Worthing Flash

A garden table spread with seed- Somewhere wood pigeons come to feed. First one, then two, then three, then four There really isn't room for more! But Piggy Pigeon will not share. He'll chase them all away from there- Alone, he gobbles up his fill Head bobbing, as he pecks, until A little mouse, with beady eye Is hiding in the bush nearby. He scuttles forward, grabs a seed And runs away, a daring deed. The pigeon's wings shake in surprise As if he can't believe his eyes He pauses, waits, then bows his head Eyes focussed on the food instead Of witnessing the swift approach Of tiny rodent – to encroach On his domain, his morning feast This time to stay a while, at least, To nibble while the greedy bird Continues, as if he's not heard The mouse arrive – but soon he stops And flaps his wings and the mouse hops Away to hide, but only 'till He hopes the pigeon...

“ You're sure you'll be all right, just for the one night?” Timothy's mother asked.” I must see to Grandpa.” “ Yes, Mum. Don't worry.” Timothy was actually looking forward to sleeping at Chrissie's. She lived in the street with a garden that backed onto the Tower. The Tower was exciting Timothy. His mother had been so protective that he rarely played with other boys and got most of his amusement from books. The tall flint tower looked just like something out of a storybook. He didn't tell Chrissie but he hoped he would be able to sneak out of her house and explore it. He'd packed a small telescope and a torch. It was dark when he changed out of his pyjamas and began his adventure. Next to the fence was a shrubby lilac bush, easy to climb, and once he was up he could see over the wall. He balanced precariously on the top and then launched himself into a nearby tree, dropping into the wilderness that was the garden. The nearer...

“ Woah, Dasher, It's no good. We'll have to go down. I can't carry on.” Santa Claus stifled a cough as he guided his sleigh down onto the pebbled beach. The tide was well out and the distant waves twinkled in the moonlight. “Cough, cough, cough,” went Santa, taking a large white handkerchief out of the pocket of his bright red suit. He sneezed violently into the handkerchief and wiped his streaming eyes with the edge of his hood, not caring if the fur tickled his cheeks. He was shivering and his breath was coming in rasping gasps. Two of the elves jumped down from where they were sitting on the remaining parcels. “ What can we do?” asked one. “ You need to get home and drink something warm.” “ There's only this land to do,” said the other elf. “Could we do it ourselves?” “No,” said Santa sternly, “It has to be a Father Christmas. Drop me back home and search for a substitute – there's plenty to choose from.” “ But will he be able to dri...