The Rocket Percival and the Space Intergalactic Dragon

Chapter 1
Knicky Knacky Knox.

‘Aye, aye, aye, aye…aye! Long day’, murmured Mr Man on the Moon as he gently sat down on ‘Bertie’, his forget all about it armchair. Carefully, he leant back, holding his perfect mug of coffee close to his pointy, but at times stubbly, chin. With a wiggle and jiggle, Mr Man on the Moon snuggled down and stretched out his legs, plonking both feet on a purple goose-down pouffe. Sighing, he gently sank further into Bertie and fell fast asleep.

Ring! Ring! Ringgg, went the doorbell…a startled Mr Man on the Moon sprung into a bolt upright position. He rose from Bertie and walked steadfastly down the entrance hall and proceeded to open the heavy, very old, oak door. Looking out at the setting of an old day, Mr Man on the Moon stood ready for the adventure about to be bestowed upon a rather tired old soul.

Hellooooe…boomed a little big voice! It was Mrs Dingleberry, a rather annoying petite old lady, renowned for her elephant’s memory and more so, for her fart like a cow! Mr Man on the Moon glared downward with his chiny chin chin, thrusting his long nose into her left cheek and muttered in a long drawn out tone… ‘Mrs D…. what can I do for you?’ Mrs Dingleberry stared back at his gibbon- like eyes and before you could flip a sixpence, she started to frantically bob up and down, causing Mr Man on the Moon’s nose much distress, as the top of her hat repetitively prodded his sunburned snout. She grabbed his starched lapels and dragged him into the farmyard, proceeding to trip over Ted the Billy goat, standing nonchalantly to the unfolding scene. ‘Splosh!’ The not too happy twosome ‘slam dunked’ into the water trough. ‘Looke!’ spluttered Mrs Dingleberry from underneath Mr Man on the Moon…half submerged in murky mosquito infested water. She pointed her forefinger to the eastern sky. ‘The moon, it is disappearing!’ Mr Man on the Moon, sitting on the island of Mrs Dingleberry, gazed at the moon. Yes… it was most definitely turning itself off, just like a good old-fashioned light bulb on one of those 70’s dimmer switches.

‘Right!’ Pronounced Mr Man on the Moon. He lowered his flailing arms and pulled out from his waistcoat a solid silver 6th dimensional hand watch. Quickly, faster

than the eye can blink, with his thumb and little finger he aligned the garnet stone on the bezel with a wee figurehead of Archimedes (a great but long gone friend). In a lackadaisical manner he whispered the words; ‘Knicky… Knacky… Knox…’and summoned the assistance of the wisest of wise beings, ‘The Grand Beetlezen of Uranus’.

Twenty minutes later a voice as squeaky as a Cynthia at a tea party replied. ‘Good evening Mr M’. (it really is not just a telephone call down the road to Aunty Freda!).

‘How much time have we got?’ asked Mr Man on the Moon in a very concerned manner. Following a very long pause… Cynthia squeaked, ‘check the size of the moons sphere. So Mr Man on the Moon aimed the bezels garnet at the moon. ‘Oh my! deary dear, silly silly silly me! The moon had grown and was turning a darker shade of grey’. Mr Man on the Moon proceeded to turn a very pale blue; he had forgotten to do something very important!

Chapter 2
Yumdidlyumpcious

It was time for the ripened moon cheese harvest! This is no ‘run of the mill’ ordinary do it every autumn harvest; indeed it is an intergalactic mouldy old cheese harvest festival, the size of the occasion is bigger than all the chocolate Easter eggs and Christmas puddings ever made and eaten all in one go.

Yes, I know what your thinking, ‘The moon is not made of cheese’! Well, actually technically it is, and the most amazing ‘yumdidlyumpcious’ mouth watering cheese you have ever tasted, and probably the rest of the world too!

This Earthly dilemma is simple; the moon is similar to a big fat mushroom, it just so happens it tastes like cheese. However due to its size it takes exactly 500 earth years to reach maturity, and just like a giant puffball when it ripens it produces a black mould under which the moon disappears. As the sun heats it, the space mushroom grows, finally ‘kaboom’ the moon releases at least a zillion spores on our planet, the Earth turns into a giant snowball.

The moon spores,
Sunlight broken,
Summer that never comes,
The winter that never ends,
Civilisation fallen,
The snow keeps on falling.

