So it looks like I’m back. Hello all.
I’ve been oh so busy writing my script and being in plays and just generally being busy, I have not had much time to scribble stories.
Until a few nights ago.
My friend Amy was unable to sleep. I felt as we were so close (I punched her in the bum to get her up a ladder to get her on the wings of a Hawker Hurricane Mark I; a special bond few share) that I would tell her a story. And...well, this happened!
Once upon a time there was a duck. And the duck’s name was Claude.
Now Claude the duck had a problem. He was missing his wellington boots. Now you might say ‘Tom, ducks do not need booties. They have naturally wet surviving feet’. But Claude was a duck of style and had a fine pair of big red wellies, perfect for marching through the deepest of puddles. Until he lost them.
He looked high and he looked low. He looked under his bed, he looked in his cupboard, he even looked in the fridge.
‘Oh where these wellies be?’ he cried.
He asked the postman ‘Have you seen my wellies?’ But the postman hadn’t seen them.
He asked Mr Hoots, the owl. But the owl had not seen them.
He asked the tugboat captain. But the tugboat captain had not seen them.
Poor little Claude was heartbroken. He sat down on the bank and he began to cry.
‘Why are you crying?’ asked his mother.
‘I have lost my boots’ said Claude.
‘Oh Claude,’ said his mother. ‘I took them to be polished at the bootmakers.’
There were his boots! He hadn’t lost them!
He was so happy!
And Claude stopped crying and marched around all the finest puddles in his shiny red boots.
You asleep yet? Are you?
(... where did THAT come from!? I seem to think you're five! Oh well, glad he found the boots!)
That put her to sleep. But then my other friend Simon (I have never punched him) wanted one. I, thinking a lad would not be so keen on duckie tales, threw out this.
A couple of years ago I was walking along an old country lane just minding my own business when I saw a woman in a flowing dress crying on the side of the road.
Being the gent I am, I stopped and said ‘Why are you crying, miss?’
She looked up, her eyes full of tears and I could see right to the road behind her.
‘Oh, sir,’ says she ‘I am supposed to... See more go to the Haunted Party with a vampire boy but he has decided to leave me sitting on this stone.’
I scratched my chin. ‘I’m free tonight. Would you like to go with me?’
The ghost smiled. ‘Oh yes!’
So we went to the spooky party. There were monsters of all shapes and sizes and all the lemonade we could want.
The ghost suddenly gasped during the waltz. ‘There is that mean old vampire.’
He was surrounded by his friends and when he saw my friend he put back his head and laughed like this ‘BWAH HA HA!’
I frowned at his rudeness and went over.
‘Sir, you have insulted this fine spectre.’
He rolled his eyes. ‘Und vhat do you intend to do, human?’
‘I boxed at Eaton’ says I and poked him in the nose. (Don’t hit people kids. It is bad. I can only do so because he was a vampire.)
‘Now say you’re sorry,’ I said.
‘Soggy!’ he grumbled.
‘Like you mean it,’ I said.
‘I’m sorry,’ said the vampire.
‘I forgive you ‘ said the ghost.
‘Vould you like to dance?’ asked the vampire.
She did and first she thanked me. ‘I am sorry that I made you come here tonight.’
‘Don’t be silly,’ I said ‘It was a lovely time and anyway, it is a terrible thing to go to a party with no-BODY.’
Now off to bed, ya wee scamps.
*sniff* They grow so fast.
O-HO! Awful puns for all.
Okay, so...just thought I’d tell you my stories.
How are you?