THE AMAZING ADVENTURES OF T-BAG (THE STORY!)

[Granny Bag]

The Amazing Adventures Of T-Bag

Lee Pressman & Grant Cathro

Hello all you boys and girls, it’s Granny Bag here, back again, I love it so much here (really like the images of me, so many great ones to choose from) that I’m going to tell you a story about my grand-daughter Tallulah Bag’s 500th birthday. Its The Amazing Adventures Of T-Bag, I’m reading from the book, for those of you who do not have it, written by Lee Pressman and Grant Cathro, what lovely chaps they are! I’ve even found one of those new fangled internet links about the book with a nice picture. Budge up duckies and I’ll begin the tale of The Amazing Adventures Of T-Bag.

The Amazing Adventures Of T-Bag (More Info)


Blurb
T-Bag the madcap witch is back with a vengeance!

She is 500 years old today but everyone has forgotten her birthday. That is, until the postman delivers a very strange letter – whatever can it mean? Undaunted, T-Bag and her trusty companion, T-Shirt, set out on a mysterious adventure which will lead them to a Transylvanian castle, the icy wastes of the North Pole and…

Will our two heroes ever get back to the T-Room alive?

The Amazing Adventures Of T-Bag

Lee Pressman & Grant Cathro

ONE

‘Make me a cup of tea, boy… and I don’t mean tomorrow!’
It was breakfast time in the T-Room and T-Bag was in a foul mood. She was always in a foul mood but today she was in the foulest of foul moods imaginable. To judge by the expression on her face you’d think she’d been up all night sucking lemons. T-Shirt looked up from the table and knew at once that it was going to be a bad day.
‘I’ll get your tea once I’ve had my Puffed Wheat Popsicles’ he mumbled through a munched mouthful of breakfast cereal.
‘You’ll get it NOW!!!’ barked T-Bag, thumping the table so hard with her fist that every cup, saucer, plate and bowl jumped into the air and clattered down with a crash.
T-Shirt sighed and rolled his eyes. It was definitely going to be a bad day.
‘Oh cheer up Your Majesty’ he piped, pouring her a fresh-brewed cuppa.
‘You know what they say. Smile and the world smiles with you. Cry and you’re on your tod.’
T-Bag fired him a withering glance and sat stony-faced at the table.
‘Cut the cackle, Sonny Jim. Where’s my tea? I need my tea! I’ve got to have my tea!’
‘Keep your hair on,’ smiled T-Shirt with a cheerful grin. ‘You know what they say. Everything comes to him who waits.’
‘Well I’ve waited long enough,’ growled T-Bag. ‘Just give me the tea… and put a sock in it!’
T-Shirt shrugged and scratched his head. Long experience as T-Bag’s T-Caddy had taught him to do exactly as he was told. He handed over the cup of tea and without a glance T-Bag greedily took a huge gulp.
‘Bleugh!!!’ she coughed and spluttered, slowly extracting a horrible cheesy wet sock from the cup. She held it at arms length dangling it before T-Shirt’s grinning face.
‘Do you do this deliberately to torture me or what?’ she said in a despairing voice. ‘Do I have to endure this childish tomfoolery every single day? Do I? Especially on a day like today?’
T-Bag invested these last three words with great significance as if trying to drop an unsubtle hint of some sort of T-Shirt’s unwashed ear.
‘What do you mean a day like today?’ asked the boy blankly.
‘Oh nothing’ replied T-Bag airily. ‘Nothing. Nothing. Forget I spoke.’
‘T-Shirt shrugged it off, sat back at the table and began filling his face once again with Puffed Wheat Popsicles.
T-Bag snorted and drummed the table with her fingers impatiently.
‘You do know what day it is today don’t you?’
‘Uh…Thursday?’ guessed T-Shirt.
‘It’s Monday you ignoramus!’ snapped T-Bag. ‘I thought at least you might have remembered.’
‘Remembered what?’
‘Remembered what day it is, you stupid boy!’
With a sound like a sinking ship’s foghorn T-Bag let out a low groan and slumped back in her chair.
All of a sudden T-Shirt’s face lit up.
‘I remember!’ he chimed.
T-Bag sat up hopefully.
‘You remember?’ she asked.
‘Yes’ laughed T-Shirt. ‘How stupid of me! How could I have forgotten? Of course I know what day it is today.’
T-Bag was beginning to cheer up now. She allowed the beginnings of a smirk to take root on one side of her mouth. Alas the smirk was never destined to blossom into a smile.
‘It’s dustbin day!’ announced T-Shirt with enthusiasm. ‘The day the bins get emptied. Don’t you worry, Your Majesty. I’ll put all the rubbish out after breakfast…’
T-Bag’s Smirk had now completely shrivelled and died. Sour-faced and fuming she rose to her feet and exploded in an angry outburst.
‘IT’S MY BIRTHDAY, you fool!’
‘Oh. Is it?’ said T-Shirt without batting an eyelid. ‘That’s nice. Pass the toast.’
‘Pass the toast?’ spluttered T-Bag indignantly. ‘Is that all you can say?’
‘Oh…and the marmalade’ added T-Shirt. T-Bag could barely contain her violent intentions towards her insensitive sidekick.
‘Typical! Just typical.’ She bellowed. ‘You don’t give a tuppenny fig about my birthday do you? No present. No cake. Not even a card. NOTHING! Pah!’
Once again T-Bag slumped down in her chair. A cloud of gloomy silence hung over the breakfast table, broken only by T-Shirt occasional chompings as he munched on his toast and marmalade. T-Bag was quite bewildered. After all it wasn’t every day that you celebrated your five hundredth birthday! She couldn’t understand why absolutely nobody had remembered, especially since she’d been dropping hints willy-nilly for the last eleven months. She was rapidly coming to the sad conclusion that her big day had been completely forgotten, when a sudden clatter from the letterbox gave her a burst of renewed hope.
‘It’s the post!’ she whooped, clapping her hands together excitedly. ‘Go and get it! Quick! Quick!’
T-Shirt brushed the crumbs from his lips with the back of his hand and ambled over to the front door to collect the huge pile of envelopes lying on the mat.
He returned to the table and began to flick through them. T-Bag peered across at him eagerly.
‘Anything for me?’ she said hopefully. ‘Anything for meeeee?’
T-Shirt began to sort through the stack of mail. ‘This one’s for me…and so’s this one…this one’s mine…and this one as well. Oh look! It’s my Puffed Wheat Popsicle Pop Pickers Picture Postcard Poster! Brilliant. I’ve been waiting for this for ages!’
By now, T-Bag was sitting on the edge of her seat, her nerves jangling with anticipation.
‘I’m not interested in that rubbish’ she snapped.
‘There must be something for me…surely’
T-Shirt continued to sift through the pile.
Me, me, me, me, me, me, me’ he declared chirpily.
T-Bag scowled.
‘They can’t all be for you!’
T-Shirt had almost reached the bottom of the pile.
‘Hang on a minute,’ he said. ‘This one’s not for me.’
‘Aha!’ cheered T-Bag with a greedy smile, snatching the card from the boy’s grasp.
‘Don’t get too excited your Majesty,’ he said flatly. ‘It’s just to remind you that your library books are overdue.’
T-Bag gnashed her teeth and ripped the card into a thousand pieces, throwing them back like a shower of confetti into T-Shirt’s face.
‘Is that all?’ she demanded. ‘Is that it?’
‘There’s this one,’ he said casually holding out a dazzling golden envelope which had been tucked away at the bottom of the heap. He began to read the name inscribed in fancy flowing letters on the front.
‘To Tallulah Bag, The T-Room…
‘GIVE IT HERE!’ screeched T-Bag frantically, grabbing the intriguing item and hastily ripping it open.
Inside was a matching golden card, but to T-Bag’s bewilderment there wasn’t a birthday greeting to be seen. Instead there was a strange series of pictures, letters and numbers.
‘Who’s it from?’ asked T-Shirt.
‘How should I know,’ replied T-Bag irritated and completely stumped by this mysterious message.
‘It’s just a lot of mumbo-jumbo…somebody playing silly beggars.’
She was just about to tear the card to pieces when T-Shirt piped up and stopped her.
‘Just a minute’ he said earnestly. Let’s have a look at that. It might be something interesting.’
‘Balderdash!’ barked T-Bag, tossing the curious communication across the table. T-Shirt picked it up and studied it carefully.
‘This is a secret code!’ he beamed.
‘Somebody’s trying to tell you something, Your Majesty. Cor. Must be pretty important, eh, if it’s written in code.’
A faint glimmer of interest sparkled in T-Bag’s eye.
‘Important?’ she mused. ‘Let me see that thing.’
T-Shirt handed it back and they both pored over the cryptic puzzle.
‘What in the name of buttered buns does it mean?’ asked T-Bag, turning the card upside down and sideways up in an attempt to make sense of it.



T-Shirt pondered for a few moments then suddenly leapt to his feet.
‘You know what I think?’ he said emphatically.
‘What do you think?’ hummed T-Bag.
‘I think,’ began T-Shirt, exuding an air of great authority, ‘there’s only one person who could make sense of this mystery. Someone who’s a dab hand at cracking clues and all that lark. And that person is…’
‘Granny Bag!’ cried T-Bag excitedly.
‘Exactly!’ nodded T-Shirt in agreement.
T-Bag rose to her feet and pushed the golden card back into its envelope.
‘She may be a little on the weird side, but when it came to this sort of caper, Granny Bag is second to none. Come on, let’s go!’
T-Bag raised her arms, clicked her fingers, and with a ping they were both gone.

CHAPTER TWO COMING THURSDAY 8th JULY 2004!!!

[Granny Bag]

Hello duckies, have you figured out that tricky puzzle yet? Here is chapter two for you!

