Santa Online

In the olden days – when your parents were born – there weren’t so many children for Santa to visit. Nowadays, there are lots and they all wonder – how does Santa get around to everyone? Does he use computers? Now pay attention.

One Christmas, Santa’s CEO (Chief Elf Organizer) said, “Santa, we have to modernize our systems. All of our naughty and nice lists should be on computer. And we should tell children to send emails – not letters.”

Santa said, “What about children who live in Timbuktu?”

“Timbuktu is online,” the CEO said, “Look on my laptop.”

Santa saw all his elves waving from Timbuktu on skype.

“Goodness me,” Santa said, “What about Timbukthree?”

“You know there’s no such place,” his CEO laughed, “The elves are struggling to make enough talking dinosaurs and Whiz bikes for modern kids. In the olden days their parents were happy with lollipops.”

Santa frowned and then he said, “Go ahead – give it a try.”

The CEO elf clapped his hands and shouted, “You won’t be sorry Santa! Go and rest, we’ll do everything faster than magic!”

Santa nodded and went upstairs with a cup of hot cocoa from Mrs Santa and the CEO went to the Elf Invention Centre where all the young elves had long hair and worked in jeans and t-shirts.

“It’s a GO!” the CEO said.

“Cool!” said a young elf called Chuck, “Check this out. We’ve got computerized lists of children, robot reindeer and even a robot Santa. The real Santa won’t even have to go out on his sleigh this year. He can take a break and go to the Maldives.”

“Mrs Santa will be thrilled,” the CEO said, “She’s got a red bikini that she never had a chance to wear!”

Fred the Kind-Hearted Reindeer

Once upon a Christmas, there was an Awfully Cheap Store where people went hoping that they would not be horribly surprised. But usually they were.

As Christmas approached, the owner of The Awfully Cheap Store said, “We will make a rich fruity cake for rich people and a raisin loaf for in-between people and a really cheap and nasty brown sponge with raisin sprinkles for poor people.”

The workers in his bakery said, “Yes sir” and started baking but they felt very non-Christmassy and mean putting all the fruit in the rich cake and none in the poor cake.

Then the owner of The Awfully Cheap Store said, “We will have a massive turkey with stuffing and all the trimmings for the rich people and we will have a slab of pork with no trimmings for the in-between people and minced jelly beef for the poor people.”

The workers in the butchery said, “Yeeugh,” when they had to prepare the jelly beef but they did as they were told so that they didn’t lose their jobs over Christmas.

Then the owner of The Awfully Cheap Store said, “We will make up huge bags of chocolates wrapped in shiny papers for the rich people, and mixed toffees for the in-between people and paper bags of boiled sweets for the poor people.”

The workers in the sweet department said, “That’s not very sweet,” to each other, and wrapped up the packages with big sighs.

“Now,” the store owner said, “Everyone will see that I have provided Christmas for all people – rich and poor – isn’t that right staff?”

And his staff all said, “Yes sir” and nodded their red caps with the jingle bells on the end.

But there was one member of staff called Fred who did not nod a jingle cap. He had never been very good at following orders and the owner of The Awfully Cheap Store had put him in a reindeer suit and told him to prance up and down in front of the store with a sign that said, “Christmas is for everyone – rich and poor!”

Fred was fed up of prancing and was taking a break drinking a smoothie through a straw in his long reindeer muzzle. He saw a family walk into The Awfully Cheap Store. There was a man, a woman and two little girls. They were very thin and had dark circles under their eyes. They went into the store and put a nasty brown sponge, minced jelly beef and packet of boiled sweets into their shopping basket. Then they waited in line to pay.

Fred tried to stay sitting down like a good reindeer, but he frowned and frowned. (Luckily no one could see it under the mask.) Then he went into the store and walked up to the family, “I’m sorry, folks,” he said, “There has been a mistake.”

The Runaway Christmas Pudding

(Or why you should never put too much brandy in the pudding!)

One Christmas, too many aunts were helping to make dinner in the kitchen.

The Christmas pudding was sitting in a cotton bag, full of fruit, dates, nuts, sugar and other such goodness. It was not the pudding’s fault that the aunts interfered. It turned all its goodness to badness and it managed to escape.

It happened like this.

Aunt Slicer, who was tall thin and beaky was enjoying her Christmas sherry. She said, “This sherry is very good Arnold and although I usually stop at two glasses, I think I’ll have another.”

So she did.

