As dusk fell on Orwell Farm, Mr Barrington was in the living room looking out of the window. Animals, he thought: what an easy life they have. Eat and sleep and sleep and eat.

OK, sometimes it was eat and sleep and get eaten. But the ones that were kept for milk or wool, or to show to children, like most of the ones on Orwell Farm … Mr Barrington couldn’t help envying them a little. Being a human – certainly being a grown-up (a very grown-up: Mr Barrington wasn’t seeing fifty-nine again), in charge of a large group of Year Six children, was such hard work sometimes.

It had been a long day: the children had been pretty rowdy since the sheep-shearing. Particularly the boys who’d chased the sheep back to their field. They had hardly calmed down since.

Still: they were brushing their teeth now, and getting into their pyjamas. Mr Barrington was looking forward to them all being in bed. Then maybe he could settle down on the sofa with a Sudoku puzzle and a tiny drop of whisky from the flask he had brought with him.

Suddenly, his mobile phone went.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Mr Barrington. It’s Malcolm Bailey’s father. Stewart.”

“Oh yes, hello.”

“Is Malcolm there?”

“Er … Malcolm. Yes. I’m sure he is. They’re upstairs, I’ll just go and—”

“Mr Barrington! Mr Barrington!” He looked up from the phone. Two of the pupils were running into the living room, waving their hands frantically. Mr Barrington squinted at them. They were wearing identical pyjamas. They looked like the same person. But that couldn’t be right. He would have to go to his optician again.

“Sorry, I’m on the phone, er …”

“Ellie. It’s Ellie.”

“And I’m her twin brother, Fred!”

“Oh yes. Yes. Anyway …”

“But … look, Mr Barrington! Out there!”

Mr Barrington looked out of the window again. All he could see was what he’d seen before: the field outside the farmhouse; the gathering dusk; the trees in the distance; and …

“What’s that?”

“Yes!”

“That white blur! What is it?”

“It’s a horse, Mr Barrington. A white horse! Being ridden by a tiny piglet!”

Mr Barrington frowned and leant closer to the window.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes!”

“So what’s that behind it?”

“It’s a whole group of animals chasing the horse!” said Fred.

“Which animals?” said Mr Barrington.

“A dog, a cat …”

“Three sheep …”

“Oh, look, two other bigger pigs …”

“And what’s that? In the distance …?”

“Is it … two tortoises?”

“Impossible to tell from here.”

“Can you see, Mr Barrington?”

“No. No, I can’t see. Not in this light, you know. Anyway … Have either of you seen Malcolm?”

Ellie shook her head. “Actually no, I haven’t seen him for a little while.”

“Last time I saw him was yesterday just before tea, out near the goat pen,” said Fred.

Mr Barrington picked up the phone again. “Sorry, Mr Bailey … Hello?”

All he could hear at the other end was:

“BRRRR! HAHAHHA!! HAHAHAHA!! BRRRR!! HAAAHHHAA!”

“Mr Bailey?” said Mr Barrington. “Do you want to speak to Malcolm?”

“No, it’s OK … BRRR! HAHAHA!” said Stewart. “You’re all clearly having a fabulous time! I don’t want to interrupt all your crazy storytelling! Making up all sorts of goings-on at that farm! A piglet riding a horse!”

In the background, Mr Barrington heard someone say: “LOLT2000!”

“BRR! HAAA! Brilliant!”

“Well …” said Mr Barrington, who frankly remained unsure whether Fred and Ellie had been making it up or not, and therefore could not think of what to say except, “Well …” And then: “Thank you.”

Mr Barrington hung up the phone. I’m getting too old for this, he thought.