What a spiffing day I can hardly contain my excitement. Jennifer Tristan, Nigel and I have finally put our grand plan into action! We had met after tea in the old gazebo to plot a most wizard plan to earn pots and pots of lolly and finally make the old boy proud of me!
It all came about when we were lunching at a local hostelry for gentleman and gentlewomen, when we were approached by this fine fellow sporting a dashing moustache and tweeds! He explained to us quietly that he had been searching for many long years for some likely young adventurous souls, in order to let us into the great magical secret he had learned during a spell in the Himalayas!
Whilst strolling through the icy barren peaks on the way to tea with his old chum the abominable snowman, he happened upon a wise old fakir chap living in a cave. The old fakir chap was absolutely gasping for a woodbine after meditating in isolation for forty years so when given one by our new friend, he was so grateful that he gave him the secret of turning stones into gold. He was told that it could never work however unless he gained the assistance of a jolly bunch such as we!
The great secret is one so wonderful that no one else could ever imagine it to be true and we are so lucky and excited to be chosen for this fantastic quest.
The great task that will enrich all of our lives forever more lies in the making of a fabulous bee-skin coat! No ordinary bees mind you, they must be the finest English bumble bees and the coat must be constructed by a true artist. Once the coat is donned, every stone the wearer touches shall turn into gold!
The first thing we had to do was find a true artist for the coat’s construction but luckily for us, this splendid chap came across the world’s grand-master of the bee-skinner’s guild who has been living locally disguised as an old tramp – in order that he may keep his secrets from the vulgar. All we had to do was to gather all of the silver in the old boy’s mansion and give them to the master bee skinner as a good-will gesture of our faith and to lend father’s roller to this splendid chap so they might travel to London in order to obtain the secret chant that must be said when donning the coat.
We waved them off this afternoon and they promised to return in two-weeks, giving us time to gather the bees for the ceremony.
Everything is now in hand and in a fortnights time we shall be rich as kings and queens – yippee! Old Arthur the gardener has been given orders that he must collect the five-million bees required for the coat within two-weeks or we shall give him and his wife to mother to be roasted for Sunday lunch, although she’ll probably make soup instead as their scraggy old bodies won’t have much to roast. He should have no trouble as he keeps a fine garden, which is just packed and packed with busy busy bees.
We then gathered my family together in the study and told father of the great news. He was so excited that his face turned a rather odd shade of purple and I swear I could see tears of joy welling in his eyes. Old ma-ma swooned to the floor as girlies do when excitement gets too much for their dainty little heads.
Oh how we shall live, balls, cruises, castles – hee hee – oh I could just dance with joy!
Must dash, as father is joining in the general fun and excitement by dangling himself from the ceiling, spinning gaily from the cord around his neck, so we’re off to skip around him singing in joy as he merrily spins.