Toby Fisher and the Firestone by Ian McFarlane

Author:Ian McFarlane
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Tags: Young Adult, Magic, Action & Adventure, Family, Fantasy, Dragons, Boys, King Arthur, Ghosts, Friendship
ISBN: 9781544924182
Publisher: CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform
Published: 2017-07-18T04:00:00+00:00

Cornish Cream Tea Festival

6 p.m.

The annual Cornish Cream Tea Festival is taking place in Truro as we speak. In order to celebrate our village heritage, the Kernow Committee cordially invites you to a slap-up afternoon tea fully financed by the Cornish Pixie Independence Movement.

All you need is a big appetite, to be under twenty and to wear something tartan to honour our colourful hosts.

Cream heavenly yours

Connor O’Reardon

President of the Kernow Committee

‘It’s five o’clock already, and I don’t have anything tartan,’ said Toby feeling distressed at the prospect of missing out on free Cornish cream teas.

‘Don’t worry, mate,’ said Arty with a cheeky grin. ‘I’ve got a bit of tartan back at the cottage. I would have done something for you too, Fay, but I thought you were too old.’

‘You scraggy little pup. I’m eighteen, thank you very much,’ she said, slapping him on the back.

‘Tetchy.’

‘Whatever!’ she growled and then hurried towards Maggie’s with a determined look on her face.

Toby shook his head at Arty’s provocative antics and then headed off to the cottage. But his delight at his friend’s generosity and advanced thinking plummeted into the well of regret when he stared at the tartan garb. ‘It’s a bit t-shirty, isn’t it?’

‘Its all the rage with the teenage set,’ said Arty with a mischievous grin as he tugged at his tartan t-shirt that said Hamish for Prime Minister over an image of the big octopus tearing up the Octo Catch jetties.

Toby felt as glum as a ripe plum that fell from the tree to a splodgy death as he surveyed his outfit with tartan shorts held up by tartan braces wrapped over a plain white t-shirt along with his tartan socks and tartan plimsolls. And as Arty handed him a tartan hat with mock ginger hair he said, ‘It’s a bit overkill, isn’t it?’

And it seemed that Toby’s tartan fears were grounded in concrete as he and his informally dressed friend were joined by a group of elves all dressed in the finest kilted regalia this side of Edinburgh with sharp pressed dark jackets, gleaming buttons and polished shoes whilst other creatures wore immaculate dinner jackets with tartan cummerbunds or ball gowns with tartan sashes. If it wasn’t for the handful of hobgoblins that giggled whilst wearing mock ginger beards and tartan caps Toby would have felt tartan naked. And so under the disapproving gaze of the elves he shuffled his feet around with embarrassment, huffed at his friend and then looked for Fay that was conspicuous with her absence.

‘Jack!’ grumbled Toby. ‘I thought ghosts can’t eat or drink. Hang on, you were drinking at Peppermint Sam’s.’

‘And eating, yeah, I can do that. I don’t know how, no other ghost can. The problem is that you can see it slide into my stomach and beyond – so I usually eat on my own, but I can’t pass an opportunity for a free cream tea,’ he said, licking his silver lips.

‘You can actually taste it too?’ said Arty with a look of disgust.

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