TEST DRAFT 3 With LLaregub footnotes The Boy Who Shot Flimzy Bubbletrumpett- macbook 2

We had not said a word since Dys opened the door; just stared in silence open mouthed and
wide eyed.
At last Dys replied,
Sorry we didn’t cook the sausages. If you had waited….
The man waved a hand. A gold ring glinted on one of his long yellow fingers.
Not at all! It doesn’t matter in the slightest. It’s the thought that counts. And it was a very kind
thought. The sausages were delicious. Well, not delicious, but it was deliciously nice of you to
have made them for me.
We couldn’t think of anything to say. Dys couldn’t even find a look that would do.
Well, don’t let’s sit in silence, the man said. What shall we talk about to pass the time? There’s
been a fine crop of rhubarb in Uganda this year. What do your think of Accrington’s chances
in the Cup Final? Is mauve really another kind of pink? Or pink a kind of mauve? I am not
actually sure what colour mauve is But wouldn’t it make a nice name? For a girl. So would
Magenta. Both nice names. Especially Magenta. But Indigo– he patted his black bag – That’s
a really beautiful name, Indigo. Sepia 7, that is a boy’s name. Don’t you think? Well, do you
have anything to say? Any questions?
Who are you? I finally managed to spit out the words.
A very good question. A very good question indeed. The question we all ask ourselves every
morning when we look in the mirror while we clean our teeth. And what does the mirror
reply?
Alas, we will never know because the person in the mirror has a mouthful of toothpaste and a
toothbrush in his mouth. So I’m sorry but I don’t know the answer to your question. But it
was a very good question.
No, I said, What I mean is, what are you called?
What am I called? I have been called many things. Most of them rather unpleasant. Some of
them downright rude. And I have no intention of telling you.
Your name. What is your name?
Ah, I see. You may call me Mr Mangabey. Naturally, I know your names. Dystopia and
Utopia Spindle. Dys and You for short. Is that right?
We nodded. And I noticed the black bag had started to wriggle.
Excuse me a moment before we continue our conversation, said Mr Mangabey taking off his
watch and placing it on the small coffee table beside him.
I have to watch my watch. Because everything should happen at the right time. It is so
annoying when things happen at the wrong time. You are waiting for the four thirty train to
Crewe and the eight fifteen to Aberdeen turns up. Or you have a birthday in July and someone
gives you a Christmas card with a fat robin on a snowy branch and woolly hat and gloves for
a present. And tonight it is especially important that the right things happen at the right time
and not the wrong things at the wrong time. And so often time slips away without us noticing.
Don’t you agree?
But we were not listening. . We hadn’t heard a word of what Mr Mangabey had said because
we were both staring at the black bag, that had fallen onto its side and had started to wriggle
its way across the floor.
What is in your bag? We chorused.
Oh, just my cat. Do you have a glass.
Isn’t it cruel to keep it like that? Please let it out, said Dys.
What! Let the cat out of the bag? Now? At completely the wrong time? That would be a
disaster. Besides the bag is a specially designed cat-carrying bag, with extra storage space. It
has a warm and comfortable velvet lining, a library and a device to deliver treats and milk at
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