The Bloated One
Well-Known Member
Thanks to those that took the time to offer comments and advice. I've rewritten the opening few pages for your delectation....
TBO
The sleepy, Northamptonshire village of Steeple Snoring was not known for its bears. In fact, no one at the Post Office could recall ever seeing one, let alone a sloth of twenty. That was, until this sunny morning.
“I see what I sees,” said Mrs. Harbinkle, confirming it, and crossing her ample chest with her arms. “On their hind legs too!” she continued, nodding sagely at the villagers around her.
“They’re here for a reason,” added her husband, looking warily through the Post Office’s casement window toward the bears’ last known position.
Standing in the queue, and listening avidly to the conversation was Tarquin Jenkins, a 13-year-old schoolboy. He knew bears. In fact, he was meeting two in the village tearooms very shortly.
“Probably got lost coming in off the A43,” said Tarquin, shrugging his shoulders. “Take the wrong turn by Bishop’s Rest and you’ll be down the High Street in no time.”
“Perhaps there’s a circus in town?” queried the Postmaster.
“Circus!” Shrieked a small, rotund woman in a gray tweed suit, Tyrolean hat and brown brogues who had been standing on the periphery of the conversation. Miss Hoploosely, the spinster of the parish, and doyen of the lace-curtain brigade was not amused. “I’ll go to the Police,” she said, waving her Harrods umbrella, “we can’t have a circus here!” Turning smartly on her heels she strode purposefully from the Post Office toward the Police Station.
Reaching the counter, Tarquin quickly paid for his stamps and envelopes, and left.
On his way to the tearooms, Tarquin took from his pocket the crumpled piece of paper pushed through his letter-box that morning, and read it aloud;
Rupert and Teddy
Cordially invite you to an
Invitation Only
Teddy Bears Picnic
The Enchanted Teapot Tea Rooms
12:00
Scrawled across the bottom in red ink were the words, ‘Come alone! Jules.’
Every family had a charismatic uncle and Tarquin’s was no exception. Inventor, world traveler, tea taster, apothecary, balloon racer, and all round know it all. That was Uncle Jules. Now, back in Steeple Snoring, he was up to something.
Nearing the tearooms, Tarquin heard the sound of a piano accompanied by singing and laughter. He could see two large bears standing in the doorway. Reaching the tearooms, he tried to pass the bears, but they barred the door.
“Это - званый вечер. Что Вы хотите?” said the bear with the large, brown fluffy ears and what appeared to be the Olympic rings strapped to its chest.
Tarquin thrust the invitation into its outstretched paw. “I am invited,” he said, nervously.
“Xорошо, проникнуть внутрь,” Replied the bear, stepping aside and pushing open the door.
The tearooms were heaving. Every imaginable bear was standing or sitting, drinking tea or slurping milkshakes through bendy straws. In the middle of the room, Rupert Bear stood up and started waving at him. Tarquin pushed through the crowd toward the table.
“Glad you could make it,” said Rupert, offering a paw.
“Don’t you think it’s time to take off that silly costume Uncle Jules? Half the village is up in arms with your picnic,” said Tarquin, shaking the paw and sitting in the chair opposite him.
The two bears at the table removed their costume heads to reveal grinning, red faced, middle-aged men.
“This is Jeremiah Cavendish,” said Jules, turning to the hulk of a man next to him, sporting the only hair on his head, a huge, graying handlebar mustache. “Jeremiah is an old friend, an ex-wrestler, and runs the double lock on the canal.” Jeremiah leaned across the table, took Tarquin’s hand in his large paw, and shook it vigorously.
“Okay Uncle, why did you want to see me?”
“Well, with your summer holiday’s coming up, Jeremiah and I want to get you involved in our tour guiding business.”
“Wearing silly costumes and guiding tourists? Why on earth would I want to do that!”
“Your Uncle and me thought you lacked adventure,” said Jeremiah.
“It would be a great experience during the holidays,” added Jules.
“Oh, and dressing up as bears and going on picnics is adventurous!”
“Haven’t you wondered what really happened at the signing of the Magna Carta?” asked Jules.
“Or, the Declaration of Independence?” said Jeremiah.
“If I was that interested, I’d read it in a book.”
“Wouldn’t you rather witness it, first hand?” asked his Uncle.
“What? Go there and see it happening, for real?” said Tarquin laughing.
“Yes,” said Jules. “You would travel there with a group of people and watch.”
“So, let me get this right. I’ll take twenty people on bus 101 to 1776?”
Tarquin laughed again, but when the two mens' lively, humorous demeanors disappeared, replaced by the grim, po-faced expressions of accountants, he stopped.
“Okay,” said Tarquin, looking at his uncle and feeling uneasy, “what hair brained scheme are you working on now.”
“What if,” continued Jules, “ you could take people to Rome AD103 and watch a live chariot race?”
“Or, have dinner with a famous painter, perhaps that Mr. Manet?” said, Jeremiah.
Tarquin felt an icy chill go down his spine. “You’re serious about this.”
