Sunday, 23 February 2014

A Rather Lid-Splashy Time in Winchett Dale (Part the Finaleth..)

THE GRIFFLES SO FAR....  With the lid cracksploding above, and the irate, peffa-russiculoffed waters of Thinking Lake rising all around, it seemes there's only one majickal-hare who can vroosh Winchett Dale to safety, to avoid the glopped-up flood predicted by the Gulyptolin...

Sometimes, dear long-suffering reader of these griffles, sometimes I must confess to getting the odd vroosher - well, just how can I griffle this and still retain an oidy bit of majickal respect...? - sometimes, on peffa, peffa occasional sun-turns, that perhaps only occur once in every snutch of moon-turns, things can oidy bit glubbstooled...

So it was on this occasion, just as I held my hawthorn wand high above my long heare's ears and pointed it straight at the cracksploding lid above, I had the peffa-unfortunate temerity to quite forget just what the correct griffles were for vrooshing the storm away.  Of course, not being the sort ot majickal-hare to give up at this point, I did what I normally do in these sorts of occasions and griffled out something I hoped would suffice in what were, frankly, peffa-glopped circumstances for any creature, let alone my drenched self...

By the Will of Oramus, I command the splashy to pid-pad away,
and please, perhaps to come back another sun-turn'd day...!

All I can griffle in my defence to any apprentice majickal-hares who might be reading these griffles is not to try this vroosh - ever - as frankly, it isn't very good or fuzzcheck, and merely leaves the lid laughing and chickling at you, before immediately sending down really peffa-heavy sploinks of splashy more vilishly than ever before...

Within a snutch of moments, and in what appeared to be less than a blinksnap, I was waist-deep in swirling water, trying my best to pid-pad away as vilishly as possible, and wishing I had some of my great-grandpahpa's legendary athleticism, of which, sadly, I haven't been peffa-well blessed...

My Great-Grandpahpa - an oidy bit more vilish than yours truly...
But what of the flooding dale? I hear you griffle. Tell me about the poor nifferduggling creatures about to be engulged by the ganticus splashy - not the Matlock family tree.  Well, indeed, so I shall...

Realising I had somewhat gobflopped at stopping the storm, there was peffa-little I could do, except try and get back to the village and warn the others of what was about to happen, hoping against all hope that somehow the cracksploding garrumblooming lid had awoken them and bought them to their clottabussed senses.  Noticing some fallen bark nearby, I grabbed my staff and began paddling as vilishly as possible through the rising waters inWand Wood, rescuing any twizzled creatures I saw along the way...

When finally, I arrived in the village, it was to see the place entirely flooded, with twizzly and russiculoffed creatures climbing onto their roofs, and hanging out of windows, pointing at the raging waters, griffling, chickling and being quite excrimbly about the whole thing.  Some of them were already getting ready to go for a swim, having decided that the peffa-dangerous flood was quite the most saztaculous thing to have happened for many moon-turns...

No matter how much I called to them to try and warn them, I couldn't be heard, and besides, they are generally so clottabussed, that even if they had caught my griffles, then they'd have most likely ignored them anyway, for in Winchett Dale, if ever there's a chance to be glopped-up instead of sensible - glopped-up wins out most times...  And to be honest, we'd rather have it that way any sun-turn; and perhaps you would, too?

So, with peffa-little else to do (and feeling that really, for all it's twizzliness, the flood was actually quite saztaculous and something peffa-special to behold, really) I was helped up onto a roof to sit and watch just how shindinculous and powerful nature can be, hoping and trusting to Oramus above with all my hare's heart that the waters would begin to recede come the morn'up...

And if some of you are wondering why it was that I couldn't vroosh Winchett Dale all fuzzcheck again, then I have to griffle that it was most probably becuase I didn't have to in the first place.  Some things simply happen becuase they're meant to, and here in the dale, we believe that coping with them and appeciating them for what they are, brings us together.  It most likely makes us peffa-clottabussed by your shindinculous standards, good reader of these griffles, but `tis simply our way, and one that should you ever pid-pad into Winchett Dale to share a griffle or a guzzwort or two, you'd all too soon see for yourself.