Chapter 3
The Space Intergalactic Dragon

To stop the moon reaching such a crescendo and the earth going into deep freeze, the ripe cheese mould has to be eaten. There is only one known thing that can consume space mould on such a colossal scale, some say the most terrifying beast in the universe…born from a proto star, ‘The Space Intergalactic Dragon’ also known as ‘SID’ to her comrades and if I may, also to you! She comes from the other side of our universe, the far side, the darker side of the dark side…. the bit you cannot see when looking out of the window on a starlit night, so it would not matter if a tree, or the neighbour’s house is blocking your view, or come to think of it a great big foggy autumn night. However SID is a very ancient dragon who lost her sense of smell centuries ago and no amount of moon mould perfume would wake her from a deep space slumber.

The only way to stop such a ‘moonastrophe’ without the assistance of a space dragon is to devour the moon cheese mould, ourselves! I would hope you all agree that is a ridiculous and impractical idea! But if we do nothing the impact would be horrendous; the end of cocoa beans, cows stop milking, and no more hot chocolate. The alternative solution is simple, call SID who adores ripened moon cheese and ‘hocus pocus’ the problem is solved. Now until this year this is exactly what Mr Man on the Moon would do, he was in a pickle, and he had to do something about it, and pretty damn quick!

‘Soooo…’ said Mr Man on the Moon in a calm manner as he turned to Henrietta. ‘At the very least there will be no more moon or moonshine… unless of course we get SID eat the mould… but of course not the cheese! ‘Quack’ quacked Henrietta. Mr Man on the Moon gave a nod of approval to such support and continued excitedly to express his concerns as he paced round and round his feathered friend. ‘If we succeed in this mission the human race will have another chance to achieve 500 years of peaceful happiness on planet Earth. If not the moon will explode. So my aquatic friend, do we try and save the earth? Give it another chance?’ Henrietta ‘quacked’ excitedly. Mr Man on the Moon nodded his head in approval, but inside himself, in his mind, his shoulders felt heavy with the responsibility that lay before him. Mr Man on the Moon knew he should have contacted SID at least 3 months ago, there was no time to be nice, there was no time and only desperate questionable methods could save the Earth. He looked at all that was around him: his home, his heaven, his quintessential English garden; overgrown with centuries of ‘nothing to report’ just the Indian summer, the sun tans, winter fun, quince building and most gratifyingly very busy doing very little indeed. All was about to change The sky turned jet black and it started to rain…cats and dogs …heavily! But lets look at the bright side of life, Henrietta was very happy, sloshing and sploshing in the water trough. If only ducks could grin!

Chapter 4
Serenwhatidity

For the last 500 years, ‘Serenwhatidity’ has been Mr Man on the Moon’s home, a farmstead slowly ticking in and out of the seasons, oblivious to the droughts that never really happen or the flooding that really rarely floods! His home is the archetypical ‘mists of mellowness, cups of tea and cake, surrounded by buddleia and butterflies ’. The thatched farmhouse with sandstone walls is a quaint welcome to what is ‘Serenwhatidy’…perfect, a backdoor to an England that we all can see through rosy coloured spectacles. Barns of various age and size erratically form a square around the courtyard; Medieval, Tudor, Edwardian and even an asbestos roofed monstrosity! Yet… there are no cows, sheep, pigs, or even chickens, just Henrietta the duck and Billy the goat! But all is not quiet especially to the shrewd farmer, born and bred. It does not go unnoticed that there are a number of unusual tractors, oversized grain silos and massive fuel tanks! The barns, in fact, hold the key to how Mr Man on the Moon came to Earth and how he can return to outer space! ‘Serenwhatidity’ is the QRAC (quick reaction alert centre) for Mr Man on the Moon’s planet earth operations. We have the big barn (Tudor) the long barn (Medieval) the dilapidated (once was a barn) ‘the ruin’ and the oddly shaped (Edwardian). Within these façades are the peoples rockets…. some are old, some new and some secretly retrieved from failed missions to Mars in the 1970’s. But most importantly there are some that work; Gagarinius, Big Bertha, the Rocket Percival, Penny Bun, Sir Basil, and a rather silly very small ‘Wizzy’ rocket called Speagle, fickle in nature, depending on the solar winds for power. All ready to go whenever and wherever the health and safety of humanity is at stake.

