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The Sisters Wellingffomething-ffomething Go For a Walk in The Country
It really was enough to make a somewhat elderly evil sister grumble up her sleeve. (SPLOP SPLOP SPLOP). Being fairly rocketed across the dirtiest, muddiest path (if one could rightly call it a path!) she had ever encountered, forever with her poor nose rammed into the most horrible puddles, on top of which to be constantly reminded of her failings and inadequacies by her stouter (enormously fat, really), more resilient sister! And if that was not bad enough, then that selfsame sister would insist on humming loudly and out of tune. (SPLOP SPLOP SPLOP).
“I do wish you would slow down, Muffin dear,” spluttered Wambledy-Jane, so upset she had failed to notice a length of something resembling muddy twine protruding from her right nostril, while at the same time trying to be polite.
(SPLOOGE SPLOOGE SPLOOGE) “Do buck up, darling Wambledy-Jane (pant pant) (SPLOOGE SPLOP),” scolded her elder sister, much out of breath and more than a little offended. “You know perfectly well, (pant pant) there is absolutely nothing I can do when SHE gets into one of her moods.”
“Oh, please, dearest Muffin, may we not attempt to flee, to detach ourselves from the tyrant and throw ourselves into the sea? I honestly cannot take much more of this,” gasped Wambledy-Jane, snorting loudly (at which point the long, stringy thing disappeared up her nose with a loud SLURP).
“And how (pant pant),” demanded Muffin in her shrillest tones, “pray tell (pant pant splutter splutter) are we supposed to do that? Do you really think she might fail to notice?”
“(Glub schluch pant sploch gurgle) At least ask her (pant pant) to slow down a little so I can catch up,” gargled Wambledy-Jane, by now completely out of breath and at her wit’s end. “You are her favourite. If she will listen to anyone, it will be to you.”
“Listen (pant pant sclub fwaap) to me?” Muffin screamed, her voice going up at least three octaves. “Listen to me? Have you failed to notice, my carbuncle of a twit sister, our relative positions? In case you have forgotten, SHE is the force. Not you. Not I. SHE. SHE is The Immensely Large One! Since when…” at which moment in time an exceedingly impressive mouthful of noxious, odorous mud and slime (exactly the same dimensions as her mouth, with an additional amount added on for spillage) leapt from the swamp and took refuge in her in the back of her throat. Muffin was caused to cough somewhat violently (and with such violence she was unable even to utter an unkind remark), after which she was forced to retreat into a furious and atypical silence. This was immediately followed by a second bout of coughing which climaxed in the forceful ejection of several acres of slop, a family of mudskippers and an entire schoolroom of tadpoles. Scarlet of face and possessed by the furies, all she could do was screech at her trembling sister, “SHE OWNS US!”
“Oh! Piffle! Don’t be so melodramatic, my darling Muffin,” replied Wambledy-Jane in an uncharacteristic show of bravado. “You are really the most boring older sister one could possibly possess, more boring and tiresome even than Her (murphf murphf pant pant gag splutter) (SPLOP SPLP SPLOOGE SPWAP). I am exhausted listening to you, simply exhausted (Splutter pant gag pant pant)! And it is all rot! Nobody owns us! NOBODY OWNS ANYBODY! OW!!!”
“What is wrong with you now,” her elder sister demanded to know, pulling herself up to her full height and (somewhat decrepit) magnificence and thrusting out her bosom at a haughty angle. “Stop complaining or it will be no dinner for you!”
“I’b godda wock stug ib by node…”
“For goodness sake, blow it out at once. If SHE notices, you will be on the receiving end of a short sharp slap against the mud scraper the minute we get home!” Muffin turned (as far as was possible) and glared at her younger sister. “Do get on with it”, she said, “and with, if you don’t mind (she added under her breath) “your mouth firmly shut.”
Wambledy-Jane leaned against a small plant and blew her nose as violently as possible, inspiring the rock (quite the most unpleasant looking scrag end of shale as has been invented) to fly out of her left nostril and ricochet off a small tuffet, before finally coming to rest in a cluster of small, carefully tended plants.
