thieves do!’ He wrapped his arms round a pretty flowering bush and with one swift tug pulled the whole thing out of the ground. And using his poshest voice – the one that he usually saved for talking to judges in court – said, “I’ll thank you to remember the difference.” He beganlugging the bush back to the caravan, fuming indignantly.
Elsie Spawn was aghast. She was agape; agog; dumbstruck; dumbfounded. (You get the picture.)
As well as the day’s crossword, a nice sharp pencil, a cup of tea, a dictionary and a thesaurus, there was something else Elsie Spawn had readily to hand.
Perhaps I should have mentioned it earlier, but I have a lot to think about, you know. My shiny shoes don’t polish themselves.
She had a blunderbuss loaded with black peppercorns.
Before you could say, “Ready! Take aim! Fire!”, she’d lifted the firearm to the open window and pulled the trigger. There was a bang loud enough to wake a sleeping chicken, and an almost blinding flash followed by acloud of soot-like smoke.
When the smoke cleared, Elsie Spawn’s hair no longer looked blue, and Mr Grunt had dropped the bush and was dancing around in circles clutching the seat of his trousers with both hands, howling like someone who’d just been shot in the bottom with a hail of black peppercorns. Clip and Clop had been frightened by the sudden flash-bang-wallop, so bared their teeth, started “Hee-haw”-ing, and kicked the nearest thing, which happened to be Mrs Grunt. She went flying through the air, past her dancing husband, and – much to her utter amazement – landed in a seated position on the top step of the caravan.
Back in her bedroom,meanwhile, Elsie Spawn was looking around for something to reload the blunderbuss with. She spotted a jar full of hairpins on her dressing table and quickly tipped the contents into her arthritic fingers, stuffing them down the trumpet-like end of the blunderbuss.
Soon she was ready to fire a second time, and thrust the nose of her weapon through the open window once more. Her face dropped in disappointment when she saw that the boy in the blue dress had managed to hitch up the donkeys and the blaggards/brutes/rascals were getting away!
She fired the blunderbuss just for the fun of it anyway, the lethal hairpins glinting in the fading light, like a flash of silvery fish darting through clear waters. They landed harmlessly in the garden, embedded in the lawn, flowerbeds and the trunks of trees.
The flash and the bang were less harmless though: they caused Elsie Spawn’s once-blue hair to catch alight.
She snatched a bedside jug of water and tipped it over her head. There was a hiss like frying bacon.
Elsie Spawn looked down on her damaged garden in dismay and at the bush lying in the middle of the lane. She then caught a glimpse of her reflection in her dressing-table mirror. She looked as if she’d been rolling in the ashes of a camp fire.
The elderly lady sighed. She didn’t know their names but she certainly wouldn’t forgetthe Grunts in a hurry. Whoever they were, they were nothing but trouble .
The appointment Mr Grunt had talked about was round the back of a dingy old barn about two hours’ ride away by caravan. If the barn was dingy, round the back of it was dingier still. Mrs Grunt gave Sunny a large nettle-and -goat’s-cheese roll and a bottle of home-made conker fizz, and Mr Grunt told him to wait round the back for a Mr Lippy.
“Don’t talk to anyone else,” he said.
“How will I know he’s Mr Lippy?” said Sunny.
“Ask him his name,” said Mrs Grunt.
“But if he turns out not to be Mr Lippy then I’ll have talked to someone who isn’t him, and Dad said—”
Mrs Grunt frowned. “You think too much,Sunny,” she said. “Bad for your brain. If you want to grow up smart like your dad, don’t think so much.”
“You’ll know Mr Lippy is Mr Lippy when you see him,” Mr Grunt assured the boy. “Now leave us be.”
Sunny left Mr and Mrs
Elsie Spawn was aghast. She was agape; agog; dumbstruck; dumbfounded. (You get the picture.)
As well as the day’s crossword, a nice sharp pencil, a cup of tea, a dictionary and a thesaurus, there was something else Elsie Spawn had readily to hand.
Perhaps I should have mentioned it earlier, but I have a lot to think about, you know. My shiny shoes don’t polish themselves.
She had a blunderbuss loaded with black peppercorns.
Before you could say, “Ready! Take aim! Fire!”, she’d lifted the firearm to the open window and pulled the trigger. There was a bang loud enough to wake a sleeping chicken, and an almost blinding flash followed by acloud of soot-like smoke.
When the smoke cleared, Elsie Spawn’s hair no longer looked blue, and Mr Grunt had dropped the bush and was dancing around in circles clutching the seat of his trousers with both hands, howling like someone who’d just been shot in the bottom with a hail of black peppercorns. Clip and Clop had been frightened by the sudden flash-bang-wallop, so bared their teeth, started “Hee-haw”-ing, and kicked the nearest thing, which happened to be Mrs Grunt. She went flying through the air, past her dancing husband, and – much to her utter amazement – landed in a seated position on the top step of the caravan.
Back in her bedroom,meanwhile, Elsie Spawn was looking around for something to reload the blunderbuss with. She spotted a jar full of hairpins on her dressing table and quickly tipped the contents into her arthritic fingers, stuffing them down the trumpet-like end of the blunderbuss.
Soon she was ready to fire a second time, and thrust the nose of her weapon through the open window once more. Her face dropped in disappointment when she saw that the boy in the blue dress had managed to hitch up the donkeys and the blaggards/brutes/rascals were getting away!
She fired the blunderbuss just for the fun of it anyway, the lethal hairpins glinting in the fading light, like a flash of silvery fish darting through clear waters. They landed harmlessly in the garden, embedded in the lawn, flowerbeds and the trunks of trees.
The flash and the bang were less harmless though: they caused Elsie Spawn’s once-blue hair to catch alight.
She snatched a bedside jug of water and tipped it over her head. There was a hiss like frying bacon.
Elsie Spawn looked down on her damaged garden in dismay and at the bush lying in the middle of the lane. She then caught a glimpse of her reflection in her dressing-table mirror. She looked as if she’d been rolling in the ashes of a camp fire.
The elderly lady sighed. She didn’t know their names but she certainly wouldn’t forgetthe Grunts in a hurry. Whoever they were, they were nothing but trouble .
The appointment Mr Grunt had talked about was round the back of a dingy old barn about two hours’ ride away by caravan. If the barn was dingy, round the back of it was dingier still. Mrs Grunt gave Sunny a large nettle-and -goat’s-cheese roll and a bottle of home-made conker fizz, and Mr Grunt told him to wait round the back for a Mr Lippy.
“Don’t talk to anyone else,” he said.
“How will I know he’s Mr Lippy?” said Sunny.
“Ask him his name,” said Mrs Grunt.
“But if he turns out not to be Mr Lippy then I’ll have talked to someone who isn’t him, and Dad said—”
Mrs Grunt frowned. “You think too much,Sunny,” she said. “Bad for your brain. If you want to grow up smart like your dad, don’t think so much.”
“You’ll know Mr Lippy is Mr Lippy when you see him,” Mr Grunt assured the boy. “Now leave us be.”
Sunny left Mr and Mrs
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