In which Poppet’s whereabouts are discovered and disaster ensues
‘Excuse me!’ Olive stepped forward and waved her hands in the air. ‘Good afternoon!’
A crowd of merry students and visiting townsfolk gathered in front of the stage.
‘Welcome!’ cried Olive. ‘Welcome to the annual fair at Mrs Groves’ Boarding School for Naughty Boys, Talking Animals and Circus Performers!’
‘Olib!’ moaned Num-Num the dinosaur from the back of the crowd. ‘Olib! Num-Num got a tummy ache.’
‘Poppet?’ whispered the Inspector of Schools, now standing. ‘Where on earth is my Poppet?’
‘Meow!’ whined Mrs Groves’ apron pocket.
‘Welcome, one and all!’ cried Olive. And although various distractions had caused her to welcome everyone three times, she now intended to launch into an eloquent and entertaining speech in which she would list the delights of attending Mrs Groves’ unique school; a speech in which she would declare the importance of encouraging students to be true to themselves and to follow their dreams; a speech with which she would pepper humorous anecdotes and a riotous joke involving three bears, a vat of steamed cauliflower and an espresso machine.
But she couldn’t.
Any wise, inspiring or humorous words our heroine was about to utter were cut short because, suddenly, things turned pear-shaped. And when I say that things turned pear-shaped, it is really a polite way of saying that there was an outbreak of quirks and misfortunes. And when I say that there was an outbreak of quirks and misfortunes, it is really a polite way of saying that events spiralled out of control and the fair became a scene of complete and utter chaos.
Jabber, who had continued to jump up and down in the bouncy castle while wielding his knives, grew tired and dropped the sharpest of his blades.
POP!
If you have ever let go of an inflated balloon before tying a knot in the top, you will have some small idea of what happened next to the bouncy castle. Air blurted violently from the stab wound in the rubber floor. The whole structure shuddered for a moment, lifted off the ground, then flew back and forth across the garden, in and out between the trees, and finally, straight up into the sky. Upon reaching the pinnacle of its climb, the now-deflated castle made one last vulgar noise – not unlike the sounds that Pewy Hughie had made the previous week after eating too many ripe mangos – then plummeted back to earth.
Actually, it plummeted back down on top of the refreshments tent. A tray of egg sandwiches and four American tourists were squashed, but no real harm was done. Jabber and Wally the wombat, who had been inside the castle for the entire hair-raising journey, scrambled out of the wreckage, laughing, slapping each other’s backs and looking around for the next thrill of the day.
They didn’t have to look far, for right beside them was Sparky Burns, fire breather and flaming torch juggler. Sparky had been looking after the sausage sizzle and had come to the conclusion that the sizzle was more exciting than the sausage. Accordingly, he had fed the raw tofu sausages to Scruffy the dog, then set fire to the serviettes, the trestle table and the nearby garden bench. Unfortunately, the bishop and three of his parishioners were sitting on the bench at the time, and they were not impressed.
Bozo and Boffo the clowns, however, were mightily impressed. They leapt into their little red fire engine and drove around and around the garden, crying, ‘Fire! Fire! The buns are on fire! The serviettes are on fire! The bishop’s hat is on fire!’ but they did not go anywhere near the flames. Instead, they took it in turns to steer the engine and ring the bell while the other tossed cream pies at anyone they passed.
‘What a disgrace!’ howled the Mayor’s wife, wiping a large globule of cream from her chin. ‘I have never been so humiliated in all my life.’
But that was before Linus fumbled across the yard, playing Pin the Tail on the Donkey. His eyes were blindfolded and he held aloft a felt tail with a large thumbtack pressed through the end. He stumbled, regained his footing and found himself against a solid surface.
‘Got it!’ he shouted and pinned the tail on the Mayor’s wife’s bottom.
Oh dear.
‘Oh dear,’ said Olive.
Although I am not sure whether she was referring to the unfortunate incident with the donkey tail, the sight of Chester the brown rat nibbling a button off the Mayor’s robe, or the fact that Num-Num the dinosaur was now staggering towards the stage, clutching her belly.
Olive squared her shoulders and tried valiantly to deliver her speech once more. ‘Groves is a marvellous school!’ she shouted.
‘Num-Num bery, bery sick!’ groaned the dinosaur, and she began to gag.
The crowd parted.
Num-Num stood alone, in clear view of those upon the stage. Her scaly green face was contorted with pain.
‘Uh-oh,’ said Olive. Such a shame, dear reader, that this is all she managed to say, for I am quite certain you would have enjoyed the joke involving the three bears, the vat of steamed cauliflower and the espresso machine.
‘Bery terribly sick,’ groaned Num-Num.
‘Meow!’ whined Mrs Groves’ apron pocket, now wriggling and writhing rather violently.
‘My button!’ shouted the Mayor, leaping to his feet and pointing at Chester as he scampered away through the vegetable patch.
‘My bottom!’ howled the Mayor’s wife from afar.
‘My bottom!’ bellowed Helga the hippo through the upstairs infirmary window.
‘Where, oh where is my little Poppet?’ muttered the Inspector of Schools, now wandering back and forth across the front of the stage.
‘BURP!’ belched Num-Num. Something popped from her mouth, landing on the ground between her giant clawed feet.
It was a pretty pink dog’s collar.
Num-Num looked down . . . She nudged the collar with her toe . . . She blinked at the silver bone-shaped pendant that was attached to the buckle . . . She patted her belly . . . She looked up at Olive and grinned stupidly. ‘Num-Num feel much gooder now.’
And for that we are truly glad.
The Inspector of Schools, however, suddenly felt a little poorly. ‘Poppet!’ he gasped. ‘That is my Poppet’s collar!’
‘Aaah,’ said Reginald, nodding wisely. ‘Poppet is a dog.’
‘Was a dog,’ corrected Wordsworth the grey rat. ‘Poppet was the Inspector’s Chihuahua. It is very important that one uses the right tense in these situations.’
‘Tense?’ gasped Mrs Groves, leaping up from her chair. ‘Did somebody say tense? Oh dear. We don’t want people feeling tense at our school fair, do we now? We’d better hurry the formalities along, then we can get back to eating fairy floss and riding merry-go-rounds and having a dashing time.’
She bumbled forward, smiling, nodding and waving a large pair of brass scissors in the air. ‘Helloooo!’ she cried. ‘Helloooo! I do declare our delightful school fair officially open.’
And then, aware that she was meant to cut through something, but unable to remember exactly what, she snipped off the Inspector of Schools’ beard.