Here I am rolling in dust trying to impress Mummy Matilde but she doesn’t care: this is the usual promble.
We had summer weather for a week. Like all dust rolling in the sun, and I’m like being a donkey in the sun, and like who cares if I eat carrots? I don’t care if people gets offended if I don’t eat their carrots. Why should I? It’s not like I need to eat them, is it? I can see in the dark anyway; so keep it simple you prombleheads.
Then along comes the ROOD WEATHER and it like all goes the shape of like pears. Not that there are pears in the Rabit’s garden: he only has like boring vegetable things like mange-tout, broad beans, half-hearted asparagosts, and like stuff. But it all got washed out in the rood storm.
Here is Morris looking like very wet.
And here is Rubí looking like very wet.
And here is me and mummy Matilde looking like sensible and dry, because we like didn’t keep sticking our heads out of the stable and saying, “Has it stopped yet?” which like it obviously hadn’t.
The Rabit person has arranged to do his usual school work thing, never mind the river is cutting off the road, so he has like taken his car to Finestrat, returned by like bicycle, and will go off in the morning on like the bicycle, to collect like his car in Finestrat. Like crazy.