spiked helmet on her head, and one arm raised high in the air as if she’s waving at us! Oh, no, that can’t be right, the woman’s green.

A green woman?

Well, where in the world have they taken me? Oh, for heaven’s sake, surely not! I always thought it was a weird name for a country, but if all the people are like her, then of course it totally makes sense…

It’s Greenland, isn’t it!