Monday, 24 October 2011

The Ocelot of Destiny: Chapter 3

Simon, meanwhile, lay snoring on Professor D’Urbrayne’s tartan picnic blanket in the middle of the park, oblivious to the small terrier scampering in circles around him and yapping ferociously. He had taken the opportunity to inspect the oddly-shaped bottle bank whilst the professor was indoors and had concluded that the chunk of rusting metal wasn’t going to shift, so he may as have a rest until the others found a more sensible mode of transport.

“SIMON… Simon, do wake up, o' lazy walrus, it’s time to go!”

Simon looked up through half-closed eyes to see the gangly figure of Professor D’Urbrayne looming over him.

“Gnnnyrmph?”

“Simon, Bernard and I have decided you’d better get in the tank first, as you’re the largest and we need to find out whether it’ll take your weight.”

Is he calling me fat?” wondered Simon, intensely irritated at having been woken from a very pleasant slumber. He had been dreaming of fish. Big, juicy fish…

“Woooom?!” he protested, and started to propel his lumpen body away from the tank.

“Please Simon… remember how much you enjoyed our last adventure?”

Simon paused, remembering how little he’d enjoyed the last adventure, particularly the bit where the Professor discovered that he had eaten his Thingummywotsit the previous Tuesday.

“You can have a dozen jars of pickled herrings for tea tonight if you get in the tank now!”

Reluctantly, Simon agreed, turned around and belly-flopped towards the tank, followed closely by the terrier. He then proceeded to indelicately cram the front half of his body through the main hatch, where he quickly became stuck. Panicking, he thrashed his tail in an increasingly ungraceful undulating motion until the opening gave way, causing the entire tank to explode in a spectacular shower of rust, soil and weeds.

“OI, SIMON, YOU BIG PRAT!” shouted Professor D’Urbrayne, picking a large shard of tank from his beard and flinging it at Simon, “THAT WAS MY PANZER!!!!”

“WOOOM!” exclaimed the walrus from amongst the rubble, joyfully clapping his flippers together.

“I was going to lovingly restore that tank… I even had a commission from Panzerfest magazine to write an article about it! I was going to drive it all the way to Poffley End to visit Aunty Mildred”

Bernard looked on in bafflement, pondering the strangeness of the universe.

“Professor,” he ventured, “why did you decide we’d take the tank today in the first place?”

“BECAUSE I THOUGHT IT WOULD BE FUNNY!” replied D’Urbrayne, tugging at a stubborn sod of earth that had attached itself to the cuff of his outermost sweater.

Bernard had his own opinion on the humour value of the incident, but concluded this was best kept to himself. The two of them bickered for a while about alternative modes of transport, whether to take ham or tuna sandwiches for their packed lunches, and whether Simon’s recent behaviour meant he was a good-for-nothing lump o’ lard unsuitable for accompanying them on their quest. Finally, they agreed to use the Professor’s newly-restored Morris Van for their epic journey, despite his worries about scratching the paintwork.

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