You Sometimes Have To Join Forces With

How Awful It Was, Thought Tessa, Remembering Fats The Toddler, The Way Tiny Ghosts Of Your Living Children Haunted Your Heart; They Could Never Know, And Would Hate It If They Did, How Their Growing Was A Constant Bereavement.

On And On They Flew, Over The Countryside Parceled Out In Patches Of Green And Brown, Over Roads And Rivers Winding Through The Landscapes Like Strips Of Matte And Glossy Ribbon.

He Was Going To Be Armed With His Wand - Which, Just Now, Felt Like Nothing More Than A Narrow Strip Of Wood - Against A Fifty-foot-high, Scaly, Spike-ridden, Fire-breathing Dragon.

You Foul, Lying, Evil Little Cockroach!

All Those Poor Elves I Haven’t Set Free Yet, Having To Stay Over During Christmas Because There Aren’t Enough Hats!