the Order of the Golden Feather, which is the highest honour a chaffinch may be awarded.
And Old Granny announced that she was going to marry her cactus, because she had grown very fond of it, and everyone cheered and threw confetti in the air and the dancing went on all day and night, and you never did see such a thing in your life and the dish ran away with the piper’s son, hickory dickory dock.
It was late in the evening, and Polly was sitting on Boaster’s Hill with her friends. Jake was being Jake and Alan Taylor was being Alan Taylor, which was the way of his people. Old Granny was sipping from the bottle of sherry she always kept hidden in her cactus. And Friday – well, Friday was having a bit of a snuggle with Mrs Lovely, who had returned from an adventure of her own, battling robots in another dimension.
‘You knows,’ said Polly as she sat there gazing up at the soft night sky. ‘Before all this, I never really thought much ’bout them clouds up there in the heavens, but now I understands how important they truly are.’
‘Well said, little miss,’ said Friday, strumming a lonesome chord on his blue guitar. ‘You see, clouds are like people. They appear for no reason anyone can understand, they hang around for a while, and then they move on. And sometimes you don’t really appreciate them until after they’re gone.’
‘Oh, Friday,’ sighed Mrs Lovely affectionately. ‘You do talk an awful lot of nonsense sometimes.’
Well, everyone nodded at that, even Friday, and there they all sat, gazing up at the evening sky as if seeing it for the very first time. And there we shall leave them – Polly and Friday, and Mrs Lovely and Alan Taylor and Old Granny and Jake the dog and all the rest of them, gazing up at the great wide yonder and wondering at the shapes and the sights they see there. And there we shall leave them, happy in their dreams.
THE END
EPILOGUE
Portugal, one month later
L
ittle Carlos the shepherd and his faithful sheep Splinters stumbled along the windswept hilltop.
‘Come on, Splinters, you idiot,’ growled Little Carlos, kicking the sheep in the rear to hurry him up. ‘I gotta find a telly an’ quick – “Saco de Varas” is about to start.’
‘Saco de Varas’ was the Portuguese version of ‘Bag of Sticks’. It was a picture of a bag of sticks for half an hour, but with Portuguese subtitles. (Little Carlos was the only person in the country who ever watched ‘Saco de Varas’. Everyone else turned over to watch ‘Tempo de Diversão com Crispy’.)
‘Baaa! Baaaa!’ said Splinters as they reached the top of the hill. Spread out below them was the friendly-looking little town of Santa del Wisp.
‘Urrgh,’ said Little Carlos, his big ragged beard flapping in the wind. ‘What a friendly lookin’ little town. I hate it.’
But then his eyes lit up
.
‘Know what, Splinters, me old faithful sheep?’ grinned Little Carlos. ‘It looks like just the kind of place for us to get up to our evils.’
‘Baaa! Baaaa! Hello,’ agreed Splinters.
The two of them started down the hillside towards Santa del Wisp. The sun was going down and a chill was creeping into the evening air. And though they whispered it soft on the wind, if you listened carefully you could just make out the words they sang:
‘Oh, you jus’ will not believe all of them tricks we like to plaaaaaay …’
FIN
Hello again , you adorable little chestnuts. You are, aren’t you? Yes, you are! You cheeky little conkers! Look at you all with your shiny little chestnut faces! Look at you all, tumbling down the hillside and rolling through the park like you haven’t got a care in the world! You’re simply ADORABLE! Aren’t you? Aren’t you? You happy little chestnuts. Yes, you are! Yes, you –
Sorry about that. I don’t know what came over me. Anyway, forget it – here’s a bonus story instead. Just for you. Oh, you adorable little chestnuts. You are, aren’t you? Yes, you are! You
And Old Granny announced that she was going to marry her cactus, because she had grown very fond of it, and everyone cheered and threw confetti in the air and the dancing went on all day and night, and you never did see such a thing in your life and the dish ran away with the piper’s son, hickory dickory dock.
It was late in the evening, and Polly was sitting on Boaster’s Hill with her friends. Jake was being Jake and Alan Taylor was being Alan Taylor, which was the way of his people. Old Granny was sipping from the bottle of sherry she always kept hidden in her cactus. And Friday – well, Friday was having a bit of a snuggle with Mrs Lovely, who had returned from an adventure of her own, battling robots in another dimension.
‘You knows,’ said Polly as she sat there gazing up at the soft night sky. ‘Before all this, I never really thought much ’bout them clouds up there in the heavens, but now I understands how important they truly are.’
‘Well said, little miss,’ said Friday, strumming a lonesome chord on his blue guitar. ‘You see, clouds are like people. They appear for no reason anyone can understand, they hang around for a while, and then they move on. And sometimes you don’t really appreciate them until after they’re gone.’
‘Oh, Friday,’ sighed Mrs Lovely affectionately. ‘You do talk an awful lot of nonsense sometimes.’
Well, everyone nodded at that, even Friday, and there they all sat, gazing up at the evening sky as if seeing it for the very first time. And there we shall leave them – Polly and Friday, and Mrs Lovely and Alan Taylor and Old Granny and Jake the dog and all the rest of them, gazing up at the great wide yonder and wondering at the shapes and the sights they see there. And there we shall leave them, happy in their dreams.
THE END
EPILOGUE
Portugal, one month later
L
ittle Carlos the shepherd and his faithful sheep Splinters stumbled along the windswept hilltop.
‘Come on, Splinters, you idiot,’ growled Little Carlos, kicking the sheep in the rear to hurry him up. ‘I gotta find a telly an’ quick – “Saco de Varas” is about to start.’
‘Saco de Varas’ was the Portuguese version of ‘Bag of Sticks’. It was a picture of a bag of sticks for half an hour, but with Portuguese subtitles. (Little Carlos was the only person in the country who ever watched ‘Saco de Varas’. Everyone else turned over to watch ‘Tempo de Diversão com Crispy’.)
‘Baaa! Baaaa!’ said Splinters as they reached the top of the hill. Spread out below them was the friendly-looking little town of Santa del Wisp.
‘Urrgh,’ said Little Carlos, his big ragged beard flapping in the wind. ‘What a friendly lookin’ little town. I hate it.’
But then his eyes lit up
.
‘Know what, Splinters, me old faithful sheep?’ grinned Little Carlos. ‘It looks like just the kind of place for us to get up to our evils.’
‘Baaa! Baaaa! Hello,’ agreed Splinters.
The two of them started down the hillside towards Santa del Wisp. The sun was going down and a chill was creeping into the evening air. And though they whispered it soft on the wind, if you listened carefully you could just make out the words they sang:
‘Oh, you jus’ will not believe all of them tricks we like to plaaaaaay …’
FIN
Hello again , you adorable little chestnuts. You are, aren’t you? Yes, you are! You cheeky little conkers! Look at you all with your shiny little chestnut faces! Look at you all, tumbling down the hillside and rolling through the park like you haven’t got a care in the world! You’re simply ADORABLE! Aren’t you? Aren’t you? You happy little chestnuts. Yes, you are! Yes, you –
Sorry about that. I don’t know what came over me. Anyway, forget it – here’s a bonus story instead. Just for you. Oh, you adorable little chestnuts. You are, aren’t you? Yes, you are! You
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