Then she said, “The Christmas pudding doesn’t look quite right. I think I’ll give it an extra dose of this very good sherry.”

So she poured the sherry into the cotton bag and the Christmas pudding gobbled it all up like this “shlurp, shlurp, shlurp”.

Then Aunt Plop who was large, round and snubby was enjoying her Christmas port. She said, “This port is very good Arnold. I must say I usually only have one, or two, but tonight I’ll have three.”

Then she poked the Christmas pudding and said, “This doesn’t feel quite right. I think I’ll give it an extra dose of port.”

So she poured the port into the cotton bag and the Christmas pudding gobbled it all up like this – “burp, burp, burp”.

Then Aunt Jehosaphat who was small, nippy and interfering was enjoying her Christmas liqueur.

(At one time this almond liqueur was made by very serious monks who lived at the top of a mountain. They could not believe they had made something so delicious and when they drank it they all fell off the mountain and went rolling down into the valley. The recipe survived and it was fatal to the Christmas pudding.)

Aunt Jehosaphat said, “I don’t usually even have one glass of liqueur but this Almond Liqueur is so divine I will have four or five glasses.”

Then she squished the Christmas pudding and said, “This pudding looks like it needs some Almond Liqueur.”

So she poured the liqueur into the cotton bag and the Christmas pudding gobbled it all up like this – “BAAARP!”

Aunt Jehosaphat got a terrible fright and screamed.

Sloth Paints the Moon

SLOTH PAINTS THE MOON

Sloth lived in the Magic Jungle, next to the Unforgivable Lake.

“I love to sleep in the moonlight,” Sloth would croon.

And he would think about stuff.

If any jungle creature asked, “How can we find Sloth?”

The golden moths would say, “Just follow our trail.”

This meant leaving at night and following the shine of their wings to the heart of the Magic Jungle.

“Watch out!” the moths would whisper, “The Unforgivable Lake may flood and chase the animals away!”

But Sloth lived high up in a tree and water levels were not a problem. The problem was loud Macaw.

“Hey,” Sloth said softly (he always spoke very quietly), “What’s wrong with you bird?”

“I’ve got a HACK! Sorry SQUEAK! COUGH!” Macaw squawked.

So Sloth said, “Hey honeybees.”

And they said, “Yezzz?”

Sloth said, “Please give my bird here a little dose of your honey?”

So they did and with that and a little lemon juice, Macaw was much better and Sloth went back to thinking.

Thinking was very important. He spent hours in the same position just thinking. One evening, Sloth was thinking, “How could I visit the Moon?”

Crocodile Shoes

Ouch the Crocodile had very sensitive feet. In the water, he was fine, but as soon as he walked out on land, the stones were all poky and the twigs were all prickly and he said, “Ouch! Ouch! Ouch!” all the time.    

Ouch was not a wild and grabby croc. He liked to keep his finger and toenails looking neat and civilised. But out in the jungle there wasn’t a person for miles to do a croc pedicure. Ouch was cross.

 “It’s all the zoo’s fault,” he said, “If they hadn’t taken me out of my cosy home and thrown me back into the wild, I’d be happy, drinking pineapple shakes and having my nails done by Lila, the zookeeper’s daughter.” 

Ouch’s breakfast, lunch and supper was strictly vegetarian. He really disappointed his parents who loved their meat, especially if it was still moving.

Ouch loved fruit salad with paw-paws and oranges, washed down with coconut milk.

            “There could be another answer you know,” said Harold, the hippo.

Harold had also been relocated to the wild from a zoo and he was rubbing coconut oil all over his belly so that it wouldn’t burn pink in the sun.    

 “I need a hat,” Harold had said every day, until Germaine Giraffe, picked some leaves off the tallest trees and made him one.

Harold was only really happy when he was under the coolest water of the deepest pool, with only his nose and eyes peeping out.

“What is your answer?” Ouch asked, picking up his foot and plucking out a large thorn, ‘I’m thinking of running home.”

“Oh no,” Harold snorted, “They’d only make you into a handbag, or belt, or an ugly pair of shoes.”

“Ugly!” Ouch was very indignant, “I would make a fine pair of shoes!”

“Well,” Harold said, floating on his back, “You will have to make your own shoes and gloves. Then you won’t get hurt.”

Ouch thought about this for a while, so that several tickbirds came and sat on his nose.

“I’m very hygienic!” he said as they squawked angrily.

“What kind of shoes? What can I make them from?” Ouch said.