TWO

Of all the motley members of the bag family, Granny Bag was without question the most eccentric. Nobody knew how old she was and she herself had lost count around about the fifteen thousand mark. But despite her great age she was as fit as a flea and a merry old soul to boot.
Her wild white hair tumbled down over her shoulders like Niagara Falls, and her sunny smile revealed that she drastically lacked a full set of teeth.
But for all that she was everybody’s favourite Granny and T-Shirt adored her! The old lady and the boy had spent many happy hours together playing football, climbing mountains and sky diving…pursuits that T-Shirt could never hope to involve T-Bag in. Where Tallulah Bag was a boring old stick in the mud, Granny Bag was a barrel of laughs. She loved having fun. She adored playing tricks on people and was a whiz at puzzles and games of all sorts…which was precisely why T-Bag and T-Shirt had decided to pay her a call.
Arriving at her front door, clutching the golden envelope containing the mysterious message, T-Bag stepped forward and pressed the doorbell. A jet of water shot out of a knot hole straight into her face.
‘Bleugh!’ she spluttered, reeling back in stunned surprise.
T-Shirt broke into gales of laughter.
‘Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!’ he chortled. ‘Good old Granny bag! What a laugh! Another one of her famous practical jokes! Hee, hee, hee, hee, hee!’
T-Bag spat out a mouthful of water and was just about to tell T-Shirt exactly what she thought of ‘good old Granny Bag’ when a loud cry from the end of garden heralded the unexpected arrival of the old lady and her beloved canine companion, Doggy Bag.
‘Helloooo playmates!’ she hooted merrily, waving her ancient old golf club in the air in a wild welcoming gesture.
Doggy Bag bounded forward, yelping and jumping up and slobbering all over T-Bag.
‘Get this flea-bitten bag of bones away from me!’ she bellowed.
It wasn’t that T-Bag didn’t like dogs. She hated them. She was only too glad when T-Shirt stepped in and, blinking his eyes, magicked up a plate of grilled sausages which he placed on the ground for Doggy Bag to tuck in to.
‘Just been out playing a few rounds with old Major Happy’ enthused Granny unlocking the front door and lobbing her golf club into the umbrella stand in the hall.
‘I do like Major Happy’ she continued, beckoning them both in. ‘Do you know, he came out this morning wearing two pairs of trousers…just in case he got a hole in one!! Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!’
Granny Bag threw back her head and let out a chain-saw of a laugh which was always guaranteed to set T-Bag’s teeth on edge.
‘Hole in one!’ shrieked Granny, tears of laughter welling up in her sparkling old eyes. ‘Get it?’
T-Shirt chuckled and followed them indoors leaving Doggy Bag happily munching away outside on the front doorstep.
‘Sit yourselves down’ said Granny Bag, shoving a pair of skis off the sofa to make room for T-Shirt.
T-Bag lowered herself into a comfy looking armchair in the corner. But no sooner had her posterior made contact with the seat than…
‘Thruuuppp!!!’
A loud and rather rude raspberry noise erupted from beneath her and she leapt to her feet in utter bewilderment.
Granny, once again in hysterics, pulled out a deflated whoopee cushion and waved it in the air triumphantly.
‘Got you that time!’ she guffawed, slapping T-Bag heartily on the back. T-Shirt joined in the merry laughter as the old lady went over to the cupboard and produced a big tin of biscuits.
‘I’ll go and put the kettle on,’ she began, handing the tin to T-Shirt, ‘while you pass round the bickies.’
T-Shirt licked his lips as he began to prise open the lid.
‘Pyoiiing’
An enormous multi-coloured springy snake shot out of the biscuit tin, clipping T-Shirt on the nose and bouncing off the ceiling.
Granny Bag emerged from the scullery with a battered brass kettle balanced precariously on the top of her head.
‘Told you I’d put the kettle on’ she cackled. ‘Do you think it suits me? Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!’
By now T-Bag had suffered quite enough of her elderly relative’s Zany shenanigans.
‘ENOUGH OF THIS!!!’ she barked. ‘It’s like a nut house in here.’
The sunny smiles evaporated and were replaced by frosty silence.
‘That’s more like it’ snorted T-Bag, whipping out the golden envelope for inspection. ‘Let’s get down to business. Now, I received this bizarre communication in the post this morning and I want you to tell me what you make of it.’
She thrust the envelope into Granny’s hand and the old lady screwed up her eyes to study the contents.
‘Ohhh’ hummed Granny. ‘Ahhh…hmmm.’
‘Well?’ snapped T-Bag with mounting impatience.
‘It’s a secret code’ concluded Granny.
‘I know that!’ T-Bag snarled. ‘But what does it mean?’
T-Shirt gave the old woman a friendly nudge.
‘Come on, Granny. You’re brilliant at solving crossword and puzzles…you can do it.’
Granny seated herself down at the table by the window, picked up the stub of a pencil and studied the cryptic note in minute detail. She scratched her chin and massaged her earlobe thoughtfully, all the while making a whole symphony of curious burbling noises with her lips. T-Bag and T-Shirt peered over her shoulder with fascination written all over their faces.
The minutes ticked slowly by. The tension mounted. Doggy Bag ambled in licking his lips and, standing on his hind legs, poked his wet nose up onto the table to see what all the fuss was about.
The only sound was the mouse-like scratching of Granny’s pencil as she wrestled to decode the mysterious puzzle. The others held their breath. The suspense was unbearable. Then suddenly…
‘Eureka!!!’
With a mighty shriek of delight, Granny Bag leapt into the air sending Doggy Bag scurrying for cover behind the sofa.
‘I’ve cracked it!’ she announced proudly.
‘Well done!’ T-Shirt pealed and even T-Bag was swept along by the excitement of the moment.
‘What does it say? What does it say?’ she insisted, tugging vigorously at Granny’s arm.
The old lady smugly pushed forward her solution to the secret code. All eyes glazed down at what she had written. T-Shirt read out the word slowly:

‘Go to sea and don’t delay where Pirate Peg will point the way
So leave at once if you are wise or you’ll be late for a grand surprise.’

They all looked at one another with blank expressions.
‘What the fivepenny fig does that mean?’ spluttered T-Bag, who was even more frustrated than she was before.
‘First you get sent a puzzle you don’t understand, then once you do understand it, you don’t know what it means! What a waste of time. Especially on a day like today!’
Yet another unsubtle hint fell upon stony ground.
A serious expression swept across Granny Bag’s ancient old face. Starring deeply into T-Bag’s eyes she spoke in an ominous tone and uttered one of the little pearls of wisdom for which she was occasionally famous:
‘Never say boo to a gift horse when the stable door is bolted my dear.’
Granny tapped the side of her nose knowingly, but T-Bag hadn’t the remotest idea of what she was getting at.
‘Why is everybody talking in blasted riddle today? Will somebody please speak to me in plain English and tell me what all this ridiculous nonsense is about!!!?’
‘It’s simple Your Majesty’ began T-Shirt calmly. ‘All we’ve got to do is track down this Pirate Peg person and then you’ll get a lovely surprise.’
T-Bag’s face lit up.
‘Aha,’ she leered greedily. ‘That’s more like it. A lovely surprise eh? About time too.’
She raised her arms aloft ready to snap her fingers and pop off in search of Pirate Peg.
‘Sure you won’t stay for tea?’ offered Granny, secretly hoping that at last she’d have the opportunity to try out her new exploding sugar cubes.
‘No. No time,’ blurted T-Bag hurriedly. ‘We’re off.’
Grabbing T-Shirt by the scruff of the neck she clicked her fingers and with a ping they both vanished.
Granny bag shook her head and smiled a near toothless smile. Doggy Bag emerged from behind the sofa gripping his tattered old lead firmly between his teeth. On a normal day at this hour it would be time for his daily walk but on this particular day, Granny Bag had other more important matters to attend to…

A NEW CHAPTER EVERY THURSDAY!!!
CHAPTER THREE COMING THURSDAY 15th JULY 2004!!!

Granny Bag.

[Granny Bag]

Hello again, here is Chapter Three of The Amazing Adventures Of T-Bag By Lee Pressman & Grant Cathro. See you next week for Chapter Four.

THREE

Five Thousand miles as the crow flies from Granny Bag’s back garden, lay the sunny south sea island of Bally Hoo. The brilliant blue waters lapped at the silver sands and the palm trees nodded in the warm gentle breeze. It was a haven of peace and tranquillity, the silence broken only by the occasional chatter of a monkey or the squawk of a macaw: a little piece of heaven on earth and a vision of serene beauty.
The only blot on this picture postcard paradise lay anchored in the lagoon. A grinning white skull atop two crossed bones leered menacingly over the scene.
The notorious black flag, the Jolly Roger, fluttered from the tallest mast of the ship announcing its warning to the world. It could only mean one thing: Pirates!
With a magical ping T-Bag and T-Shirt appeared suddenly on the deck and looked furtively around for signs of life.
‘Nobody about,’ piped T-Shirt. ‘Now what?’
‘Keep your voice down!’ hissed T-Bag. ‘I’ve dealt with characters like this before you know. They’re a rum bunch these pirates, but their bark’s worse than their bite. All we have to do is pal up with this Pirate Peg person and Bob’s your uncle.’
‘No, he isn’t!’ protested T-Shirt. ‘My uncle’s called…’
‘Shut up!’ snapped T-Bag. ‘And get changed.’
‘Eh?’
T-Shirt looked blankly up at her. T-Bag rolled her eyes at the boy’s lack of gumption.
‘When in Rome, do as the Romans do,’ she sighed.
‘But we’re not in Rome!’ whined T-Shirt. ‘We’re on a pirate ship.’
‘Exactly!’ spat T-Bag. ‘So let’s get into some pirate clobber and start acting like pirates!’
With a click of her fingers they were both instantly kitted out from head to toe in colourful pirate outfits – frock coats, eye patches, large black hats – the works! T-Bag was armed to the teeth with all manner of swords, pistols and daggers – she wasn’t about to take any chances! T-Shirt on the other hand had a fake hook and a cuddly toy parrot perched precariously on one shoulder.
‘That’s more like it!’ said T-Bag breezily, striding forward and crashing headlong into the mast.
‘Oww!’
T-Shirt winced and crossed to give her a helping hand.
‘Er…Your Majesty,’ he began. ‘Don’t you think wearing two eye patches is a bit over the top?’
T-Bag angrily ripped one of the eye patches off and hurled it overboard into the sea.
‘I’ll be the judge of that,’ she snarled, rubbing her sore nose and twitching it from side to side painfully.
All of a sudden the door which led below deck banged open and a ferocious figure lumbered towards them. There could be no doubt about the identity of this swashbuckling beauty. It was Pirate Peg – large as life and twice as deadly.
‘What in tarnation be goin’ on here?’ she rasped with a sandpapery growl.
‘Leave the talking to me, T-Shirt,’ whispered T-Bag out the side of her mouth. ‘I’ll deal with this idiotic windbag!’
T-Bag’s view of Pirate Peg as an ‘idiotic windbag’ was not one that was gladly shared by T-Shirt as the fiery female fiend bore down on them with a cutlass each in hand and a thundery look on her face. The boy let out a terrified yelp and scampered for cover behind a barrel.
Pirate Peg stomped right up to T-Bag and looked her coldly in the eye.
‘What be you doin’ aboard my ship?’ she grunted threateningly. ‘And who in the blazes are you anyway?’
This was cue for T-Bag to launch into one of her subtle character studies designed to win over Pirate Peg and get the information she was seeking.
‘Belay me hearty!’ she began with an animated pirate-style toss of the head. ‘Arr Jim lad! Pieces of eight! Shiver me timbers and blow me down with a wooden leg. Ah-harr!’
Peg seemed curiously unimpressed by this virtuoso performance.
T-Bag became painfully aware that the pirate’s fingers were twitching impatiently on the cutlass handles, aching to chop her up into tiny pieces and feed her to the sharks. Nevertheless she continued her charade with great gusto.
‘So then Pirate Peg or whatever your name is. Let me introduce meself. I be Tallulah Bag, boldest of all the buccaneering Bags and scourge of the seven sea. Ah-harr. Mighty pleased I be to make your acquaintance.’
Peg merely scowled, and plucking a single black hair from her head slice it effortlessly in two with a swipe of her razor-sharp cutlass blade.
T-Shirt peered out from his hidey-hole and tugged frantically at T-Bag’s leg.
‘Your Majesty! Your Majesty!’ he whispered urgently. T-Bag ignored his pleadings and lapsed into a further bout of piratical spoutings.
‘Well stuff me in the cannon and blast me over the horizon Jim lad,’ she continued. ‘I do believe that you has a little surprise for me, me hearty. Am I right?’
‘Your Majesty! Your Majesty!’ tugged T-Shirt relentlessly. ‘Look what I’ve found!’
‘Quiet!’ snapped T-Bag without looking in his direction.
Pirate Peg had by now reached the end of her tether.
‘There’s only one way to deal with stowaways!’ she rasped. ‘Make ‘em walk the plank! Ha-harr!’
With the point of her cutlass, Peg nudged T-Bag in the ribs and indicated the plank suspended dangerously over the shark-infested waters.
‘How dare you!’ snapped T-Bag, clicking her fingers and magicking away both cutlasses.
‘What the -?’ Peg was speechless. She fumbled for her pistols which were tucked into her belt, but before she could fire, they too disappeared into thin air.
T-Bag grabbed hold of the pirate’s lapels and hoisted her effortlessly into the air.
‘Will you kindly stop mucking about and give me my birthday surprise!’ she hollered.
‘I dunno what the festering fishcakes you’re on about!’ gasped Peg. ‘Now let me go!’
‘Your Majesty!’ T-Shirt cried urgently. ‘Take a look at this!’
Emerging from behind the barrel, he flapped a piece of crumpled parchment under T-Bag’s nose. Sketched in black ink on the ancient paper was a map of an island with a huge red cross marked on it.
‘This must be what we’re looking for!’ chimed T-Shirt excitedly.
‘What be you doing with my map you scurvy little pup?’ bellowed the indignant pirate.
Catching sight of the mysterious document T-Bag immediately release Peg from her clutches, dropping her with a crash onto the deck.
‘This could be where your big surprise is!’ beamed T-Shirt stabbing the red cross with his finger.
‘Then what are we waiting for?’ said T-Bag with a gleeful chortle. ‘That must be the island over there. Let’s get going!’
Humiliated and seething, Pirate Peg reached into her boot and slid out a gleaming deadly looking dagger. Springing to her feet, with a blood curdling shriek, she lunged at the intruders. But too late. With another magical ping T-Bag and T-Shirt vanished from sight as Peg’s deadly weapon cut uselessly through the empty air.
‘Blow me down!’ gasped the astonished pirate. ‘Where the suffering sardines did they go??’

