Grandad Storyteller Finishes a Tale. By CpSingleton © 2016
My grandad Huntstable once told me a story. I think that dear man is who I get my imagination from and I’d like to share it with you tonight.
It was about a teenaged snail by the name of Charlie Waggletooth.
Now charlie was a cricket fan. For my readers who aren’t aware of cricket, according my grandad, it’s a “game” between two teams, with bats and balls and lots of cucumber sandwiches. The purpose of the “game” is to bore the spectators into slicing off their own skin. The winner is the team whose spleens don’t pack in completely.
Anywho, grandad would slur, Charlie Waggletooth was a cricket fan and he also liked sprouts.
One day he tripped over his own shadow and fell into the mouth of a passing ghost and died a truly horrible snail death.
My grandad Hubtstable wasn’t too good at story telling, as he was mostly too drunk to talk in full sentences.
It was a fine day when he finished this particular tale.
The moral of this story, he told me, if there should be one is: Sleep is good, shadows are not and cricket is boring.