Tuesday, 29 April 2014

A Strange Parcel Arrives.

What is going on? This is not OUR post van. This is an English post van. The Welsh ones have Welsh text on the Royal Mail logo . Why is an ENGLISH mail van outside our house?

Well, we won't show the grumpy postman who gets out of the van complaining bitterly about 'narrow, winding Welsh lanes that splatter mud all over the good, clean post vans from the well swept streets of Birmingham. He'd be furious if we took a photo of him. 

Paul is standing at the window, watching the lambs.


 The grumpy postman knocks on the door, LOUDLY.  As he dumps the parcel on the doorstep, just to let Paul know he has seen him, he yells that Royal Mail doesn't carry livestock. Then he leaves, tyres screeching, as he tries to break the 0-100 m.p.h. speed record.

When he hears what the postman had to say, Paul tries to look nonchalant. Looking up at the ceiling and whistling through his teeth, he wanders off towards his bedroom.



Still wearing his pyjamas, donned and worn 24/7 as a mark of sorrow since his little brother Connor disappeared, Fred is the first to the door to see what the postman was shouting about. Angelina and Holly are close behind.



'Wow! Aren't you glad we usually have Evans-The-Post, Jones-The-Post or Powell-The-Post to bring our mail?' He asks the others. 'I'm so glad I hitched a lift with Mr. Evans when I came to live here!'

  'Mmmm, too right,' replies Holly. 'But shouldn't we go and get the parcel? He said something about livestock and there could be a little animal in that box.'

'Hope it's puppy!' squeaks Angelina excitedly. She's already imagining what kind of puppy might be in the box.


  ' I'd love a puppy that's all fluffy and has big ears and a cute face and.......Oh, but don't let the grumpy postman see us!'

'It's O.K. Angel. He'll be miles away by now, given the speed he took off at!' laughs Fred, as they reach the parcel.



'Or he'll have turned the van over in a ditch... or crashed into a tree.... or a tractor...or.. Isn't Paul suposed to be seeing to post deliveries today? Where has he got to?' 
asks Holly.

' Paul's been ever so not fun since Connor went away.' says Angelina.. 'He doesn't talk any more.'

'She's right, you know, Fred. I haven't heard him speak for weeks and, well, I don't think I've seen him around much. Maybe he's sickening for something. Let's tell Mam we are worried about him.' says Holly, as she and Fred heave the parcel in through the door.

'Mam, 'na s barsel 'ma!'  yells Angel.

'A parcel? Who is it from?' Mam calls back.

'A grumpy foreign postman!' giggles Holly.

'England isn't foreign.' mutters Fred. 'I came from there, you know!' 

'Maybe that's why you are being grumpy.' retorts Holly,  'Perhaps you are related to the postman and..'

Mam comes downstairs. Holly decides it might be better not to go on teasing Fred.  Mam gets as grumpy as the English postman if she hears such talk, even in jest.

It is a big parcel but very light. On one side there is a strange address. It says:

 To Henry,
     Australia or New Zealand,
      Please send to where ever he                                                                                        has gone.



On the other side is written:
              
               From, Paul,
               Bryn Derw
               Wales.




Across the top are three first class letter stamps.

'Hmm,' says Mam. 'That wouldn't pay for a parcel this size to be delivered to the next town, never mind half way round the world to a half-written address.'
 
  When they open the box....... it is empty, except for a sheet of typed paper and a little scrunched up white, tissue paper.
 
   Holly turns over the paper and reads out:
   'Opened by Her Majesty's Customs and Excise. Contraband livestock removed and sent for safe keeping.  
Please note, livestock cannot be forwarded to Australia or New Zealand due to the import regulations of both nations. 
Container returned to sender. 
Please contact this department for further information.'



'PAUL!!!!' bawls Mam. 'Down here, NOW!!! Come here this minute, or Granny will be asked to deal with you!'

'Uh oh, if she's going to involve Granny in this, well.....' says Fred. ' .....I think it might be a good idea to find something else to do now!'

Everybody at Bryn Derw does what Granny says, even Mam and Dada. It is fun to be sent to Granny's room if you've been good, but woe betide you, should she be the one to hand out any disciplinary measures!

Mam has taken the box upstairs and left it on the old sofa for Dada to see. Angelina thinks the box might be fun to play with. She could hide in it and jump out to give her brothers a fright. As she watches the box, she sees a little green hand pop up over the edge.



'Mam!' she shrieks. 'Mam! There IS a livesotock in the box, just like the grumpy postman said. And the livestock is trying to escape!'

But Mam isn't listening, she's searching for Paul to ask what exactly he'd tried to send to Henry in Australia..or possibly New Zealand. 

Instead of Mam, Fred goes to see what Angel is so upset about.


'It's empty, Angel,' he says. 'Look, there's only a bit of scrunched up paper in it.'


  But this is what Angelina can see.



'Hello, little livestock,' she says. ' What's your name?'

Half an hour later, Timmy finds Angel in the garden.

'Who are you playing with?' he asks.



'Can you see him too?' Angelina wants to know. 'The others say he's not there, but he is, isn't he? He's my livestock what the bossy people at the airport wouldn't send to Australia. His name's Sid.'





' If Sid the Bwbach you can see
  Then you can talk and play with me!' sings the 'livestock.

'Cool!' exclaims Timmy. 'He's just for us to play with, not for the big ones. I wonder if Teddy can see him too?'

'I wish he'd stop playing with my hair though,' says Angel. 'It makes it stick out more and it will get tangled and hurt when it's brushed.'

'So sorry Angel-child' says the Bwbach, as he stands on his head. 'Poor Sid, no hair! But where's the other little child? The boy in the box with me? The one named Connor-Lucas?!'


Saturday, 12 April 2014

No Nose is Good Nose News.

Just dashing in for a few seconds as my laptop seems to want to close down half way through each email or search. It has declared itself in need of a few days vacation, I think!


I never wanted one of the so-called No-Nose dolls until recently. When this little chap turned up at Sasha Doll UK, I just couldn't resist him and he has been languishing there on Lay-away for some time. So a big thank you to who ever his previous doll parent was and to everybody else, may I introduce you to Bertie? ( photo from Sasha Doll UK, with thanks to Shelly)

  

He arrived with the usual 'bed-head' look of the early Gotz boys but a little shampoo and hair dried whilst wearing one of the wonderfully elastic Dolly Doodles hats has tamed it somewhat.



 Feeling clean and reasonably tidy, he announced that, Otto, the name we had planned to give him, had nothing to do with him. He went on to tell DH that, though named Albert, he expected his new family to call him Bertie - or at least, that is what I have been told by DH, though this could be a little husbandly manipulation.

I'm smitten now and Bertie may require me to save up to buy him a sibling. Who nose knows?

Bertie wishes to make it clear that he does have a nose, a perfectly proportioned, small boy's nose. He does not wish to hear the term  No-Nose used about him ever again.

 Strong willed little fella, isn't he?!