“Deadly,” chorused the two bears.
TBO
The sleepy, Northamptonshire village of Steeple Snoring was not known for its bears. In fact, no one at the Post Office could recall ever seeing one, let alone a sloth of twenty. That was, until this sunny morning.
“I see what I sees,” said Mrs. Harbinkle, confirming it, and crossing her ample chest with her arms. “On their hind legs too!” she continued, nodding sagely at the villagers around her.
“They’re here for a reason,” added her husband, looking warily through the Post Office’s casement window toward the bears’ last known position.
Standing in the queue, and listening avidly to the conversation was Tarquin Jenkins, a 13-year-old schoolboy. He knew bears. In fact, he was meeting two in the village tearooms very shortly.
“Probably got lost coming in off the A43,” said Tarquin, shrugging his shoulders. “Take the wrong turn by Bishop’s Rest and you’ll be down the High Street in no time.”
“Perhaps there’s a circus in town?” queried the Postmaster.
“Circus!” Shrieked a small, rotund woman in a gray tweed suit, Tyrolean hat and brown brogues who had been standing on the periphery of the conversation. Miss Hoploosely, the spinster of the parish, and doyen of the lace-curtain brigade was not amused. “I’ll go to the Police,” she said, waving her Harrods umbrella, “we can’t have a circus here!” Turning smartly on her heels she strode purposefully from the Post Office toward the Police Station.
Reaching the counter, Tarquin quickly paid for his stamps and envelopes, and left.
On his way to the tearooms, Tarquin took from his pocket the crumpled piece of paper pushed through his letter-box that morning, and read it aloud;
Rupert and Teddy
Cordially invite you to an
Invitation Only
Teddy Bears Picnic
The Enchanted Teapot Tea Rooms
12:00
Scrawled across the bottom in red ink were the words, ‘Come alone! Jules.’
Every family had a charismatic uncle and Tarquin’s was no exception. Inventor, world traveler, tea taster, apothecary, balloon racer, and all round know it all. That was Uncle Jules. Now, back in Steeple Snoring, he was up to something.
Nearing the tearooms, Tarquin heard the sound of a piano accompanied by singing and laughter. He could see two large bears standing in the doorway. Reaching the tearooms, he tried to pass the bears, but they barred the door.
“Это - званый вечер. Что Вы хотите?” said the bear with the large, brown fluffy ears and what appeared to be the Olympic rings strapped to its chest.
Tarquin thrust the invitation into its outstretched paw. “I am invited,” he said, nervously.
“Xорошо, проникнуть внутрь,” Replied the bear, stepping aside and pushing open the door.
The tearooms were heaving. Every imaginable bear was standing or sitting, drinking tea or slurping milkshakes through bendy straws. In the middle of the room, Rupert Bear stood up and started waving at him. Tarquin pushed through the crowd toward the table.
“Glad you could make it,” said Rupert, offering a paw.
“Don’t you think it’s time to take off that silly costume Uncle Jules? Half the village is up in arms with your picnic,” said Tarquin, shaking the paw and sitting in the chair opposite him.
The two bears at the table removed their costume heads to reveal grinning, red faced, middle-aged men.
“This is Jeremiah Cavendish,” said Jules, turning to the hulk of a man next to him, sporting the only hair on his head, a huge, graying handlebar mustache. “Jeremiah is an old friend, an ex-wrestler, and runs the double lock on the canal.” Jeremiah leaned across the table, took Tarquin’s hand in his large paw, and shook it vigorously.
“Okay Uncle, why did you want to see me?”
“Well, with your summer holiday’s coming up, Jeremiah and I want to get you involved in our tour guiding business.”
“Wearing silly costumes and guiding tourists? Why on earth would I want to do that!”
“Your Uncle and me thought you lacked adventure,” said Jeremiah.
“It would be a great experience during the holidays,” added Jules.
“Oh, and dressing up as bears and going on picnics is adventurous!”
“Haven’t you wondered what really happened at the signing of the Magna Carta?” asked Jules.
“Or, the Declaration of Independence?” said Jeremiah.
“If I was that interested, I’d read it in a book.”
“Wouldn’t you rather witness it, first hand?” asked his Uncle.
“What? Go there and see it happening, for real?” said Tarquin laughing.
“Yes,” said Jules. “You would travel there with a group of people and watch.”
“So, let me get this right. I’ll take twenty people on bus 101 to 1776?”
Tarquin laughed again, but when the two mens' lively, humorous demeanors disappeared, replaced by the grim, po-faced expressions of accountants, he stopped.
“Okay,” said Tarquin, looking at his uncle and feeling uneasy, “what hair brained scheme are you working on now.”
“What if,” continued Jules, “ you could take people to Rome AD103 and watch a live chariot race?”
“Or, have dinner with a famous painter, perhaps that Mr. Manet?” said, Jeremiah.
Tarquin felt an icy chill go down his spine. “You’re serious about this.”
“Deadly,” chorused the two bears.
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