The Nimbobula Journals - II
Alo had to travel over forty oceans and seventy-nine continents to find a city he was happy with. Ooh - maybe we should call him “fussy Alo?” No? Okay, on with the story then. Our explorer boldly braved the busy, bursting, bulging full to the brim, streaming streets. Rubbing shoulders, noses and even knobbly knees as he peered left and right till people looked with fright at this audacious stranger who gazed glaringly deep into their very souls. Alo was quite sure of what he wanted. He needed only those who were brave and true, and absolutely pure of heart. No scallywags for this perilous task, no thank you, no siree. Now, this was a very humungous city and you would think it would be easy to find a few heroes and heroines amongst the hundreds and thousands of people. Especially a city with joy peeping quietly around the corners, waiting to be found. It was not so. The very pounding pace of this place made every day life challenging, and lots and lots of the peoples found this in itself enough excitement. Poor Alo pounded the parched pavements until he was as dry as a bone and sad as a hungry beagle too. The grown ups rushed, grumbling past, growling, gazing left or right or even down to floppy feet – anywhere but his eyes to meet. Yes, poor Alo. The suspicious minds of the city folk had labelled any stranger a bounder with nefarious motives, and Alo was certainly as strange a one as any city folk had seen in a long, long, LONG while. What? Nef-ar-ee-os… means bad, bad ideas. Bit like giving a Nimbobulan cannibal a microwave. Not good, {{shudder}}. No way, you don’t say.
Alo had begun to wonder by this time if he had made a really big boo-boo. Was THIS the right pick? Should he move on to city eighty-one? Could he have stuffed and muffed it, really, really not thought enoughed it? Was this land just the too, too tough bit? Just as he was about to cut his losses and move on over past ocean forty-one, turning left at the rock island and right at the whale with the stumpy tail, he felt a small, sharp tug on the waist of his pants. He was very relieved he had worn his really, really tight belt, for it would have not looked good if an intrepid explorer’s pants fell down to his ankles and revealed his favourite patented super hero boxer shorts. The exhausted explorer was so relieved his belt held he allowed himself a little sigh to slip quietly from deep underneath his breathe. Looking down he gazed into the purest of innocent deep green eyes, brimming full to the edges of the pupils with honesty, truth and the bravest of all hearts – the heart of a child. Alo nearly jumped for joy, children, they were the answer, the children! Not wanting to scare off this wonderful young man who had middle-tapped him, instead he let loose another sigh, but instead of merely being filled with quiet relief from pants not dropping to the ground, this one was chocker-block, full to-the-top, overflowing loudly and nearly bursting with happiness… oh, and a big chunk of bone-deep relief.
The Alo sigh floated loudly over the top of the crowds, and up into the wild blue yonder. Okay, it was not blue, it was grey with the dust of a thousand factories and it wasn’t wild either, certainly nowhere close to as wild and junglified as Nimbobula! It was citified right as far as the eye could see, and even a bit further but still the sigh did rise and rise and rise! It rose so high that the full throttle North Wind grabbed it, and forcefully flung it right back into the middle of a Nimbobulan feast, where the natives were dancing and prancing, chanting and ranting, basting and tasting a fine young missionary by the name of Henry Llewellyn Jones the Third. The sigh was so loud and filled up, it scared the cannibals half to death and back again and they dropped their spoons and ran for their lives, allowing Henry Llewellyn Jones the Third to leap from the pot and run away to his mission loudly screaming the praises of his dear Lord and the saint whose sigh had reverberated into the wilds!
Work in progess...
Alo had begun to wonder by this time if he had made a really big boo-boo. Was THIS the right pick? Should he move on to city eighty-one? Could he have stuffed and muffed it, really, really not thought enoughed it? Was this land just the too, too tough bit? Just as he was about to cut his losses and move on over past ocean forty-one, turning left at the rock island and right at the whale with the stumpy tail, he felt a small, sharp tug on the waist of his pants. He was very relieved he had worn his really, really tight belt, for it would have not looked good if an intrepid explorer’s pants fell down to his ankles and revealed his favourite patented super hero boxer shorts. The exhausted explorer was so relieved his belt held he allowed himself a little sigh to slip quietly from deep underneath his breathe. Looking down he gazed into the purest of innocent deep green eyes, brimming full to the edges of the pupils with honesty, truth and the bravest of all hearts – the heart of a child. Alo nearly jumped for joy, children, they were the answer, the children! Not wanting to scare off this wonderful young man who had middle-tapped him, instead he let loose another sigh, but instead of merely being filled with quiet relief from pants not dropping to the ground, this one was chocker-block, full to-the-top, overflowing loudly and nearly bursting with happiness… oh, and a big chunk of bone-deep relief.
The Alo sigh floated loudly over the top of the crowds, and up into the wild blue yonder. Okay, it was not blue, it was grey with the dust of a thousand factories and it wasn’t wild either, certainly nowhere close to as wild and junglified as Nimbobula! It was citified right as far as the eye could see, and even a bit further but still the sigh did rise and rise and rise! It rose so high that the full throttle North Wind grabbed it, and forcefully flung it right back into the middle of a Nimbobulan feast, where the natives were dancing and prancing, chanting and ranting, basting and tasting a fine young missionary by the name of Henry Llewellyn Jones the Third. The sigh was so loud and filled up, it scared the cannibals half to death and back again and they dropped their spoons and ran for their lives, allowing Henry Llewellyn Jones the Third to leap from the pot and run away to his mission loudly screaming the praises of his dear Lord and the saint whose sigh had reverberated into the wilds!
Work in progess...
