left Sigworth's Dust: Sigworth

Monday, 10 March 2008


Sigworth cowered behind a hazardous cluster of rocks. From here, he could see the events which were taking place quite clearly. He had been remarkably lucky. If he had not stopped to gaze in wonderment at a blooming batch of colourful Fogflops near Mellomdale Meadow he would have been right in it.

He watched in alarm as a multitude of Trunglers oafishly attempted to break down the lovely red door of his lovely little home. It was a sight almost too much to bear but it was, fortunately, a sight that Sigworth was prepared for.

He felt around his neck for the locket (actually, Boffwunglers do not have what we call a neck, only a non-descript area where the head meets the rotund body). He opened it just a fraction, just enough for him to sit tight on the knowledge that inside that locket lay a scrap of paper, inscribed in the tiniest letters, with his secret recipe. He hoped that he had thought of everything...then he remembered. He shook his head in disbelief. He suddenly wished he had not done what he did yesterday.

Sigworth did know, of course, that Tolita had no idea of his alternative occupation. Nor the Trunglers for that matter. Yet he was glad that he had the good sense to take all, well, nearly all, the evidence out with him. If she got her meddlesome hands on it, it would be worse than handing it over to the Mumtwips. Sigworth shivered. No, maybe not.

‘He’ll be in the chamber for this one,’ his thoughts returning to the real reason Tolita’s army were invading his home.

He made a mental note to give his cave-mate another bottle of common-sense seeing as he had plainly lost his.

Sitting on the outskirts of events, Sigworth began to ponder. What was Ponkle up to and exactly why were the Trunglers playing tiggy-off-ground instead of thoroughly searching the cave? Activities easily confused, obviously.