[Granny Bag]

‘Let me see that map again!’ snapped T-Bag as they stood on the beach and regarded the beautiful island before them.
‘Nice spot for a holiday,’ remarked T-Shirt, kicking off his sneakers, rolling up his jeans and wading into the sea for a paddle.
‘We’re not here on holiday, you stupid boy. Now give me that blasted map and let’s get to the bottom of this birthday surprise business once and for all.’
T-Bag’s beady eyes scanned the outline of the island.
‘The “X” is marked five paces west of a skull shaped rock,’ she hummed. ‘So all we have to do is find a skull shaped rock. Hmm…this could be tricky.’
‘There’s one!’ said T-Shirt, pointing over her shoulder.
‘What?’
T-Bag spun round to discover a large skull-shaped boulder not a stone’s throw from where she stood.
‘I’ve found it!’ she sang out enthusiastically, rushing across to the rock dragging T-Shirt after her.



‘Now then,’ she began. ‘Five paces west. Off you go my little treasured lumplet. Get pacing.’
T-Shirt dutifully stood with his back to the skull-shaped rock, got his bearings and started to march forward, counting each step out loud.
‘One…two…three…four…five!’
‘Stop!’ yelled T-Bag. ‘That’s the spot.’
‘But there’s nothing here!’ said T-Shirt.
‘It must be buried under the sand!’ T-Bag deduced and with a click of the fingers magicked up a shovel which she thrust into T-Shirt’s hand.
‘Get digging!’ she ordered ‘And get digging now!’
An hour and twenty five minutes later, T-Bag looked up from her deckchair to see how the work was progressing on the hole. T-Shirt was now no longer visible but the occasional shower of wet sand indicated his presence at the bottom of the deep pit.
T-Bag took another sip of her coconut cocktail and turned down the volume on her transistor radio.
‘Got anything yet?’ she called hopefully.
‘Yeah. A flippin’ backache!’ came the muffled reply. ‘I’m fed up with this lark. There’s nothing down here except sand…and me!’
The disgruntled boy clambered out of the hole and threw the shovel down in disgust.
‘Let’s have another look at that map.’
He picked up the parchment and studied it intently.
‘Just a minute!’ he groaned. ‘We’re doing this all wrong.’
T-Bag sat up in her deckchair.
‘Wrong? What do you mean wrong? Five paces west. That’s what it says.’
‘Yes’ explained T-Shirt. ‘Five of Pirate Peg’s paces.’
T-Bag looked blank. T-Shirt expanded on his newly formulated theory.
‘Five adult paces! Big paces! Not little paces like mine!’
The light of understanding slowly dawned on T-Bag’s face and she leapt to her feet with renewed enthusiasm.
‘I get it. Five of my paces ought to do the trick, eh?’
She too stood with her back to the skull-shaped rock and marched forward taking big bounding steps as she went.
‘One…two…’
‘Mind the hole!’ warned T-Shirt.
‘Yes, yes!’ hissed T-Bag, skirting round it and continuing forward.
‘…three…four…five! This must be the place!’
T-Shirt turned to pick up the shovel. On turning back a puzzling sight greeted his eyes.
‘Your Majesty,’ he asked quizzically. ‘Is it me getting taller, or are you getting smaller?’
T-Bag looked down at horror at her feet which were now completely submerged below the sand.
She wasn’t shrinking…she was sinking! – and fast!
T-Shirt grinned as he looked once again at the map.
‘Silly me!’ he said, shaking his head and chuckling to himself. ‘This red cross must be a warning to stay away from the quicksand.’
‘QUICKSAND!’ shrieked T-Bag as her knee-caps disappeared from view.
‘ARGHH!!!’ Get me out of here!’
‘And here was us thinking the map would lead us to your birthday surprise!’ chortled T-Shirt. ‘Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!’
T-Bag, now up to her waist in the sinking sand, failed to see the humour of her precarious situation.
‘Help! Help!’ she squawked, her arms flailing wildly as bit by bit the quicksand swallowed her up.
T-Shirt rolled his eyes and ambled across to help her.
‘Give me your hand,’ he said casually. Gripping hold of her wrists he tugged ferociously with all his might. At first she wouldn’t budge. He pulled. He struggled. He strained. He hauled. He summoned up every last molecule of muscle in his body. At last, with a huge wet slurp, T-Bag was dragged, bedraggled and bewildered out of the deadly quicksand. She lay gasping like a beached whale, covered from head to toe in muddy brown muck, and fired a withering glance at T-Shirt.
‘You stupid boy! This is all your fault!’ Struggling to her feet and eager for T-Shirt to share in her misery, she picked up a fallen coconut and hurled it spitefully in his direction.
The boy ducked. The coconut whizzed over his head, struck the skull shaped rock with a ‘clonk!’ and rebounded hitting T-Bag sharply on the head knocking her backwards into the pit.
‘Arghhhh!’
Something glinting in the sunlight had caught T-Shirt’s attention. He trotted forward and picked up the two halves of the coconut which had cracked open on impact with T-Bag’s skull. From inside the broken shell he plucked another of the mysterious golden envelopes.
‘Look, Your Majesty!’ he cried joyfully. ‘This must be your surprise.’
For a fraction of a split second T-Bag forgot her throbbing headache and mud-splattered indignity as she hauled herself out of the hole. She grabbed the envelope and ripped it open.
‘This had better be good,’ she said through clenched teeth. ‘Or else…!’
Her jaw dropped as her eyes fell on the contents of the golden envelope. A second bewildering puzzle stared back at her.
‘Where’s my birthday surprise?’ erupted T-Bag. ‘What’s this piece of rubbish?’
T-Shirt took the golden card and looked at it carefully.



‘It’s another clue’ he said with a big smile. ‘I’ll bet I can work this one out myself. Don’t you worry, Your Majesty. We’ll get you your birthday surprise. Leave it all to me!’

Can you figure out this puzzle before next week?
CHAPTER FOUR COMING THURSDAY 22ND JULY 2004!!!

[Granny Bag]

FOUR

In the middle of the dark dark forest stood a tall tall castle. Once upon a time it had been a grand and magnificent palace festooned with flags and banners, a place of happiness and contentment…but not any more.
Now the once welcoming gates were shut to the world, the windows bolted and the stone walls engulfed in a thorny tangle of overgrown brambles – a grim and forboding fortress, long forgotten and dead to the world.
It was into this sombre scene that T-Bag and T-Shirt arrived with another magical ping. T-Bag looked around at their dismal surroundings and turned to T-Shirt who was engrossed in the next clue.
‘What the fudge finger are we doing in this loathsome place?’ she droned with irritation.
‘We’re here,’ explained T-Shirt, ‘because if you hold this card up to a mirror, it reads:

‘Hurry up no time to wait Princess Poppy will put you straight.’

T-Bag was far from convinced.
‘Princess Poppy? Pah! Who’s she when she’s at home? And more to the point,’ she continued, prodding T-Shirt in the chest, ‘Where do we find her?’
T-Shirt glanced up at the gloomy castle and scratched his head, puzzled by the silent stillness.
‘Well,’ he began ‘according to my calculations, Princess Poppy lives right here.’
‘Balderdash!’ snapped T-Bag. ‘Nobody’s lived in this dump for years. Look at it! What a tip! Let’s go. This place gives me the heebie-jeebies!’
Before she could magic herself away, T-Shirt grabbed hold of her sleeve and yanked it urgently.
‘Somebody’s coming!’ he cried. ‘Perhaps it’s Princess Poppy!’
Sure enough the sound of snapping twigs and rustling leaves could be plainly heard as someone – or something came crashing through the undergrowth breathing heavily and making growling slobbering noises as it slowly lumbered towards them.
‘Princess my left foot!’ exclaimed T-Bag. ‘That’s no princess! That’s…’
A furry head pushed its way through the bushes.
‘A wolf!!!’
T-Bag let out a strangulated yelp and dived for cover into the nearest thicket.
T-Shirt smiled and walked forward to pat the scruffy grey mongrel which had emerged, wagging its tail, from the trees.
‘It’s only a dog!’ he laughed, kneeling down and tickling the friendly arrival under the chin.
‘Hello boy! What’s your name then? Where did you come from eh? Good dog. Good dog.’
‘Look at the state of me!’ came a furious shout from behind him. Her dress tattered and torn, T-Bag stumbled out of the brambles like a human pincushion, plucking leaves from her hair and thorns from her backside.
‘Come and meet my new pal, Your Majesty’ T-Shirt beckoned with a grin. But T-Bag was in no mood for friendly introductions, especially not to a furry newcomer who insisted on leaping up and poking his wet nose into her face.
‘Get this mangy evil-smelling hound off of me!’ spluttered T-Bag wiping her face vigorously as the over-eager dog started to lick her affectionately.
‘He just wants to be friends with you,’ said T-Shirt.
‘Well I don’t want to be friends with him!’ scowled T-Bag, keeping the animal at arm’s length with her foot.
‘I’ve had enough of that blasted Doggy Bag without having to endure this monster as well.
T-Shirt swiftly stepped in to rescue T-Bag from the playful pooch. He hurled a stick into the trees and barking loudly the dog scampered happily off to retrieve it.
‘I’ve had a bellyful of this nonsense!’ sighed T-Bag. ‘I’m off home!’
‘Hang about,’ T-Shirt said indignantly. ‘What about the clue? What about Princess Poppy? What about your birthday surprise?’
There was no doubt that T-Bag was still hanging on to the vague hope that following the clues would lead her to something quite wonderful. She turned and looked again at the unwelcoming walls of the castle.
‘Oh all right. Since we’re here we might as well take a quick squint inside. Come on.’
‘I’ll just get the dog,’ said T-Shirt moving off into the trees.
‘Leave it!’ barked T-Bag pulling the boy back by the scruff of his neck. ‘We don’t need that miserable mutt. Let’s go!’
‘But - !’
T-Shirt got no further with his protest. T-Bag clicked her fingers and with a ping they both disappeared from sight. In the dark and gloomy forest, the only sound to be heard was the rustling of leaves as the dog searched in the undergrowth for the lost stick.

[Granny Bag]