Each building and their rockets are under secure lock and key, thanks to the safe hands and supervision of Mr Mars; short but not fat, well built he says! And when annoyed, which is frequently, becomes raspberry reddened in the face.

Chapter 5
Rocket Ships Here We Go.

It was 5.23pm and there were only 50 minutes left before the moon literally would go up and off… in a puff of purple fungal smoke. Mr Man on the Moon gazed at the thunderclouds as they parted and departed with an explosion of late evening sunshine. He docked his hat and grinned as he watched the little dormouse watching him from in between the barn doors.

‘Rocket ships here we go! Here we go! Here we go!’ shouted Mr Man on the Moon as he danced and pranced like a little boy. And boy, oh boy, these rockets can do anything, anytime, anyplace: Tall ones, short ones, fat ones, small ones, fast and special ones too! Mr Man on the Moon loped over to the rackety, padlocked Tudor barn door. He rattled the handles and then rattled them a little more, ‘Ahhh keys’, slapping his forehead he then rummaged in his pocket for his telecommunicator to ring Mr Mars. Eight minutes later he received a text reply. Mr Man on the Moons jaw dropped! Head held in both hands he then exclaimed at the top of his voice…. ‘Where is the second most important person in East Sussex when you need him…on flipping holiday! And one guess as to where he has gone…to Mars to fix a flipping robot for NASA! Mr Man on the Moon shook his fist in the direction of this little red planet. The telecommunicator then rang ’What’s up?’ Asked Mr Mars. ‘World about to end and you have the keys to the barns!’ seethed Mr Man on the Moon. Eight minutes later Mr Mars replied, ‘No problem, the keys are under the flower pot, left hand side of your front door that is the door that is mostly used as the backdoor’. Mr Man on the Moon cussed to himself. ‘The end of the world as we know it, and we are in the hands of an idiot doing car mechanics on Mars’!

He was left with no choice it was time to call… ‘You cannot touch me’, Mr Nigloo! Composing himself, again he flipped open his telecommunicator and proceeded to press with his forefinger the letter ‘M’ …twice and then once, then twice.

Chapter 6
Och I The Nooo!

Ring tingly ring, ring tingly ring… ‘Och I the nooo!’ shouted Mr Nigloo, in a strong Scottish accent. ‘This is no time to ring a man trying to get a good night sleep’. However, Mr Nigloo, dutifully responded and answered the green 1960’s telephone, which only ever rang if there is a matter of grave urgency. ‘Good evening, Mr Nigloo the lighthouse keeper here!’ ‘Hello, this is Mr Man on the Moon, the Earth keeper!’ Mr Nigloo retorted. ‘And what can I do for you Mr Man on the Loo?’ replied Mr Nigloo (Unfortunately occasionally close friends fallout, recently Mr Man on the Moon lost a conker match with Mr Nigloo’s cherished vinegar baked one thousander). After a short pause a ‘hissy fit’ came back down the telephone, ‘It is Mr Man on the Moon! You old green clothed baboon, stop blithering about!’ Mr Nigloo raised an eyebrow and then the other as Mr Man on the Moon in no uncertain terms made him fully aware of the predicament. ‘If the moon were to be allowed to explode just like a puffball, your beloved lighthouse would be destroyed by an enormous super moon tidal wave’. Mr Nigloo took a deep breath and, for now, let bygones be bygones.
Mr Nigloo took a deep breath and stared at the forty-eight and a half steps to the top of the lighthouse; never in his ten years of living in such a dwelling did he think he had to do what he had to do! It was time to launch the interstellar emergency beacon. Yes, ‘the beacon’! He excitedly rushed up to the top of the spiral staircase and unlocked the door to the lamp room. Inside the main lamp they’re waiting, agitating, fermenting for freedom was the quasar flea, as big as a golden retriever, as furry as a bumble bee but to you and me an oversized space flea. In fact a very hungry flea that moves at a super-light speed, and for 150 years had been waiting for the most special of food… space dragon blood!

‘Five, Four, Three, Two, One!’ And like a sunflower on super fizzy pop (no shake required), the beacon opened and before you could say ‘Burranga muddanga’. it was gone. Now Mr Nigloo and Mr Man on the Moon could do nothing at all, nothing but wait and importantly for Mr Man on the Moon, maybe drink his last mug of the best Arabica latte!