As for the waters, well, they did go down, and life slowly returned to normal. The creatures helped each other to clean up, and griffled great tales of the night the floods came, and just how saztaculous it all was.  Some griffled of what they had done, others of how far they had swum, or how they had held back the waters with a single paw, then rescued grillions of creatures from its twizzly perils...  But all who heard these tall-tales knew them simply to be spuddles which would likely become even more ganticus with each re-telling.

Proftulous returned from Twinkling Lid Heights, lump-thumping after the tweazles who soon settled back into Wand Wood, trying their briftest to avoid being made into pies for the peffa-clottabussed dworp.

And my memories of that shindinculous night, as we all sat on rooftops and watched in saztaculous amazement?  Well, some griffle that I was spotted swimming amongst it all, crumlush in the waters, enjoying every oidy moment, knowing deep in my Sisteraculous that Oramus' majick would be far better than a mere majickal-hare's in sorting everything out and getting us all fuzzcheck again...

....but that would have to be a spuddle, wouldn't it...?



Simply visit to order your copy this very sun-turn...


Sunday, 16 February 2014

A Rather Lid-Splashy time in Winchett Dale...Part the Second...

The griffles so far....

Late one even'up Matlock has been warned by the Gulyptolin of Thinking Lake that Winchett Dale is about to experience and peffa-ganticus and glopped-up flood. Ignored by the clottabussed creatures of the dale who simply want to niffferduggle in their beds, Matlock returns to the lake on his boat to notice a twizzly, eerie glow from the deep...

Crivens!  What will happen next...?

The more I peered over the side of my boat, good reader of these glopped and woeful griffles, the more I found myself getting all twizzly; my softulous shaking and a voice in my Sisteraculous griffling me to row straight back to the shore...

However, the nearer the glow got to the boat, the more I could begin to make out what it briftest and most peffa-clottabussed friend Proftulous, surfacing from the lake, with a freggle of twisting, glowing quiller fish on his yechus wet head.

"Proftulous!" I griffled.  "What in Oramus' name are you doing swimming around in the lake?  You nearly gave me a glopped case of the whurffs!"

"Sorry, Matlock," he replied as the quiller fish swam away, leaving just his head and furry shoulders bobbing in the moonlight.  "I just be looking for tweazles to make meself a slurpilicious treazle-pie."

"In the lake?"  I griffled, trying not to get too russiculoffed.  "Proftulous, this is a lake.  Tweazles are, to everyone's knowledge, land-based creatures."

"What also make for the most briftest pie-filling," he vilishly agreed, nodding enthusiastically, and sending a snutch of murpworms shooting from his ganticus ears.  "Let's not be forgetting that, Matlock."

I sighed.  "But," I gently tried, "it seems to me that there's only the oidiest chance of all the oidiest chances in Oramus' great dales that you'll ever find a tweazle in the lake."

"Still a chance, though, isn't it?" he griffled, trying not to look too hurt.  "And even you've always griffled that even the oidiest chances can sometimes be saztaculous."

"Hmm," I agreed.  "But I'm not sure I was griffling about lake-dwelling tweazles at the time.  Perhaps you should try looking for them in Wand Wood, like you normally do?"

But my briftest, most peffa-clottabussed friend shook his ganticus, yechus head.  "Already tried that. Been lump-thrumping all over the woods all sun-turn, Matlock, with my stomach grimpling and getting far too empty.  And there not be a slurpilicious tweazle in sight.  `Tis like they all be gone, just upped and left the dale."

I pondered this for a while, as Proftulous gently pushed the boat back to shore, and we sat together for a while on the side of the lake.  "Are you sure you haven't eaten them all?" I asked him.

He shifted slightly, taking slight offence.  "I may be yechus and ganticus," he griffled, "but `tis simply because I be big-boned in me softulous, Matlock.  'Tisn't because I have been eating too many tweazle-pies, like you be trying to be implying.  That be a glubbstooled thing to griffle to your briftest friend."

"I'm sorry, " I griffled.

