unhealthy climate and you have to eat properly if you want to stay healthy and happy.”
“But — but — but —” Mrs Trifle said, not feeling very happy at the moment.
“I can see that I’ve arrived just in the nick of time,” Thornton said. “You’re both so weak that you’re losing the ability to talk. My goodness! What are you feeding your dog?”
Selby was in the kitchen, wondering why the Trifles had so many crazy relatives and about to take his first mouthful of peanut prawns, when Thornton burst in and tipped Selby’s bowl into the garbage.
“Your dog is too fat,” Thornton announced to the Trifles. “What he needs to do is to go completely without food for a few days. Now eat up, you two, and then we’ll go for a jog.”
That night after Thornton and the Trifles were sound asleep Selby still lay clutching his rumbling stomach.
“Oh, the pain, the pain,” he thought as he imagined bowls of peanut prawns and even Chunk-O-Gravy Hunks and Dry-Mouth Dog Biscuits. “I can’t go without food any longer. If that twit doesn’t leave soon I’ll die of starvation!” Suddenly a little light went on in Selby’s head. “I wonder,” he thought. “What if Thornton got sick? I reckon the first thing he’d do is hop in his car and tear back to the healthyclimate he came from. But he’s not about to get sick, is he?” Selby asked himself. “With all that wheat germ and yoghurt he’ll probably live to be a hundred and fifty. Hmmmmmmm. He’s not going to get really sick but what if he
thinks
he’s sick?”
Selby grabbed a copy of Thornton’s book,
Eat For Goodness Sake
, and turned to the section on food and health. There he found a chapter called “Splotches, Blotches and Blots".
“Let’s see now,” Selby said. “It says here that spots on the side of the nose are a symptom of … hmmmmmm.”
Selby grabbed Mr Trifle’s watercolour set and tore to Thornton’s bedroom. He got out the brush and painted three big blue spots on either side of the sleeping man’s nose.
The next morning, Thornton woke the Trifles at six o’clock.
“I’m going,” he said. “I’ve got to start work on my new book. Thanks for everything and
stay healthy.”
“But — but — but —” Mrs Trifle said, handing Thornton a mirror so he could see the spots on his nose.
Thornton grabbed the mirror. “Oh, no! I’m sick!” he screamed. “This is the first stage of bilateral-trispecular-proboscal-everything-itis!”
“Is there a cure for bilateral-trispecular-proboscal-everything-itis?” Dr Trifle asked.
“Raw vegetables, and rest,” Thornton said, throwing a bunch of carrots in the blender. “I’ll have to stay here for a few weeks till I’m better. I might get worse if I left now.”
“I’ve gone and done it this time,” Selby thought and his stomach rumbled like an earthquake. “He was all set to leave and now, because of the spots I painted on him, he’s going to stay! If I don’t get him out of here soon, I’ll die!”
Suddenly another light went on in Selby’s head and a smile flickered across his lips.
“That’s it!” he thought. “I’ll pretend I’m starving! Then they’ll
have
to feed me!”
Selby staggered around in circles with his tongue out and then fell down in a faint.
“Heavens!” yelled Mrs Trifle. “Selby’s collapsed! He needs food!”
“Nonsense,” Thornton said, adding milk to the blender and turning it on. “He’s just having a sudden snooze. Snoozes are the first steps to good health. Leave him alone and he’ll come round in a while.”
Selby lay on the floor for minutes, as visions of rare steaks and sausages danced in his mind. He remembered the lovely dinner the Trifles made for him last Christmas. But most of all he remembered the peanut prawns that had been thrown away.
He opened one eye and noticed that he was alone in the kitchen with Thornton. Suddenly something in Selby, snapped.
“I can’t stand it a second longer!” he
“But — but — but —” Mrs Trifle said, not feeling very happy at the moment.
“I can see that I’ve arrived just in the nick of time,” Thornton said. “You’re both so weak that you’re losing the ability to talk. My goodness! What are you feeding your dog?”
Selby was in the kitchen, wondering why the Trifles had so many crazy relatives and about to take his first mouthful of peanut prawns, when Thornton burst in and tipped Selby’s bowl into the garbage.
“Your dog is too fat,” Thornton announced to the Trifles. “What he needs to do is to go completely without food for a few days. Now eat up, you two, and then we’ll go for a jog.”
That night after Thornton and the Trifles were sound asleep Selby still lay clutching his rumbling stomach.
“Oh, the pain, the pain,” he thought as he imagined bowls of peanut prawns and even Chunk-O-Gravy Hunks and Dry-Mouth Dog Biscuits. “I can’t go without food any longer. If that twit doesn’t leave soon I’ll die of starvation!” Suddenly a little light went on in Selby’s head. “I wonder,” he thought. “What if Thornton got sick? I reckon the first thing he’d do is hop in his car and tear back to the healthyclimate he came from. But he’s not about to get sick, is he?” Selby asked himself. “With all that wheat germ and yoghurt he’ll probably live to be a hundred and fifty. Hmmmmmmm. He’s not going to get really sick but what if he
thinks
he’s sick?”
Selby grabbed a copy of Thornton’s book,
Eat For Goodness Sake
, and turned to the section on food and health. There he found a chapter called “Splotches, Blotches and Blots".
“Let’s see now,” Selby said. “It says here that spots on the side of the nose are a symptom of … hmmmmmm.”
Selby grabbed Mr Trifle’s watercolour set and tore to Thornton’s bedroom. He got out the brush and painted three big blue spots on either side of the sleeping man’s nose.
The next morning, Thornton woke the Trifles at six o’clock.
“I’m going,” he said. “I’ve got to start work on my new book. Thanks for everything and
stay healthy.”
“But — but — but —” Mrs Trifle said, handing Thornton a mirror so he could see the spots on his nose.
Thornton grabbed the mirror. “Oh, no! I’m sick!” he screamed. “This is the first stage of bilateral-trispecular-proboscal-everything-itis!”
“Is there a cure for bilateral-trispecular-proboscal-everything-itis?” Dr Trifle asked.
“Raw vegetables, and rest,” Thornton said, throwing a bunch of carrots in the blender. “I’ll have to stay here for a few weeks till I’m better. I might get worse if I left now.”
“I’ve gone and done it this time,” Selby thought and his stomach rumbled like an earthquake. “He was all set to leave and now, because of the spots I painted on him, he’s going to stay! If I don’t get him out of here soon, I’ll die!”
Suddenly another light went on in Selby’s head and a smile flickered across his lips.
“That’s it!” he thought. “I’ll pretend I’m starving! Then they’ll
have
to feed me!”
Selby staggered around in circles with his tongue out and then fell down in a faint.
“Heavens!” yelled Mrs Trifle. “Selby’s collapsed! He needs food!”
“Nonsense,” Thornton said, adding milk to the blender and turning it on. “He’s just having a sudden snooze. Snoozes are the first steps to good health. Leave him alone and he’ll come round in a while.”
Selby lay on the floor for minutes, as visions of rare steaks and sausages danced in his mind. He remembered the lovely dinner the Trifles made for him last Christmas. But most of all he remembered the peanut prawns that had been thrown away.
He opened one eye and noticed that he was alone in the kitchen with Thornton. Suddenly something in Selby, snapped.
“I can’t stand it a second longer!” he
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