“What about people,” Harold said.

“I’m not going to make shoes out of a person?” Ouch squeaked.

“Why not?” said Harold, “they make them out of you.”

 “Guess what?” Germaine Giraffe said, dipping his long neck down to the watering hole. “There’s a human having a nap over there, under that tree and he’s taken off his shoes and gloves.”

Ouch and Harold jumped out of the water in surprise and crept up for a closer look.

Germaine said, “I think it is one of the game rangers - the ones who are supposed to keep an eye on us? He obviously feels very safe here, hat over his eyes and ….”

“…shoes off!” Ouch said triumphantly. “Oh, if only they would fit my large, fat feet and my chubby hands, I would be so happy, you could change my name to, Yay!”

Elbert the dassie went to measure the items. He was very quick. He snuck there and back so fast, that the other animals were still looking into the distance when he sprang up at their feet, nose whiffling.

“The shoe is an amazing size 16,” he said, “And the gloves look quite inhuman to me.”

“I must have them!” Ouch said excitedly, “How can I hold my head high without my exclusive Game Ranger shoes and gloves?”

They all agreed they would have to call on the baboons for help.

Kool, a young baboon, was the hero of the moment. He scampered across to the human, grabbed the items with great speed and nearly got caught when he tried to steal the socks!

The other animals held their breaths in horror! But the man only yawned and turned over. So Kool chuckled and scampered back with the goodies for Ouch.

The animals went back to the waterhole. Then Ouch tried on the shoes. He gave a huge sigh.

“Aaaaaaah! What comfort,” he said. Then he tried on the gloves. “This is better,” he crooned, “My delicate hands and nails will not be ruined by too much sun and water and lack of calcium.”

The animals were all pleased. Their days were no longer disturbed by shouts of, “Ouch! Ouch!”

Instead they were lulled to sleep by the crooning croc as he waddled off to bed.

“You can call me Mr Mmmmmmm now,” he said happily, “Good night!”

Mom, There’s a Spaceship on the Roof!

 “Mom! Mom!” Tom yelled, “There’s a spaceship on the roof!”

 Mom was busy washing the dishes.

 “Really dear?” Mom said, “Why do you think they chose our house?”

 “I don’t know Mom,” Tommy said and rushed away.

Small green men were trying to climb down the chimney and some were getting stuck and some were getting burned because there was a fire down below.

“Yeow! Ouch!” they shouted, which is a kind of universal language.

 “What was that Tom?” said Mom.

 “It’s the aliens,” Tom said.

 “Oh,” Mom said, “Just make sure they don’t eat all the candy and cookies.”

 “That’s okay Mom,” Tom said, “They seem to like eating the plants.”

Tom’s Mom shrugged and carried on with her ironing. There were always bumps, thumps and squeals when Tom’s friends visited.

“Mom,” Tom said, “The aliens like Jack. They want to take him for a ride on their spaceship. Is that okay?”

 “Sure,” said Mom.

 “Poor old Jack,” she thought, “Are they going to dress you up and put you in a box?”

She heard woofs, ruffs and then a great big WHOOOOSH!

Then there was a blinding light that faded into a dot.

“What was that?” Mom said, “The electricity has gone off?”

 “The aliens took Jack for a ride, but they will be back soon,” said Tom.

There was another flash of light, the electricity came on and Jack bounded downstairs.

 “Where are the aliens?” Mom said, “I thought you were playing with your friends?”

“Silly Mom,” Tom laughed, “My friends don’t come from Saturn!”

They walked hand-in-hand to the roof of the house, where a small spaceship stood with aliens climbing in. They were small and green with red eyes and long fingers.

Tom waved and the spaceship disappeared into the stars.

“Well Tom,” said Mom, “Next time I think I will listen more carefully to what you say. I don’t want you to disappear like that.”

“Okay Mom,” Tom said, “Now about Jack…”

“What about Jack?” Mom said.

“Well,” Jack said, “It’s that dog food you get – I’m sick of it. And the dog next-door - he’s got to go! Then there’s a flea situation in my basket…”

Tom and his mother looked at each other.

“Do you think we could get the aliens to take Jack back?” Mom said.

Tom laughed. “Come on Jack,” he said, “Let’s go for a walk and talk to the neighbours’ dogs.”

“Oooh,” Mom said, “Jack, don’t forget to ask the Smith’s dog about that hammering noise from their shed. I’d love to know what they’re up to.”

