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!

 

 

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!

 

 

 

 

 

 

As you are aware, dear fans, being – as I am – Genus Rattus World Super-Brain (that is, ‘World Super-Brain of the Rat Species’) I rarely need to seek anyone else’s advice about anything. However, I’m sure you’ll agree that even the best of us need a little help now and then. So it was, that finding myself in a bit of a quandary, two days ago I began looking round to see which of my many acquaintances could set me straight on the rather sensitive matter of whether or not I should report a friend of mine to the police. But as you will shortly discover, these same innocent enquiries soon plunged me head first into a whole heap of trouble – so much so, that it wasn’t long before I began to think my life would never, ever be the same again.

The friend in question, who for the purposes of this account I’ll call Bill Jones, is a quiet, unassuming white rat who, contrary to his well-bred appearance, recently took up the nefarious practice of stealing. Like me, years ago Bill used to be a pet rat, but while he was still quite young he managed to get out of his cage and escape far away from his owner’s house. Since then, he’s lived happily in the countryside with his brown cousins, participating in the wildlife community just as fully as I do. But sad to say, something bad seems to have happened to him lately. His cheerful spirit has quite deserted him, and now he seems to display a dull disinterest in just about everything. In consequence of that, these days most of his old friends tend to give him a wide berth.

All this is bad enough, to be sure. But imagine my shock and horror when, as I was shopping the other day in Life Stratterjees (our local grocery store), I observed this same friend slipping items off the shelf into his pockets, and then leaving the premises without paying! At first I thought there must surely be a logical explanation for these actions. Perhaps Bill and the management had come to an arrangement that I knew nothing of, which entitled him to help himself to the produce in exchange for some services rendered, for example. This seemed like such a good reason for what I’d seen, that when I noticed him doing the same thing again on two other occasions, I actually smiled at him and asked him if he needed my assistance! Each time this happened he appeared flustered and taken aback, and then to my surprise rushed hastily out of the store without stopping to answer me. Even so, I might not have thought too much about it, were it not for a chance remark that I overheard Tony Ratterjee, the brown rat who runs the store, say shortly afterwards. ‘I can’t understand it, stuff keeps disappearing from my shelves, and it’s definitely not being paid for,’ he complained to a customer in his sing-song Indian voice. ‘If this does not stop soon, I must certainly be telling the police.’ That was it, then – I could no longer have any doubt that Bill was a thief! So now the only question that remained was this:

What on earth was I going to do about it?

Then, as it turned out, my first opportunity to intervene came almost immediately, when I bumped into my friend as he was coming out of the dentist’s surgery. But when I broached the subject by asking him why he had twice run out of the store without saying hello to me, to my dismay he declared that he hadn’t been there for weeks, so I must be confusing him with someone else. Well, I mean, REALLY! What would it say for the rest of rodent-kind if I, Genus Rattus World Super-Brain, were not capable of recognising my own friends when I saw them?

With that, I at last became so worried about Bill that I started asking others for ideas as to how to help him stop shoplifting. Some said that I should report his actions to the police, whilst others insisted that to do that would mean betraying my friend – a greater wrong by far than the theft itself! But no one could offer the sort of constructive advice that would actually put a full stop to his stealing. And so THAT was when a little voice in my ear gave me the following strange tip: ‘When in doubt, ask a monkey.’

A monkey? Seriously?

I looked around to see who had spoken, but in vain. Not a soul was in sight! Yet as I directed my gaze forwards once more, all of a sudden there appeared before me a most unusual painting… a painting that depicted not one, not two, but THREE monkeys! The first of these had his hands over his eyes, the second had them over his ears, and the third held them clasped over his mouth. The caption underneath read: ‘See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil’. So was that my answer? Was I supposed to pretend I hadn’t seen the shoplifting or heard Tony’s complaint, and then keep my mouth shut and let the thefts continue? Ask a monkey, indeed! What kind of rubbish was that?

I was still fuming over the very idea of it, when I was unpleasantly surprised by a brown rat in policeman’s uniform, whose hand had just alighted on my shoulder. ‘Lord Grumpkin of Grumblemore?’ he enquired, scanning me up and down with a penetrating gaze.

‘Yes, that’s me, Officer,’ I replied, ‘what can I do for you?’

‘I’m afraid you’ve been positively identified in connection with a number of thefts from the grocery store,’ said he, ‘and so I’m placing you under arrest on suspicion of shoplifting.’

‘Under arrest? Me? Oh, no, Officer, you’re making a terrible mistake!’ I cried. ‘I do know who the thief is, but I assure you, it isn’t me!’

‘Well, before you say any more, it’s my duty to tell you this,’ he answered. ‘You have the right to remain silent, but anything you do say may be written down and used in evidence against you…’

What was that he was telling me? I struggled hard to understand, but with no success. Little by little my mind was freezing over with shock, and soon all the rest of his words had morphed into a great long blur of meaningless sound…

I don’t remember exactly what happened next. But when I finally came back to myself I was sitting in a small police cell, behind a locked door, and then the officer’s face suddenly reappeared on the other side of the bars.

