| One
A long time ago, in a land far, far away… Well, that is not quite true. A lesser story might start with a statement like this. Or maybe “Once upon a time.” Or even “There once was a bunny called Alice,” or some equally boring beginning. Thankfully, this story does not start like that. In fact, even “A long time ago in a land far, far away” is not that true, as it wasn’t really that long ago. Truthfully, depending on how large a length of time we are talking about overall, it is not really that long ago at all. So anyway, not so long ago in a place far from here… actually, it’s not even that far. I mean, one could say it is far compared to, say, that place just down the road, but on the grand scale of things – say if Jupiter decided to pop over to the Sun for a quick game of scrabble with the lads and to see if Venus was around and so on – it is not really that far. So, not so long ago in a place far but not really that far from here on the grand scale of things… no, wait. Where is ‘Here’? Is ‘Here’ a universal convention? Surely it is the big arrow on the map, it’s the little blue man with, “You are here” on it – or is it? Where is ‘Here’? It’s not Over There, that’s for sure. But what about In This General Direction? Or Right Beside That Lamp Post? It’s all far too complicated these days. I blame society. SO ANYWAY… Not so long ago in a place far (but not really that far from here on the grand scale of things), accepting that Here is not Over There, or In This General Direction, or indeed Right Beside That Lamp Post… there lived a Woogie. Actually, there were several. Some might call it a civilisation – except those Some have never been there, or they would know that Woogies do not even have a word for ‘civil’. (Coincidentally, they do have well-used words for things like “Fool!” “Muppet!” “Screweth That!” and the like. But that is not to say that they are a coarse people; just the kind who would always make a point of leaving the toilet seat up.) Nevertheless, the Woogies were a fine race, with a great history and a model culture. Quite a large part of this model culture was burning the midnight oil. Deep in the cavernous dungeons of his palace, a lone figure stooped over books, poring the annals of time and space. Some called him The Only-Slightly-Fallible One. Other called him the Grey Man. Some still revered him and would not even speak his name. Suddenly, he straightened up as a servant stuck his head around the door. “Your Grace?” The figure turned slowly, for his years were as advanced as A-Level Physics. “Yes, my son?” “The King has arrived, your grace. He awaits you in the upper chambers. And he’s a bit impatient.” The old Woogie sighed, replaced the book he had picked up, and followed the servant out of the room. The Archbishop of Woogenbury was a wise old bean. He had seen it all – plague, famine, war, PopWoogies: The Rivals – and one ill-tempered royal wasn’t going to ruffle his feathers much, nor cause him to walk any faster when his irritable bowel syndrome was playing up like this. Nevertheless, he would be tolerant with the monarch – though impatient, the King was a much-loved ruler, and he was quite good at being King if somebody was standing by to make sure he didn’t hurt himself. He was almost respected by his people, even if Woogenbury often felt that the best plan of action was to send him back to his castle with a smacked bottom. But wait a minute, it is a bit early to be jumping straight into the story, as to start would be rude of me. The beginning of our tale is actually a few years earlier. But firstly, it would help to understand a bit more about the Woogies themselves. The Woogie is a strange creature. Standing at about 4 feet tall – ask an older person about that if you are not sure - they are a round ball of fur with two arms and two legs protruding from their torso. The head is merely a slight extension, with two googly eyes poking out. They did not wear any clothes, as one does not need to when one is covered in that much fur. Nor did they have any major distinguishing features, which became confusing in large crowds. Nowadays, many distinguished people that grown ups would read books by would tell you that Woogies were not terribly pleasant at all – like people who would go to birthday parties and steal all the presents, replacing them with pine cones or something. But this is not really true. Certainly, a Woogie might give a pine cone as a present, but only because pine cones are brown and prickly, and Woogies are brown and prickly and so thought that pine cones were very nice. The truth is that they were very peaceful and laid back. In fact, their only real concerns in life were food, shelter, and finding OggaBerries, which were the only cure for their chronic stomach disorder. This illness, which all Woogies have from a very early age, led to big problems with flatulence – which is a big word grown ups use when they don’t want to say farting. Now, you might wonder why this is a problem. We humans are lucky. Our version of farting usually just results in a little noise and a slight smell. If you are special enough to live on a farm though, you will know that when cows do it, it is much, much smellier. When Woogies do it, it is deadly. But we shall come to that later. One day, King Woogie was strolling along the beach, minding his own business and thinking about the pain in his rear, when all of a sudden, he heard a noise unlike one he had ever heard before. It was not the noise of a Woogie, but that of something very different. He certainly did not recognise it at all, and this worried him. After he had finished wetting himself, he tottered over to investigate. And lo and behold, a basket containing a human child had washed up upon the shore! After much more farting and widdling had taken place, he called some servants over. Royal servants are trained in such a way that the King could walk on the beach on his own, but if he felt thirsty, he could but call and some OggaBerry juice would be handed to him by a tired-looking servant who appeared out of nowhere at great speed. Between them – and by them, I mean the servants, as the King would of course be telling them how to do it - they dragged the basket back to their village. Naturally, as the rules of story-telling dictate, it was swiftly decided that the boy – which it was – would be brought up as one of their own. So the child grew. The King personally taught him everything he knew. By the age of fifteen, the boy could fart so well, some thought it should be made an Olympic event, just so he could win a prize for it. But that is not the point. For back in the present day, something terrible was happening. |