Tuesday, 16 October 2012

Next, a survivalist camp in the Derbyshire Dales

I keep finding stone-age axes and hazel-based arrows. The feathers look suspiciously like pigeon. They're glued in place by gummy resin from the damson tree.

So far, bows and arrows, axes and deer-gutting tools have turned up on all kitchen worksurfaces, under the sofa cushions, in the bath, and stashed behind the Flour tin.

And then I had to ban the experiment with the incense burner in the cellar.

I'm blaming Michelle Paver.

Peter Dickinson, I'm blaming him as well.

Look, after the smoke-out incident of this morning, I've had enough today. Cannot someone please write a story which does not prompt any of the following: setting the house on fire with the stress-relieving, relaxing properties of vanilla pod; disarming the neighbour's cat with home made flint and slate weaponry; pegging out unicorns on the barbecue (we don't have a sacrificial altar); digging a three-foot trench in my lawn; recreating a dinosaur swamp in the hebe garden; and living in a tree.

Oh I don't know. Howabout a really exciting plot line where triplets compete by doing their homework on time, and then becoming rivals in blood to get an A* at Latin GCSE two years early?

1 comment:

Angela Horn said...

Love it. I agree about Michelle Paver - as long as she doesn't inspire your children to suck on decomposing pigeons, you'll be ok :-)