‘Well, are you ready to tell us who the real thief is yet?’ he asked me. ‘You’d better be quick if you want to get out of here. The court case is in two days, which means if you don’t give us the information we need soon, you may very well find yourself convicted of somebody else’s crime!’

Of course, that was such a horrible prospect that I straight away opened my mouth to give him Bill’s name and secure my release. But just then a monkey appeared in my mind’s eye, gesturing wildly, and making clear expressions of alarm. ‘See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil!’ he seemed to cry at me, as he slapped his hands over his mouth to emphasise the point. Oh, no! How was I going to incriminate my old friend Bill now, in the face of such constraint? So for the longest time I simply gaped at the officer and said nothing. Then eventually sound came out of my mouth and I heard myself mumble, ‘Actually, Officer, I’m not really sure who it was that I saw take the stuff. I’m very sorry, I don’t think I can help you after all.’

‘Pity, Grumpkin,’ he answered, ‘You’re a fine person and I’d hate to see you go down for this. Still, if you’re sure you don’t want to talk…’ He waited for a moment longer, then with a sigh he left me alone, and a great sinking feeling came over me as I realised I’d just sealed my fate.

Well, the two days passed like two short hours, then before I knew it, there I was in the courtroom where things were not going well. I had spoken up vigorously in my own defence, only to be cross examined at length by a fiery tempered female rat who was determined to have me convicted. Now the two barristers were done summing up, and all that remained was for the judge to consider her verdict – and she clearly wasn’t going to waste the court’s time with lengthy deliberations. Indeed, she had got so far as to ask me to stand to receive her judgment, when the proceedings were suddenly interrupted by a loud commotion. And before anyone could stop him, who should burst into the room but a black rat in a white coat, a shiny silver stethoscope swinging from his neck.

‘Many apologies, Judge Jenny!’ he exclaimed breathlessly. ‘Please forgive this intrusion, but it’s my professional duty to inform you that you have the wrong person in the dock. The individual who stole the items from the shop is also a white rat – hence the mistaken identity – but I can confidently assure you that Lord Grumpkin is one hundred per cent innocent of this crime.’

‘Well, I must say, Doctor Huffanpuff, this revelation is surprising to say the least,’ frowned the judge, a sleek-backed crow with a wit as sharp as her spiky beak. ‘What evidence do you have to support your claims?’

The doctor fumbled in his pocket and pulled out a bottle of pills. ‘This is the medication that I’ve been prescribing for Bill Jones,’ he said, handing it to the judge. ‘It was intended to help him sleep, but what I didn’t realise till today is that it’s been working rather too well. It turns out he’s actually been sleeping round the clock, and hardly waking at all except to eat and take another pill.’

‘Well, I’m sure that’s all very interesting, Doctor, but what has Bill Jones got to do with this case?’ Judge Jenny demanded.

‘Simply this, your Honour,’ said Doctor Huffanpuff. ‘Today I saw for myself what he’s been doing all this time. I followed him into the store and watched him take various things off the shelves and cram them into his pockets. Naturally I confronted him about the theft, but he didn’t respond. It was as if he couldn’t see or hear me, and that’s when I realised what was wrong. He was apparently so affected by this medication that he had absolutely no knowledge or memory of any of his actions. To put it in plain language, Judge Jenny, he’s been sleepwalking – or if you prefer, sleep-shopping!’

‘Sleep-shopping? Well, that will certainly be a new one for our science books,’ observed Judge Jenny, ‘and it will, of course, have an impact on my verdict.  But before I pronounce judgment in this matter, can you please say whether your patient now acknowledges his wrongdoing?’

‘Yes, indeed he does, your Honour. What’s more, he’s sincerely sorry for the trouble he’s caused, and to prove it, he’s given me more than enough currency to pay for all the items that were taken.’ He pushed forward a large bucket of earthworms, a popular means of payment in the local wildlife community.

‘I see, thank you, Doctor,’ replied the judge. She paused to scribble briefly with her beak on the legal document before her. Then she said, ‘As a result of the new evidence provided, I now rule that judgment against Bill Jones be set aside on the grounds of diminished responsibility. I also rule that following his confession of shoplifting from the grocery store, the currency he has offered as reparation for his crime be handed over to Tony Ratterjee in compensation for his losses. And finally, in light of these unusual developments, the case against Lord Grumpkin of Grumblemore is hereby dismissed.’

I was absolutely incredulous. ‘Dismissed? But, your Honour, what about MY compensation?’ I cried.

‘YOUR compensation?’ croaked the judge, cocking her head quizzically in my direction.

‘Yes, Judge Jenny, I’ve just spent two days in a police cell for a crime I didn’t commit! Surely I should have a share in the compensation you’ve just awarded?’

‘Hmm, two days…’ she mused, pressing her beak to the document to add a few more words to its contents. ‘Yes, thank you for drawing my attention to this, Lord Grumpkin. It was indeed an omission on my part to overlook the time you spent in police custody. Shall we say that you will pay the court compensation equal to half the amount paid by Bill Jones?’

