many worries, but new wheels; many letters, and lots of glitter

20th december 2021

It’s dark and damp outside. And it’s not much better indoors. I wish I was in my cupboard.

But Jenny says I mustn’t stay at home moping and worrying.

Jenny’s a very practical person. She came straight round with her spanner and some stabiliser wheels.

They make all the difference.

I’ve only tried it indoors so far, but I feel much more confident on it now.

I’ll go out on the road again very soon, and I’m sure that a quick bicycle ride round the block will be just the thing to clear my brain and take my mind off my worries.

What I’ve mainly been worrying about is all of my friends who are off in unknown places, and I don’t know if they’re safe and well, or even alive, and whether I’ll ever see them again.

There’s Walrus and Bruno.

They went off months ago in search of freedom and pleasure.

Kimbleton Tardigrade has gone to look for them, and is heroically swimming all round the coast of Britain, checking all the seaside resorts that they may have gone to.

The Stork took Um and the Baby to somewhere where they could get help with their immigration status and associated matters.

I know the Stork will eventually tell me where they are , and I don’t like to nag. So far I’ve had no news.

I trust they’re safe and well.

Actually no, we can’t really trust that anyone is well at the moment. But I’m sure the Stork found them a place where they’ll be taken good care of.

Ruffy and Points are in prison somewhere, and I’ve been trying to find out where.

I’ve been telephoning prison after prison, pretending to be someone high up in the Police or the Criminal Justice system.

I started on the prisons that I’d heard of. But now I’m being more systematic.

I’m going through all the prisons in alphabetical order. I’m on the G’s at the moment.

Of course Ruffy and Points are no longer youths, but since they are quite small, it’s possible that they’ll have been sent to a Young Offenders’ Institution. So that’s more telephone calls to make.

I hope I’ll manage to get them home in time for Christmas.

One person I don’t have to worry about any more is Dillion, the Draig Gymreig.

After I inadvertently visited Wales, and sent him a harp, he began to yearn for the land of his fathers.

Eventually he set off to play his harp in the valleys and on the mountains of Wales.

Today there was a knock at my door. There was someone on the doorstep with a parcel.

I didn’t recognise him at first, because he was wearing a mask.

It’s a bit early in the year to be wishing me a Happy Christmas.

Let’s see. What is the date?

Dillion’s right. It is nearly Christmas.

Well, it really is hopeless now to think that I might find Ruffy and Points, and get them out of prison, and bring them home, before Christmas.

I should have been working harder at it. I’m not much of a friend. Why haven’t I been getting up earlier each day, so as to fit in more telephone calls?

Do the Prison Officers put up decorations, I wonder?

And make pudding, and give the prisoners presents?

Oh Ruffy. Oh Points. I’m sorry I’ve failed to find you.

As soon as I’ve tried Dillion’s Welsh Cake, I’ll make some more telephone calls.

Dillion’s wrapped it in Christmas paper. It’s very big.

And very tasty.

Last year I had Um and the Baby here at Christmas time, so of course I had to organise a bit of festivity.

But now it’s just me. And the cuckoos and the Stork, of course. I wonder if they’ll want to celebrate?

Oh, there’s the post. Lots of letters today.

I haven’t had any post for weeks. Gibbs says that the Royal Mail bosses have told the postpeople to prioritise the more profitable things, like heavy parcels.

Gibbs says that’s reasonable. It’s the duty of every company to make as much money as possible for its shareholders.

I wish Points and Ruffy were here. I’m sure they’d explain why Gibbs is wrong.

I remember when you could send a postcard for tuppence ha’penny and it would get there at least by the second post the next day. But of course Royal Mail was a Public Service in those days.

You can’t blame the poor postpeople. They’re worked off their feet.

In fact I’ll wrap up a slice of the Welsh Cake to give to Darren tomorrow. That’s my particular postperson.

I’ll save the rest for when Ruffy and Points come back.

I expect these are all Christmas cards from my friends. Very kind of them.

Oh.

No, they’re not Christmas cards. They all seem to be boring rubbish. That’s rather disappointing.

This one might be a card.

I think it must be, because the envelope is full of glitter.

My goodness, that is a lot of glitter.

Atchoo. Atchoo.

Yes, a beautiful card.

It’s a Christmas card from the Baby. I would recognise that style anywhere.

The Baby’s use of paint is unmistakeable. And it’s put glitter on as well, to make it really festive.

Never in a month of Sundays would I have guessed that I’d get a Christmas card from the Baby.

I feel quite… I’m overcome.

Just look at that. Isn’t it perfectly lovely?

And who would have thought that the Baby could write an X as neatly as that? And such a lot of them.

I always knew it was a gifted little creature .

Oh dear oh dear, this brings back all those happy times.

But there’s no time for repining. If Christmas really is coming, I suppose I’d better get ready for it.

Cards and gifts and puddings and decorations and a spirit of goodwill.

The days are very soon going to start to get longer, so that should make the goodwill part quite easy.

I’ll make three more telephone calls, and then I’ll start on the pudding. It should really have been made a long time ago.

I’ll cook it in my bicycle helmet.

While it’s cooking, I’ll do some more telephoning.

I happen to have a silver threepenny bit that I can stir in. But we’ll have to be careful not to break our teeth, or our beaks, on it. Or on the nutmeg, which is also very hard.

I’m beginning to feel goodwill already.

Oh. Some glitter’s fallen in. Now it will be a really festive pudding.

Aah. This is extremely nice.