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Authors: Philip Ardagh
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of roses, with the pink ribbon proudly tied in her hair. She’d said that she liked animals and she’d like to travel. And what was he doing right there and then? Travelling with two donkeys on his way to collect an elephant! It would have been greatif she could have come too.
Thinking about Mimi made him think of Bigg Manor and of Larry Smalls hanging from the gate. And then – bam! – he remembered where he’d heard mention of the Chinn Twins before he’d read their name on the remains of a poster on the barn wall. Larry Smalls had said that if only the Chinn Twins had been there, they’d have been able to get him down from the gate easily (or something like that).
Maybe they were acrobats? On the poster they’d been referred to as being “remarkable”. Sunny imagined one identical twin leaping up on to the back of the other and unhooking Larry Smalls from the top of the gates to Bigg Manor in one swift, graceful movement. What a sight that would have been!
After ten minutes or so of clip-clopping down the forest track, Clip and Clop decidedthat it was lunchtime, and they stopped. Sunny knew that there’d be no point in trying to make them go any further until they’d rested and eaten. And anyway, he was hungry too.
Mrs Grunt threw open an upstairs window. “Why have we stopped?” she demanded.
“Lunchtime,” said Sunny.
Now Mr Grunt threw open a downstairs window. “Why have we stopped?” he demanded.
“Lunchtime,” said Mrs Grunt.
“Good!” said Mr Grunt. “Make me an omelette, wife!” He pulled in his head and slammed the window shut.
“Make it yourself, mister!” shouted Mrs Grunt, slamming her window too.
In the end, Mr Grunt gathered some old fir cones from the forest floor while Sunny fed Clip and Clop. Mr Grunt then tossed the conesinto a blender, ready to make some woody soup or other. Unfortunately, he forgot to put the lid on, and bits of fir cone shot around the kitchen like pieces of shrapnel. Mrs Grunt screamed and dived under the kitchen table, letting out an even BIGGER scream when she landed on Sharpie, the stuffed hedgehog.
“What’s Sharpie doing under here?!” she yelped the moment Mr Grunt had fumbled with the off switch of the blender, and all was quiet.
“Not a lot, I expect,” said Mr Grunt. “He’s dead.”
“I mean, who put him here?” said Mrs Grunt, rubbing her arm where the spines had gone in.
“Then say what you mean, wife!” Mr Grunt grunted.
“I just did,” said Mrs Grunt.
“Oh, well done!” said Mr Grunt. “Do you want a medal?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I can’t make you one because I’m too busy making lunch because my wife is too lazy to do it ,” said Mr Grunt with enough menace in his voice to frighten the weevils in the cheese. (To be fair, though, cheese weevils are easily frightened, or so I’ve heard.)
“Too busy shooting chunks of fir cone about the place, more like!” said Mrs Grunt. “And I still want to know why you put Sharpie under the table.”
“What makes you think it was me, wife?”
“Well, I didn’t do it, and Sharpie’s dead, so he can’t have walked there by himself … sothat leaves you, mister!” said Mrs Grunt.
“What about Sunny?”
Mrs Grunt gave a puzzled frown. “He’s not dead,” she snapped.
“I mean, who’s to say that Sunny didn’t move him?” said Mr Grunt.
“Because Sunny isn’t an idiot,” said Mrs Grunt.
Mr Grunt slammed the lid on the top of the blender, trapping what remained of the fir cones. “Are you saying that I am?” he demanded.
“That you are what?”
“An idiot!”
“Are you call me an idiot?” Mrs Grunt bristled.
“I was calling me an idiot!” said Mr Grunt. “No, I mean, I was asking to know whether you were calling me an idiot.”
“Work it out for yourself,” said Mrs Grunt, adding the words “you idiot” under her breath. They were drowned out by the noise of the blender when Mr Grunt hit the on switch again.
Chapter Nine
One Rung
Thinking about Mimi made him think of Bigg Manor and of Larry Smalls hanging from the gate. And then – bam! – he remembered where he’d heard mention of the Chinn Twins before he’d read their name on the remains of a poster on the barn wall. Larry Smalls had said that if only the Chinn Twins had been there, they’d have been able to get him down from the gate easily (or something like that).
Maybe they were acrobats? On the poster they’d been referred to as being “remarkable”. Sunny imagined one identical twin leaping up on to the back of the other and unhooking Larry Smalls from the top of the gates to Bigg Manor in one swift, graceful movement. What a sight that would have been!
After ten minutes or so of clip-clopping down the forest track, Clip and Clop decidedthat it was lunchtime, and they stopped. Sunny knew that there’d be no point in trying to make them go any further until they’d rested and eaten. And anyway, he was hungry too.
Mrs Grunt threw open an upstairs window. “Why have we stopped?” she demanded.
“Lunchtime,” said Sunny.
Now Mr Grunt threw open a downstairs window. “Why have we stopped?” he demanded.
“Lunchtime,” said Mrs Grunt.
“Good!” said Mr Grunt. “Make me an omelette, wife!” He pulled in his head and slammed the window shut.
“Make it yourself, mister!” shouted Mrs Grunt, slamming her window too.
In the end, Mr Grunt gathered some old fir cones from the forest floor while Sunny fed Clip and Clop. Mr Grunt then tossed the conesinto a blender, ready to make some woody soup or other. Unfortunately, he forgot to put the lid on, and bits of fir cone shot around the kitchen like pieces of shrapnel. Mrs Grunt screamed and dived under the kitchen table, letting out an even BIGGER scream when she landed on Sharpie, the stuffed hedgehog.
“What’s Sharpie doing under here?!” she yelped the moment Mr Grunt had fumbled with the off switch of the blender, and all was quiet.
“Not a lot, I expect,” said Mr Grunt. “He’s dead.”
“I mean, who put him here?” said Mrs Grunt, rubbing her arm where the spines had gone in.
“Then say what you mean, wife!” Mr Grunt grunted.
“I just did,” said Mrs Grunt.
“Oh, well done!” said Mr Grunt. “Do you want a medal?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I can’t make you one because I’m too busy making lunch because my wife is too lazy to do it ,” said Mr Grunt with enough menace in his voice to frighten the weevils in the cheese. (To be fair, though, cheese weevils are easily frightened, or so I’ve heard.)
“Too busy shooting chunks of fir cone about the place, more like!” said Mrs Grunt. “And I still want to know why you put Sharpie under the table.”
“What makes you think it was me, wife?”
“Well, I didn’t do it, and Sharpie’s dead, so he can’t have walked there by himself … sothat leaves you, mister!” said Mrs Grunt.
“What about Sunny?”
Mrs Grunt gave a puzzled frown. “He’s not dead,” she snapped.
“I mean, who’s to say that Sunny didn’t move him?” said Mr Grunt.
“Because Sunny isn’t an idiot,” said Mrs Grunt.
Mr Grunt slammed the lid on the top of the blender, trapping what remained of the fir cones. “Are you saying that I am?” he demanded.
“That you are what?”
“An idiot!”
“Are you call me an idiot?” Mrs Grunt bristled.
“I was calling me an idiot!” said Mr Grunt. “No, I mean, I was asking to know whether you were calling me an idiot.”
“Work it out for yourself,” said Mrs Grunt, adding the words “you idiot” under her breath. They were drowned out by the noise of the blender when Mr Grunt hit the on switch again.
Chapter Nine
One Rung
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