My face pulled into a puzzled frown. ‘Er, begging your pardon, your Honour, I think you mean that I should RECEIVE half that amount in compensation, not pay it to the court,’ I said.

‘No, Lord Grumpkin, I am not accustomed to saying what I do not mean,’ she stated. ‘As the person wrongly arrested and charged for this crime, you have clearly been occupying a police cell under false pretences. I therefore order you to pay one half-bucket of live earthworms in compensation for the two days’ bed and board that you received, despite your lack of any legal entitlement, at considerable public expense! You are hereby instructed to present the said currency to the court by not later than this time tomorrow.’

I was so stunned by that unexpected turn of events that I could do nothing but open and shut my mouth like a fish, and then watch helplessly as Judge Jenny signed the court order. However, when I finally got home I could no longer contain my fury.

WHAT! Me pay compensation to the police for their mistake? This is preposterous, I shall appeal to the highest court in the land! I shall make a formal complaint to the Police Commissioner! I shall write to Her Majesty the Queen if necessary, and request a royal pardon! I shall stop at nothing till this most grievous miscarriage of justice is overturned!

And what’s more, if that idiotic chimpanzee in the picture above doesn’t stop laughing at me right this minute, I’m going to have him arrested for harassment – then we’ll see who’s laughing!

And I can tell you now, fans, once he’s been through Judge Jenny’s courtroom, it certainly won’t be him!

 

 

What is it with modern manufacturers, fans? Do they really think we don’t notice? Nowadays, all too often companies try to create a bigger profit by reducing the quality of their goods, and then selling them on for the same price as before. But why can’t they keep the better quality and just put up the price? …or else, make two versions of the product so that consumers can decide if they actually WANT to buy the inferior one? And as if paying over the odds isn’t enough, unexpected changes in quality can also result in accidents – as evidenced by the unfortunate events of this very day…

It all began when I took the cap off a cheaply made, thinner-than-usual plastic milk bottle, which then flexed in my hands and slipped totally out of my grasp. Of course milk splashed everywhere! So I wiped the table and got up to fetch a mop for the floor, but in so doing I then skidded on a wet patch and fell over. After that, I must have hit my head and blacked out for a few moments, because when I opened my eyes again, suddenly there in front of me, looking ever so worried, was Bumble the miniature Badger.

‘Well, twizzle my whiskers, what are you doing on the floor?’ he cried, bending down to help me up.  Then hearing me mutter vaguely in response, he looked at me and said, ‘If you don’t mind my saying so, you do seem a bit under the weather, Grumpkin. Why don’t you go and sit by the fire while I make you a nice cup of tea?’
‘Nonsense, Bumble, I’m absolutely fine!’ I snapped back at him, hauling myself upright. ‘It’s okay, I’ll make the tea. You sit down at the table and leave it to me.’
‘Well, all right, if you’re sure…’
‘Bumble, you are talking to the world’s one and only Aristocratic, Lion-Hearted, Acrobatic Super-Rat! Of course I’m sure, now hand me that teapot.’

However, while I was getting on with the drinks I failed to notice the badger mopping the floor behind me, using one of the many cleaning products that he’d found in my cupboard. The result of that was, that as I finally turned round to see what he was doing, I lost my footing for the second time, and went crashing down onto the tiles.
‘Oh, no – not again!’ exclaimed Bumble. ‘What happened, Grumpkin?’
‘What do you mean, what happened? Are you trying to kill me? What on earth did you use on this floor, it’s like an ice-rink in here!’ I complained, as I rolled over and scrambled to my feet.
‘Well, I’m ever so sorry, I can’t understand it. I used Squeakie Kleen, the same stuff I always use,’ Bumble answered, looking puzzled. ‘It’s true, though, it does seem a bit greasier than usual. What do you think?’ he said, frowning as he placed it in my hands.

I sniffed it and winced at the unusual fruity smell. Then I took a little between my fingers, and it felt light and oily to the touch. ‘This product doesn’t seem right to me,’ I said suspiciously. ‘Something about it has changed. I wonder if cleaning fluids can turn bad?’
‘It’s possible, I suppose,’ said Bumble with a shrug, ‘but more likely than not the company has just modified the ingredients. Never mind, if you like I’ll mop the floor again with water to get the grease off. But I must say, Grumpkin, all this work is making me quite thirsty. How’s that cup of tea coming along?’
‘Coming right up!’ I replied, giving the two steaming mugs a final stir. ‘Why don’t you take a break now, Bumble, and sit down for a minute?’
‘Good idea,’ the badger said. So I opened a new packet of biscuits, and then we took our seats at the kitchen table. However, it wasn’t long before we noticed yet another odd thing.

