The Duckkins gather en masse to wave off the Phantomime and
their guests in the hot air balloon. To be honest, they are quite glad to see
the back of the Phantomime. He hasn’t been a huge problem as their leader, but
he hasn’t been that helpful either. There are a few mutterings of ‘Who’s in
charge now?’ because we all like to know where the buck of blame stops, don’t we,
and the Duckkins are no exception.
The Phantomime stands on the platform next to his tethered
dirigible, the sound of which, for some bizarre reason, makes the author
snigger. Dramatically, he raises his hands to silence the crowd of Duckkins and
when that doesn’t work, he shouts.
‘Oi! Look at ME everyone! I’m the star!’
Slowly, the quackering of the Duckkins quietens to a dull
roar and then someone points out the quicker they are silent, the quicker the
Phantomime et al will leave and everyone can all get on with preparing lunch.
Silence ensues with speed. The Duckkins are very keen on their food.
‘In my absence, I am appointing Tancrow Pete the Scarecrow
to rule on my behalf,’ announces the Phantomime. ‘He has shown himself to be
wise and honourable, just like me in fact, so you probably won’t notice that
much difference in the highly efficient daily running of the place.’
‘Oh, I think they will,’ says Tancrow Pete, who has plans
already to be an approachable and visible leader, the kind to be out and about
with the Duckkins and not hiding away in a mansion behind a screen fiddling
with knobs.
The crowd cheers. Tancrow Pete puffs out his cockerel chest
and inwardly thanks his lucky stars his pole dancing days are over.
‘Oh, shut up,’ says the Phantomime, thinking how ungrateful
Duckkins are. He continues. ‘I do not know how long I shall be gone. It could
be weeks, months, years even…’
The crowd cheers again. This is all very exciting and
welcome news.
‘Yes, all right,’ says the Phantomime, huffily. Even he
realises it is time to leave. He climbs into the balloon basket where Dorothy
Miggins, Toto, Ptolemy Ptinman and Bambino Bobblion are already ensconced.
‘Loosen the ropes!’ he shouts, and the Duckkins in charge of the tethers undo
the knots. The balloon begins to rise into the air and in doing so executes a
couple of wobbles to settle itself and its load.
Now, what no-one knew up to this point is that although Hugh
Gnu is a fan of air travel by balloon, Mrs Betty Slocombe most certainly is
NOT! She has always been grateful she is a chicken and therefore has limited
flying capacities. She’d have hated to be an albatross, for example. Or a
swallow. All that migrating malarkey? No thank you! Anyway, as soon as the
balloon reaches the heady heights of five feet from the ground, she starts to
struggle inside the Toto costume.
‘Let me out!’ she squeaks.
‘What are you doing?’ says Hugh Gnu, struggling to keep
control of a situation that is fast growing into a comedy caper of epic
proportions. ‘Sit still, Betty. Just close your eyes and imagine you are in a
rocking chair or something. Or the monkey sledge. You coped with the monkey
sledge, didn’t you?’
‘Only because the journey was so quick,’ she says, putting
on a serious wriggle. ‘Balloon journeys take AGES. Everyone knows that.’
And with an almighty show of strength, she gives one last
kick for freedom. Unfortunately, for remember that she is the front end of the
pantomime costume and Hugh Gnu is at the back, her kick lands squarely in the
nether nads of Hugh Gnu. In agony, he lets go of Mrs Slocombe’s waist and in a
split second, she launches herself from the balloon, dragging Hugh Gnu with her
over the edge!
Luckily, they are only six feet from the ground and the
padding in the costume protects them from any harm.
‘Toto!’ shouts Dorothy Miggins. ‘Wait! We can’t leave
without Toto!’
‘We have to,’ shouts the Phantomime. ‘Once we are on the up,
we have to keep going. It’s the law of anti-gravity + gas = don’t stop us now!
I think.’
‘I’m not leaving without my Toto!’ shouts Dorothy Miggins,
and she, too, takes a wild leap from the basket, landing on top of Toto. And
because wherever Dorothy Miggins goes, so does everyone else, Ptolemy Ptinman and
Bambino Bobblion follow suit and everyone bar the Phantomime is exactly back
where they started.
‘Buggeration,’ sighs the Phantomime, but not with much
feeling because at least he can stretch out a bit now and the journey will be
more comfortable. Plus, more picnic provisions for him! ‘Bye bye!’ he waves,
his duty of care to these idiots thankfully behind him.
On the ground, everyone watches as the balloon rises into
the sky and grows smaller and smaller until it is little more than a pinprick
on the horizon.
‘Now what?’ says Dorothy Miggins. With less than a week to
go until Christmas Day, she is beginning to think she will never see Much
Malarkey Manor ever again.
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