Piggins.
‘Oh dear,’ said the doctor.
‘They are very happy with my treatment. And I always cure their problem. But Holistic Cake Therapy seems to have an unfortunate side effect,’ said Nanny Piggins.
‘What side effect?’ asked the doctor.
‘Stomach-ache,’ said Derrick matter-of-factly.
‘Ah,’ said the doctor knowingly, struggling hard not to look smug.
‘I tried prescribing more cake,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘That always works for me when I have a stomach-ache.’
‘I see,’ said the doctor.
‘I tell the patients – all you have to do is tough it out and push through the cake barrier. If you just keep eating cake, eventually your body becomes so high on sugar and numb from overeating that you start to feel all right again. But for some reason, it doesn’t seem to work for all my patients.’
‘Perhaps,’ suggested the doctor diplomatically, ‘because they are not pigs?’
‘I suppose that might have something to do with it,’ conceded Nanny Piggins. ‘Humans can be very weak sometimes.’
‘It’s our own fault,’ said the doctor humbly.‘We’re not lucky enough to have your superior digestive capabilities.’
‘True,’ acknowledged Nanny Piggins.
And so Nanny Piggins and the doctor came to an agreement. She would stop being a holistic cake healer right outside his surgery. And he would make sure he saw all his patients as promptly as possible. No more sneaking out the back door to play video games. (He admitted that was what he had been doing.) And if for some unforeseen reason, a patient did have to wait for more than ten minutes, the doctor would provide them with a slice of cake – one for every ten minutes they were delayed, until he was able to see them.
This regimen worked beautifully. All the doctor’s patients returned. They were glad to be seen more promptly. And they were even more glad when he could not see them promptly because they enjoyed eating cake. Indeed, sometimes, when she was hungry, Nanny Piggins went along and sat in the waiting room without putting her name down, just so she could have a slice of cake too.
Nanny Piggins was relaxing in the bath. She had been in there so long, her skin was even pinker than usual and the paperback she was reading had fallen in the water three times. So, as she read, she had to carefully peel back each page or she might tear it (and subsequently never find out who murdered Mrs Bottomly in the conservatory with a pair of long-handled garden shears). Nanny Piggins hadone rule when she was in the bath: ‘Don’t interrupt me unless you’re bringing a snack.’
So when a noise disturbed her and Nanny Piggins looked up to see a chocolate bar sliding under the door, she knew one of the children was outside and wanted to speak to her.
‘Yes?’ said Nanny Piggins. (She was curt because she was not entirely ready to tear herself away from the world of brutal murder just yet.)
‘Nanny Piggins, there was someone at the door,’ said Derrick.
‘Well if they’ve gone away, what’s the problem?’ asked Nanny Piggins, still furtively reading to find out if her suspicions were true, and that cousin Gertrude the physicist was the one who put the poison in the gardener’s hot chocolate.
‘He was at the door, now he’s climbing up the drainpipe,’ explained Derrick.
‘The Ringmaster!’ exclaimed Nanny Piggins, as she leapt out of the bath. For she knew only one man impertinent enough to take a closed front door as an invitation to climb up the outside of the building and in through an upstairs window.
And indeed, she had barely wrapped herself in her robe before the bathroom window was shoved open and the Ringmaster’s fat bottom startedto wiggle its way into the room. Nanny Piggins instinctively picked up the toilet brush and hit him hard. (Nanny Piggins would never dream of spanking children. But in her professional opinion most fully grown men could do with a good spanking at least once a day.)
Surprisingly, the
‘Oh dear,’ said the doctor.
‘They are very happy with my treatment. And I always cure their problem. But Holistic Cake Therapy seems to have an unfortunate side effect,’ said Nanny Piggins.
‘What side effect?’ asked the doctor.
‘Stomach-ache,’ said Derrick matter-of-factly.
‘Ah,’ said the doctor knowingly, struggling hard not to look smug.
‘I tried prescribing more cake,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘That always works for me when I have a stomach-ache.’
‘I see,’ said the doctor.
‘I tell the patients – all you have to do is tough it out and push through the cake barrier. If you just keep eating cake, eventually your body becomes so high on sugar and numb from overeating that you start to feel all right again. But for some reason, it doesn’t seem to work for all my patients.’
‘Perhaps,’ suggested the doctor diplomatically, ‘because they are not pigs?’
‘I suppose that might have something to do with it,’ conceded Nanny Piggins. ‘Humans can be very weak sometimes.’
‘It’s our own fault,’ said the doctor humbly.‘We’re not lucky enough to have your superior digestive capabilities.’
‘True,’ acknowledged Nanny Piggins.
And so Nanny Piggins and the doctor came to an agreement. She would stop being a holistic cake healer right outside his surgery. And he would make sure he saw all his patients as promptly as possible. No more sneaking out the back door to play video games. (He admitted that was what he had been doing.) And if for some unforeseen reason, a patient did have to wait for more than ten minutes, the doctor would provide them with a slice of cake – one for every ten minutes they were delayed, until he was able to see them.
This regimen worked beautifully. All the doctor’s patients returned. They were glad to be seen more promptly. And they were even more glad when he could not see them promptly because they enjoyed eating cake. Indeed, sometimes, when she was hungry, Nanny Piggins went along and sat in the waiting room without putting her name down, just so she could have a slice of cake too.
Nanny Piggins was relaxing in the bath. She had been in there so long, her skin was even pinker than usual and the paperback she was reading had fallen in the water three times. So, as she read, she had to carefully peel back each page or she might tear it (and subsequently never find out who murdered Mrs Bottomly in the conservatory with a pair of long-handled garden shears). Nanny Piggins hadone rule when she was in the bath: ‘Don’t interrupt me unless you’re bringing a snack.’
So when a noise disturbed her and Nanny Piggins looked up to see a chocolate bar sliding under the door, she knew one of the children was outside and wanted to speak to her.
‘Yes?’ said Nanny Piggins. (She was curt because she was not entirely ready to tear herself away from the world of brutal murder just yet.)
‘Nanny Piggins, there was someone at the door,’ said Derrick.
‘Well if they’ve gone away, what’s the problem?’ asked Nanny Piggins, still furtively reading to find out if her suspicions were true, and that cousin Gertrude the physicist was the one who put the poison in the gardener’s hot chocolate.
‘He was at the door, now he’s climbing up the drainpipe,’ explained Derrick.
‘The Ringmaster!’ exclaimed Nanny Piggins, as she leapt out of the bath. For she knew only one man impertinent enough to take a closed front door as an invitation to climb up the outside of the building and in through an upstairs window.
And indeed, she had barely wrapped herself in her robe before the bathroom window was shoved open and the Ringmaster’s fat bottom startedto wiggle its way into the room. Nanny Piggins instinctively picked up the toilet brush and hit him hard. (Nanny Piggins would never dream of spanking children. But in her professional opinion most fully grown men could do with a good spanking at least once a day.)
Surprisingly, the
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