‘I say, Grumpkin, do these biscuits taste all right to you? They seem to have lost some of their usual flavour.’
‘Yes, you’re right, I guess they must have been modified too!’ I agreed with surprise. ‘They’re sickly sweet now, with no other real flavour at all. Tell you what, I’ve got some chocolate snack bars somewhere. Why don’t I just get them out and we can have those instead?’
‘That sounds great,’ said Bumble.
So with that, I got up and rummaged around in the larder for the packet of goodies. Then once I had found them, I tipped them onto a plate and handed them to the waiting badger.

But as soon as I sat back down, I realised that instead of tucking in, Bumble was picking them up one by one and then putting them back on the plate. There was a bemused look on his face, and so I asked him what was the matter.
‘Well, all the wrappings seem normal size,’ he said, ‘but the chocolate bars inside feel really small. Here, see for yourself.’ And he passed the plate to me. Sure enough, I peeled off one of the wrappings only to find a tiny wee snack bar hiding within it.

‘I don’t believe it, I paid full price for these!’ I snorted in disgust. ‘It’s daylight robbery, that’s what it is!’  
‘Yes, and that’s not the only thing you’ve overpaid for,’ remarked Bumble, pulling a new bottle of detergent out of the shopping basket on the table. ‘This has been seriously watered down, I’m afraid,’ he said, shaking it to demonstrate the sloshing sound. Then he reached in for something else. ‘And as for this roll of sticky tape, it’s never going to pull out properly,’ he went on, prizing off bits and pieces in useless little slivers. ‘It’s no good, Grumpkin, you might just as well throw it in the bin.’
‘WHAT! That’s ridiculous, what’s wrong with it?’ I cried indignantly. But sadly, the badger was right. As hard as I tried to unwind the tape, it kept tearing off in narrow, jagged strips, leaving the end of it quite lost and invisible on the roll. I was absolutely fuming!

‘I mean, REALLY!’ I exclaimed, throwing the detergent and the sticky tape abruptly back in the basket, ‘to think that almost everything I’ve bought today is sheer rubbish! Well, I can tell you, all this is going back where it came from, and then I’m jolly well going to give that shopkeeper a piece of my mind!’ So saying, I threw back my chair, jumped up angrily, and stormed towards the door. And with that, the next thing I remember, there was Bumble the miniature Badger, bending over me and looking ever so worried…

‘Well, twizzle my whiskers, what are you doing on the floor?’ he cried, bending down to help me up.  Then hearing me mutter vaguely in response, he looked at me and said, ‘If you don’t mind my saying so, you do seem a bit under the weather, Grumpkin. Why don’t you go and sit by the fire while I make you a nice cup of tea?’

Is there really such a thing as bad luck? Speaking personally, I hadn’t given any thought to this question till a couple of weeks ago, when, despite the winter season, a certain human neighbour of mine decided to paint all of his window sills bright red. To put you in the picture, Mr. and Mrs. Davies are an older couple who live in the house next door to Mr. Lewis and his family. They are retired now, but Mr. Davies likes nothing better than keeping busy with a constant stream of home improvement jobs. And so it came about, that finding himself with some time on his hands, he chose the unlikely month of February to begin his latest DIY project. Then quick as a flash he put his ladder up against the wall of his property and set to work.

Meanwhile, given that the next day was St. Valentine’s Day, I had been contemplating what kind of gift I might present to a rather attractive lady rat that I wished to impress. After much deliberation, at long last the inspiration came to me that she would surely appreciate a nice bunch of snowdrops. Then wondering where I could find such lovely wild flowers, I soon recalled that I had seen them growing in splendid profusion in Mr. Davies’s garden. And thus it was, that on the same morning that my next door neighbour erected the ladder on his lawn, I found myself walking under these very same steps towards the flower bed on the far side of his garden. And before you ask – yes, fans, I was of course familiar with the age-old notion that it’s bad luck to walk under ladders. But since I had never seriously imagined that there WAS such a thing as bad luck, this piece of advice seemed like sheer nonsense to me, and so I proceeded on my way.

Sure enough, my outward-bound journey proved to be quite uneventful. I passed beneath the contraption with no nasty surprises, and quickly filled my arms with the stunning white blooms. It was, however, on my return home that a whole great avalanche of disasters began tumbling down on my head…

And thus it happened that I had just got underneath Mr. Davies’s ladder when something cold and wet landed on my nose. Assuming it was a raindrop, I licked it off, and promptly got a mouthful of bitter chemicals. But before I had time to realise that this was actually spilled paint, I glanced down to see my beautiful bouquet of white flowers covered in deep red blots that looked for all the world like blood. Upon this, I let out a scream, and my flowers scattered to the four winds!

Startled by the sound, Mr. Davies peered enquiringly under the ladder, only to spy a white rat in a tweed jacket and bow-tie ejecting bunches of snowdrops into the air. At the sight of that his heart leapt with fright, and the sudden shock unbalanced him. Then, as he tipped backwards off the steps, he landed with a SPLAT in a bulk bag of building sand, sending showers of the stuff into my eyes! The sharp little grains made them smart and flow with water, so that I was forced to snap them shut – meaning, of course, that I now couldn’t see. And so it was, that while I was shaking my head in an effort to clear my eyes, a revived Mr. Davies was clambering speedily out of the sand bag.