The inside of the castle was even grimmer than the outside. The whole place had a stale and dank atmosphere. Cobwebs were draped like silvery bunting from pillar to post. The air was musty, the furniture dusty and the doorknobs rusty. Nothing moved. It was as if time itself was standing still. T-Bag shivered as the chill sank deep into her bones.
‘Who in their right minds would live in a dive like this?’ she said with distaste. ‘Let’s face it. There’s no-one about.’
But T-Shirt wasn’t about to give in that easily.
‘How about looking up here?’ he suggested, moving towards the foot of the spiral stone stairs that led to the top of the tallest tower. Without waiting for a reply, he bounded up the first few steps and disappeared round the bend.
T-Bag, although she would never admit it, hated being left alone in so horrible a place. She let out an exasperated grunt, tutted and sighed then followed him speedily up the stairway.
Huffing and puffing she wheezed her way to the top where she found herself in a small circular room dominated by an ornate four poster bed. T-Shirt stood by the bed and beckoned her over.
‘There’s someone here!’ he whispered excitedly. ‘In the bed!’
T-Bag sidled across and peered through the dusty moth eaten drapes which hung down from the canopy. Only just visible was the unmistakable shape of a sleeping figure.
T-Bag and T-Shirt exchanged glances. Without saying a word, T-Bag took hold of the tattered curtain and slowly drew it aside. Their mouths gaped open at the strange and haunting sight which greeted them.
A beautiful young girl with long fair hair lay sleeping on the bed. Whilst everything else in the castle was decayed and crumbling, her beautifully embroidered red velvet robes bedecked with sparkling jewels, the colourful ribbons woven into her hair and her soft golden slippers were all as new and fresh as the day they were made.
‘It’s Princess Poppy!’ beamed T-Shirt in hushed awe.
‘Well I didn’t think it was Donald Duck!’ hissed T-Bag. ‘Why on earth are we whispering? Wake her up and get me my surprise!’
T-Shirt leaned over the sleeping girl and tapped her gingerly on the shoulder.
‘Wake-up Princess!’ he said softly. But she did not stir. He tried again.
‘Wakey wakey!’
But still the slumbering princess slept on. T-Bag rolled her eyes impatiently on the bedstead.
‘Kah! That wouldn’t wake up a flea! She bellowed. ‘Out of my way. I’ll deal with this!’
Magicking up a large wooden football supporter’s rattle she whizzed it furiously around Princess Poppy’s head and shouted at the very top of her voice.
‘Get up! Come on! Get up! Let’s be having you! Rise and shine you lazy great lump you!!!’
Alas T-Bag’s gentle words failed to rouse the sleeping beauty.
‘Will you wake up, you stupid girl!’ gnashed T-Bag through gritted teeth, shaking the Princess like a rag doll and bawling into her ear.
‘You’re wasting your time,’ piped T-Shirt smugly, holding out a half-eaten apple which he picked up from the floor.
‘She isn’t asleep. She’s under a spell!’
T-Bag snatched the apple and sniffed it curiously.
‘Aha!’ she announced. ‘It’s the old poison apple routine. Curse and blast!’
‘What’s wrong?’ asked T-Shirt nervously.
T-Bag glared at him menacingly.
‘What do you mean “what’s wrong? Everything’s wrong. This dozy damsel’s gone and sunk her choppers into a poisoned apple. Now she’ll be out cold for a hundred years and I won’t get my birthday surprise. Curse, blast and curse again!’
‘There must be some way of breaking the spell,’ said T-Shirt.
‘There is,’ snapped T-Bag irritably, ‘But I don’t happen to have a handsome prince on me just at the moment…you stupid boy!’
T-Shirt thought back to all the stories he had read and remembered that only a kiss from a handsome prince could wake a sleeping princess.
‘Oh yeah,’ he mused. Then a brilliant idea struck him. ‘Want me to get togged up as a handsome prince? I could give her a quick peck on the cheek. No problem.’
T-Bag stared at him in disbelief.
‘You? A handsome prince? Don’t make me laugh. A kiss from you would probably kill the poor girl off.’
T-Bag threw her arms up in the despair and concluded that there was nothing more to be done.
‘There are obviously no handsome princes anywhere near this dump, so we might as well call it a day and go home.’
Just at that moment there was a flurry of activity and a flash of fur as the dog they’d met outside came hurtling up the stairs and bounded into the room. Clutching the stick tightly in its teeth it shot between T-Bag’s legs sending her flying backwards with a gasp onto the floor. The dog raced across to T-Shirt and dropped the stick eagerly at the boy’s feet.
‘Good dog!’ laughed T-Shirt. ‘Well done!’
T-Bag picked herself up, and rubbing her bruised head advanced on the animal threateningly. The dog, thinking that this was some sort of new game, barked playfully, ran three times round the room and jumped up joyfully onto the bed. Finding itself nose to nose with the sleeping princess, and being the friendliest of friendly beasts, it began to lick the girl all over her face.
All at once something amazing happened. Princess Poppy opened her eyes, blinked three times, sat up in bed and let out an enormous yawn.
T-Bag and T-Shirt starred at the wonderous scene. A miraculous transformation had taken place in the room and throughout the entire castle. Everything was magically restored to its former glory.
The cobwebs and dust were all gone, the furniture looked like new and every doorknob sparkled and shone. The air smelled like roses and outside the window the thorny brambles had all withered away.
‘What happened?’ gasped T-Bag, agog.
Her question was soon to be answered. As if she had just woken up from a five minute nap, Princess Poppy, quite unruffled by her ordeal, reached out and hugged her beloved pet.
‘Hello, Prince,’ she cooed lovingly. ‘Want to go walkies?’
The dog gave an enthusiastic bark. Paying no heed to the two strangers in her bedchamber, the Princess leaped up and went running downstairs followed by her faithful furry friend.
T-Shirt looked up at T-Bag.
‘The dog’s name is Prince!’ he laughed. ‘The Princess was kissed by a handsome Prince after all. What a nice happy ending.’
‘I’m not interested in all that rubbish!’ blazed T-Bag. ‘What about my birthday surprise? Where is it?’
T-Shirt shrugged.
‘Search me.’
His grinning face was more than T-Bag could bear. Reaching for the first object she could hurl in his direction, she snatched up the pillow and took aim.
‘Stop!’ cried T-Shirt pointing excitedly at the bed. ‘Look!’
There where the pillow had been, lay another of the mysterious golden envelopes.
‘Oh not another one!’ groaned T-Bag, dropping the pillow wearily to the floor and slumping down despairingly.
‘Yes it’s another clue!’ cried T-Shirt, extracting a further golden card from the envelope. He studied its contents with all the concentration he could muster.



T-Bag let out a long mournful groan.
‘All right,’ she sighed. ‘Tell me the worst. Where are we off to this time?’

[shadow=red,left,400]CAN YOU FIGURE OUT THE CLUE BEFORE NEXT WEEK! CHAPTER FIVE COMING 29TH JULY 2004!![/shadow]

[Granny Bag]

FIVE

‘You see it’s quite simple really, Your Majesty,’ explained T-Shirt, holding up the latest cryptic clue. ‘All you have to do is substitute a letter of the alphabet for each number. So A is one, B is two, C is three, D is…’
‘All right all right!’ T-Bag huffed. ‘Just tell me what it says.’
T-Shirt blinked his eyes, magicked up a felt-tipped pen and began to work out the hidden message. A minute later he had it cracked.
‘Pin back you ears and get a load of this,’ he said excitedly and read aloud the result of his labours:

‘You ought not admit defeat. Sultan Vinegar you must meet.’

A sigh which seemed to go back centuries came oozing from a deflated T-Bag.
‘Sultan who?’ she groaned wearily.
‘Sultan Vinegar!’ enthused T-Shirt. Come on! Let’s get going.’
He took T-Bag by the hand and with a quick blink they disappeared on their quest to get to the bottom of the next birthday brainteaser.

The marketplace in the ancient city of Abadabadoo was abuzz with all manner of exotic and unusual sights and sounds. There were gaily coloured stalls selling sweetmeats and silver trinkets. Carpet sellers unrolled their wares on the dusty road while spice merchants weighed out their saffron and cinnamon. Amidst the hectic hubbub of shoppers and street urchins, snake charmers and fire-eaters entertained the happy crowds.
Into this bustling throng pinged T-Bag and T-Shirt. The noise and the heat and the crush of the crowds made T-Bag reel back in surprise.
Before she could utter one of her usual scathing remarks at T-Shirt, a heavily- laden donkey stepped carelessly on her foot, bumped her into a huge pile of melons.
‘What a great place!’ chimed T-Shirt, watching with glee as a daring young boy skilfully shinned his way up a rope, which for all the world appeared to be rising into the air of its own accord.
T-Bag, hot and bothered, had already had more than enough of Abadabadoo and its sunny delights.
‘That’s it!’ she barked firmly. ‘I’ve taken all I can take and I can’t take no more! I’m going home.’
She clambered to her feet and dusted herself down.
‘But all we have to do is find Sultan Vinegar’s palace,’ T-Shirt reasoned. ‘It must be around here somewhere.’
T-Bag regarded the hurly burly all about her and snorted indignantly.
‘If you think for one minute that I’m going to push my way through this mob and then go traipsing off in search of some idiotic sultan, you’ve got another think coming! I refuse to budge an inch!’
T-Shirt tutted and rolled his eyes.
‘All right,’ he sighed. ‘You wait here and I’ll get a taxi.’
‘That’s more like it,’ conceded T-Bag. ‘And don’t be all day about it!’
She plonked herself down on a large wicker basket and watched the world go frantically by while she waited impatiently for T-Shirt to return. And return he did, fighting his way through the crowds, dragging a reluctant, shabby-looking camel behind him.
‘What is that?!’ thundered T-Bag, her eyes bulging in disbelief as the ancient-looking creature began to nibble noisily at the hem of her dress.
‘Say hello to Jezebel,’ smiled T-Shirt winningly.
‘What happened to the taxi?’ shrieked T-Bag hysterically. ‘No – don’t tell me. This foul-breathed mis-shapen monstrosity is the taxi and you’re the taxi driver. Am I right?’
‘Right,’ nodded T-Shirt. ‘Hop on.’
Unaware that the simple way to mount a camel is to first have it kneel down, T-Bag and T-Shirt spent the next twenty-five minutes in a series of madcap acrobatics as they attempted to scale the lofty heights of the mountainous animal. Time and again they tumbled clumsily to the ground much to the amusement of the grinning crowds who had deserted the fire eaters and snake charmers in favour of this hilarious new comedy camel act.
By the time T-Bag and T-Shirt had finally succeeded in seating themselves on the camel’s back, they had earned themselves four copper coins, two shirt buttons and a round of applause.
‘Let’s get out of this madhouse!’ seethed T-Bag hissing furiously into T-Shirt’s ear. ‘How does this infernal thing work?’
Without waiting for a reply she dug her heels sharply into the camel’s rib-cage. Jezebel let out a blood curdling screech. She bolted crazily through the crowds sending children scurrying and the others hurrying for the cover as she zigzagged wildly round the marketplace in a cloud of dust and spilt spices.
‘You stupid boy!’ were the last words the good folk of Abadabbadoo heard from the strangers, as the runaway camel disappeared through the city gates and went tearing into the desert.

[Granny Bag]

