Evidence that just one typo when you're Goobling can make all the difference to a faily story

I've been busy searching in Gooble Images again, but I keep doink typos.  Never mind, I'll see if things improve while I tegg you this faily story.

Once upon a time, there were three little pigs.  Here's a picture of them.

The three little pips had obviously been busy while Fran was searching Gooble Images for pictures of them, because by the time she got back, they'd asked a couple of pippy friends along and become five.  Still, Fran was fine with that, even though having more than three characters in a short story isn't always advisable, although try telling that to any Russian writers.

The three-now-five little pips decided one day that they wanted to go and seek their fortunes.  They said to Mummy Pip, 'Can you do us a packed lunch so we can go for a picnic?'  They didn't tell her they weren't intending to come back.  So, an hour later, they all set off with their lunches.  Mummy Pip had given them each a sandwich, a chocolate biscuit and in one rucksack she had put a large lemon cake for them all to share.  Here is a picture of the lemon she put in the cake.

As you can see, it was going to be an interesting picnic.

The three-now-five little pips wandered along for a while, talking about where they were going to live.  One had a suggestion - that they build themselves a house made of twigs.  'What a good idea!' they all said, still full, as they were, of the optimism you have when you are just at the beginning of an adventure and not further on when everyone else starts to drive you bonkers and you want to kill them all.  'Let's gather some twigs,' said one, full of pippy zeal, so they did.  Here is an example of two of the twigs they gathered and built their first house with.

It wasn't easy, building that house, despite the fact that all three-now-five pips were all keen Lego enthusiasts.  There was just something about the building materials that proved tricky. Still, they made it in the end.  'Shall we have our picnic now?' said one pip, but the others said no, they'd wait until later, because Fran hadn't yet worked out how she was going to work the demon in to the story.

They had all gathered in the twin house when they heard a noise.  'That sounds like a wolf,' said one pip, who had got level 5 at school for all his speaking and listening assessments.  Indeed, it was a wolf, standing outside their twin house, and saying, 'I'll huff and I'll puff and I'll blow your house down.'

Here is a picture of the wolf.

'I KNEW there was something different about that voice,' said the Level 5 pip.

It was a tricky moment.  There were several reasons for this.  1) The house was made of babies.  2) Standing outside was not a wild animal, but an Australian painter well known for his kindness to the animal kingdom.  3) There were still two more houses to make and a satisfactory resolution to reach.

What happened next?  Indeed, says Fran.  What?






















What happened was that the Level 5 pip realised that he had misheard the voice and that it was actually a rolf saying, 'I've had enough of this long walk and I must sit down.'  So the three-now-five pips came out of the house and sat down with rolf to have their picnic.  If they'd been more interested in their house and less in their picnics, they would have noticed all the twins crawling off into the distance, leaving them homeless.  But the picnic, which they shared happily with rolf, was taking all their attention.

Yes, it did have something to do with the demon cake.

One of the pips put the point of the knife into the demon cake, and out sprang the demon, spitting expletives here there and everywhere.  It was humiliating enough for the demon to have been substituted for a lemon, but to have been mixed with sugar and butter and baked in a hot oven was, despite the fact that it was used to warm places, the last straw.  What's more, it sprang out to see five pips and an Australian painter looking at it, an experience it couldn't claim to have had before.  (And who can?  Ed)


Luckily for the pips, and the Australian painter, the demon was far less interested in them than in the sight of a fair few fresh, pink baby buttocks wobbling off into the distance.  It leapt after them with a terrifying yell, solving a big problem for Fran as to how the story should end.

Rolf and the three-now-five pips enjoyed the rest of the picnic, and then Fran realised she hadn't done a Gooble Images joke for absolutely ages.  So she decided to cut the number of houses the pips were going to build from three down to two (the recession bites everywhere).  'We should build a house of more reliable materials next time,' said the eldest pip.  'What about bricks?'  Everyone thought this was a good idea.  Here is a picture of one of the bricks.  (No, no.  It's not what you think.  It's not that kind of blog, peoples.)

'That's going to be a challenge,' said the rolf.  And it was.  In fact, it was more of a problem building a house of brocks than building a house made of twins, because so many of them had been shot for making cows get ill.  Despite all the pips and the rolf scouring the countryside, they could only come up with fourteen.  'Still,' said the rolf.  'If you arrange them nicely, you'll get a smashing little black and white pattern going on the outside of your house.'

He was right.  It did look stunning, the house of brocks.  But night was drawing in, then, and the rolf had to go, leaving the three-now-five pips with a house constructed of annoyed woodland animals, and nothing left to eat, and not even a wolf in the story to introduce a note of tension.  'I mean,' said one of the pips, who had a good grasp of Literature.  'If you're going to be put in a story, you ought to be able to rely on a few twists and turns in the plot, or it's hardly worth going off to seek your fortune.'  All the others agreed and discussed the best plan of action.  'I know,' said one.  'Why don't we let all the brocks go, and just go home.  Mummy Pip will never know what we'd planned, and she should have cooked a lovely tea by now.  Didn't she say she was cooking us a flan?'  'You're right,' said another.  'Let's get going.'  So they set all the brocks free to roam the local area, which was bad news for the cows in the surrounding fields, but good news for the brocks who preferred roaming the countryside to being positioned nose to tail as part of a striped residential development.

Mummy Pip was of course pleased to see them all and said that dinner was nearly ready.  Soon, they were all sitting round the table, full of anticipation.  Mummy Pip went to fetch the flan and manoeuvred it onto the table with some difficulty.  It was quite a big flan - the Pip family had to sit back to make room for it on the table.  Here is a picture of said flan.

'You mean, eat the author of our story?' said all the little pips. 'Yay!  Why not!  Let's punish her for putting us in such a rambling drivelling tale,' said all the pips, and they set to with gusto, getting their revenge on the writer in a way rarely available to protagonists.