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...?



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