It was a bruised and battered T-Bag and T-Shirt who hobbled painfully through the golden gates of the Sultan’s palace and limped their way towards the front door.
‘That wretched flea-bitten sack of ribs,’ muttered T-Bag under her breath. ‘Oooh! I won’t be able to sit down for a fortnight.’
‘Never mind, Your Majesty,’ said T-Shirt consolingly. ‘We got here in the end.’
T-Bag snarled dangerously at him.
‘You’ll get it in the end, with the tip of boot if you don’t hurry up and get me my birthday surprise! Ring that thing and let them know we’re here.’
T-Shirt dutifully reached out and bashed the large brass gong which hung before them. Almost at once a little wooden panel in the door slid open. Framed in the small square opening was a fat round face. It spoke.
‘By the sacred beard of the blue baboon!’ bellowed a voice like thunder. ‘Who dares to enter the palace grounds uninvited?’
Two beady eyes darted around the opening in the door like a pair of ballbearings bouncing about in a pinball machine.
‘Good day to you,’ said T-Bag. ‘We’re looking for Sultan Vinegar.’
‘I’m Sultan Vinegar,’ came the grunted response. ‘What do you want?’
T-Bag stepped nearer the door and began to explain.
‘My name’s Tallulah Bag,’ she said. ‘And I’ve come to claim my birthday surprise. So hurry up and hand it over.’
A snort of evil laughter burst forth from beyond the door.
‘Haw haw haw haw! That’s the best one I’ve heard all week! You blasted beggars are becoming cheekier by the day! Go on, be off with you before I take my sabre to you! Get out of here!’
And with that, the flap snapped shut in T-Bag’s face.
‘Did you hear that T-Shirt?’ she fizzed furiously, clenching her fists until her knuckles turned white.
‘Nobody but nobody dares talk to Tallulah Bag like that! Why I’ve a good mind to go in there and show that oversize pumpkin-head exactly what he can do with his stupid sabre…!’
T-Bag was at boiling point, rolling up her sleeves and sporting for a fight. T-Shirt knew he had to step in quickly.
‘Now calm down, Your Majesty,’ he chirped soothingly.
‘Don’t let’s have a punch-up eh? Not on a day like today!’
‘But that fat fool…!’
‘Leave him to me,’ the boy smiled, taking T-Bag by the hand and leading her across to a nice shady spot beneath the palm trees by a gently splashing fountain.
‘Sit yourself her and cool off,’ he said, ‘while I pop into the palace and sort out this birthday surprise business.’
‘But…’
‘Now now!’ insisted T-Shirt. ‘You relax here and leave everything to me.’
T-Bag had to admit she’d had more than her fair share of aggravation already on her birthday.
‘All right, genius Jim,’ she agreed. ‘I’ll give you five minutes and then we’ll do it my way!’
T-Shirt blinked his eyes and disappeared. T-Bag plonked herself down on the marble bench and sat gazing blankly at the goldfish in the pond.
With a ping T-Shirt materialised in the palace. He looked in wonder at the marvellous mosaics which decorated the floor of the magnificent interior. All around the hall stood beautifully carved statues and either side of the enormous arched window were two large colourful urns.
On one wall, in an ornate golden frame, hung an awesome portrait of Sultan Vinegar himself, large as life and three times as fearsome. T-Shirt stared up at the scowling scimator-wielding warrior whose fiery starring eyes seemed to burn down at the boy.
He gulped and stepped away nervously, walking backwards into one of the statues sending it crashing to the floor and shattering into a million pieces.
‘Who’s there?’ came a booming voice which echoed around the palace and made the hairs on the back of T-Shirt’s neck stand to attention in terror. Sultan Vinegar was on the warpath! The sound of heavy footsteps and the swish of a sabre could be heard rapidly approaching along the corridor. T-Shirt looked frantically about for somewhere to hide.
‘Who’s there? I say,’ bellowed the Sultan, whose thundering footsteps became even nearer as he broke into an angry gallop. T-Shirt barely had time to clamber head first into one of the enormous clay urns before the demented Sultan burst into the great hall and stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of the shattered statue.
‘By the spitting tongue of the crooked cobra!’ spluttered the hulking brute. ‘Some miserable dog’s been after my treasures!’
Storming across the room and growling like a lion with a toothache, Sultan Vinegar stopped in front of his portrait and inexplicably began to talk to it.
From his hiding place in the urn, T-Shirt popped his head up just in time to hear the Sultan speak.
‘Open sesame!’ he hollered mightily. As soon as the magical words had left his lips, the picture on the wall slid open of its own accord to reveal a hidden chamber beyond. Sultan Vinegar poked his head inside and let out a sigh of relief.
‘Praise be!’ he cried joyfully. ‘It’s all still here.’
T-Shirt continued to watch as the Sultan slid shut the door to the secret store. Satisfied that his riches were intact, he turned on his heels and went stomping off in search of the intruder.
As soon as the coast was clear, T-Shirt climbed out of the urn and crept across to the painting on the wall. As he stared up at it thoughtfully, T-Bag appeared beside him with a ping.
‘Your five minutes are up,’ she snapped. ‘Where’s my birthday surprise?’
T-Shirt pointed at the painting and explained.
‘There’s a hidden chamber behind the picture and you open it with a magic word. If you ask me, that’s where we’ll find your birthday surprise!’
‘Excellent!’ beamed T-Bag greedily. ‘And what is the magic word?’
A wave of doubt swept across T-Shirt’s face as he strained to remember what the Sultan had said.
‘Erm…?’
‘You’ve forgotten, haven’t you?’ groaned T-Bag. ‘Typical!’
‘Hang about!’ said T-Shirt suddenly. ‘I think I’ve got it.’
He turned to the painting and spoke out in a loud clear voice.
‘Open Saturday!’
Needless to say, nothing happened. T-Bag looked at him with contempt. He began again.
‘Open Sausages!’
Still nothing. T-Bag began to tap her toe irritably on the marble floor. He tried once more, his voice becoming more desperate as he wrestled to recall the vital word.
‘Open Sennapods!’
Even more nothing.
‘You stupid boy!’ hissed T-Bag, shoving him roughly aside. ‘I’ll handle this myself!’
She clicked her fingers and magicked up a dozen sticks of dynamite, tied in a bundle, which she attached to the Sultan’s portrait.
‘Are you blowing it open?’ inquired T-Shirt innocently.
‘No,’ leered T-Bag sarcastically, ‘I’m preparing cucumber sandwiches for the Royal Garden Party. What does it look like?’
She struck a match and lit the fuse.
‘Right. Stand back!’
T-Shirt ran to take cover behind a heavy statue at the far end of the room. T-Bag ducked behind a pillar. The fuse hissed and sizzled. The seconds ticked by. T-Shirt jammed his fingers in his ears and braced himself for the explosion. T-Bag looked at him cowering in the corner and snorted pitifully at his melodramatics.
‘Don’t be such a big baby!’ she called. ‘It’ll only be a tiny little bang.’
A few more seconds passed. The fuse fizzed furiously as it snaked towards the dynamite. T-Shirt gritted his teeth. Then, suddenly everything fell silent. No hissing fuse. No explosion. No nothing.
T-Bag looked out from behind the pillar and tutted.
‘The blasted fuse has gone out,’ she muttered, moving across the hall to inspect the explosives.
T-Shirt peeked out cautiously just in time to see T-Bag pick up the sticks of dynamite and begin to shake them impatiently.
‘Come on. Come on. What’s the matter with you?’
T-Shirt was horrified.
‘I wouldn’t do that if I were you,’ he bleated nervously. ‘It could be dangerous.’
‘Oh shut up!’ retorted T-Bag. ‘What do you know about anything?’
She shook it again and to her joy, the fuse sparked back into life.
‘See!’ she beamed triumphantly. ‘I know what I’m doing. I’m not a complete…’
‘BOOOOOOOOM!!!!!’
A mighty blast rocked the palace on its foundations.
Once the smoke had cleared, T-Shirt ventured out and picked his way across the rubble-strewn ruin that was once a magnificent hall.
T-Bag’s blackened and charred face stuck out from a pile of broke bricks and shattered marble.
‘Are you all right?’ he asked tentatively.
‘Oh yes, thank you!’ T-Bag replied through a sickly fixed smile. ‘There’s nothing I enjoy more than being buried up to my neck in half a ton of pulverised palace!’
T-Shirt stifled a giggle and began to dig her out. Just then an all-too familiar object fluttered down from what remained of the ceiling, in a shower of splinters and plaster dust. It was another golden envelope. It came to rest on the pile of rumble an inch in front of T-Bag’s face.
She cast her eyes sorrowfully at it and spoke with a heavy heart.
‘Please tell me that’s not what I think it is,’ she begged.
Without thinking T-Shirt dropped the brick he was holding on to T-Bag’s head and reached forward to pick up the golden envelope. He tore it open and studied its contents.



‘It is what you think it is!’ he announced with an excited smile. ‘It’s another clue! You stay right where you are and I’ll work it out in no time at all!’
Tears of frustration welled up in T-Bag’s eyes as she realised that today was destined to be a birthday bash in more ways than one!

CAN YOU FIGURE OUT THIS CLUE BEFORE NEXT TIME?

[shadow=red,left,750]CHAPTER SIX COMING WEDNESDAY 4TH AUGUST 2004 (Georgina Hale’s Birthday)[/shadow]

[Granny Bag]

SIX

T-Bag stared at the latest puzzle with an expression of utter contempt.
‘Pure gobbledegook!’ she exclaimed. ‘Meaningless mumbo jumbo! Nobody could make head nor tail of this gibberish!’
‘I can,’ piped T-Shirt. ‘I’ve almost cracked it.’
‘I’ll crack you in a minute if you don’t stop showing off!’ threatened T-Bag.
‘Done it!’ the boy announced chirpily. ‘It’s quite simple really. All you have to do is swap the last letter of every word with the first letter of the next word until you get to the end.’
T-Bag was secretly astounded by his new found flair for cracking codes, but dared not admit it publicly.
‘Well I know that!’ she fibbed outrageously. ‘Just tell me what it says and let’s get going! This whole farce is beginning to drive me batty!’
T-Shirt began to read his solution to the muddled message.

‘To the east you must go and seek out mighty Emperor Po.’

T-Bag shut her eyes sadly and sunk her befuddled head into her hands.
‘No time for a nap, Your Majesty!’ cried T-Shirt breezily. ‘Let’s hit the road!’
Grabbing hold of T-Bag’s arm he blinked his eyes and once again the dynamic duo were on their way.

Emperor Po was a moaning old soul. He never laughed, he never joked and he never saw the funny side of anything. He was well-known throughout the Orient as a grumpy, cantankerous old misery guts and nobody had ever succeeded in making him crack a smile. Regiments of red-nosed clowns, crazy comics and jolly jugglers had all failed to raise even a titter between them. The more they tried to cheer him up, the more frosty faced he became. In desperation the Emperor’s wisest men got together and decided to organise a competition. Anyone who was able to make the might Emperor laugh could have whatever their heart desired. The grand contest was to be held in the gardens outside the Royal Pagoda that very afternoon. Folks who had flocked from far and near queued up outside the gates waiting for the grand event to begin.
With a familiar ping, T-Bag and T-Shirt arrived in the beautiful and tranquil gardens of the palace. T-Bag looked around, admiring the pretty pink cherry blossoms and the weeping willows cascading down around the ornamental lake.
‘Now isn’t this nice?’ she trilled. ‘At last, a little haven of peace and quiet. Just the spot to rest my weary legs awhile and soothe my aching brow.’
‘But what about Emperor Po?’ asked T-Shirt urgently.
‘Emperor Po can just jolly well wait’ said T-Bag as the serene surroundings began to wash over her.
‘After all the disasters I’ve had to endure today I think I deserve a few moments of calm. Don’t You?’
Before T-Shirt could respond, the mid-day bell rang out, signalling the soldiers to open the garden gates and let in the teaming hordes of budding performers who’d come to try their luck with the po-faced Emperor.
All at once the blissful silence was shattered by the hoots and howls of a thousand voices as a madcap multitude came swarming across the lawn. Crackpot comedians, zany acrobats and silly stilt walkers came clumping across the wooden bridge which spanned the lake, towards an open mouth T-Bag and T-Shirt.
‘What the - ?’
T-Bag’s voice was lost amidst the crazy cacophony which engulfed the once peaceful garden.
A wizened bewhiskered old man on a rusty unicycle scooted clumsily over T-Bag’s toe whilst two energetic young girls juggled bowls of wobbling pink blancmange an inch above her head. A tiny lady in a large cardboard hat strummed on a banjo. A family of eighteen balanced dangerously on a single pumpkin. Three men squeezed into one pair of trousers, played a medley of sea shanties on a xylophone. It was all too much for T-Bag.
‘I don’t believe this!’ she spluttered. ‘What is going on here? Who are all these ridiculous people?’
Her question was soon answered by a man with a non-stick frying pan strapped to his head.
‘We’re all here to try and make the Emperor laugh,’ he squealed, producing an inflatable penguin from inside his jacket and guffawing loudly at his own silliness.
‘Why do you want to make him laugh?’ asked T-Shirt who was every bit as bewildered as T-Bag.
The man looked at T-Shirt as if the boy was completely mad.
‘Don’t you know?’ he gasped. ‘Whoever makes the Emperor laugh can have whatever their heart desires!’
T-Bag wasn’t in the least bit interested in all this tomfoolery. All she wanted was her birthday surprise.
A fanfare of trumpets announced the arrival of the Mighty Emperor Po and everyone in the garden fell respectfully silent. Ten strapping bodyguards carried the Emperor aloft on a silver throne and gently lowered him to the ground. He stepped on to the lawn and scowled at the assembled masses with an expression of undiluted grimness. As the Emperor stood there glaringly sourly at the hopeful competitors, T-Bag decided not to waste a second more.
‘Enough is enough,’ she hissed. ‘If that old faceache knows anything about my birthday surprise then he’d better spill the beans right now!’
So saying, she strode purposefully forward, marching past the ranks of gawping artistes and pushing aside the Emperor’s strongmen.
‘You there! Emperor Po or whatever your name is. I want a word with you!’ she demanded.
The Emperor narrowed his eyes and shot her a withering glance. All around him the Royal Guards stepped forward ready to pounce on this impertinent upstart.
‘Who the devil are you?’ barked the Emperor testily. ‘And what do you want?’
T-Bag huffed and took two paces nearer. There was a chorus of clanking steel as the soldiers braced themselves for trouble.
‘My name is Bag. Tallulah Bag. And I want my birthday surprise!’
Emperor Po’s jaw dropped open at the strange woman’s outrageous lack of respect.
‘Come on, you old sourpuss,’ T-Bag ranted. ‘I can’t hang around all day. I demand to have what’s coming to me!’
She didn’t have long to wait. The Emperor turned his troops and gave a sinister nod. Ten massive muscle men lumbered forward, whisked T-Bag off her feet and hurled her head first into the lake.
‘Aarghhh! Glug glug glug glug glug!’ she gurgled and spluttered. T-Shirt winced as he watched her disappear beneath the ornamental water-lilies.
Completely unconcerned, the Emperor clapped his hands and ordered the competition to commence. Like a crazy army of clockwork clowns, the eager entertainers burst into life, each one more desperate than the next to bring a smile to the Emperor’s lips. Jugglers juggled. Tumblers tumbled. Pantomime horses horsed around. And T-Shirt dragged T-Bag out of the lake. Coughing and gasping and wringing wet she plucked a frog from down the front of her dress and tossed it back into the water.
‘You stupid boy!’ she spat venomously. T-Shirt was confounded.
‘What did I do?’ he bleated innocently.
‘You brought me on this hare-brained expedition!’ said T-Bag, squelching her way across the lawn towards the gates. ‘I’m going home and don’t you dare try to stop me!’
‘Wait Your Majesty!’ cried T-Shirt. ‘I’ve just had another idea!’
‘Then that settles it,’ cracked T-Bag. ‘I’m definitely going home!’
T-Shirt scampered after her!
‘No, listen to me,’ he pleaded urgently. ‘Just give me five minutes and I guarantee I’ll get you your birthday surprise. All I have to do is make the Emperor laugh and he has to give you anything you want. Simple pimple.’
T-Bag stopped in her tracks and snorted like a teething walrus.
‘And how exactly do you propose to do that, Mister Brightspark?’
‘Well,’ explained T-Shirt. ‘I’ll just tell him a few of my best gags. They never fail.’
A wicked glint sparkled in T-Bag’s eyes as she pictured the terrible trouble which awaited T-Shirt once he let loose his appalling stream of pathetic jokes.
‘This I must see’ she smiled malevolently and they both trotted off across the garden to seek out the Emperor and grab his attention.