The quasar flea loves space dragons, as much as the dragons hate them! They suck the very mercury from their soul, causing their ‘molten hot’ hearts (it is estimated that they have at least four), to plunge and plunge to absolute zero! In other words, minus 170 degrees Kelvin! But worse is to come as the space flea performs the dreaded nose tickle, it strikes fear followed by insanity into the second largest living organism in the universe. It is an agony far worse than a million Mrs Dingleberrys… going on…and on… about replacing the loo roll and drying the dishes, recycling the plastic milk bottles, and on and on until time itself runs out!

In 23 minutes the quasar flea had zoomed along wiggly things called wormholes.

24 minutes later in the distant corner of our solar system the deep, deep, black… flickered; the quasar flea had found SID. At first the movement of space darkness was so small that it would make an ant walking across the road seem like a jolly big giant. Only the greatest of telescopes could detect such a motion, all pointing, looking, focussing… Slowly but surely, the dot grew bigger and larger and grander… the enraged space dragon was coming. And it was coming super fast, so fast that light seemed to be slow. It was furious and angry, so… agitated and it knew that only one silly little human was to blame for it’s recently acquired living nightmare…Mr Nigloo!

Chapter 7
Bob’s Your Uncle!

The catch 22, Sid wants to Mr Nigloo for the terror he had unleashed upon her and yet Mr Nigloo is the only person who can now save her life. Mr Nigloo knew that the crazed beast knew he has the antidote and if applied at the right time, in the right place, everything will be… all right! All that Mr Nigloo had to now do is use the multipurpose retractable device called a gudgeon to extract the very wee beast tormenting SID. It can be best described as a dentist drill, albeit the size of the Eiffel tower. One of its features is a tube filled with balloons. Each balloon is full of stardust… quasar fleas love stardust. So the idea is to fill the dragons mouth with millions of star dustulets, guaranteeing to attract a quasar flea! ‘Bob’s your Uncle’, the little flea beastie is lured from the drinking of space dragon blood. It is a most wonderful contraption, the flea bites the balloon dustulet and is sucked in due to a vacuum but cannot get back out, a bit like a lobster pot…throughout time it has been proven ‘simple ideas are the best’. But even the best of ideas mean nothing, if one does not have the rockets to do the job. It is at times like this when we need lady luck and fortunately Big Bertha was ready and waiting for a routine mission, to repair the Earth’s magnetic field from recent solar flare activity. Even more fortunately it was using a multipurpose thingamajig, the very gudgeon that is used to capture the dreaded dragon flea. Mr Nigloo grabbed his cloak, jumped into his anti gravitational sleigh, hurtled into the forgotten valley. Big Bertha was already on countdown, Mr Nigloo hopped skipped and jumped into the enormous fuselage. 3,2,1, and take off!

Meanwhile the Space dragon had been woken from her deep sleep, she was enraged to be first woken by a flea then having to cross the universe to be saved from the flea and all in the knowledge that it is Mr Nigloo and his space gentlemen friends skulduggery! SID’s fusion wings flapped and flashed to lightning speed, as she fire-stormed through the solar system smashing through any planets that got in her way…one goal in mind ‘get Mr Nigloo’, the problem, planet Earth is in her way!

Mr Man on the Moon knew what he and Mr Nigloo had done and both were also fully aware of the consequences of doing nothing… he grasped his hand watch… hard! If the space dragon continued, focused on one thing, ‘exterminate the space men’, her massive momentum could cause a tear in the time continuum and if there is one thing that no creature in the universe wants to do is tear the time continuum. SID, like a locomotive, smashed through the Leoinids between Mars and Jupiter, sending iceberg sized lumps of rock in all directions just like being snookered. It could have been far worse, the Leonids acted like an enormous buffer at a mainline railway station bringing SID to sub-light speed. The beast of the universe then let out a cry of relief, shattering the Jordell radio telescopes…Ooops! Screeching to a halt, she approached the moon and revelled in the smell of mature moon cheese. Her enormous tail, like a chain of mountains stopped but 1000 miles from Earth, clipping the stratosphere and flinging the European space station into the sun, oh dear!

Momentarily entranced by …the cheese, Sid then screamed as the Quasar flea wreaked havoc in her nostril. It just so happens that Big Bertha was but a channel crossing away from the dragon’s nose. All that Mr Nigloo had to do was press the thingamajig button and the robotic sensors did the rest, like plucking peas from a pod the Quasar flea before you could say jimmy cricket, was back in the rocket secure in the glass ampoule. SID’s attention instantaneously moved away from the extermination of Mr Nigloo, to moon consumption.