Next thing I knew, something had seized me by the tail and was swinging me up to the sky. With that, I screamed again and twisted round to sink my teeth into a large, hairy hand. There was a cry of pain from my neighbour, followed by a crashing sound as he stumbled into the ladder, and I suddenly saw a tidal wave of red filling the horizon and racing relentlessly towards me. Then just as I fell free of the man, the paint overtopped me and turned me scarlet from head to toe! But directly after that it all went very dark, and I soon noticed the sound of my own breath coming back to me with a strange metallic echo.

Not long after this I began heaving and squeezing my way out from under the paint-can, till at length I emerged squinting with the strain into the morning sunlight. To my surprise, however, Mr. Davies was nowhere to be seen. Could the tin have actually landed right on top of me all by itself? I was still pondering that philosophical question, when another sudden noise made me abruptly look up. It was then that I discerned what appeared to be an abandoned paint brush sliding off the window sill above me. As I stood there frozen in disbelief, it grew rapidly larger till with a resounding SMACK it hit me square between the eyes!

Ouch, that hurt! What on earth was going on? I was clearly being targeted, yet not a single human being was in sight!

Rubbing my sore head, it was at that moment that I realised that all of these calamities were taking place on the thirteenth of the month – a number long associated with misfortune. So was it true, then? Was this my unlucky day?

I was still turning it over in my mind, when a familiar and much admired female person came into view on the other side of the garden. Yes fans, this was, as you correctly guessed, the same lady rat for whom I had earlier gathered the bright white flowers as a romantic gift. But I was horrified to see that she was now walking arm in arm with a weedy-looking black rat who had thinning hair, oversized ears and a flittering, flattering tongue! And yet, defying all known laws of good judgment, there she was, gazing amorously into his dark and devious eyes as if he were the noblest creature that ever graced the planet! As he bent down to pluck her a solitary snowdrop in token of his devotion, I just couldn’t contain my contempt! I mean, REALLY! Did she actually prefer that creepy little feral fur ball to ME, the one thousand three hundred and thirteenth in line to the Throne of Rattyland? ME, the Acrobatic Aristoc-Rat? ME, the one and only Lion-Hearted Super-Rat, of international acclaim?

Then I finally understood the truth. It wasn’t bad luck that was bombarding me with all these obstacles to my heart’s desire. It was my very own, thoroughly dedicated, and hopelessly workaholic, guardian angel! And now that he had actually got through to me, I really couldn’t be more thankful for his services. After all, what was a dousing in red paint compared to the woes of a doomed romance? Huh! Bad luck, indeed! As a result of this enlightening experience, I’m now quite sure that only ignorant, superstitious people still believe in THAT.

And so, dear fans, I leave you with this thought. Good things often come to us in disguise, so my advice is, when something bad happens, we should always keep calm and look for the hidden positives to cheer us up. Well, I was going to say a lot more about this, but surprisingly, the lights have just gone out. Hmm, must be a power cut, I suppose…

OW! Darn it, I must have tripped on the rug and then hit my knee trying to get my flashlight, and – OH NO! Now I’ve knocked my cup of coffee over! I don’t believe it, there’s coffee over all my important papers! They’re ruined, they’re ruined! Well, so much for looking for the hidden positives, fans! From now on, bad luck or not, when horrible things happen to me, I’m never EVER going to say another cheerful word about them in my life.

And that’s FINAL!

 

 

Yes indeed, fans, I thank God that I am not like others of my species – small-minded, quarrelsome rodents with lively tempers and sharp tongues. By contrast, I am a Rat of distinction, meaning that I am able to restrain my indignation at all times – except of course when called upon to defend the common good. And I can’t tell you what a blessing it is to have the gift of self-control in the face of provocation, some of which can come quite literally out of nowhere, when my guard is down and it’s the last thing in the world that I’m expecting!

Take Monday afternoon, for instance. I was in the kitchen, minding my own business and relaxing with a nice cup of coffee, when all of a sudden there was a loud commotion on the lawn outside my house. With that, I rushed to the window, and what should I see but my neighbour Mr. Lewis doing battle with the largest cardboard package I have ever laid eyes on in my life! There he was, grunting and growling, and letting out not a few very audible expletives, as he struggled to force the oversized package through the doorway of his home – but to no avail. I mean, REALLY! Why couldn’t he simply remove the packaging first? But no, clearly he was not about to be beaten by a bundle of surplus cardboard! And so the aggression continued…

Naturally enough, all this kerfuffle soon shattered my peace and set my nerves on edge. But I was even more alarmed when the man burst into the shed which contains my own home, Grumblemore. Uncertain of his intentions, from behind the kitchen curtain I looked on with suspicion as he rummaged around for some tools to aid him in his endeavours, all the while fuming with frustration. Then to my relief he found what he wanted at last, and went back to the task in hand. But imagine my astonishment when, after some strenuous and painstaking effort, this same neighbour removed the front door from its hinges so as to jiggle his container through the doorway!

