It is the morning after the night before. The castle of
Gloria Glinda, the Good Pumphrey of the North is quiet except for occasional
mutterings and moaning about headaches, gippy tummies and where’s the Alka
Seltzer? The tee-total staff are wandering around with enormous bin bags,
clearing up the mess and wondering why it’s always them who have to do the
housework after a party instead of the drunken ne’er-do-wells who make the mess
in the first place. And Dorothy Miggins is still fuming from the revelation
that she could have gone home over two weeks ago if Gloria Glinda had thought
to mention the magic power of the ruby slippers instead of sending them all off
on a wild Oz chase.
‘Try and see the funny side,’ says Ptolemy Ptinman.
‘I would if there was one,’ says Dorothy Miggins.
‘We got to spend lots of fun time together,’ says Toto.
‘Think of it as a holiday.’
‘Fun?’ says Dorothy
Miggins. ‘Holiday? I don’t think so. I think ‘interesting’ is as far as I can
stretch on the adjectival front.’
‘At least you know you are going home today,’ says Bambino
Bobblion, who is rather excited at the thought of taking up his post of
creative guru in Quadling Woods and has been making notes of lots of ideas to
take with him, like turning the woodland path into a series of trampolines and
planting trees that grow pink marshmallows.
‘Yes,’ says Ptolemy Ptinman, who has been thinking about his
new role as Pking of Winkie Land, and wondering if the first thing he’ll put to
the Winkies for discussion is if they should consider changing the name of
Winkie Land to something more, well, refined and noble. Like Ptolemy Land.
Pking Ptolemy of Ptolemy Land. Yes, it has a certain ring to it.
‘There is that,’ says Dorothy Miggins, and her heart gives a
little flip at the thought that she’ll be home before the day is ended. ‘Has
anyone seen Gloria Glinda? I need to ask her how to activate these ruby
slippers.’
As if she has been waiting in the wings for her cue, Gloria
Glinda, the Good Pumphrey of the North and of Very Little Brain (apparently)
appears. She is wearing her brushed cotton jim-jams, the ones with a llama
pattern, and her eye mask is pushed up on her forehead. In contrast to the
previous evening, she is talking very quietly.
‘Morning, all,’ she whispers. ‘How are we?’
‘Keen to go home,’ says Dorothy Miggins. ‘I just need you to
tell me how to work these ruby slippers.’
Gloria Glinda pauses a moment whilst she rearranges her brain cells into
some sort of order. ‘Ah, yes,’ she says. ‘All you need to do is stand still
with your eyes closed, tap the heels of the ruby slippers together and say,
‘There’s no place like Slough.’
‘Slough?’ says Dorothy Miggins, although it is true – there
is no place like Slough.
‘Do I mean Slough?’ says Gloria Glinda. ‘No, I mean ‘home’.
You do the heel tapping thing and say, ’There’s no place like home.’’
(N.B For my lovely readers who aren’t English and might not
know because of the vagaries of the English language, Slough rhymes with ‘cow’
and not ‘cuff.’)
‘Seriously?’ says Dorothy Miggins. ‘It’s as easy as THAT?’
Gloria Glinda nods. ‘It certainly is. Most seemingly difficult
problems have an easy solution. Unless it’s maths, of course. There are no easy
solutions to maths.’
‘Right,’ says Dorothy Miggins. ‘Let’s crack on, shall we?
Toto, hop up here into my wings. We are going home!’
‘Ahem,’ says Ptolemy
Ptinman. ‘I don’t have any ruby slippers. How am I going to get to my new home
in Winkie Land?’
‘I’d like a lift to Quadling Woods,’ adds Bambino Bobblion.
Dorothy Miggins slaps her forehead. ‘Oh silly me! I am so
sorry. Of course we must make sure you get home safely, too. Tancrow Pete is
safe in the City of Rusty Duck, and you two must be taken home at once. You’ve
stuck with me through the thick and thin of everything. How selfish of me to
forget you.’
Ptolemy Ptinman puts his arm around her and gives her a
squeeze. ‘Not selfish at all, dearest Dottie Miggo. Perfectly understandable,
given your excitement in wanting to go home.’ And he gives her another squeeze,
which encourages Bambino Bobblion to join in, and Toto too, who is never one to
turn down the opportunity of a group hug.
‘Yes, all right!’ gasps Dorothy Miggins, wrestling herself
free from the middle of the embrace. She finds these things way too close for
comfort and her tolerance of them is very low on the Touchy-Feely scale of
Hugness. Probably somewhere between 1 and 2.
Gloria Glinda steps forwards. ‘I have it in my power to
return your friends to their homes,’ she says. And she reaches over to retrieve
the once Golden But Now Sludgy Yellow Cap from the top of a suit of armour
where some wag had placed it the previous evening.
As she touches the cap it starts to glow again and soon it
is back to its previous glorious golden self.
‘You’re the new owner,’ says Dorothy Miggins. ‘So you have
three new wishes!’
‘I do,’ says Gloria Glinda.
One of her courtiers, steps forwards and places the Golden
Cap on the head of Gloria Glinda. She closes her eyes and summons forth Bob
Frapples and his Flying Monkeys.
‘Here we go again,’ he says, landing with a bump and a sigh.
‘It’s the hard nut life for us.’
‘Knock,’ says Toto.
‘What?’ says Bob Frapples.
‘The lyric from the song in the musical ‘Annie’ is, ‘It’s
the hard knock life for us’,’ says Toto, who knows about these things, well,
Hugh Gnu does anyway, being a theatrical type.
‘Are you sure?’ says Bob Frapples.
‘Quite sure,’ says Toto/Hugh Gnu.
Bob Frapples gives it some thought. ‘Nah,’ he says. ‘I think
I’ll stick to ‘nut’ if it’s all the same to you.’
Toto shrugs. ‘No skin off my satsuma,’ says Hugh, ‘although
Martin Charnin might have something to say about you messing with his lyrics.
If he hadn’t died earlier this year, of course.’
And the whole cast pause for a moment to belt out a
rendition of ‘The Sun’ll Come Out Tomorrow’ also written by Martin Charnin in
collaboration with Charles Strouse who is still very much alive and kicking at
the age of 91.
(Gosh, that was an odd segue, dear reader(s). And a lesson
to the author to not always follow her stream of consciousness thought process
when she is writing. Still, it’s in now and who doesn’t like a sing-a-long to
songs from ‘Annie’?)
Back to the story. But not until…tomorrow!!
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