[Granny Bag]

Meanwhile the competition was well under way. But so far not one of the budding laugh-smiths had tickled the Emperor’s fancy. Deadpan and crusty-faced he watched without a glimmer of interest as the three men in one pair of trouser came to the end of their nautical routine. A trio of cheesy grins flashed in the Emperor’s direction.
‘Rubbish!’ he sneered and moved on to the man with the inflatable penguin. Adjusting his frying pan, the man stood on one leg and began to pull funny faces and make rude noises with his lips.
‘Garbage!’ bawled the Emperor, looking ever more depressed as he worked his way along the line. Fighting his way through the crowds, T-Shirt shoved aside the tiny lady in the cardboard hat so that he could become the next performer to try his luck. The Emperor looked down at the boy and frowned deeply.
‘And what’s so funny about you then?’ he grunted in a peppery voice.
‘I tell jokes,’ announced T-Shirt cockily.
T-Bag moved away from the crowds in order to get a better view of T-Shirt’s long deserved come-uppance. She seated herself comfortably on a small hillock and settled down to watch the fun.
‘This ought to teach that little know-it-all smartypants a lesson he’ll never forget.’
T-Bag tittered to herself as T-Shirt launched into his fist jolly jape.
‘I say, I say, I say,’ he chirped. ‘What do you get if you cross a goldfish with an elephant?’
The Emperor cringed as T-Shirt shouted out the answer.
‘Swimming Trunks!’ he yelled and waited expectantly for the peals of laughter that he was certain would follow. The silence was deafening. All around a sea of stony faces stared in disbelief that anyone would dare to crack such an abysmal old joke.
Emperor Po was not amused. But T-Bag was. It was exactly the kind of response she had anticipated, and already, delicious visions of T-Shirts just desserts were forming in her mind.
‘That boy will be lucky to get away with a good ducking,’ she chortled quietly to herself.
But T-Shirt, far from being disheartened, dived straight back in with another rib-tickler.
‘I say, I say, I say. What goes “da-dit-dit-croak, da-dit-dit-croak”? Morse toad! Ha ha ha ha ha!!!’
T-Shirt’s hearty guffaws evaporated away to nothing as his second offering bit the dust.
Wrinkles multiplied on the Emperor’s furrowed brow. His eyebrows converged to form a vicious looking ‘V’. His eyes narrowed. His nostrils flared. The corners of his mouth appeared to slide off the edge of his face.
‘So you didn’t like that one eh?’ surmised T-Shirt. ‘Never mind. Here’s another…’
T-Bag was enjoying herself enormously. She rubbed her hands together and bounced up and down with glee on the little mound where she was perched. The more jokes T-Shirt told, the worse they became and the deeper the trouble he was getting himself into.
‘Serves the little show-off right,’ thought T-Bag with a nasty giggle. ‘At last it will be his turn to suffer.’
The only thing that was spoiling her moment of pleasure was a bothersome itch that had mysteriously developed down the back of her left leg. She scratched it irritably and went on watching the fun and games unfold. Unaffected by the Arctic response to his previous efforts, T-Shirt kept churning out the gags confident that one of them would eventually hit the mark.
‘I say, I say, I say,’ he repeated yet again. ‘Where does a sheep go to get its haircut? The baa-baa shop! Ha ha ha ha ha!’
‘Enough!!!’ screamed the Emperor tearing at his beard and gnashing his teeth. ‘I can’t stand this a second longer!!!! Is there no-one here who can make me laugh?’
T-Bag was feeling rather peculiar. She gave her leg another scratch then noticed that now her back was itching as well. And her neck and arms. Even her hair was feeling strange and tickly.
‘What is going on here?’ she twittered, frantically rubbing and scratching as the terrible tingling sensation began to work its way all over her squirming body.
Little did she realise that the comfortable hillock that she’d been sitting on was in fact a large ants’ nest. While she’d been engrossed in watching T-Shirt perform, thousands of ants had come scuttling out and were now crawling about inside her clothes.
T-Bag leapt to her feet in a mad frenzy, shaking her arms and legs around wildly and screaming at the top of her voice.
‘ARGH! OOH! EEH! YAH!!’
All eyes turned to view this unexpected display of crazy dancing … and no-one was more surprised than T-Shirt.
T-Bag jumped and jiggled, leapt into the air and rolled on the ground as she feverishly tried to rid herself of the itching army of insects.
‘EEH! ARGH!!! OOH!!! YAH!!!’
She ran around the garden three times, thumping herself on the back with one hand and scratching her head furiously with the other. Then with one final spine-chilling screech, she ran up onto the wooden bridge and threw herself into the lake.
There followed a stunned moment of silence. Everybody turned to look at the Emperor. An unfamiliar sparkle had appeared in his sad old eyes. It spread rapidly to the rest of his face, which lit up into a huge glowing grin. All at once a lifetime of misery seemed to melt away like snow on the slopes of a volcano as an enormous laugh erupted from the Emperor’s belly.
‘HAAAAA! HAAAA! HAAAA! HAAAAA!’
His shoulders shook and his arms flailed about in the air. Tears of mirth rolled down his cheeks and he gasped for air as his whole body rocked with gales of laughter.
‘HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA!! That was the funniest thing I’ve ever seen in my whole life!’ he roared. ‘Drag that woman out of the lake and bring her here!’
For the second time in twenty minutes, T-Bag was hauled unceremoniously from the water. Standing before the Emperor, covered from head to toe in frog spawn and duckweed she looked a sorry sight.
‘Congratulations, my dear,’ he said, his voice still gurgling and giggly. ‘That dance of yours was utterly hilarious. You win the prize. You may have anything your heart desires.’
T-Shirt sidled up to T-Bag and gave her a knowing nudge.
‘Go on, Your Majesty,’ he urged. ‘You know what to ask for!’
Mustering what little dignity she had left, T-Bag spat out a mouthful of pondwater and hissed into the Emperor’s face.
‘All I want is my blasted birthday surprise! So where is it??’
The Emperor looked puzzled, twisting his beard around his finger as he tried to make sense of her curious request. Clapping his hands, he summoned his wise men around him and they went into a secretive huddle, whispering and conferring until at last the scrum broke up and the Emperor strode forward beaming triumphantly.
‘Here you are my dear,’ he smiled and handed over … yet another golden envelope! It was fortunate that T-Shirt was close at hand to catch T-Bag as she keeled over backwards in a dead faint. He laid her gently down on the lawn and cast his eyes over the next clue.

(Illustration of clue as shown below)


Emperor Po returned to the Royal Pagoda still chuckling away to himself. The soldiers dispersed. The crowd went on its way. And whipping out his pen, T-Shirt got cracking on the next intriguing puzzle.

CAN YOU FIGURE OUT WHERE T-BAG AND T-SHIRT HAVE TO GO NEXT?

CHAPTER SEVEN COMING 5TH AUGUST 2004
CHAPTER EIGHT COMING 10TH AUGUST 2004 (Elizabeth Estensen’s Birthday)

[Granny Bag]

SEVEN

‘This next clue is a piece of pudding, Your Majesty,’ smiled T-Shirt eagerly.
T-Bag gazed at the jumble of words which seemed to make no sense at all, but by now she was almost beyond caring. She’d been bashed and bruised, scratched and soaked, knocked down and blown up – and all she really wanted to do now was go home and have a nice quiet cup of tea.
‘Look at this,’ piped T-Shirt, scribbling furiously on the card. ‘An idiot could work it out!’
T-Bag gave a sarcastic snort.
‘An idiot is working it out!’ she grunted.
‘It’s so obvious,’ continued the boy, as the insult went sailing over his head. ‘Every other word is nonsense.’
‘This entire expedition is nonsense!’ T-Bag snapped. ‘It’s been a complete and utter waste of a day! And today of all days! A day like today! What a fiasco!’
T-Shirt had an inkling that T-Bag was not happy. Luckily, he was now in the position to be able to offer her a nugget of good news.
‘This’ll cheer you up,’ he grinned, nudging her merrily in the ribs. ‘If you cross out every other word, just listen to what you’re left with.’
T-Shirt held up the card and excitedly recited the latest in the long line of cryptic conundrums:

‘You’re very near your birthday treat the Mountain Ogre you must meet.’

Alas T-Bag failed to share his youthful enthusiasm.
‘If you think I’m traipsing off up some wind-swept mountain to look for some ridiculous ogre, forget it! I’ve told you … I’m going home!’
But T-Shirt was determined to see this thing through to the bitter end.
‘Your Majesty,’ he pleaded. We can’t give up now. The message says we’re nearly there! The most wonderful, brilliant, fantastic, amazing birthday surprise could be waiting for you on top of the mountain! And all you want to do is go home! You must be off your rocker!’
Once again the grasping fingers of greed reached out and beckoned.
‘All right! All right! All right!’ screeched T-Bag. ‘Let’s just do it and get it over with!’
T-Shirt was cock-a-hoop that their grand adventure was not, after all, destined to be cut short.
‘Great!’ he laughed. ‘You won’t regret this, Your Majesty. You know you’re doing the right thing. It’s like they say. He who dares wins. Nothing ventured nothing gained. If at first you don’t succeed …’
‘SHUT UP!’ yelled T-Bag. ‘Are you going to stand there blabbering all day or are we going to go and get my birthday surprise? Come on!’
And with an impatient click of the fingers the galloping globetrotters were gone.

