This is only a segment of the story, i hope you thoroughly enjoy and leave some helpful comments!
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“Go on son! You can do it!” Mrs Rogers was screaming at the television. Not a good idea. That is the first sign of madness! But it isn’t the first sign of madness that Juliet has had. Mrs Cloudy-Nose was winning the race on TV. Yep, Mrs Rogers was watching ‘BBC 15, Grannies staircase race’ a simple show where five grannies have their own staircase and the first one to the top is the winner, oh joy! The prize? A year’s supply of banister polish. Perfect for any granny who never uses the stairs. There is an old saying in Pocklington, use your staircase or at least make it look good.
Three o’clock, time to have her cup of tea and her ‘make me stop falling asleep of boredom’ tablets.
That certain Polar Bear, namely Blanket Ted, yep still the same falling bear, was still falling. Would you believe it! Blanket shoved his hand inside his two ‘inside the bow hold all pockets’; inside what he found was not to up lifting, a green jelly baby, sheesh, an elastic band, a plastic soldier and a stale custard cream biscuit. Green jelly baby, disgusting, an elastic band, to powerful for a small bear to handle what was he thinking, and a stale biscuit, weren’t that helpful. Blanket ate the biscuit. The toy soldier however…ah yes a handy little object, a great toy, fantastic tea stirrer and a wonderful paperclip bomb target. Ideal for the travelling business bear! That certain Polar Bear, once again in an almost certain mess, I never get tired of saying that, took out the little army officer and his little rifle.
A Note From The Author: REMEMBER, THIS IS ONLY A STORY, YOU COULD NOT POSSIBLY DO SOMETHING LIKE THIS IN REAL LIFE. NEITHER COULD YOUR BEAR, FOR OBVIOUS REASONS. BESIDES, NEITHER YOU NOR YOUR BEAR ARE VERY LIKELY TO FIND YOURSELF FIFTY FEET UP DANGLING FROM THE TALONS OF A CROW! SO DO NOT TRY THIS AT HOME!
Because Blanket Ted was such a small creature,
A Note From The Author: NO REALL, DON’T! this tiny fellow was more like the size of a teddy bear’s teddy bear to him, so it took two paws to heave it way up above his head and then… down, down, down. As Blanket neared his watery grave he shoved the toy soldier down beneath his feet, so when he finally hit the rim of the water fountain the soldier would break his fall and keep him up. Rather like the pole high jumpers use in the Olympics.
Blanket hit the fountain. The force was incredible since he was just a little bear full of wadding, and of cause being plastic, the toy soldier didn’t really hold out. His head, which the bear was holding onto, snapped of the officers neck, nasty, and the whole thing crippled and shattered against the hard concrete of the water fountain. Blanket felt a sharp pain in his beary, what you might call, nether regions. For half the body of a small plastic man shoving right into one’s wadding is, even being a stuffed bear, still rather jaw-droppingly painful. Of cause a bear does not have a jaw to drop, so to speak, so instead Blanket Ted’s beady eyes popped in their furry sockets and the seams around the label on his bottom popped slightly. He let out a small squeak of pain, the sort of squeak you might get if you tried to push a very over weight Meerkat through a letterbox!
Mrs Juliet Rogers was interrupted in her mad ranting encouragement aimed at Mrs Cloudy-Nose on the tele, by a rather small, but still annoyingly audible to her sharp hearing, squeak coming from the garden.
“I do hope those blasted moles aren’t at my Rhododendrons again!” She squealed with unconcealed anger. She rushed to one of her many windows and looked out across the perfect sharp blades of the lawn, the shining dusted petals of the pansies, the wonderfully neat and tidy rows of marrows, turnips, carrots and things like that. Then she glanced viciously over towards the Rhododendrons with a glare, had he seen it, would have shrivelled Blanket Teddy. But because when Blanket had hit the fountain the soldier had crushed, he had been flung with considerable force into the Rhododendrons. So, looking desperately around, murder in her eyes, Aunty Juliet saw nothing in the slightest bit bearish and rather more to her satisfaction, nothing in the least bit ‘blasted moleish!’ So she spun around with the grace of a large Hippopotamus who has not yet found his sea legs, and went back to her program. A few long, long, long, long, long, long, long, long, long, long, long, long, long, long, long, long, long, long, long, long, long, long, long, long, long, long, long, long, long, long, long, long, long, minutes later the race on BBC 15 came to an end, with Old Mother Norris winning the year supply of banister polish in the end, for Mrs Cloudy-Nose, at the last few steps, had had a violent attack of what I like to call ‘Upsie Downsie Left Knee Cripple.’ This is simply when your knee stops moving and ceases up in one place, probably all that lifting and putting down on each step, hence the name Upsie Downsie