"After all," he went on, "I's not be griffling to you how glopped-up your ears look, do I? Or how clottabussed you look in your shoes?  Or how most of your wandy-vrooshers go all gobflopped?  I don't ever be griffling anything of those things to you, do I?"

"Well," I griffled, "to be peffa-honest, you do, Proftulous, and most of the time."

"Do I?"

"Most each and every sun-turn, Proftulous."

"Then I be peffa-sorry about that, too,"  he griffled.  "I tries not to be griffling those things from now on, and we can be all briftest friends again, then you can majick and vroosh me grillions of slurpilicious tweazles for me to be pastry-ing into ganticus pies again."

The wind had begun to pick up, and overhead thick dark clouds swept in to cover the moon.  "I'll try," I promised Proftulous.  "But right now, methinks we should take cover, for it looks like that there's a ganticus cracksplody storm on the way.  If I'm right, then the tweazles have already sensed this and probably pid-padded to higher ground.  It's what we've all got to do now, before the dale floods."

"Floods?"  P:roftulous griffled, beginning to get twizzly.  For, despite his size and yechus appearance, it doesn't take a lot to get him twizzly.  He's always been that way, and is most probably the reason why other creatures in the dale sometimes like to play tricks on him and chickle when he gets in a peffa-twizzle.  "You not be joking me to make me look all clottabussed, Matlock?"

"No," I assured him, as a ganticus garrumbloom echoed over the Winchett dale, and the first heavy sploinks of lid-splashy dropped all around, angrily drumming on the surface of the lake.  "Head to Twinkling Lid Heights, peffa-vilish!  I'll meet you there later!"

Another garrumbloom cracksploded above our heads, shaking the ground as the lake began to churn and turn, rapidly rising to become a russiculoffed swelling sea, the wind howling and peffablasting all around.

Watching proftulous lump-thump safely away, I took out my wand and pointed it high into the lid above, hoping with all my majickal-hare's heart that I could somehow conjure a lid-splashy vroosher that might end the peffa-ganticus storm and save my beloved dale...

Oh my drifflejubs, dear confused reader of these peffa-twizzly griffles, what will happen now..?



Friday, 14 February 2014

A Rather Lid-Splashy Time In Winchett Dale... (Part the 1st)

Well, now, crivens and juffles, where do I begin with what's beeen happening here in Winchett Dale over the last few sun-turns..?

And I suppose, to answer my own griffles, the most peffa-obvious answer would be to begin at the beginning -hence where I take you now, right to the side of Thinking Lake which lies just a little way from my cottage at the end of Wand Wood, and where late last Yaayday even'up (Friday to you good folk from The Great Beyond) my attention was caught by some shindinculous rippling on its pristine surface, as the saztaculous dale Gulyptolin rose from the depths with a rather twizzly look on its face, beckoning me closer to share some peffa-important griffles about what lay ahead...

"Matlock," it griffled, "You must prepare the village and griffle to everyone of the ganticus waters that are coming to the dale.  It will be most peffablasty and lidsplashy, and the brook will surely overflow."
And then, it diasppeared back into the lake, leaving just the shindinculous refelction of the moon shimmering in it's rippling wake.

Well, to be honest, dear reader of these griffles, I was rather surprised by the griffles.  I looked up into the twinkling-lid, alive with saztaculous stars, and couldn't see a single cloud anywhere.  All was fuzzcheck, as quiet and crumlush an even'up as you could have wished for.  But seeing as the Gulyptolin's griffles are ones no creature can afford to ever ignore, (and most peffa-definitely majickal-hares) I duly set off for the village and began urgently knocking on everyone's creakers, telling them all I had heard in the Gulyptolin's warning...

Strangely (although not entirely surprisingly, as Winchett Dale's creatures can be rather glopped-up and clottabussed at times) no one wanted to hear about the forthcoming lidsplashy and peffablasty, with most of them griffling that I would be better spending my time making potions, tinctures and spells rather than waking everyone up in the middle of the night and telling them about a flood that would never, ever happen.

"But what if it does happen?" I asked a reasonably irate leaning-disidula.  "What if we all wake up tomorrow morn'up and we're all flooded?"