Chapter 8
Coffee.

Mr Man on the Moon pondered, opening the kitchen window to let out a peacock butterfly. For a second everything was just fine. That far away feeling was then shattered, as the very serious red, white, and blue phone rang! Only three beings have access to this very British phone: the prime minister, who rarely rang but to moan; Nostrodamus who never rang; and Mr Mars who would ring, but only to put the phone down when Mr Man on the Moon answered. The red blue and white lights flickered and the bells became louder and louder, creating a noise far worse than the combination of a dog barking incessantly, and a baby crying for the sake of crying!

Mrs Dingleberry was having a tea and crumpet break from her chores, answered the phone. ‘Helloe, Battersea dogs home!’ She sniggered at such a bluff! ‘Sorry, wrong number’ said the Prime Minister. On that note, Mrs Dingleberry bellowed out in laughter, spraying crumpet all over the just swept floor. Bent over double, in convulsions at such a ruse, she noted a large pair of feet one of which tapping the parquet floor. ‘Oh dear! Could this be my P45 moment?’ thought Mrs Dingleberry as she handed over the phone… post haste to her paymaster! ‘ Good evening Prime Minister, this is Mr Man on the Moon’. The Prime Minister was not amused, especially as reports were coming in from the shipping forecast of a tide less sea! Do something Mr Man on the Moon, do something…very quickly! ‘Not to worry’, said Mr Man on the Moon, ‘everything is under control, just imagine eating the best Chinese ever and times the experience by a million’! To this end the Prime Minister duly rang up the golden rice bowl. ‘ I can see you have the matter in hand Mr Moon, Goodbye!’ ‘Goodbye’ replied Mr Man on the Moon, dutifully placing the telephone in the washing machine and set it for a long wash.

The moon then turned finally and decisively off! ‘Time for a food fest’ blistered Sid, ‘the spacemen can wait’! And sure enough with an enormous swoop of her wings, she settled like a snowflake on the surface of the moon, drooling over the largest chunk of interstellar cheese in our known universe. It had been a long journey but before she could consume such mouth-watering cuisine she had to rest, The flea pest thing had been an awful ordeal, her eyelids shuddered and closed for forty winks.

Mr Man on the Moon had to think even more quickly than before, it was time for a strong coffee break…and you could always count on Mrs Dingleberry. Without uttering a word, the aroma of a strong milky espresso happily invaded Mr Man on the Moon’s nostrils, ‘the end of the world as we know it’, he slurped. A quick slurp later…and he concluded the time had finally come!

Chapter 9
Bring Out The Rocket Percival.

Mr Man on the Moon ran with a skip and a hop straight into barn number 3, the Tudor period style to you and me, shaped like an Oast but twice the size, you would almost be forgiven for thinking that it is a rocket, but it isn’t, but inside, it is. Not the fastest space machine but very pretty; ‘The Rocket Percival,’ a symbol of veracity if ever there was one. Silver shiny, diamond like in strength, it just does what you need it to do!

Mr Man on the Moon touched the seamless hull; a moment later Percival responded with a low and overwhelming assuring hum, the time for a good deed had come. 4,3,2,1 lift off!

The rocket Percival was leaving the troposphere and at the controls space captain…Mr Man on the Moon. It’s super silent eco-friendly afterburners sweetly but quietly pushed the rocket Percival the through the stratosphere and into space. Within the rocket, deep in its belly the very means to stop the moon eating dragon in its tracks; a ‘Nithcet! ’or Space Armoured Mole to you and me. The moon rescue had begun.

The gyro compass co-directional finder was purring perfectly, two hundred and fifty thousand miles covered in a matter of three minutes. All that Mr Man on the Moon needed to do was land …right on the space dragon’s bottom, the softest and safest place on such a monumental beast. What a bottom! So big, it would take 22 months to walk across and frequently shrouded by a toxic mist, released by the space dragon when asleep. It may smell like a large brussel sprout fart but death is instant. In fact what a perfect but very dangerous hiding place! This was going to be a difficult mission a bit like flicking peas and diced carrots on the floor without anybody noticing, and trying to get the dog to quickly eat that horrible piece of sliced beetroot!

Chapter 10
Super Duper!

