Trolls on Hols by Alan MacDonald Page B

trampoline.
    â€˜You promised me we’d have a proper holiday this year,’ said Mrs Priddle.
    â€˜And we will. What could be more fun than a caravan?’
    â€˜A hotel,’ said Mrs Priddle. ‘A five-star hotel with a view of the sea. And a swimming pool.’
    â€˜Yes, but –’
    â€˜And cooked breakfast!’ shouted Warren from next door. ‘Sausage, bacon and eggs!’
    â€˜Be quiet, Warren!’ ordered Mr Priddle. ‘Anyway, we can have all those things – the view, the swimming pool – they’ll all be on the caravan site.’
    Mrs Priddle narrowed her eyes. ‘What caravan site?’
    â€˜Um … well…’ Mr Priddle stammered, ‘I mean, if we found one we liked.’
    â€˜Roger,’ warned Mrs Priddle, ‘if you’ve done something stupid I’m going to scream.’
    Mr Priddle dug in his pocket and brought out a scrap of paper. This wasn’t going as well as he’d hoped. ‘It’s not a caravan site, it’s more of a farm, really. I found the advert in
Caravan and Camping
.
    His wife snatched the paper off him and read it out.
    Paradise View
Find paradise in sun-kissed Wales.
Sea views, natural swimming pool, tennis court
- everything for a holiday you’ll never forget.
Caravans welcome. Pets and children extra.
Phone: Olwen Ogwen – Boggy Moor 657770
    â€˜Olwen Ogwen?’ said Mrs Priddle. ‘What kind of a name is that?’
    â€˜He’s Welsh. Sounded a nice chap on the phone.’
    â€˜You’ve spoken to him already?’
    â€˜Well, yes I had to … when I um … booked the holiday.’
    Mrs Priddle let out a piercing scream and kicked the folding bed. There was a twang as it collapsed.
    â€˜Don’t worry,’ said Mr Priddle, ‘that can be fixed.’

The Joy of Caravans
    The next morning the Trolls trooped into town to visit the Travel Agents. The sales assistant who greeted them was called Kelly. Ulrik knew this because she had a name badge on her bright blue jacket. She had very white teeth and bright pink nails and smelled of perfume. Ulrik moved his chair a bit closer to the desk so he could smell her better. He was curious about peeple’s smells. Most trolls smelled much the same – mainly of earth and sweat and goat-meat, if that’s what they’d had for breakfast – butUlrik had noticed peeples had different smells. Babies, for instance, smelled of sick while old ladies smelled of mints.
    Kelly smiled with her dazzling white teeth. ‘How can I help?’
    â€˜We want to go on a holidays,’ said Mrs Troll.
    â€˜No problem,’ smiled Kelly. ‘What kind of holiday did you have in mind?’
    â€˜Well, not a subway,’ said Mrs Troll. ‘We’ve been to one of those.’

    â€˜We want somewhere with mountains,’ said Mr Troll.
    â€˜And the seasides,’ nodded Ulrik.
    â€˜Towels too. It’s got to have towels,’ added Mrs Troll.
    Kelly’s smile had faded and she was looking slightly confused. ‘Towels?’ she said.
    â€˜Yes, to sit on. We don’t want sandy bits on our bottoms.’
    â€˜Well, no,’ agreed Kelly. ‘But generally most people take their own towels.’
    Mrs Troll shook her head firmly. ‘We don’t have any.’
    â€˜No,’ said Mr Troll. ‘Trolls never wash – it takes away your stink.’
    Kelly laughed, hoping this was a joke. They seemed to have got off the subject.
    â€˜So you’re interested in a beach holiday?’ she said.
    â€˜Is that at the seasides?’ asked Mrs Troll.
    â€˜Well, yes, most beaches are.’
    â€˜Then that’s what we want.’
    â€˜No problem, we’ve got plenty of choice. Have you thought where you’d like to go? Spain? America? The Greek Islands?’
    â€˜That sounds good. Can we walk there?’ asked Mr Troll.
    â€˜Which?’
    â€˜The Goat