Letter from Timmy the dog, one of Ms Blyton’s Famous Five.
From: The camp site—somewhere wet, cold and miserable.
Dear Pussikins Fluffles Willow,
Oh, Ok, Ok, so I know you hate being called that. It’s just that I’m feeling all bitter and twisted, even my bark is coming out in a hoarse whisper and nobody seems to notice—or if they do, they don’t care. Sorry, Willy, I’ll start again. Thinking of you lying by the fire at home purring makes me so envious, but that doesn’t mean that I should take out my angst on you.
It is awful here. It’s been raining for two days, and shows no sign of stopping. No-one will let me share their sleeping bag because I’m cold and wet—well, of course I’m cold and wet, if I could crawl inside, or just share Julian’s towel, I’d start to get warm and dry, wouldn’t I? I wish I was a cat like you. How come they don’t make you do this stuff? All this old nonsense about dogs being loyal—bollocks to that. I’d be off in an instant to join you if this mist would lift and I could see where we are. Where’s their loyalty, eh?! Huh!
They called their last book “Five have a wonderful time”—what a load of old bollocks. Four of them may have done, but I certainly didn’t. AND George dropped my biscuits in a puddle again today and Anne mushed them up and said not to worry —“he won’t mind”. WHAT?! I bloody do.
I growled at them to show how I felt and Dick said “Oh, look out every one—Timmy’s trying to warn us of danger approaching!”
He’s got to be kidding—- I mean, what planet is he on? We’re in the middle of a literally sodding great field—-the only danger here is drowning—or double dogmonia in my case.
Wait a bit—the rain is stopping. And—yes—the mist is lifting. I can see and smell civilisation on the far side of the valley—houses, cars, all the things that sane people provide for their animals. Hang on, Willy, I’m on my way. Just a quick pee on the tent pole, oh yes, and here’s Julian’s haversack with their rations in, shame not to have a quick spray before I go.
Woof, woof, I feel better already! Move over, Willy, I’m coming home. Famous Five—sod that. Here’s to the Famous Four—and I hope they all drown.
Yaps and barks from Timmy.
PS We’ll sneak out to Macdogalds tonight—my treat. WOOF!