The Floating Island

The Island of Marmura is small, round and flat, and that's why it's so easy to move.

But for as long as anyone who lives there can remember, it's bobbed around the North Sea, bumping into Scotland, then bumping into Ireland. When the islanders really want to move quickly, perhaps to avoid a huge wave, or a sharp rock, they grab their enormous paddles, gather along the beaches and all paddle together, as fast as they can, until they've propelled the island to a different part of the ocean, where they drop anchor and stay until the next huge wave comes along.

That's the most important thing you need to know about Marmura, the other thing is that it is always raining.

One particularly grey, drizzly day, a small boy said to his mother: 'Why it is never sunny here? I want to go somewhere sunny. We can move our island wherever we want, so why don't we just go somewhere else?'

At first his mother was shocked, then she thought about it, then she told her neighbour. At first the neighbour was shocked, then he thought about it, then he told his brother, and so on, until finally everyone on the island was in agreement; they were fed up with rain! They were going South!

Many days and nights passed, and the islanders' arms ached from so much paddling. The sea was wide and empty, and they had not met another soul, but to their delight the rain had almost stopped. Then, on the fifth day, somewhere off Spain, they met another island, this one long and thin and rocky, being rowed toward them by hundreds of small people wearing large hats.

'We're heading North,' cried the other islanders in unison. 'It's far too hot where we come from, and it's always too dry. Where are you going?'

What a stroke of luck! The islanders swapped clothes, traded their umbrellas for suntan lotion and firelighters for fans, bade each other farewell and bon voyage, and waved happily until each island was a tiny speck on the horizon, then disappeared.

Fireflash and the Freezer of Doom

He was destined for better things. He was FireFlash the Ice-Fighter, Super-Robot.

'Go on!' shouted the rowdy dolls from the ledge above. 'Show us yer fire-shooters!'

He could hear them giggling, then that ghastly bear who thought he knew everything joined in.

'Fire-shooters. Fire-shooters, I ask you,' scoffed the bear in a loud stage whisper. 'Yes, that's really what we all need in a child's bedroom. I bet they don't even work, you know.'

'Actually, they work perfectly,' retorted FireFlash through permanently gritted teeth. 'But there has to be an emergency first. I can only respond to emergency situations. I have to use my powers responsibly – it is in my programming.'

He shut his ears to the laughter that followed. He should not be with these… creatures. He should be in a bedroom that needed him, amongst grateful victims of almost-dreadful fates.

-----------------------------

'Shut them in the fridge! Shut them in the fridge!'

'Ice them! Let's make them into ice cubes!'

Small hands stuffed the toys into the freezer compartment. No one really knew why, but it was good fun. The door shut; an ominous click.

'Oh, heavens,' said the bear, not so clever now.

The dolls huddled together, wide-eyed with fear. 'What are we going to do? We'll freeze in 'ere. I'm only wearing me purple sparkle mini skirt and matching heels.'

You think you're badly off?' cried the bear. 'Look at me! Those ruffians robbed me of my scarf and hat. I am a Christmas bear, designed for warmth and cuddliness. Oh! Look at my fur – spikes, spikes of ice!' He brushed ineffectually at his fur, let out an anguished sob and sank back dramatically against a floret of broccoli.

The dolls were about to scream, but from behind last summer's ice lollies came an unfamiliar trundling sound. A squat figure emerged, firing flame-jets from his mechanical hands.

'Stand back, ladies. Bear, you may need to hide your eyes. It'll get pretty hot in here, but I'll soon get us out.' Bags of frozen peas turned to mush; the lollies formed a sticky orange lake and water flooded from the freezer all over the kitchen floor.

The dolls swooned. The bear hid behind his paws. As the freezer lid was lifted by an angry-looking mother, everyone cheered. No one laughed at FireFlash the Ice-Fighter again.

Trouble in Rainbow City

There was trouble in Rainbow City. The colours were rioting and running amok, splashing themselves across the city streets and generally causing a mess.

Black called a meeting. ‘We are all doomed,’ he announced. 'There is no order! Colours are running into one another and it is all turning...' he turned and pointed a trembling finger out the window...'A Sort of Greyish Brown!' There was an anguished gasp from the small gathering.

Blue, who was late, raced in, apologised and took the last available chair next to Red. No one else wanted to sit next to Red, who was simmering angrily and occasionally letting off steam like a cross bull. ‘Don’t touch me!’ hissed Red. 'Or I’ll end up like her.’ He pointed at the far corner of the room to Purple, who stuck her tongue out.

Orange and Yellow had no such problems and were sitting so close to each other you couldn’t tell where one stopped and the other started. They grinned inanely at the rest of the room. Black, who’d kicked off the meeting, could think of nothing else to say and sat down hurriedly, hoping Grey or White would take over.

Suddenly, a terrible din could be heard from down the corridor. The stomp of heavy boots thundered and a door slammed, breaking the silence in the room.

‘Let’s run away,’ Yellow, cringed and nudged Orange. Orange continued to smile in a rather fixed way. ‘OK,’ he whispered through his teeth and they started to get up. The footsteps stopped outside the meeting room door. ‘Eek!’ screamed Red, and scrambled into Blue’s lap. Together they dashed over to the far corner and hid behind Purple.

The door was kicked open. ‘RIGHT, YOU ‘ORRIBLE LOT!’ In strode Pink, looking mean and scary. ‘YOU SHOULD HAVE INVITED ME IN THE FIRST PLACE, YOU LILY-LIVERED LOT OF LEMONS! I’M HERE TO SORT THIS OUT!’ And, to the dread of the other colours, who wondered what on earth he could be carrying, he reached into his large bag and pulled out a flipchart.

‘WE WON’T BE ABLE TO DO ANYTHING WITHOUT THIS!’ he bellowed, and handed round an assortment of pens. ‘I'LL SPEAK, AND YOU…’ he pointed to the quaking Yellow, ‘...CAN DO THE WRITING.’

Everyone looked at Black, who said nothing and looked carefully at his feet. ‘CUP OF COFFEE, PLEASE. BLACK, NO SUGAR,’ Pink barked. ‘YOU WANT ORDER? I'LL GIVE YOU ORDER!RIGHT, LET’S GET STARTED!’

And within a few days, A Sort of Greyish Brown had gone back to wherever it had come from, and Rainbow City regained its dazzle.