surprise, and those that hadn’t fallen into the River Thames took to their wheels and fled off down the road, never to be seen again.
Janet and John, who had been watching all this, went around the injured cleaning utensils, helping them to patch up and repairing them where they could.
Finally they came to the Powerful Vacuum Cleaner, who was still lying trussed up on the side of the river.
‘This is our vacuum cleaner,’ said Janet to the assembled cleaning utensils. ‘We shall deal with it.’
‘NO!’ roared the Powerful Vacuum Cleaner.
‘Yes!’ shouted the mops.
‘That’s right!’ cried the buckets. ‘Yes!’
And with that, John took the huge dust bag off the Powerful Vacuum Cleaner, removed the clip and opened it up . . . and the MPs and the Prime Minister and the aides and secretaries and the cleaning lady, all jumped out. Then the old vacuum cleaners and the less powerful vacuum cleaners came out and thanked the cleaning utensils for rescuing them.
And finally out jumped Jason the dog. He was so pleased to see Janet and John again that he didn’t stop licking them until they got back to Wales.
The Houses of Parliament were reassembled back in their proper place and Big Ben was rehung in its tower.
Then some technical tools were called for, and the Powerful Vacuum Cleaner was dismantled into its component pieces, which were all labelled and carefully stored away in boxes.
But I’m afraid the vacuum cleaners who thought they were going on holiday to the United States of America were not in luck. They had to work from dawn to dusk every day, and not one of them was powerful enough to do anything about it.
The Train to Anywhere
When Mr Orville Barton got on the train the first thing he noticed was that he was the only passenger. This was particularly odd since this was the 8.30 London to Manchester Express and it was normally packed.
Not only were there no other passengers on the train, there was no ticket inspector, no guard and no steward in the buffet.
‘That’s odd,’ said Mr Orville Barton to himself, as he settled back in his First Class seat, facing the engine. ‘I could help myself to a packet of biscuits without having to pay a penny! I could even help myself to a can of beer – or (my goodness!) a bottle of wine – for free!’ But, of course, he would never have dreamt of doing such a thing at that hour of the morning, when he needed all his faculties for the business meeting ahead.
He opened up his copy of The Times and started to read the financial reports. It was his habit to start at the bottom right- hand corner and read the reports working out leftwards and
upwards in strict order. He never skipped a single story no matter how irrelevant it might seem.
‘Always start with the least significant and work your way up to the most important,’ he would tell his assistant, whose name was Percy Baker. ‘That way you won’t miss anything.’
‘Right!’ Percy Baker would say, as he arranged Mr Orville Barton’s pens in descending order of size, the way he liked to have them on his desk. ‘By the way,’ Percy Baker would often add, ‘your son phoned.’
‘Tell him I can’t talk now. I’ll call him when I have time,’ Mr Orville Barton would reply, as he continued to read the most uninteresting items in the Business Section.
Today, however, as the 8.30 London to Manchester Express started to pull out of Euston station, Mr Orville Barton found his eye straying to the top left-hand corner, where the main headline of the day was located. It ran:
RAIL STRIKE PARALYSES BRITAIN
ALL TRAINS CANCELLED
Mr Orville Barton frowned, as he looked round the empty train. It was picking up speed. Then he stood up, folded his newspaper and placed it on his First Class seat. He then walked down the empty carriage, through the deserted buffet, through two more empty carriages, until he came to the door that led to the driver’s cabin.
Mr Orville Barton looked around again
Janet and John, who had been watching all this, went around the injured cleaning utensils, helping them to patch up and repairing them where they could.
Finally they came to the Powerful Vacuum Cleaner, who was still lying trussed up on the side of the river.
‘This is our vacuum cleaner,’ said Janet to the assembled cleaning utensils. ‘We shall deal with it.’
‘NO!’ roared the Powerful Vacuum Cleaner.
‘Yes!’ shouted the mops.
‘That’s right!’ cried the buckets. ‘Yes!’
And with that, John took the huge dust bag off the Powerful Vacuum Cleaner, removed the clip and opened it up . . . and the MPs and the Prime Minister and the aides and secretaries and the cleaning lady, all jumped out. Then the old vacuum cleaners and the less powerful vacuum cleaners came out and thanked the cleaning utensils for rescuing them.
And finally out jumped Jason the dog. He was so pleased to see Janet and John again that he didn’t stop licking them until they got back to Wales.
The Houses of Parliament were reassembled back in their proper place and Big Ben was rehung in its tower.
Then some technical tools were called for, and the Powerful Vacuum Cleaner was dismantled into its component pieces, which were all labelled and carefully stored away in boxes.
But I’m afraid the vacuum cleaners who thought they were going on holiday to the United States of America were not in luck. They had to work from dawn to dusk every day, and not one of them was powerful enough to do anything about it.
The Train to Anywhere
When Mr Orville Barton got on the train the first thing he noticed was that he was the only passenger. This was particularly odd since this was the 8.30 London to Manchester Express and it was normally packed.
Not only were there no other passengers on the train, there was no ticket inspector, no guard and no steward in the buffet.
‘That’s odd,’ said Mr Orville Barton to himself, as he settled back in his First Class seat, facing the engine. ‘I could help myself to a packet of biscuits without having to pay a penny! I could even help myself to a can of beer – or (my goodness!) a bottle of wine – for free!’ But, of course, he would never have dreamt of doing such a thing at that hour of the morning, when he needed all his faculties for the business meeting ahead.
He opened up his copy of The Times and started to read the financial reports. It was his habit to start at the bottom right- hand corner and read the reports working out leftwards and
upwards in strict order. He never skipped a single story no matter how irrelevant it might seem.
‘Always start with the least significant and work your way up to the most important,’ he would tell his assistant, whose name was Percy Baker. ‘That way you won’t miss anything.’
‘Right!’ Percy Baker would say, as he arranged Mr Orville Barton’s pens in descending order of size, the way he liked to have them on his desk. ‘By the way,’ Percy Baker would often add, ‘your son phoned.’
‘Tell him I can’t talk now. I’ll call him when I have time,’ Mr Orville Barton would reply, as he continued to read the most uninteresting items in the Business Section.
Today, however, as the 8.30 London to Manchester Express started to pull out of Euston station, Mr Orville Barton found his eye straying to the top left-hand corner, where the main headline of the day was located. It ran:
RAIL STRIKE PARALYSES BRITAIN
ALL TRAINS CANCELLED
Mr Orville Barton frowned, as he looked round the empty train. It was picking up speed. Then he stood up, folded his newspaper and placed it on his First Class seat. He then walked down the empty carriage, through the deserted buffet, through two more empty carriages, until he came to the door that led to the driver’s cabin.
Mr Orville Barton looked around again
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