Honestly now, which is easier – to remove some packaging, or to remove a door? (And humans call us rats ‘dumb animals’!!)

In any event the thing was finally inside his property, and so that was the end of that, or so I naively thought. But to my dismay, early on Tuesday morning I woke up to a nasty surprise. It seemed that Mr. Lewis had been obliged to discard the cardboard casing after all, and overnight had dumped the whole lot in the shed, thus effectively blocking my way out of Grumblemore.

Well, I can tell you, I was furious! But instead of staying mad, it wasn’t long before I decided that the best (and by far the most enjoyable) response to this was going to be REVENGE.

Revenge. Yes, fans, it sounds like such a simple, efficient solution, doesn’t it? And that was definitely how I planned it when I spent the day chewing that huge heap of cardboard into a thousand portable slivers! Following this, after nightfall I took much pleasure in carrying them all up to Mr. Lewis’s letter box (which I accessed via a convenient workbench that was left outside), and then posting the pieces one by one onto his doormat. At the end of this procedure, as I peered through the narrow portal to admire my handiwork, my eyes alighted on a ginormous tower of litter which totally barred the way out of his house. What a coup! I could hardly wait to see his reaction the next day!

Then as expected, when Wednesday dawned I was pleased to observe the predicted annoyance of Mr Lewis, who emerged with much difficulty from his property, uttering various unrepeatable sayings and shaking bits of cardboard from his clothes and shoes. This gave me so much satisfaction that before long I found myself actually singing for joy, after which, humming a popular little tune, I set off to the local store to buy a cake to celebrate my victory! But of course time goes by a lot faster when we’re happy, which meant that it was some hours later when I eventually returned home. And so it was that I was just coming into the garden, and still humming the same popular song, when an unfamiliar sight stopped me dead in my tracks.

What on earth was that…?

It was then that I discerned a pile of big blue shapeless objects, semi-transparent and glistening brightly in the afternoon sun. Oh, NO – recycling bags! The man had swept up all the cardboard and tipped it into plastic sacks that now entirely filled the shed, thus obstructing my way back into Grumblemore. In other words, he had boomeranged my own revenge back at myself!

Well, we’ve all heard the old adage, ‘Don’t get mad, get even’. But I think there’s a phrase missing from this piece of wisdom. In my opinion it should say, ‘Don’t get mad, get even. But if that doesn’t work, go berserk!’ That’s why when Mr. Lewis shut me out of my house, I did the only sensible thing I really could do in the circumstances:

I climbed all the way up to the attic above his bedroom – then I ranted and raved, and screamed and shouted at him all night long!

And THEN I felt much better.

 

Yes, fans, I know that bad things sometimes happen to good people. But I mean, REALLY – this is ridiculous! Think I’m exaggerating? Well, believe me, you wouldn’t think so if it happened to you. So go ahead – just read this, and see for yourselves!

It all kicked off in the early hours of this morning, when I was rudely awakened from my dreams by a particularly loud noise…
‘FIRE, FIRE! Wake up, Grumpkin, wake up!’ I heard a voice cry. Then a great pounding on the door sprung my eyes wide open and set my heart racing with fright. What on earth could be the matter?
‘Who’s there? What do you want?’ I demanded, leaping out of bed. And as I opened the front door, who should practically fall into my arms, but Bumble the miniature Badger, still in his nightclothes.
‘Oh, Grumpkin, I was so worried about you, thank God you’re all right!’ he exclaimed, pressing me tight in a bear hug. ‘Don’t worry, the Fire Brigade is coming, and they’ll be here any minute! Now come on, let’s get you outside to a place of safety.’
‘Outside? But why? There’s no fire here, Bumble,’ I protested.
‘Of course there is, Grumpkin, why else would the Fire Brigade be coming? Now hurry up, we’ve got to get out!’ And before I could say another word, the badger gripped me by the arm and marched me firmly out of the property.

It was only as we emerged onto the lawn that I looked back to see clouds of smoke engulfing the shed that contained the wooden chest which was Grumblemore, my home. Then next minute came sounds of a siren, followed almost immediately by the flashing lights and intermittent horn blasts of an approaching fire engine. At this, Bumble left me standing bewildered on the grass and rushed off to meet the fire fighters, as they jumped down from the vehicle and made haste to deploy their hoses.

‘Come quick, the fire’s over there!’ he called, waving his arms wildly in my direction. And sure enough, within seconds they all ran past me, shooting multiple jets of water into the old shed in an effort to save my home. But the harder they pelted the shed, the thicker grew the smoke, till very soon I and the badger were lost in a dense black fog of it, and coughing fit to choke. As to how long this went on, I don’t know, but after a time there was a lot of yelling and then the water stopped. Yet despite this, it was plain for all to see that the smoke was worse than ever, and now the night sky was tinged with a glowing orange light. The fire was clearly out of control!