“That’s gossip Mom,” Tom shook his head.

But as he walked off, Mom and Jack exchanged a wink. He knew where his dinners came from!

Mrs Freakle Finally Freaks Out!

Mrs Freakle looked like everyone else’s mom. In fact people were always stopping her and saying, “Aren’t you Mrs Smith” or “Aren’t you Mrs Jones” and she would say politely, “No I’m Mrs Freakle”.

Then they would say, “Who?”

Mrs Freakle was a very good mom. She cooked wonderful, tasty dinners. She washed the very dirty clothes of her four very naughty boys and she even cleaned up the dog poop!

But one day, Mrs Freakle finally freaked out. It wasn’t anything big. It was just one of those little things that made her finally explode like a volcano.

Mrs Freakle had been busy experimenting with her plant extracts in her basement. She had mixed special ingredients for a spray that would make her flowers bloom beautifully.

There was a puff of pink smoke, then a puff of purple smoke and a weird goopy green liquid oozed into her spray bottle.

“Hmm, not quite what I expected,” Mrs Freakle said, “But I will test it out.”

She hurried outside to try out her new garden spray. It was kind of oozy and instead of spray, it puffed out a yellowish vapour.

Then, before Mrs Freakle’s surprised eyes, the flower she sprayed shrank smaller and smaller until it was the size of her little finger.

“My goodness!” she said.

Charlie the little boy next door was peeping over the fence. He grinned with no front teeth because he was only five.

“Wow!” he said.

“Ssh Charlie,” Mrs Freakle said.

She heard Charlie’s mother yelling, “Charles Stromberg! You get off that wall right this minute!”

Charlie’s mother was not very patient.

“Bye,” Charlie said.

“Bye,” said Mrs Freakle looking at her plant spray.

That evening, Mr Freakle, came home from work as he usually did. He sat in his favourite armchair with a six-pack of Icy Pops – his favourite sodas and said, “What’s for dinner?” as he usually did.

Little Tommy Freakle said, “I hope it’s not that disgusting meatloaf again.”

And Mr Freakle and the four little Freakles all laughed very rudely.

Mrs Freakle’s dinners were always good and tasty. But that day at the school bake sale, her cake had been the last one to be sold and all the ladies had left her to do all the cleaning up and so Tommy Freakle’s rude words were the last straw.

Mrs Freakle shouted at the top of her voice, “You are the rudest most horrible, mean family in the world!”

She still had the goopy plant spray in her hand and she sprayed all of them. Instantly the whole Freakle family shrank to the size of your little finger and Mrs Freakle popped them all into a shoebox.

“Now you can learn some manners!” she said.

They squeaked and hopped like little mice, but it was no good. Mrs Freakle gave them a cupcake to share and a thimble of milk and then she left the shoebox on the table and went to bed.

The moon was a silver slice in the dark sky and thousands of stars were shining. Mrs Freakle thought how beautiful they were and how peaceful her house was and she fell fast asleep.

The next day, Mrs Freakle went back to her basement to work on an antidote to her shrinking spray. She was a good mother after all and didn’t mean to leave the family shrunken forever.

But she forgot that Mrs Meddle was popping over to collect jumble for the church bazaar.

“Hello Mrs Freakle,” Mrs Meddle called as she walked in through the front door, “Just collecting for the church bazaar.”

“It’s all in the hall,” Mrs Freakle called back, “Can you take it? I’m just in the middle of something.”

Mrs Freakle was in fact in the middle of a huge vat of dandelion flowers that she was stomping. She was covered in green goop.

“Thank you,” Mrs Meddle called and off she went.

Mrs Freakle didn’t think about this until later in the day when she decided she had finally got the antidote right.

She went outside to test the spray on her flowers. She sprayed the one she had shrunk and a greenish vapour covered it and it grew back to normal size.

“Hooray!” she said. And got a fright when Charlie from next door said, “Wow!” again.

“Charlie, you must stop spying on me,” Mrs Freakle said.

“I’m bored,” he said, with no front teeth, “Come over and spray my mom!”

“Charlie!” Mrs Freakle said, “I can’t do that! At least, not today. Bye!”

And she rushed back inside to spray her family back to normal size.

It was then she realized that Mrs Meddle had taken the shoebox containing her family to the church bazaar.

“Oh dear,” said Mrs Freakle.

She had a cup of tea and decided what to do. Did she really want her family back? She thought of her husband and his Icy Pops and her children with their rude shouting and the dogs that pooped in the hall.

