there?”
“There are no flies on Paddington,” said Judy.
“That bear’s got his head screwed on the right way,” agreed Mrs Bird.
“My head’s screwed on!” exclaimed Paddington, as he came back into the room. “I didn’t know that!”
“There’s no need to worry about it, dear,” said Mrs Brown. “It won’t fall off in a hurry.”
“I hope it doesn’t fall off at all,” said Paddington hotly.
“I might have a nightmare and turn over quickly in my sleep,” he added darkly. “I dreamt I was being chased by a bumblebee the other night and I had to run all over the house before it flew out of an open window by mistake.”
“Changing the subject,” said Jonathan, “we’ve been wondering, supposing, just supposing the film is very successful and you become famous overnight, you might, well… we might not see quite so much of you again, except on the screen.”
“Not see quite so much of me?” exclaimed Paddington in alarm. “I can’t picture that…”
“That’s part of the trouble, Paddington,” said Mrs Brown, voicing the thoughts of the others. “Neither can we.”
At which point everyone agreed it was time for bed, although it was safe to say that for once sleep didn’t come easily, either that night, or for the next few nights as the tension began to mount.
The worst part was not so much being ignorant of what was going on, but with Paddington leaving early every day in a chauffeur-driven car and not arriving back until late in the evening, much too tired to talk, the house seemed unusually quiet.
It was left to Judy to voice their unspoken thoughts. “I can’t help feeling we’re being bypassed,” she said. “And without so much as a by-your-leave.”
“Nonsense!” said Mrs Bird in her down-to-earth manner. “It’s Paddington’s life. He must do as he thinks fit.”
Nevertheless, it was noticeable that she took particular trouble with his marmalade sandwiches before he left home in the mornings, often adding an extra one for good measure.
In the event, although it seemed to take forever, the filming came to an end much sooner than anyone had expected.
Fernando arrived back with Paddington early one evening, and he was carrying a small parcel.
“ Olè ,” he said. “I have everything ona da disc so that you can watch it on your television. I see you have a player.”
It took only a moment or two for Jonathan to load it, and as soon as everyone was ready and the curtains were drawn he pressed the button.
Mr Brown nearly leapt out of his seat as the opening shot of their front garden filled the screen, revealing a bare patch of paving overlaid with the titles. “Someone has moved my begonias!” he cried. “What’s happened to them?”
“Shhh, Henry,” hissed Mrs Brown. “They’re back in their proper place now.”
“That’s me!” exclaimed Paddington excitedly, as the film dissolved into a shot of a green area somewhere in London. The camera zoomed in on a group of some dozen or so hurdles lined up one after the other, and carried on zooming until it reached a familiar figure at the far end.
There was a moment’s pause allowing Paddington time to raise his hat to a small group of spectators. Then, as the scene changed to a wide shot, a gun went off, galvanising him into action. From being a small figure in the distance, he ended up some seconds later filling the screen in close-up. Whereupon, breathing heavily, he raised his hat again; this time to camera.
The Browns sat in silence for a moment or two.
“I must say he was going very fast,” ventured Judy. “I see now why they’re called ‘rushes’.”
“I can’t wait for the real thing,” agreed Jonathan.
Señor Fernando looked put out. “Whata you mean, da real thing?” he demanded. “They are nota da rushes. That is it… the whole caboodle… the finished film.”
“We did over thirty retakes,” said Paddington. “I lost count in the end.”
“Er… I don’t wish to
“There are no flies on Paddington,” said Judy.
“That bear’s got his head screwed on the right way,” agreed Mrs Bird.
“My head’s screwed on!” exclaimed Paddington, as he came back into the room. “I didn’t know that!”
“There’s no need to worry about it, dear,” said Mrs Brown. “It won’t fall off in a hurry.”
“I hope it doesn’t fall off at all,” said Paddington hotly.
“I might have a nightmare and turn over quickly in my sleep,” he added darkly. “I dreamt I was being chased by a bumblebee the other night and I had to run all over the house before it flew out of an open window by mistake.”
“Changing the subject,” said Jonathan, “we’ve been wondering, supposing, just supposing the film is very successful and you become famous overnight, you might, well… we might not see quite so much of you again, except on the screen.”
“Not see quite so much of me?” exclaimed Paddington in alarm. “I can’t picture that…”
“That’s part of the trouble, Paddington,” said Mrs Brown, voicing the thoughts of the others. “Neither can we.”
At which point everyone agreed it was time for bed, although it was safe to say that for once sleep didn’t come easily, either that night, or for the next few nights as the tension began to mount.
The worst part was not so much being ignorant of what was going on, but with Paddington leaving early every day in a chauffeur-driven car and not arriving back until late in the evening, much too tired to talk, the house seemed unusually quiet.
It was left to Judy to voice their unspoken thoughts. “I can’t help feeling we’re being bypassed,” she said. “And without so much as a by-your-leave.”
“Nonsense!” said Mrs Bird in her down-to-earth manner. “It’s Paddington’s life. He must do as he thinks fit.”
Nevertheless, it was noticeable that she took particular trouble with his marmalade sandwiches before he left home in the mornings, often adding an extra one for good measure.
In the event, although it seemed to take forever, the filming came to an end much sooner than anyone had expected.
Fernando arrived back with Paddington early one evening, and he was carrying a small parcel.
“ Olè ,” he said. “I have everything ona da disc so that you can watch it on your television. I see you have a player.”
It took only a moment or two for Jonathan to load it, and as soon as everyone was ready and the curtains were drawn he pressed the button.
Mr Brown nearly leapt out of his seat as the opening shot of their front garden filled the screen, revealing a bare patch of paving overlaid with the titles. “Someone has moved my begonias!” he cried. “What’s happened to them?”
“Shhh, Henry,” hissed Mrs Brown. “They’re back in their proper place now.”
“That’s me!” exclaimed Paddington excitedly, as the film dissolved into a shot of a green area somewhere in London. The camera zoomed in on a group of some dozen or so hurdles lined up one after the other, and carried on zooming until it reached a familiar figure at the far end.
There was a moment’s pause allowing Paddington time to raise his hat to a small group of spectators. Then, as the scene changed to a wide shot, a gun went off, galvanising him into action. From being a small figure in the distance, he ended up some seconds later filling the screen in close-up. Whereupon, breathing heavily, he raised his hat again; this time to camera.
The Browns sat in silence for a moment or two.
“I must say he was going very fast,” ventured Judy. “I see now why they’re called ‘rushes’.”
“I can’t wait for the real thing,” agreed Jonathan.
Señor Fernando looked put out. “Whata you mean, da real thing?” he demanded. “They are nota da rushes. That is it… the whole caboodle… the finished film.”
“We did over thirty retakes,” said Paddington. “I lost count in the end.”
“Er… I don’t wish to
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