Golden Cap on head, Gloria Glinda makes her first wish.
‘I wish for Ptolemy Ptinman to be returned to Winkie Land so
he make take up his new post as their kind, wise and brave Pking,’ she says.
The flying monkeys form themselves into their usual sledge
shape and Bob Frapples opens the door for Ptolemy Ptinman to step inside.
Before he does, our tin hero, who very much has a heart, hugs Dorothy Miggins,
Toto and Bambino Bobblion, wishes them well, then is whisked away in a puff of
smoke.
‘He’ll be a good Pking,’ says Dorothy Miggins. ‘Just needs
to find himself a lovely lady pheasant to make his Pqueen and they can have
lots of lovely little pbabies.’
After a quick cup of tea and leftover panettone, Gloria
Glinda makes her second Golden Cap wish.
The monkey sledge returns. ‘Yes?’ says Bob Frapples, who
hasn’t worked with this speed since he drove a van for DPD, the parcel delivery
service.
‘Please take Bambino Bobblion back to Quadling Woods,’ says
Gloria Glinda.
‘Seriously?’ says Bob Frapples. ‘Can’t he walk? It’s only over
there.’
‘He has been a brave and stoic kitten,’ says Gloria Glinda.
‘He deserves to arrive in style. Plus I’ve lent him the ‘Creative Guru’ book
collection from my library, and he can’t carry them all, not with his delicate
velvety paws.’
Bob Frapples sighs. He directs two of his flying monkeys
(Brian and Gary) to help load the books into the sledge, and, after lots of
fond and furry farewells and a promise to keep in touch (which we all know
never happens, but it’s the thought that counts) Bambino Bobblion climbs aboard
the sledge and is soon on his way to Quadling Woods.
‘And now, it’s just you and Toto,’ says Gloria Glinda, who
is secretly pleased because she really wants to go and have a quiet lie-down
somewhere dark, wrapped all cosily in her slanket, maybe a box of medicinal
Maltesers to wing.
Dorothy Miggins can barely contain her excitement.
‘However,’ says Gloria Glinda. ‘You need to contain your
excitement for just a few moments more. I have one last wish to grant using the
Golden Cap.’
‘Dorothy Miggins sighs. ‘Well, I’ve waited this long,’ she
says. ‘Another five minutes won’t make much difference. As long as Auntie Em
Bennet and Uncle Tootsie Hoffman have put the sprouts on to boil. In which
case, that five minutes could be the difference between a lovely Christmas
dinner and a set of cracked teeth.’
Gloria Glinda summons Bob Frapples one last time.
‘It’s your last wish,’ he says. ‘I’ve never known someone
use their three wishes with such speed. Are you sure you don’t want to save the
last one? You know, for when you’ve given it a bit of thought?’
Gloria Glinda smiles. ‘I have given it some thought,’ she
says. She steps forward, nods her head so the Golden Cap falls into her wings,
and then presents it to Bob Frapples.
‘I wish you and your fellow flying monkeys to be free from
the curse of the Golden Cap,’ she says. ‘Merry Christmas!’
As Bob Frapples takes the Golden Cap, open mouthed in
disbelief at what he has just heard, the Cap crumbles into dust between his
fingers. And it is no more. They are all free!
Awwwwwww…..isn’t that nice? Makes you go all gooey inside,
doesn’t it? Doesn’t it? Yes? No?
Anyway, Bob Frapples leads his now free band of flying monkeys
into the sky where they can be heard singing ‘When You’re Young and In Love’ as
they vanish into the distance to who knows where? Probably a music festival
like Glastonbury. They seem like that kind of monkey to me. Dorothy Miggins
uses the broomstick of the Wicked Poo of the West (which she has kept as a
memento and because she is determined to clean it of the cruddy remains of
marmalade and scrambled eggs still trapped in its bristles) and sweeps the
dusty remains of the Golden Cap under the hand tufted Persian carpet. Gloria
Glinda’s housekeeper pretends not to notice.
‘Right,’ says Gloria Glinda, the Good Pumphrey of the North.
‘Time for you to go home, young lady. Time for you to find your family and
enjoy Christmas.’
Dorothy Miggins braces herself whilst Toto climbs into her
wings (it’s a bit of a comedy struggle, as you can probably imagine) and
settles against her shoulder.
‘Remember,’ says Gloria Glinda. ‘Close your eyes, click
together the heels of your ruby slippers and say, ‘There’s no place like home,
there’s no place like home, there’s no…’
‘…place like home, there’s no place like home,’ joins in
Dorothy Miggins, and she closes her eyes and gently clicks together the heels
of her ruby slippers.
‘There’s no place like home…’
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