“Right,” she said to the empty house, “We have to do it. Goodbye peace and quiet.”

And Mrs Freakle took her antidote spray and rushed off to the church bazaar.

The church was very busy. There were people having tea and cake and selling second-hand books and brand new vegetables.

Mrs Freakle looked and looked. No shoebox.

She saw kids playing games and grannies gossiping. No shoebox.

She saw pony rides and toys. And then she saw the shoebox.

It was under the arm of a little girl with brown pigtails who was holding onto her mother’s hand. The little girl and her mother were having a big argument.

“But I want the little dollies,” the little girl was crying.

“No, Samantha,” her mother said, “You have too many dolls at home.”

“But these are the best,” the little girl cried, “They’re alive.”

Mrs Freakle could see the mother was just about to give in because she was tired and fed up, so she rushed over and said,

“I’m so sorry, this was my box. It was collected by mistake – it’s not supposed to be for sale.”

“You see,” the little girl’s mother said and tried to take the box. But the little girl hung on tightly. “They’re real!” she yelled.

It was a shoebox tug-‘o-war! And then the shoebox broke in half.

Mrs Freakle gasped. Her tiny family and dog fell out onto the grass.

Quickly she picked them up and popped them all into her pocket.

“So sorry,” she said to the mother and the crying little girl and hurried home.

She could hear squeaking noises from inside her pocket, but she didn’t stop until she got home and shut the front door.

Then she put her noisy, rude family on the carpet and sprayed them with the antidote.

They all shot up to normal size and were amazingly quiet and well-behaved.

After all, as Mrs Freakle reminded them, they could have ended up in a little girl’s dolls’ house – not much fun for four naughty boys – or their father – or their messy pups!

.

Who wants to be a chocolate taster?

On Friday morning, at the end of a very long week, there was a disaster at the chocolate factory. Mr Smelt, the chocolate taster, threw down his gloves, his hat, his glasses and even his special tasting fork.

“That’s it!” he shouted, “I have had enough! I cannot taste any more chocolate! I have eaten so much chocolate that it is coming out of my ears! It is coming out of my fingers and toes! I cannot stand even the smell of chocolate!”

He ran out of the factory all the way home, only to find that his wife was baking him a chocolate cake for his birthday. He screamed and ran out of his house and was never seen again.

“Now what do we do?” said Mr Gold to Mr Crinkle, the owners of the Superior Chocolate Factory, “Smelt was the best chocolate taster in the world.”

“We will have to advertise,” Mr Crinkle said to Mr Gold, “For the second-best chocolate taster in the world to join our factory immediately.”

So they phoned the newspaper to place an advertisement for the very next day and in the meantime, chocolates just kept rolling off the production line.

There was the outsides-chocolate-man who checked that the shape of the chocolate was just right. There were heart shapes and diamond shapes and squares and circles and rectangles, all correct.

Then there was the insides-chocolate-man who poured all the insides into the chocolate shapes, like caramel and coffee and almond and strawberry and lime (which no one liked but they always put in just for a surprise) and these flavours were all correct.

Then there was the topping-chocolate-man, who made sure that the chocolates were all closed up with a pretty little stamp on the top.

Then was the disaster, because Mr Smelt was supposed to be next in line and he was supposed to check that the shapes and the flavours and the toppings were the same as the picture on the outside of the box.

But of course he wasn’t there, so the chocolates went on down the line to the wrappings man, who made sure that the chocolates were all in pretty coloured wrappings. Then they all dropped into boxes, were wrapped and stamped with the company name, Superior Chocolates! And sent off to the shops.

What a disaster it was! Mr Smelt did not know what confusion he had created. Everyone who bought a box of Superior Chocolates had the funniest looks on their faces. They would bite into a chocolate, expecting it to be a Caramel Cup and it would be a Lime Surprise. Ooooh!

Then they would look forward to their favourite – Almond Delight – and it would be a Jolly Jelly. Eeeugh!

“This is not on,” the people said to the owners of the sweet shops.

“This is not on,” the owners of the sweet shops said to the deliverymen.

“This is not on,” the deliverymen said to the salesmen.

“This is really not on,” the salesmen said to Mr Gold and Mr Crinkle of Superior Chocolates factory.

“We’re fixing it,” Mr Gold said, “Really fast!”

The next day, Mr Gold and Mr Crinkle interviewed all the people who came in answer to their advertisement.

