Wednesday, August 08, 2007


(This story is in response to the June assignment where we are asked to write a children's story.)

Once upon a time (all the best stories begin in this way, O best beloved) there lived a princess. She wasn’t really a princess, but her Daddy had made so much money in building hotels and investing the proceeds that she was one of the richest little girls in the whole wide world.

So, naturally, she thought that she was a princess. She was ever so pretty, with long hair that was blonde for most of the time and she wore the shortest dresses imaginable because (I’m sorry to say) she was rather vain about her legs, which really were rather nice.

The fact that she had about as many brains as the average frog didn’t matter so much because she was so very rich; and in any case she was always hoping one day to meet a real frog who might, just possibly, might turn into the artist formerly known as Prince.

In the same country there was also a real prince – handsome as all-get-out. (He has nothing to do with this story but I have to mention him otherwise I might be accused of being sexist). If you do not know what being sexist means, you will learn all about it when you grow up.

One day the beautiful princess was rather naughty!

She went to a party in her new car (she was allowed to drive the car because she was so rich) and she drank too much fizzy lemonade. And then she tried to drive her car home.

Of course, Mr Plod the Policeman saw her!

“You’re a bad girl!” he said, wagging his finger at her “to try and drive a car when your tummy is full of fizz.”

But – what do you think? – the next day she did it again! And the next day as well! Wasn’t she a naughty girl?

Mr Plod the Policeman was very cross.

“You must go to the lock-up” he said, “until you learn to behave better. And you must not drive a car again for at least a week.”

The beautiful princess was very cross. “No, I don’t want to go to the lock-up!” she said, stamping her little foot (and trying to make sure she showed as much leg as possible in the process) “My Daddy is very rich, and he won’t let me go to the lock-up!”

“Ho! Ho!” said Mr Plod the Policeman. “That’s what you think!” And he took her by the hand, and put her in a little dark room in the lock-up, and locked the door, and went away with the key.

It was awful! There was only a hard bed to lie on, and a hard chair to sit on, and only a very small television to watch, and the lavatory was in the same room! Wasn’t that cruel of Mr Plod the Policeman?

But that was what is called dem-oc-ra-cy, which is another thing you will learn about when you grow up.But the beautiful princess cried and made herself ill, so Mr Plod the Policeman had to let her out again, because he was a little bit afraid of what her Daddy might say if he heard about how the princess had been locked up in the lock-up.

And – would you believe it? – the very next day the beautiful princess went to another party, and drank too much fizzy lemonade, and tried to drive her car again.

This time Mr Plod the Policeman was very, very cross indeed!

“I told you not to drive!” he said. “And I told you not to drink too much fizz as well! This time you really must go to the lock-up, and stay there!”

And he took her away and put her back with the same-room lavatory.

Because Mr Plod the Policeman was more afraid of what Mr Joe Public might say than he was of what the princess’s Daddy might say.

So the princess stayed in the lock-up for two whole weeks!

When she came out, she was sorry.

“I promise not to drink too much fizzy lemonade again,” she said, “and not to try and drive a car until you tell me I can.”

And if you believe that, you might as well believe that a frog will come one day and turn into the artist formerly known as Prince!

Brian Hodgkinson ©


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