It was dusk as T-Bag and T-Shirt arrived on the snowy slopes of the mountain.
‘This is the place,’ announced T-Shirt breezily. ‘All we have to do now is find the ogre and that’ll be that. Simple.’
T-Bag shivered as the icy howling wind bit into her bones and the blinding snowflakes swirled around her face like a swarm of angry hornets.
‘It’s f … f … f … freezing,’ she stammered through two blue lips. ‘Oh … wh … wh …wh …where do we find this b … b … b … blasted ogre then?’
‘Look!’ cried T-Shirt, pointing a frozen finger at a dark shape in the white snow. Fighting their way against the raging blizzard the intrepid pair edged their way forward to investigate.
‘It’s a footprint!’ exclaimed T-Shirt. ‘Wow! Look at it! It’s the size of a flippin’ rowing boat!’
T-Bag stared in horror at the enormous trough in the snow. If this really was the ogre’s footprint then how big must the ogre be? T-Bag gulped at the thought.
T-Shirt had moved off further up the slope and his voice could be heard gleefully calling out through the whistling wind.
‘Here’s another one!’ he shouted. ‘And another! And another! And another! Come on! This way!’
T-Bag, shivering and trembling, partly from cold but mainly from fear, looked nervously about her then dashed off, crunching through the snow in quick pursuit of her fearless friend. All around the mountain the angry wind raged and roared. T-Bag stumbled blindly through the storm, her feet feeling more like blocks of ice with every step she struggled to take.
‘Where are you?’ she bellowed, but her voice was snatched up and swept off by the merciless swirling blasts.
A hand reached out and tapped her vigorously on the back.
‘Arghhhhhh!!!’
T-Bag leapt up like a jack-in-the-box.
‘It’s only me!’ said T-Shirt, grabbing hold of her frostbitten fingers and tugging her enthusiastically.
‘There’s an enormous cave over her … and the footprints lead right into it!’
‘Ohhhh!’ groaned T-Bag wearily. ‘Anything to get out of this p … p … p … perishing w … w … w … wind. Lead on. Lead on.’
Like two flies on a wedding cake, T-Bag and T-Shirt trudged across the icy landscape to the gaping mouth of the vast dark cave. They fell in, breathless and panting, and slumped down on a boulder to recover.
They had left behind the relentless howl of the wind but an ominous new sound had entered their ears. A low rumble could be heard, echoing along the walls and reverberating around the cavemouth.
‘Listen! What’s that?’ hissed T-Bag. ‘It sounds like an earthquake!’
T-Shirt was remarkably unperturbed.
‘It’s probably just the ogre snoring’ he said casually, magicking himself up a torch and stepping forward deeper into the cave.
‘Come on, Your Majesty. We’re nearly there now. This is no time to get cold feet.’
T-Shirt strode on ahead and disappeared into the darkness.
‘That boy will be the death of me,’ sighed T-Bag to herself. She heaved herself off the boulder and set off after him.
They picked their way slowly and steadily along the passage which led deeper and deeper into the very heart of the mountain. The further they went, the louder the snoring and roaring became. The tunnel twisted and turned until at last they saw ahead the red flickering glow of a fire burning.
‘I think we’re nearly there,’ whispered T-Shirt. ‘Come on.’
T-Shirt forged ahead, leaving T-Bag stumbling and grumbling as she struggled to keep up with him. Rounding the final bend they both stopped dead in their tracks and gazed up in astonishment.
The passage opened into a vast cathedral-like cavern. At the centre blazed an enormous bonfire. Whole treetrunks lay criss-crossed in a pile with flames leaping hungrily upwards between them. The embers sparked and crackled like a blitz of rifle shots, and the billowing black smoke rose and twisted around the forest of stalactites which clung menacingly from the roof.
For almost a minute T-Bag and T-Shirt stood at the entrance, gasping in wonder at the staggering sight. Then suddenly and silently T-Shirt tugged at T-Bag’s sleeve and pointed across to an enormous shadowy figure sleeping at the far end of the chamber. It was the ogre!
‘We’d better wake him up,’ T-Shirt suggested, but there was no need. The huge shape rolled over and sat up, sending vibrations shuddering across the floor and several stalactites crashing down from above.
Clambering heavily to his feet, the great giant yawned and slowly rubbed his eyes.
He was a fearsome sight, towering above them, as high as a house and brad as bungalow. The craggy face atop this mountainous man glared down at the two tiny intruders and let out a terrifying snarl.
T-Bag and T-Shirt were rooted to the spot unable to move a muscle as the gigantic hulk took a massive step towards them.
‘You stupid boy!’ whimpered T-Bag to T-Shirt. ‘This is all your fault! We’re doomed! I never thought I’d end up as the main course at an ogre’s barbecue!’
‘Perhaps he’s a vegetarian?’ piped T-Shirt hopefully.
The giant took another rumbling step nearer.
‘This is it!’ squawked T-Bag. ‘Now we’re for the chop!’
She shut her eyes tightly and prepared for the worst. But instead of the ogre snatching her up and grilling her over the bonfire as she expected, he merely smiled and began to speak.
‘Helloo there, little people,’ he said in a slow and sluggish drone. ‘Nice day for the time o’ year ain’t it?’
T-Bag tentatively opened one eye and looked up to see a huge dopey grin spread across the ogre’s face.
‘I were just having meself a little nap,’ he chortled. ‘A quick forty-thousand winks before supper.’
T-Bag opened the other eye and came to the rapid conclusion that although the ogre was built like a mighty oak, his brain was the size of an acorn.
‘Guess what I be havin’ for me supper?’ he beamed cheerfully.
T-Shirt looked at T-Bag and they both shrugged nervously thinking that perhaps they were to be included on the menu after all.
‘Snow!’ laughed the ogre loudly. ‘A nice big bowl of snow. I loves snow.’
The once-terrified twosome exchanged expressions of relief.
‘This ogre’s an idiot!’ hissed T-Bag in T-Shirt’s ear. ‘A complete and utter oaf … I don’t know why you were so scared of him.’
‘Me?’ retorted T-Shirt. ‘You were the one who …’
All of a sudden they realised that the giant had got down on his hands and knees and his vast grinning face was right beside them.
‘Would you like some snow?’ he gurgled. ‘I could easily pop out and get us some.’
T-Bag was never one to suffer fools gladly. She turned and prodded the ogre sharply on the nose.
‘I’m not interested in snow!’ she snapped. ‘The only thing I’m interested in is getting my blasted surprise! And it’s already painfully apparent that you’re going to be a fat lot of help!’
Turning to T-Shirt with a scowl, she snatched the torch from him and set off furiously back towards the entrance.
‘Just a mo!’ cried the ogre after her. ‘Is you called … Tallulah Bag by any chance?’

[Granny Bag]

T-Bag stopped in her tracks and spun round.
‘Cos … if you is,’ continued the giant, ‘I’s got a big surprise for you!’
‘Told you!’ chimed T-Shirt cockily.
T-Bag marched right up to the giant and looked at him defiantly in the eye.
‘Let’s get this straight,’ she began. ‘You say that you’ve got a big surprise?’
‘Yup!’ grinned the ogre.
‘And you’re going to give this big surprise to me?’
‘Yup!’
‘It’s not another one of those blasted golden envelopes I hope. It is a proper surprise this time?’
‘Yup!’
‘You’re sure about that?’
‘Yup!’
‘Well what are you waiting for? Hand it over!!!’
‘Nope!’
T-Bag was speechless. T-Shirt stepped forward.
‘What do you mean, “nope”?’ he demanded. ‘Are you going to give her this surprise or not?’
A monumentally mischievous smile spread across the ogre’s craggy face. He peered teasingly at T-Bag and giggled playfully.
‘You can have your surprise … if …’
‘If what?’ T-Bag spat.
‘If …’ he continued, ‘You can guess my name!’
The gigantic japester beamed and gurgled with delight as he watched T-Bag’s face bubble and boil with anger and frustration.
‘Guess your name???’ she spluttered, on the verge of choking with fury. ‘I’m not here to play stupid games, you big dunderhead! Where’s my surprise.’
‘First guess my name,’ snag the ogre. ‘No name – no surprise.’
‘Oh this is a joke!’ cried T-Bag, tearing wildly at her hair. ‘How the toasted teacakes are we supposed to know your wretched name is? It could be anything.’
T-Shirt, who had remained unusually quiet through all of this, turned to T-Bag.
‘This reminds me of a fairy story,’ he said thoughtfully.
T-Bag glared feverishly at him.
‘How interesting!’ she snarled.
‘No, listen,’ insisted the boy. ‘This woman had to guess the name of this funny little man and in the end his name turned out to be Rumplestiltskin. Worth a try eh?’
T-Shirt looked up at the ogre.
‘Is you name Rumplestiltskin?’ he called.
‘Nope!’ came the reply.
‘You ridiculous child!’ said T-Bag scathingly. ‘As if he’d be called a ludicrous name like that! He’s a giant isn’t he? He’s bound to have a giant’s name. Oh leave this to me.’
T-Bag spun round to face the ogre.
‘Is you name Goliath?’ she shouted.
‘Nope!’ boomed the answer
‘Is it … Colossus?’
‘Nope!’
‘How about … Leviathan?’
‘Nope!’
‘Could it be Gargantua?’
‘Nope!’
‘Titan?’
‘Nope!’
‘Cyclops?’
‘Nope! Nope! Nope!’
‘Oh this is hopeless!’ sighed T-Bag who was clearly getting nowhere fast.
‘Let me have another go,’ volunteered T-Shirt. ‘Is your name the Incredible Hulk?’ suggested the boy.
‘Nope!’
‘The Jolly Green Giant?’
‘Nope!’
‘Desperate Dan?’
‘Nope!’
‘Giant Haystacks?’
‘Nope!’
Big Ben?’
‘Nope! Nope! Nope!’
The ogre was obviously relishing every minute of the guessing game and became despondent every time either of the unwilling participants paused to draw breath.
‘Don’t stop!’ he urged. ‘This is the bestest fun I’s had for a hundred years. Keep guessing!’
T-Bag was rapidly running out of steam.
‘At this rate we could be here another hundred years and still never get it!’
‘Oh goody!’ cooed the ogre at the prospect of a whole century spent in such pleasant and stimulating company. But to T-Bag, however, every minute spent in the presence of their happy host seemed like an hour of unremitting torture.
‘This is a nightmare,’ she grumbled. ‘A complete nightmare. What a way to spend your birthday!’
A brainbuster of an idea flashed across T-Shirt’s face at the mention of the word ‘birthday’.
‘That’s it!’ he cried. ‘That’s how we find out what his name is!’
T-Bag looked at him pityingly.
‘Now what are you burbling about boy?’
But without waiting to explain his inspired plan, T-Shirt blinked his eyes and magicked up a large birthday cake. Instead of offering it to T-Bag, surprisingly he turned and held it up to the ogre.
‘Happy Birthday, Ogre!’ he called. ‘Happy, happy birthday!’
The ogre looked dumbfounded.
T-Bag looked completely bamboozled.
‘The boy’s finally flipped his lid!’ she muttered under her breath. ‘It had to happen sooner or later.’
The ogre scratched his huge head sending a flurry of dandruff snowing down around them.
‘Hang on a mo,’ he droned. ‘Today t’aint my birfday … is it?’
‘Of course it is!’ laughed T-Shirt. ‘It’s the thirty-second of Septober isn’t it?’
‘Is it?’ hummed the giant as he began to count the days off on hi fingers.
‘If yesterday was Monday, then today must be … uhh … ?’
‘February!’ spouted T-Shirt in a deliberate attempt to confuse the ogre. ‘And bearing in mind that this is a leap year,’ he went on, ‘then April the first will fall on November the twelfth and obviously that means the summer equinox won’t happen ‘til Boxing Day. So taking into consideration the position of the moon and the price of cheese, your birthday’s been moved forward to today. Need I say more?’
T-Bag was now convinced that her young friend had gone completely loopy. Meanwhile the expression on the giant’s face was running through the whole catalogue of emotions from mixed up bewilderment to outright ecstacy.
‘You’re right!!!’ he thundered joyfully. ‘Today is my birfday. Ho ho!’
T-Bag leaned over and screeched into T-Shirt’s ear.
‘What the figgy pudding do you think you’re playing at boy? How is this lunacy going to help us guess that blockhead’s name?’
‘Trust me,’ whispered T-Shirt. ‘Stand back and marvel!’
The boy stepped forward, threw back his head and began to sing heartily.