There was a very, big fat man with no hair who said, “I have eaten more chocolates than you have had hot breakfasts.”

When he walked out of their office, Mr Crinkle said, “No, no.”

“No, no,” agreed Mr Gold.

There was a very thin, hairy man who said, “Tasting chocolate is like eating smelly cheese – you should never have too much.”

When he walked out of their office, Mr Crinkle said, “Oh dear.”

“Oh, dear,” agreed Mr Gold.

There was a young lady with a handbag, who said, “I always take home lots of chocolates for my ten children.

When she walked out of their office, Mr Crinkle shook his head.

Mr Gold also shook his head.

There was an old lady who said, “Before I taste chocolates, someone must help me take out my false teeth.”

When she walked out of their office, Mr Crinkle raised his eyebrows.

Mr Gold also raised his eyebrows.

“What are we going to do?” said Mr Crinkle looking down at the production floor, where the shapes man, insides, outsides, tops and wrappings were all doing their jobs perfectly, but there was no taster.

“We are going to have riots tomorrow,” said Mr Gold.

They packed up their identical black briefcases and walked to their identical purple cars and went home to their identical pink houses on the same wide street.

Their wives, who were twin sisters, came out to greet them at the same time and give them each a hug. Mr Crinkle had a daughter called Candy and Mr Gold had a son called Gusto.

Their children, who were both six years old, also came out to give their fathers a hug.

Then Gusto said, “Dad, Candy and I know you have a problem at the factory and we have an idea.”

Candy said, “Can we have a meeting?”

Now Mr Crinkle and Mr Gold had not got to the top of the chocolate business without learning how to listen to children.

”Jolly good idea,” Mr Crinkle said, “Shall we meet in your house Gold?”

“Jolly good idea,” Mr Gold said, “Let’s have supper.”

So they had a yummy supper of snack pies while they listened to the children’s ideas.

“This is the idea,” said Gusto, “you don’t need a taster, what you need is a colourer.”

“What?” said Mr Crinkle.

“I don’t understand,” said Mr Gold.

“Well,” said Candy, “You get a colourer to make each chocolate flavour a different colour and then no one will get mixed up.”

“And,” Gusto added, “what will be even more fun, is that each chocolate will make your mouth that colour. So if you eat a purple chocolate, you will get a purple mouth. People will look funny and the children will love it.”

“Do you really think so?” said Mr Crinkle.

“Definitely,” said Candy.

 “It’s worth a try,” said Gusto.

So the very next day, Mr Crinkle and Mr Gold went looking for an artist who specialized in food colourings – which you can eat - not like paint, which you can’t.

They found an artist called Mad Maurice, who wore a tartan smock and always spoke in a whisper.

Then they went to work colouring the chocolates. It was great fun.

Mad Maurice had fun and all the chocolate workers on the production line had fun, because suddenly everything was so different.

They decided to make the chocolates all the colours of the rainbow. The Naughty Nutties were purple, the Fantastic Fudge was blue, the Lime Surprises were green, the Caramel Cups were yellow, the Orange Creams were orange, the Jolly Jellies were red, the Strawberry Dips were pink, the Coffee Swirls were gold and the Almond Delights were silver.

(Of course, the last two are not colours of the rainbow, but Mr Crinkle and Mr Gold had to come up with two extra exciting colours.)

At the end of the day, all the workers were very pleased with their work. They just had to see what all the people thought.

There was nearly a riot! Everyone wanted more and more Superior Chocolates. They looked so beautiful in all the different colours in their pretty boxes and people couldn’t help laughing at each other’s funny coloured mouths.

Also, the children would immediately know if mum or dad had tried to steal the last favourite chocolate just by looking at their mouths!

 Superior Chocolates were, once again, the yummiest (and funniest) chocolates you could buy.

Mr Crinkle and Mr Gold were so proud of their children.

“We know one day you will make this company even better,” Mr Crinkle said to them.

"We look forward to retiring,” said Mr Gold.

And of course, Candy and Gusto had lots of different plans up their sleeves and in their drawing books upstairs. But they didn’t tell their fathers. They are hoping to open a crisps’ factory one day!

THE CLEVER CABBAGE

It was the carrot that started it. He turned to the cabbage and said in a rather cross voice:

“You might trade places you know, you really might. No one likes cabbages half as much as carrots and there’s a dreadful mole that has been eyeing me for weeks and pinching me to see how fat I’m getting. It’s quite intolerable! Soon there will be nothing left of me at all!”