The disidula looked at me sceptically.  "And a fish told you this, did it?"

I nodded.  "A gulyptolin, it's a majickal-griffling fish, but a fish nonetheless."

"A fish, Matlock?" it insisted. "A real fish?"

"Abso-peffa-lutely." I insisted. "Tis why we must all be prepared. We should surely all head for the limestone cliffs of Twinkling-Lid heights.  We'll be safe there."

But the disidula hadn't realy heard; it still couldn't get it's oidy mind around the relatively simply concept of a griffling fish.  It's just the way with disidulas, even leaning ones.  "Never heard so much glubbstooled nonsense in me short life," it griffled.  "Only place I be heading up to is me bed for some crumlush nifferduggles.  Griffling fish, Matlock, honestly, have you been at the guzzworts again?"

And it was the same at every other creaker I knocked at, all the creatures simply wanting to get back to bed, and refusing to listen to my griffles.

Undeterred, I headed back to the lake, to the very far side where I keep my boat, before pushing it gently out onto the water, and calling for the Gulyptolin once more.  For a long time nothing happened, but then I suddenly began to notice what I can only describe as a strange and rather twizzly glow emanating from the stilled waters, unlike anything I'd ever seen before.  Holding my lantern close to the rising waters, I peffa-cautiously peered over the side...

 What is the twizzly glow from the deep?
Will the dale be peffablasted, lidsplashed and flooded?
Will Matlock somehow be able to save the dale, if it does...?


Saturday, 8 February 2014


Morn'up all!  It's been a peffa-momentous couple of weeks here at in Winchett Dale, with 'all paws to the pump' as we've struggled, wrestled and gloofed our way into making re-designing our sazto-site (what you would probably call a 'website') to hopefully give all you good creatures out in The Great Beyond more shindinculous glimpses into everything that's occuring here...

Our brand 'newlook' sazto-site is now up and running at  and is peffa-well worth a pid-pad around, let me griffle you that...

Here I am on the old steam-driven slazztop,checking me twit-feed  (which reminds me, I must get Proftulous some more tweazle-pies soon!) in between checking the new site to make sure it's the briftest Winchett Dale experience for you.
You'll find a host of saztaculous goodies, signed prints and original artwork, plus information about me new book, the peffa-eagerly anticipated `The Riddle of Treffelpugga Path', together with your chance to own truly crumlush Limited Edition prints of illustrations taken from the book, just like this one:
Along with a peffa-rare chance to own one of the illustrations from my very first book... So, please, have a shincinculous pid-pad around the new website, and enter our majickal world of Winchett Dale at


last week, Winchett Dale was besieged with a freggle of peffa-high flying media folk to begin shootiung me first ever sazto-vid (something they griffled a 'promo' whatever that may be...) to give an oidy taster for you good folk of just what to expect in `The Riddle of Trefflepugga Path'.
It was a peffa-long sun-turn, I can tell you, with the dripple and I having to be all filmed, but the nice sazto-vid folk did let us have a guzzwort or two along the way...although clearly from this saztograph, the dripple might have one guzzwort too many...again...

Anyway, to see the results of all our labours before we got too guzzwort-glopped, check out the 'promo' at

Rumours circulate in the dale that there's more to come, so be sure to stay peffa-tuned, good folk! 


Yes, as if sazto-sites and sazto-vids weren't enough, someone here in the dale (it could well have been Fragus the Disidula, as he's normally to first to come up with saztaculous suggestions, then pid-pad away whenever there's any hard-work to be done...) thought it would be good to have a Matlock the Hare Pintrest-thingy, as it would also give another glimpse into the majickal world of Winchett Dale...

So, with much hurrumping and peffa-vrooshing, we managed to create a selcetion of boards for you to see (including some of my first-ever appearances!!)  at

Well worth a look, methinks, and you may well find the original inspiration, and peffa-rarely glimpsed entrance to the real Trefflepugga path, too....  Go on, take a look, see if you can find it!

So, all in all, a juzzpapping two weeks, but a saztaculous `thank-you' to all the shindinculous `Matlock folk' out there whose enthusiasm gives me the encouragement to keep pid-padding...!