‘Happy Birthday to you.
Happy Birthday to you.
Happy Birthday dear …’

At this point in the song T-Shirt came to a sudden halt.
‘Don’t stop!’ pleaded the ogre. ‘Keep going.’
T-Shirt threw T-Bag a crafty wink then turned back to the giant.
‘I can’t remember what comes next in the song,’ he said innocently. ‘Do you know how it goes?’
‘Course I does!’ chortled the ogre and in a deafening tuneless boom, launched into the final lines of the song.
‘Happy Birfday dear Cyril,
Happy Birfday to meeee!’
He clapped his hands and stamped his feet gleefully, rocking the whole cavern and sending more stalactites cascading down from the roof.
‘Oh, by the way,’ said T-Shirt impishly as he handed over the cake, ‘I think I’ve guessed your name.’
‘Oh yeah?’ smirked the ogre, popping the entire cake onto his tongue and gulping it down as if it were a chocolate button.
‘What is it then?’
‘It’s … Cyril!’ announced T-Shirt, beaming confidently.
The ogre very nearly choked on the cake as he realised he’d been tricked. T-Bag was forced to admit that T-Shirt’s little ruse had come up a winner.
‘All right. Very clever!’ she hissed. I’ll take over now thank you very much.’
Pushing past the boy, she advanced on the shamefaced ogre and prodded him urgently with her finger.
‘Right then Cyril’ she leered. ‘We’ve guessed your stupid name, now HAND OVER MY BLASTED BIRTHDAY SURPRISE!!!’
Cyril tutted and muttered and cursed himself for being so gullible and easily fooled. He slouched moodily across to a dark and shadowy corner of the cavern and returned carrying a box wrapped in colourful paper and tied with a big re ribbon.
‘AT LONG LONG LAST!!!’ shrieked T-Bag waving her arms in the air and dancing with joy. ‘My birthday surprise!’
Cyril huffily plonked the present down in front of her.
‘Not fair!’ he grumbled. ‘You made me look a right twit. I’m going back to bed.’
So saying, the miserable ogre lumbered off into the shadows mumbling to himself as he went.
T-Bag drooled and fondled the package lovingly.
‘Well open it then!’ urged T-Shirt eagerly. But T-Bag needed no encouragement. With a manic look on her face she tore into the wrappings, her desperate fingers clawing to rip open the box.
‘Oh, I can’t wait! I can’t wait! I can’t wait!’
She didn’t have to wait. The lid of the box came shooting open and in a flurry of flying feathers a flapping white shape burst noisily out of the box. Honking and squawking wildly, a great angry goose flew furiously forward and pecked T-Bag painfully on the nose.
‘Yarrghh!!!’ she screamed, pushing the bird away from her face and falling backwards over a boulder.
‘What is that thing?’
T-Shirt carefully picked up the frightened creature and held it soothingly in his arms.
‘It’s a wild goose,’ he said gently stroking its feathery head. ‘Poor little thing.’
T-Bag picked herself up from the ground and rubbed her nibbled nose.
‘Poor little me you mean. All the troubles we’ve been through today just for this! A wild goose!’
Suddenly the penny dropped.
T-Bag slapped herself despairingly on the forehead as it dawned on her what the significance of the unwelcome gift really was.
‘Somebody’s sent us on a wild goose chase!’ she gasped. ‘I don’t believe it. A complete, total and utter waste of a day!’
‘Not a complete waste,’ chirped T-Shirt. ‘I’ve always wanted a pet goose. I think I’ll call him Pimple. Look at me, Your Majesty, I’ve got a little goose Pimple! Ha ha ha ha ha!’
‘SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT UP!’
T-Shirt’s tiny grain of humour had tipped the scales and completely unbalanced T-Bag’s already muddled mind. She ranted. She raved. She hit the roof. The she hit the walls. Then the floor. She shouted. She screamed. She cursed and she swore. She completely blew her top!
And when at last her volcanic outburst had burned itself out, she slumped pathetically on to a rock and sobbed like a baby.
T-Shirt glanced down at his wristhingych.
‘I think it’s time we were getting back,’ he said comfortingly. ‘Come on I’ll make you a nice cup of tea.’
T-Bag rose painfully to her feet and shuffled zombie-like towards him. Holding the goose under one arm, T-Shirt took T-Bag gently by the hand and with a curious cheeky smile, he magicked them all home.

[shadow=red,left,400]The Last chapter coming next week!
CHAPTER EIGHT COMING 10TH AUGUST 2004 (Elizabeth Estensen’s Birthday)[/shadow]

[Granny Bag]

EIGHT

It was dark when T-Bag, T-Shirt and the goose arrived back at the T-Room. Without even bothering to turn on the light, T-Bag threw herself on the sofa in a fit of depression.
‘This has been the worst day of my whole life!’ she murmured vacantly. ‘It should have been the best but it was the worst. Ohhhhh! I think I’ll just lie here in the dark where it’s peaceful and quiet. I never want to hear the word “birthday” mentioned again as long as I live!’
‘HAAAPPY BIIIIRTHDAYYYY!!!!!!!!’
A cheer went up. The lights went on. T-Bag fell off the sofa in shock as a hundred happy faces grinned down at her and two hundred happy faces grinned down at her and two reached out to help her up and pat her heartily on the back.
‘What the - ? Eh - ? Uh - ? Ah - ?’
‘Happy Birthday! Happy Birthday! Happy Birthday!’ cried a chorus of jolly voices.
T-Bag blinked her eyes and gazed around the room in disbelief. Bunches of gaily coloured balloons hung from every corner. Streamers and pretty decorations festooned the walls. Paper lanterns dangled from the ceiling. A long trestle table creaked under the weight of a thousand sausage rolls. A mountain of peanut butter and banana sandwiches towered above a lake of strawberry jelly.
And crammed into the room, all jostling to be the first to congratulate T-Bag on her five hundredth birthday, was every single member of the notorious Bag Family. There was her sister Tabatha Bag, her sporty cousin Kit Bag and her superstitious aunt Lucky Bag. There was vain old Vanity Bag, sweet old Candy Bag and greasy old Chip Bag. Standing in front, cackling at her own craftiness, was that incorrigible bag of tricks, Granny Bag!
‘Well, Tallulah!’ she screeched, ‘What do you think of your birthday surprise?’
T-Bag was lost for words. T-Shirt exploded with laughter.
‘We really got you that time, eh, Your Majesty?’ he guffawed. ‘What a hoot!’
T-Bag’s brain was racing to keep up with each startling revelation. Granny Bag stepped forward to explain.
‘You see, Tallulah,’ she began ‘We had to get you out of the way so we could organise this wonderful surprise birthday party! That’s why we sent you off on a wild goose chase.’
T-Bag was aghast.
‘What?!’ she gasped. ‘You mean – those golden envelopes …?’
Granny grinned.
‘Yes. All my own work. Clever eh?’
‘And that pirate woman?’ gulped T-Bag. ‘And that stupid Sultan? And Emperor what’s-his-name? And all those other ridiculous people?’
‘They were in on it too!’ chortled Granny.
T-Bag didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. She had been caught hook, line and sinker by the cunning old crone.
‘Come on, Your Majesty,’ giggled T-Shirt. ‘Let’s have a smile. We only did it to make you happy!’
T-Bag was forced to admit that she was touched by their efforts to make her special day extra special. A tear welled up in her eye.
‘What can say?’ she sniffed. ‘Except … thank you. Thank you all.’
A great roar went up from the crowd.
‘HOORAY!!! HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!! MANY HAPPY RETURNS!!!’
Everybody cheered. Doggy Bag howled. And Pimple the goose flapped up onto the table, honking excitedly and began pecking at the sandwiches. Amidst the laughter and merriment, the front door flew open and a whole stream of chattering latecomers poured into the T-Room.
There was Pirate Peg, Princess Poppy and her dog Prince, Sultan Vinegar who arrived on Jezebel the camel, Emperor Po along with a troupe of his zany entertainers, and crouching outside, peering merrily through the window, was Cyril the Ogre.
They had all come to wish T-Bag the happiest of all birthdays and joined in the party fun with gusto. Prince and Doggy Bag struck up an immediate friendship and went off around the room in pursuit of the squawking goose.
Chip Bag and Sultan Vinegar got stuck into the sausage rolls while Princess Poppy and Vanity Bag chattered enthusiastically about the latest hair styles. Granny Bag had Emperor Po in stitches with her whoopee cushion and rubber chicken, and the three men in the one pair of trousers played a selection of songs from Mary Poppins on the xylophone. A merry time was being had by one and all.
T-Bag was in her element! She was the star attraction and she was lapping up every minute of it as she tore open the ever-growing stack of birthday cards and gifts.
There was eating and drinking, singing and dancing, as the party went rollicking on late into the night. Then once all the presents had been opened and the mammoth banquet had been reduced to a scattering of crumbs, T-Shirt called for quiet so that he could make an announcement.
‘Ladies and gentlemen!’ he hollered.
‘What about me?’ came a booming roar from outside.
‘And ogres,’ added T-Shirt with a laugh. ‘And camels and geese as well. All of you who are here tonight at this wonderful party …’
‘Get on with it lad!’ piped a voice from the back of the room.
A balloon burst with a pop. A honking and barking could be heard from under the table.
Despite these distractions, the boy went on.
‘I think you’ll agree that we’ve all had a great time … especially our lovely birthday girl…’
T-Bag turned beetroot red as some unknown wag let out a cheeky wolf whistle.
T-Shirt pressed on with his speech.
‘Only one more thing left for me to do. So … I’d better do it now.’
He disappeared briefly to the kitchen, returning a second later in the doorway holding the most spectacular birthday cake anyone had ever seen. Ooohs and aahs went up all around the room at the sight of it. An enormous cream-filled creation topped with icing and sugar flowers with ‘Happy Birthday T-Bag’ spelled out in flowing chocolate lettering.
Everyone broke into a rousing chorus of the happy birthday song as T-Shirt carefully carried the cake into the room. T-Bag was over the moon.
‘This has been the best day of my life!’ she cried. ‘And this cake tops it all. Quick T-Shirt … let me have it!’
T-Shirt bounded forwards, happy that for once it seemed he’d done something right.
At that moment, there was a flash of fur and a flurry of feathers as Doggy Bag and Prince shot out from under the table with Pimple, the enraged goose, screeching and pecking at their tails.
Looking back and yelping madly, the two terrified dogs careered into T-Shirt’s legs knocking him forwards. The cake flew out of his hands. The startled guests gasped in horror.
T-Bag watched, gobsmacked, as the marzipanned missile sailed across the room, homing in with deadly accuracy on her gawping face.
‘SHPLATTT!!!’
The cake burst apart as it hit her slap between the eyes in a crowning cascade of cream. T-Bag fell backwards onto the table which collapsed with a crash as plates, bowls and cups came raining down on top of her. Groping frantically to save herself, she lunged uselessly at the paper decorations, bringing the whole roomful of balloons, streamers and lanterns fluttering down around her.
T-Bag lay sprawled amidst the ruins of her birthday surprise. Covered from head to toe in a messy mixture of whipped cream, broken china and soggy streamers, she looked for all the world like a snowman who’d fallen headfirst into a bowl of spaghetti.
Nobody moved. Nobody spoke. T-Shirt gazed down at his feet in shame, unable to look T-Bag in the eye.
Suddenly there came a loud cackle. It was Granny Bag. The sight of her grand-daughter lying helpless on the floor up to her eyes in cake crumbs and crockery was just too much for the old lady to bear.
‘Hee hee hee hee hee!’
The giggle sparked off a chortle, and the chortle a chuckle, then another and another and another. It spread like wildfire until the whole room was ablaze with roars of raucous laughter.
‘HA! HA! HA! HA! HA!’ This was the high spot of the evening! The band played on and the party continued on its merry way.
T-Shirt sidled across to T-Bag and looked down at her with an apologetic shrug. He couldn’t think of a single suitable word to say.
But T-Bag could. Flicking a blob of chocolate icing from the end of her nose, she glared up at him in utter despair.
‘YOU STUPID BOY!!!’



Thank you for reading this story from The Amazing Adventures Of T-Bag by Lee Pressman and Grant Cathro, I hope you've enjoyed it. I’ve got to go now and feed Doggy Bag if he's not in the bath. I’ll think I’ll watch my video of when T-Shirt and I went to Transylvania where we met Count Von Fledermaus, then I’ll go a fetch my motorbike, Y-Fronts were going to fix it for me and fill it up with petrol, it should be ready by now, I've been meaning to pick it up for the last decade!

Love,
Granny Bag!