SECTION TWO

In which we meet some unusual weather and four llamas who are already very sad and about to get much sadder. We also learn a little about the weather, llamas and poems about socks.

Meanwhile, on the dark side of an incredibly rainy hill, four llamas were trying to find shelter. It was only raining on their hill and not on anywhere else. In fact, it seemed only to be raining right where they were standing. If they ran extremely fast, they could almost get out from under their personal rain-cloud, so that water drops might stop falling on the tips of their noses for a few strides. But then the weather would catch up with them again when they got tired and slowed down. They were drenched all the time and underneath their fur their skins had gone all wrinkly, as if they’d been in the bath too long.

They could see that all around them the countryside was dry and sunny and flowers were nodding in light breezes. Several small greenish-yellowish birds called siskins were playing tig in and out of the warm tree-branches and wearing sunglasses, because it was so bright. If the llamas had been closer to the siskins, they would even have overheard the little birds talking about getting some ice cream later, before they got too hot. Then again, if the llamas had been closer to the siskins, the siskins would have been underneath the rain-cloud and wet and depressed.

Above the llamas it wasn’t just raining now, it was pouring, and there might even be sleet and snow on the way. Their patch of sky was miserable and they were, too.

Brian Llama sneezed. Then he shook his head and his shoulders, which made a long swirl of water come out of his coat and hit the others. “Oh,” he said, “my sore hoof aches.”

Guinevere Llama sniffed. “It was a terrible idea to come here. All the way from Peru, for this. You’re an idiot.”

“Yes, he is an idiot,” agreed Ginalolobrigida Llama. “But it did say in the advertisement that Scotland was always sunny and hot and that the McGloone Farm was the most marvellous farm anywhere on earth and that we would have as much lemonade as we could drink and hammocks to sleep in. And we believed it, so we are all idiots.” Ginalolobrigida Llama didn’t ever like to think she had done anything wrong. “But Brian is the biggest idiot.” Saying that made her feel a little bit better.

They had all read the very lovely advertisement in The Lima Llama Informer which had shown them glossy photographs and used lots of long and impressive words. It had invited adventurous llamas to submit short poems about why socks were useful. The four llamas who wrote the best poems were promised a free holiday at what had seemed to be the wonderful McGloone Farm in Scotland. By now the llamas were pretty sure that the photographs had been of some other farm and that the holiday was going to last for ever and be dreadful.

“That advertisement was a lie.” Brian sneezed again. “The McGloone Farm isn’t a nice farm and Farmer McGloone isn’t a nice man and his McGloone wife isn’t a nice wife and his five McGloone children are the nastiest children I’ve ever met. And his McGloone sisters are worse than that. They pick their noses and then wipe their fingers in my ears.”

The sisters, Maude and Ethel, who were being so nasty to Bill were, of course, the McGloone sisters. They were McGloones so horrifying and grumpy that even the other McGloones didn’t want them around and they had to live in their own cottage full of failed knitting and cat bones and other terrible things. Of course, the sisters said they wouldn’t dream of living in the main farmhouse, because of how ugly, noisy and unbearable the rest of the McGloones were. The only thing all the McGloones could really agree on was how much fun it was to be cruel to everyone they met. Or everyone they tricked into visiting, or kidnapped and shoved into bags.

Back in the field – out of sight of both the cottage and the farmhouse – Carlos Llama sighed. “Farmer McGloone has ruined my wool.”

“He’s ruined all of our wool!” Brian couldn’t help shouting because he was so fed up with Farmer McGloone, and Mrs Myrtle McGloone – Farmer McGloone’s wife – coming by with the big, clanky shears and taking as much llama wool as they could from the llamas, until they were nearly bald and terribly cold.

Brian Llama had had a particularly silky chocolate coat and Carlos and Guinevere had had very splendid chocolate and cream and fawn coats and Ginalolobrigida Llama had had a delightful pinky cream coat. They had been four of the proudest and handsomest and loveliest llamas in Peru. In fact, many of the other Peruvian llamas had been quite glad when they left, because being so wonderful had sometimes made the four of them boastful, and boring – as all boastful people are. Brian, Guinevere, Carlos and Ginalolobrigida Llama had thought all the llamas who came to wave them off when they got on the boat to sail away across the ocean were being friendly. In fact, quite a lot of them were actually there to make sure that they really did go away. Of course, our four llama chums were not boastful now. They would probably never boast again – or not until they felt better and were dry. There are few things sadder than a soaked and patchy llama.

Brian snuffed and licked his poorly hoof. “Farmer McGloone promised us luxury llama sheds to sleep in and then we just got that rotten old tent that fell to bits the first night we arrived.”

“That was because you sneezed in it,” said Ginalolobrigida Llama.

“If it fell apart just because I sneezed, then it wasn’t a good tent!” shouted Brian. “I hate it here.”

In the entire history of llamas there had never been four llamas who were more depressed, or more disappointed.