The cabbage was of a very round, sunny nature and so she agreed to change places with the carrot. She didn’t expect that it would be quite so damp and moist down there, smelling of worms, and carrot got a fright when he emerged into the sunlight.

“Me eyes, me eyes!” he said, “I’ve gone blind.”

He felt around and picked two pumpkin leaves to shade his eyes.

“That’s better,” he said.

“I beg your pardon,” said the pumpkin rather crossly, “but we don’t just go picking leaves off people up here. It is considered rude! I don’t know about you underground types.”

“Well the onions keep to themselves,” the carrot said conversationally, “they have to you know – the S.M.E.L.L! And the garlic too. Same reason. But I can see why you like it up here all fresh – blue sky, yellow sun and what’s that?”

He pointed with leafy fingers .

“A bird,” the pumpkin said with some amusement, “They come here to nibble on us.”

“Nibble on us!” carrot was horrified, “What shall I do? That was never intended to be my destiny. I am grown for the plate of a king you know, not a silly old bird.”

“Well,” pumpkin mused, “You could change places with me, you see, seeing as I’m in the second row.”

The carrot was delighted and changed places at once. The birds pecked here and there, but not at him and the pumpkin suffered a few holes.

“Oh dear,” said the carrot, “Are you all right?”

“It’s just a tickle really,” pumpkin said, “I’ve got a strong root.”

“You won’t be saying that when the snails come along,” said the chives.

They were a nasty bunch, always making trouble.

“What snails?” said the carrot uneasily.

“Why the little slugs in shells that come oozing along and crunch you all up for their suppers,” the chives said and shivered together.

Pumpkin shivered a little too.

“They can cause damage,” he admitted.

“Then what am I to do? What am I to do?” carrot begged.

“Ask the tomatoes,” said the chives, “They can see a lot from up there.”

“The snails are on the move,” said a large, red-cheeked tomato. “Why don’t you climb up here with us?”

“Cheeky carrot,” the chives muttered, “ Who does he think he is climbing above his betters!”

“Just because you know the snails wouldn’t touch you – you’re far too bitter,” chuckled the pumpkin. “They can have some of my leaves, but the gardener had better swat them off my shell!”

“Where has the cabbage gone?” the pumpkin wondered, for they were quite good friends of the round and leafy variety. “Cabbage, where are you?”

“I’ve found the mole holes,” cabbage called, “Now I’m going to roll along down to the meadow and find a nice quiet spot where I can go to seed.”

“Mind my toes,” shrieked a chive.

“Watch out,” muttered a green bean.

But the clever cabbage was well and truly on her way to freedom.

And the carrot? It was said by the chives, that are a mean and bitter lot anyway, that the head chef desired a petit carrot to decorate the top of his carrot cake. So some may say the carrot had climbed to the top of culinary heights, but he always suspected it would be nestled next to other vegetables and of a hearty size. He felt rather puny on the cake, until the king clapped his hands with glee and said:

 “My favourite! Carrot cake! Congratulations mon chef,” and carrot took the centre stage demurely and blushed.

WOLFDOG

When Wolfdog was a puppy, he was very cute and fluffy. He was taken from his mother and given to a boy for a pet one cold and snowy Christmas.

The boy was too lazy to give Wolfdog his food and water every day or to brush his coat. Wolfdog was kept outside. He grew out of his fluffy coat and was not cute anymore. He was sad and very lonely and he whined.

“I can’t stand that dog’s noise,” the lazy boy’s mother said, “Get rid of it.”

When Wolfdog was put in the car, he jumped up and down and ran round in circles. He was so excited. He thought he was going somewhere fun.

Then in the middle of nowhere, the car stopped. Wolfdog was pushed out and the car drove away. At first, Wolfdog thought it was a terrible mistake. They had forgotten him! He ran and ran as fast as he could to catch the car, but it disappeared out of sight.

Wolfdog stood and howled. He howled for being alone in the middle of nowhere. He howled for knowing that his family had never wanted him and he howled for feeling totally lost now.

Then he began to walk. He walked until his feet grew sore and he limped. He limped into a small town on the edge of the sea and there he learned to be afraid.

When he was a puppy he had learned to be sad and to whine. Now that he was grown, he learned to be afraid and to be very quiet. His eyes were watchful and his nose was keen. He knew where to find scraps so that he wasn’t always hungry and he knew the streets where he could not walk because people would throw stones and shout, “Go away Wolf!”