I couldn’t believe it, what kind of madness was this? Why on earth had they chosen this of all moments to turn the water off? Then Bumble came up to me, panting hard as he struggled to breathe through the huge wad of handkerchiefs he was holding over his nose and mouth.
‘It’s great news, Grumpkin,’ he mumbled excitedly from behind the bunches of cotton, ‘I’ve just had the all clear from the Fire Department! You can go back inside now, if you want.’
‘What! Are you blind? There’s a fire raging over there, of course I’m not going back inside!’ I snapped. ‘Now tell those stupid fire fighters to finish the job and get the thing put out, or else I shall make a formal complaint to their superiors!’
‘Yes, well, that might be a bit problematic, I’m afraid,’ said the badger, lowering his mask to speak confidentially into my ear. Then after a furtive glance around him to confirm we were alone, he went on, ‘You see, there’s been a teeny-weeny little misunderstanding…’
‘A misunderstanding?’
‘Yes, that’s right,’ he answered, nervously shuffling his feet. ‘Look, I can’t explain here, Grumpkin, I really think we should go indoors.’

So, scowling with annoyance I grudgingly followed Bumble back to Grumblemore. But nothing could have prepared me for the sight that met my eyes. There was water everywhere… in the living room, in the kitchen, and even upstairs, in my bed! I mean, it was literally like wading knee deep through a pond, with islands made of floating furniture! This was my worst nightmare! When, I wondered, was I ever going to get my house fit to live in again?

For a moment I just stood there, speechless with horror. Then I said, ‘There’s not much misunderstanding about this mess, Bumble. Now what was it that you wanted to tell me?’
‘Well, um, I just wanted to say, Grumpkin, you’re a very good friend, and so naturally your safety has always been of great concern to me.’
‘Yes, yes, get to the point!’ I said curtly.
‘All right, I will, but please don’t get too excited about this. Just remember that bad things can happen to everyone once in a while.’
‘Get on with it, Bumble!’
‘Right, then.’ He took a deep breath and composed himself. ‘Well, the truth is, Grumblemore was never really on fire,’ he announced finally, wincing in anticipation of my response.

I was gobsmacked. ‘Not on fire? What do you mean, it wasn’t on fire? Of course it was, you and I both saw thick smoke belching out of the garden shed!’
‘Yes, well, that was the misunderstanding, you see. The smoke wasn’t actually coming from your house. It was coming from next door’s bonfire that hadn’t been properly put out.’
I let out a gasp of disbelief. ‘Then what on earth were the Fire Brigade doing hosing down my property?’
‘Um, well, that was my fault, I’m afraid,’ the badger said, his voice strained with embarrassment. ‘See, when the wind blew the smoke over the hedge, it dropped down and covered the shed, making me think it was Grumblemore that was on fire – and so I called 999. But actually the bonfire was several yards behind it, meaning there was no real danger to your home at all.’

I was stunned. ‘No danger to my home?’ I repeated, dazed.

‘It’s a terrible shock, I know, and I’m really sorry for the mistake,’ said the badger, ‘but look on the bright side. I’m sure it’s not as bad as it seems. With a mop and bucket, and a good strong positive attitude, I bet we could have this place as right as rain in a couple of hours!’ And then, noting with dismay my face of thunder, ‘W-well, of course, not as right as RAIN, exactly…’

 

It’s true, fans, they’re totally nuts! What makes me say this? Well, I’ll have you know that the children – a boy and a girl who are twins aged about ten – have been left entirely alone all day to carry out whatever mischief they like. And although they arrived only yesterday, from the second they moved into that house they have targeted me mercilessly with their pranks!

And here’s the proof:

Today I came home from the local store to find my front door blocked by a most unusual object. After gazing at it open-mouthed for a moment or two, I finally took it to be a state of the art, and perfectly rat-sized racing car! It was a lovely green colour, with a seating area just big enough for one, and four long arms extending outwards to make a giant cross. At the end of these arms, smart blue-green propellers were positioned over what I assumed to be the four wheels – placed there, so I thought, to lend even greater speed to this incredible racing machine. What a beauty! I had never seen anything like it in my life, and of course I immediately wanted a closer look. So leaving my shopping bags by the door, I walked slowly round it a couple of times, admiring its symmetry and sleek lines. Then after a while I decided to climb aboard and check out the controls.

But upon mounting this strange vehicle, I was amazed to discover that it possessed no dials or knobs, no dashboard of any kind, and not even a steering wheel to guide it with. How then, I wondered, could anyone drive such a car?

I was just leaning forwards to see if perhaps there were some controls at the front of it, when a sudden whirring sound caught my attention. At the same time, rather to my surprise the propellers started spinning all by themselves, in so doing creating quite a breeze. Fearing that this signalled the approach of the car’s rightful owner, I correctly concluded that I should get off the vehicle immediately. Unfortunately, however, at that very instant an unexpected development prevented this sensible action…

The car became airborne.