Left a bit, right a bit, a bit more, steady… touchdown. With only 15 minutes until SID devoured the moon there was no time to lose, the Nithcet was already scraping at the hatch, it could smell the biggest feast in the universe SID fat…mmmmn. Mr Man on the Moon gingerly placed the tinsilite around its neck and opened the hatch, in no way must he let the Nithcet escape! The ceramic glass hatch flew open as the impetuous Nithcet forced its large armoured plated head out, the tinsilite drew around its very long neck as it galloped down the fuselage, eyes bulging with the sight of SID’s enormous bottom. The tinsilite noose tightened and ‘Super Duper’ the Nithcet, was fully under control as the electromagnetism of the tinsilite took over its rather one-track mind. With the tinsilite lead firmly on the creature, it is impossible to break; Mr Man of the Moon led it down on to the big bottom!

As the Nithcet placed its feet on the vast interstellar derrière, it’s claws immediately unravelled; exposing a thousand very sharp spades arranged in a spiral, a bit like the boring machine used for the channel tunnel. It was time for the Nithcet to start digging.

‘Damn diddly squat’, sharply growled Mr Man on the Moon as he hung on to the ravenous Nithcet, he had left the securing anchor to which he could padlock the Nithcet on the ship. He had to get back into the hold get the anchor and return back to surface to secure the Nithcet to SID. To make matters worse, SID had had her 40 winks, stirring and letting off an enormous guff. He had run out of time! This was an ‘Armageddon’ moment as ripples of toxic dragon gas started to move down the ravine of the great posterior towards the rocket Percival! ‘Time, time, time’. Mr Man on the Moon waning expression on his face said it all, he needs 86 seconds to do the job, it will be all over in 26 seconds, 25 seconds 24… the dark clouds of ‘Nemska’ drew across Mr Man on the Moon’s mind. ‘It is over, we are all going to be barbecued!’

Chapter 11
I Think Not.

He sighed and regained his composure as his thoughts moved to that of his sitting room and favourite chair!

An enormous grin exploded on Mr Man on the Moon’s face, it could not be! Surely not! As if by magic… Mr Mars appeared from behind a solar panel. ‘Did you think I would leave you moaning?’ ‘Get the boosters started’! Ordered Mr Mars, as he secured the last bolt into the anchor plate and grabbed the tether holding the nithcet.

Mr Man on the Moon leaped, scrambled and hurled himself into the cockpit of the rocket Percival. Without a second’s thought, his hand plunged on to a large, green button detaching the locking latches of the cockpit and so releasing ‘Babushka’ a rocket inside the rocket Percival. Mr Mars clambered back up to the control deck. ‘Blast off!’ he pronounced at Mr Man on the Moon, whom then without hesitation firmly pushed fully forward the burner lever, leaving the Nithcet and the rocket Percival behind, rapidly becoming indistinguishable dots as the green dragon gas smothered the landing site.

‘Hello space serpent, it is I’, Mr Man of the Moooooon’, he boomed, from Babushka. The darkness moved as the hard of hearing SID was shocked by the sound of Mr Man on the Moon’s voice, she lashed out with her forked tongue, like a runaway locomotive through butter. SID outraged roared louder than a thousand thunderclaps… ‘I will barbecue you, then incinerate you and blow you to oblivion!’

‘I think not’, replied Mr Man on the Moon.

‘You cannot eat the whole moon’ boomed Mr Man on the Moon from the good ship Babushka. SID opened her nostrils; the deep red heat of hatred and scorn welled up from inside the very angry beast. Mr Man on the Moon stood between her and Earth, he knew that his incineration was guaranteed but the force of the pyrocosmic blast would fry the Earth too!

‘Does your bottom feel itchy? Dragon’, politely boomed Mr Man on the Moon. The flames of mass destruction ignited from within the very soul of SID ‘Nithcet’…she screamed, as fear ejected from her deep jet-black eyes.

The flames simmered into her inner depths. Mr Man on the Moon turned and embraced Mr Mars with a crescent like smile. SID looked to the heavens and started to cry, then sob, then preceded to soak the whole of our solar system with dragon tears. I said dragon, not crocodile!

