Roobarb woke up to the most terrible clattering cat in the garden.
“Hear Ye ! Hear Ye !” went the caterwauling feline,
“Today is Fan Fiction Friday ! Fairytale Friday has fleetingly flitted. It’s Fayn Fickshorn Fah-rydayee !”
“What horrible howling,” thought Roobarb, “and what sad news. I’m frightfully fond of Fairytale Friday, I’m afraid Fan Fiction Friday feels fearfully feeble next to fabulous fairytales.”
“I shall go outside and give that moggie a piece of my mind”
Roobarb opened the door and stepped into the garden.
There was Custard the Cat, stomping up and down the path, banging on a saucepan lid with his wooden spoon and yelling about fans and fairies and generally making what they call a disturbance of the peace.
Roobarb harrumphed and huffed and told Custard
“You can’t go around here making all that noise,” he said, “and you can’t go cancelling fairytales. A lot of us rely on the fairytales to keep our spirits up”
“Keep your spirits up ?” asked Custard, “That’s ghost stories isn’t it ?”
Custard laughed the kind of snorty snarf of a laugh that made you want to stroke his fur from tail to head, with an axe.
“I’ll thank you” said Roobarb huffily, “to keep your snarky snout out of my Friday”
and he threw open the door of the shed and swept dramatically inside.
Moments later a loud banging and crashing could be heard from the shed and it was clear to anyone with ears that something important was being created. Mainly out of metal things that made a satisfying kerlashing sound when hit with a hammer.
The birds in the branches were getting grumpier and grumpier – first they had had to contend with a clattery cat, and now they were having to put up with a canine Caractacus Potts.
After what seemed like an hour and forty five minutes, if you were the sort of person who owned a watch and kept tabs on that sort of thing, the shed door swung open and there was a loud “BANG! Churtle parp parp” followed by a steady “chuggerter-chuggerter” noise and an eight wheeled contraption came puttering onto the path.
“Behold the Hydraulic Automatic Fairyfactor !” declaimed Roobarb proudly.
At the front was a shiny knight’s arm wielding a broadsword, next to that was an iron dragon’s head, rhythmically belching smoke. Then a tall tower of tin cans and right at the very top a tin foil princess waving a frilly hanky and a recording (sounding a lot like a dog with a high voice) repeating “Help me ! Help me ! Set me free !”
The sword went swish, the dragon belched, the princess wailed. The fairyfactor shook alarmingly. The whole contraption was shuddering and chuntering and right there in the garden it shook itself to tiny little bits right in front of Roobard, Custard and all the birds.
Custard started chuckling to himself, snickeringly.
“Well that’s THAT fairytale fried eh ?” he muttered.