Wolfdog did not know what he looked like. He did not know that he was thin and rangy as a wolf with ice-blue eyes and people were afraid of his teeth.

  

His eyes had a constantly hungry look, but he was not starving for food. He was hungry for a kind look or a pat on the head. If a person were able to give him a pat on the head and a bowl of water, he would guard that person with his life. His loyalty was like the blood running in his veins. His heart belonged to one person. But he could not find that person.

At the top of the village at the end of a winding road, was a small house. Inside was an old woman as twisted and bent as a stick. She had a garden full of herbs that she used for medicines and so she was strong and her eyes were bright. Her hair was white and wild as a bird’s nest and so the children would say, “There goes the witch.”

“She’s not a witch,” one girl said, “She helps people.”

“Well, she looks like a witch,” a rude boy said and laughed.

And the children did not know that the old woman’s heart was sore when she heard these words and that she was terribly lonely and sad.

And then it happened on that very rare day when the old woman came into town to buy some groceries. She had hardened her heart as usual, expecting the cruel words. But she did not expect to see Wolfdog, standing alone and silent, watching with his ice-blue eyes, pretending to be invisible.

The old woman looked into those eyes and he looked into hers. She saw him. She actually saw him! And for once he did not see anger or hatred. He saw her eyes grow soft and his ears pricked up. He still waited while she did her shopping. He waited till she came back outside and then he trotted a few steps closer.

He did not hear anyone or anything else. He was intent on following that soft look.

The old woman walked, stopped and turned around. Wolfdog was still following at a distance, ears pricked up, one foot lifted, waiting, scenting the air.

She walked and stopped and looked. He followed, stopped and waited. He did not know. Would she grow angry? Would she throw stones? Would she shout? His ears moved this way and that, sensitive to a whisper.

The old woman reached her house. She opened the door and went inside, but did not close the door. She came back outside with a bowl of water and set it down on the step. Then she stood waiting with that soft look in her eyes that he thought might be kindness. Then she went inside. But the door was still open.

Wolfdog hesitated. He remembered being a puppy. He remembered being hungry. He remembered the car and the great nowhere. He trotted closer and before he knew it, his tongue was lapping up great slurps of cool water. Then, totally unprepared, he felt the gentle pat on his head. Wolfdog’s heart dissolved. He grinned. But the old lady was not scared of his teeth. She could see the truth behind his ice-blue eyes. She patted him again and Wolfdog knew. This would be his home. He lay down on the step and regarded the world before him.

“This person is mine,” his eyes said, “And I will protect her with my life.”

And his heart said that he had never known the joy of being a puppy. So sometimes on summer days, he darts to fetch a stick on the beach or charges at the water. He jumps back and forth and barks; a joyous sound that he never heard before. He runs and snaps at the moths on moonlit evenings and chases his tail to make the old woman laugh.

But mostly he eats his food, laps his water and lies on the step with a great sigh of contentment for the pat on his head and the love in his heart.

BUZZ OFF!

Christmas Beetle buzzed around until he found the perfect home in a wild berry tree.

 “Bzzzz,” he said, “Fresh, green leaves! Sweet red berries! This is the tree for me.” 

At sunrise a little boy came along, hoping to make a wooden whistle.

When he touched the tree, Christmas Beetle shouted: “Buzz off! Buzz off!”

“Yikes!” the little boy squeaked and ran away.

At midday, a man walked by wanting some wood to make a fire.

When he touched the tree, Christmas Beetle shouted: “Buzz off! Buzz off!”

“Yow!” the man jumped in surprise and hurried away.

At sunset an old man came up to the tree, hoping to make himself a pipe.

But Christmas Beetle buzzed angrily again: “Buzz off! Buzz off!”

And Grandpa muttered, “Hawu!” and tottered away.

When the moon was bright, Granny came to pick berries.

Christmas Beetle buzzed angrily: “Buzz off! Buzz off!”

But Granny did not shout and she did not run away.

Christmas Beetle was so surprised that he stopped buzzing.

“My little Sara is sick,” Granny said, “These berries will help her to get better.”

When she had filled her basket, Granny said:

“Goodbye Christmas Beetle. Look after our special tree.”

The moon was high. It was time for Christmas Beetle to go to sleep.

Next day, he had to guard the tree: “Buzz off! Buzz off everyone!

Except Granny and Sara..