‘Okay, SID, I will remove the Nithcet but only if you eat the mould and leave the cheese of our moon!’ Wiping away an oceanic tear, Sid replied ‘ Could I just have a little of the cheese?’ ‘No’, said Mr Man on the Moon.’ How about just a nibble?’ sniffed SID, ‘No’, said Mr Man on the Moon, ‘and if you ask one more time I will let the Nithcet niccify you!’ And so, without uttering another quip, SID proceeded to consume all the mould and not a morsel of the blue moon cheese. ‘A senseless waste of cheese’ huffed SID but only when Mr Man on the Moon was not looking. Then, with a final, long, curling swoop of her tongue, the mould was gone… and the moon shone!

Mr Man on the Moon kept to his word. Calmly and gently, Mr Mars pressed the button, which triggered the exploding bolts so releasing the anchor as the collecting hook from the rocket called Percival engaged, tugging the tinsilite and the Nithcet was unhappily hurling through space back to the good ship Percival. Mr Man on the Moon proudly gazed across the bows of the rocket as Percival re-engaged with Babushka. Then looking down at the defeated monumental space beast he quietly whispered…. ‘sorry’. The great SID was hurt, none of her antics were intentional but reactionary; the most majestic beast in the universe will need at least 500 years to regain her pride.

Chapter 12
British Gumption.

‘Hurrah’, went the villagers. ‘Hurrah’, went the astronomers, ‘Hurrah’, went the Prime Minister, and ‘Hussar’, went the cavalry!

During all this commotion, Mrs Dingleberry scurried into the icehouse, ‘Brrrrr!’ She exclaimed, but as always there was a chore to be done and she was the one to do it. At the bottom of the ice pit, Mrs Dingleberry pushed away the ice cubes and started to turn a large iron handle. This opened a valve, which allows artificial rain to be generated and released from the top of a cedar flagpole centred on the icehouse roof. It is perfectly positioned so that a downpour would uniformly precipitate across the whole of Brightling, a perfect ruse for all the little gossips to quickly scurry home. Mrs Dingleberry would chuckle at such a debacle every time she applied the rainmaker.The wettest place in East Sussex is therefore no coincidence as the rockets of Mr Man on the Moon land safely without anybody noticing, with exception of Henrietta of course!

‘Time to go home’, said Mr Mars winking at Mr Man on the Moon. ‘Yes… it is, glad to be back in good old England!’ he replied. With a big grin Mr Nigloo gaily espoused ‘Nothing like a bit of British gumption’. Mr Mars nodded approvingly. Mr Man on the Moon interjected with a Headmasterly tone of Mr Chips quality, ‘To the contrary gentleman, there is nothing like the finest mug of real coffee to put things fair and right and that includes a big lump of finest moon cheese too! They slapped their thighs and laughed joyfully, as Mr Man on the Moon nonchalantly handed back Mr Mars’ lucky two pence piece!

Mrs Dingleberry was exhausted from all the day’s shenanigans. Mr Mars had locked up the rockets in their various barns, Mr Nigloo was ready to go back and start up the lighthouse, as a thick sea fog was brewing. Mr Man on the Moon was looking forward to a serious mug of coffee.

‘Eh hmm’. Everybody turned around to see a rather wet Prime Minister. ‘Eh hmm, I would just like to say an immeasurable thank you to you and your superb team for saving our infinitely important home, the planet Earth. On behalf of the people of Britain, I bestow upon you and your fraternity free parking in London, which includes your illustrious rockets’. Loyal handshakes were given all round with a finale of throwing hats and a certain duck into the cooling Sussex air. The Prime Minister galloped off and clambered into his helicopter, saluting as he tripped into the cockpit! Mrs Dingleberry smiled and waved her little handkerchief. ‘Silly man’, she said politely; to which the grinning space gentlemen nodded in approval, as the helicopter then spun off for 10, Downing Street.

The last vestiges of bronzed sunlight glinted off the courtyard and a stone seat made of shiny schist, perfectly positioned under the mighty mediaeval oak. Mrs Dingleberry scurried over to the enticing boulder, ignoring the sign, ‘do not sit on the saddle stone’ and with a ‘plomp’ sat on the ancient lump. She giggled as Mr Mars, Mr Nigloo and Mr Man on the Moon started to jump up and down, all pointing in her general direction. The stone seat started to hum, glow and grow! The motions of the space gentlemen became even more frantic, the humming, glowing and growing became louder and brighter and larger. Mr Man on the Moon hollered …’Nooooooo!’

To be continued!

 

 

 

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