Before I knew what was happening I found myself clinging on for dear life, with my hands hooked around the two front arms of the machine, and the rest of me draped over the bodywork like a great big furry flag flapping in the wind. Well, let me tell you, that was some ride! As we surged abruptly heavenwards, I left my stomach lagging behind me by at least fifty feet. My wide eyes bulged with fright as they beheld the landscape dropping away beneath me till the neighbours’ house shrank right down to the size of a postage stamp!

But that wasn’t all… Then the flying machine embarked on some fancy aerial manoeuvres, wheeling around in circles and figures of eight, and alternately plunging and soaring, till I began to feel thoroughly sick. And just when I thought I couldn’t hang on any longer, that was when the thing started its pièce de résistance – a spinning nosedive that set me on an unerring collision course with Planet Earth!

Screaming with terror, I found myself bombing towards the ground at breakneck speed, whirling round and round so fast that before long the inevitable happened, and I and the machine parted company. Then, still screaming, I completed my maiden flight by arriving with a huge whooshing SPLASH in an ornamental fishpond!

However, as I rose to the surface to gasp for air, I thought I heard something familiar – a bubbly kind of giggling sound that is most typical of juvenile humans. And sure enough, next minute a bright green flying machine bopped me on the head from behind, and down I went for the second time…

Since then I’ve been down another six times, and still that wretched machine keeps coming back for more pot shots at my head! Well, I mean REALLY, are you all asleep out there… ?

How much longer are you fans going to leave me floundering about in this pond before you call the coastguard!!

 

I’m sure he means well, fans, but my friend Bumble the Badger has a most irritating habit. Of course in actual fact he has many irritating habits, but the one that drives me absolutely crazy is his constant practice of tidying up after me every time he comes over. I mean, really – do I need a nanny? I think NOT!

Take yesterday, for example. I was in the living room, right in the middle of an extremely important project – namely, sorting photos of myself into piles for the best-selling autobiography that I’m preparing to write for my many international fans. Unfortunately for me, however, it was at this very moment that Bumble decided to pop in for a cuppa. Clearly he was in a chatty mood, since he followed me into the kitchen talking non-stop in highly excitable tones, and waving his arms about most vigourously. So I got two mugs out of the cupboard and spooned in the coffee and sugar, while he nattered on and on about some rabbit he knew, who had bought a winning lottery ticket and now didn’t know what to do with the money. To be fair, I wasn’t paying much attention to the rabbit’s dilemma. All I was thinking was, if I’d won that lottery, I would have no such problem!

Anyway, while Bumble was chattering away I put the kettle on and took the milk out of the fridge… only to find that when I turned round again, there were no mugs! Wondering where they had gone, I opened the cupboard to see if perhaps I had only imagined taking them out after all. But no! There they were, placed neatly back on the shelf with the coffee and sugar still inside! So I took them out again and put them next to the kettle, ready for when it boiled. In the meantime I got out a cake to serve with the coffee, and then rummaged around in the drawer for a suitable knife to cut it with. At this point the kettle finally came to the boil, so I left the cake to one side and poured some hot water into our mugs. But when I reached for the milk to finish making the drinks, to my surprise and annoyance, it was gone. Predictably, it had found its way back into the fridge, meaning I now had to get it out for the second time! But before I could complete this frustrating process the phone rang, and so after a few moments, Bumble left me alone in the kitchen and went back by himself to the living room….

Well, the caller turned out to be another really chatty friend who kept me on the line for half an hour, and at the end of this time, quite naturally I was gasping for a cup of coffee and a nice piece of cake. But when I looked up, there was no sign of either the drinks or the cake. It seemed that Bumble had disposed of the lot, then washed up the crockery, put everything away, and wiped all the surfaces clean!

By now I was rapidly losing my cool, but as I emerged from the kitchen I unexpectedly crossed paths with the badger coming the other way. He seemed in a hurry, and pushing past me he paused only to say, ‘Sorry, Grumpkin, got to dash, I should have been at the dentist’s ten minutes ago! Oh, and by the way, I’ve tidied up for you…’

Tidied up? OH, NO!

As I gazed round the living room, I hardly recognised the scene before me. Gone were my dirty plates and mugs that had adorned the mantelpiece for the last week. Gone were my assorted research books and papers which had been strewn over the floor to help me with my work. And worse than that – gone were all my precious photographs, vanished without a trace!

‘Stop Bumble, stop!’ I cried, running to the door to shout after him. ‘You can’t rush off like this without telling me where everything is! What have you done with my photos?’ The badger turned his head, hesitating as a frown flitted across his face. ‘Your photos?’ he repeated slowly. ‘Ah, yes, now I remember. I think there were some old photos in the waste bin that I emptied just now.’
‘Oh, good,’ I said, greatly relieved, ‘so where are they?’
‘Well, I put them with the rest of the rubbish, didn’t I,’ said the badger, who seemed rather surprised to be asked.
‘Yes, yes – and where’s that?’ I went on eagerly.
‘Really, Grumpkin, you do ask some silly questions!’ he replied with a snort. ‘Where else do you and I put our recycling rubbish? In the fire, of course, to save on heating costs!’