It really was enough to make a somewhat elderly evil sister grumble up her sleeve. (SPLOP SPLOP SPLOP). Being fairly rocketed across the dirtiest, muddiest path (if one could rightly call it a path!) she had ever encountered, forever with her poor nose rammed into the most horrible puddles, on top of which to be constantly reminded of her failings and inadequacies by her stouter (enormously fat, really), more resilient sister! And if that was not bad enough, then that selfsame sister would insist on humming loudly and out of tune. (SPLOP SPLOP SPLOP).
“I do wish you would slow down, Muffin dear,” spluttered Wambledy-Jane, so upset she had failed to notice a length of something resembling muddy twine protruding from her right nostril, while at the same time trying to be polite.
(SPLOOGE SPLOOGE SPLOOGE) “Do buck up, darling Wambledy-Jane (pant pant) (SPLOOGE SPLOP),” scolded her elder sister, much out of breath and more than a little offended. “You know perfectly well, (pant pant) there is absolutely nothing I can do when SHE gets into one of her moods.”
“Oh, please, dearest Muffin, may we not attempt to flee, to detach ourselves from the tyrant and throw ourselves into the sea? I honestly cannot take much more of this,” gasped Wambledy-Jane, snorting loudly (at which point the long, stringy thing disappeared up her nose with a loud SLURP).
“And how (pant pant),” demanded Muffin in her shrillest tones, “pray tell (pant pant splutter splutter) are we supposed to do that? Do you really think she might fail to notice?”
“(Glub schluch pant sploch gurgle) At least ask her (pant pant) to slow down a little so I can catch up,” gargled Wambledy-Jane, by now completely out of breath and at her wit’s end. “You are her favourite. If she will listen to anyone, it will be to you.”
“Listen (pant pant sclub fwaap) to me?” Muffin screamed, her voice going up at least three octaves. “Listen to me? Have you failed to notice, my carbuncle of a twit sister, our relative positions? In case you have forgotten, SHE is the force. Not you. Not I. SHE. SHE is The Immensely Large One! Since when…” at which moment in time an exceedingly impressive mouthful of noxious, odorous mud and slime (exactly the same dimensions as her mouth, with an additional amount added on for spillage) leapt from the swamp and took refuge in her in the back of her throat. Muffin was caused to cough somewhat violently (and with such violence she was unable even to utter an unkind remark), after which she was forced to retreat into a furious and atypical silence. This was immediately followed by a second bout of coughing which climaxed in the forceful ejection of several acres of slop, a family of mudskippers and an entire schoolroom of tadpoles. Scarlet of face and possessed by the furies, all she could do was screech at her trembling sister, “SHE OWNS US!”
“Oh! Piffle! Don’t be so melodramatic, my darling Muffin,” replied Wambledy-Jane in an uncharacteristic show of bravado. “You are really the most boring older sister one could possibly possess, more boring and tiresome even than Her (murphf murphf pant pant gag splutter) (SPLOP SPLP SPLOOGE SPWAP). I am exhausted listening to you, simply exhausted (Splutter pant gag pant pant)! And it is all rot! Nobody owns us! NOBODY OWNS ANYBODY! OW!!!”
“What is wrong with you now,” her elder sister demanded to know, pulling herself up to her full height and (somewhat decrepit) magnificence and thrusting out her bosom at a haughty angle. “Stop complaining or it will be no dinner for you!”
“I’b godda wock stug ib by node…”
“For goodness sake, blow it out at once. If SHE notices, you will be on the receiving end of a short sharp slap against the mud scraper the minute we get home!” Muffin turned (as far as was possible) and glared at her younger sister. “Do get on with it”, she said, “and with, if you don’t mind (she added under her breath) “your mouth firmly shut.”
Wambledy-Jane leaned against a small plant and blew her nose as violently as possible, inspiring the rock (quite the most unpleasant looking scrag end of shale as has been invented) to fly out of her left nostril and ricochet off a small tuffet, before finally coming to rest in a cluster of small, carefully tended plants.
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