Jasper Who Bothered No One

There was once a boy unknown to most, for he lived his life quietly and bothered no one. This boy was called Jasper, who gave him the name he can’t quite remember but he was fond of it all the same. Jasper spent many a day lost in thought enjoying the pleasures of his wandering mind.
There are many places beloved of the quiet and ponderous, armchairs by a glowing hearth, cool grassy banks along a babbling brook and even the hollows of old tree trunks. For Jasper, there was nothing quite so thrilling as the ancient magic of large, dark caves. One never knew what one may find, crossing the threshold of bright day into the ever growing gloom ahead.
There was a cave that Jasper had once, a long time ago, heard mention of, a place of deep magic, where tiny blue dots of light glow upon the ceiling like so many stars. The stories were no exaggeration, for when Jasper walked into the dark cavern he gasped at the galaxy of phosphorescence above his head, he seemed to marvel forever and a day until he had his fill of this natural wonder, though who could ever really have their fill of such a sight.
From the corner of his eyes, Jasper noticed an unearthly green glow emanating from what seemed to be the very back of the cave. He followed it deeper and deeper still, until all at once it disappeared entirely and our quiet boy was left alone, enveloped in pitch blackness. Turning around and around he strained his eyes but could no longer detect a glow from anywhere at all, after many an hour of feeling about and searching for tunnels, Jasper tired and hungry, sat down and took out the chocolate that rested at the bottom of his coat pocket. “Ah, well” thought Jasper “Someone will come looking for me soon.” But, as Jasper spent his life bothering no one, no one bothered Jasper…

Fear not dear reader, for someone did indeed find Jasper, it was the Ghastly Governessa and she spirited him off to join the rest of her brood under the Old Willow tree, though between you and I, I suspect that Jasper would have rather remained in the cave to dream.

Primrose’s Most Perfect Picnic

It was a fine spring day much like any other. The birds busied themselves with nest building and a hundred tiny songs danced across clear skies, singing of twined grass and twig.Primrose smiled, as this was her very favourite kind of day, not a nasty cloud in sight to blemish her perfect blue. The spring flowers seemed to agree with her as they raised their golden faces upwards.
Sun warmed skin and the first sight of apple blossom naturally led to thoughts of picnics for Primrose, so out she pulled her dusty hamper. The lid creaked as she lifted it and a sleepy spider stretched it’s legs and clambered over the wicker sides. “Urgh” thought Primrose, for she was far too polite to say it out loud. It must be said that Primrose was none too fond of those that crawl or slither, nor those that hide in dusty corners, nor, did she like dust!
The basket was soon upturned and a feather duster was put to good use whisking away cobwebs and the like, until the basket was spick and span at last. For a finishing touch, the old, rather tatty gingham ribbon was replaced with a lovely, new, bright yellow one which was dotted with the tiniest daisies you could ever hope to see.

Primrose, rather pleased with herself, hummed a merry tune as she cut the crusts off her egg and cress sandwiches and filled her flask with pink lemonade.”Mustn’t forget the blanket and a thin slice of lemon cake.” She mused, because if there was one thing she disliked more than dust, it was getting dirt on her pretty frock.
And so, Primrose gently laid the neatly folded blanket on the top of her frugal Spring feast and tied the lid as tightly shut as she could manage, so that not even the tiniest ant could squeeze inside and off she set into the bright sunlit day.
Down the lanes she walked and up the hill behind the woods. From the very top of the hill she could see dazzling yellow fields stretching ahead of her, so excited was Primrose that she almost tripped over the corner of her picnic basket as she skipped down to meet them.

Just in case, in the very unlikely circumstance, of you, dear reader, not knowing about the joys of picnicking in fields of spun gold, I will explain to you exactly where Primrose laid her blanket. It may seem from the roadside that the fields in question are so tightly packed that there is no where to walk, much less picnic, but this assumption is wholly incorrect. For you see, the farmer must be able to cross his fields and check each flower to make sure that all is growing happily and so, hidden in those fields lie wide avenues made by the large knobbly wheels of the tractor, perfect for Spring picnics and honeyed wanders.

Primrose laid her blanket down and poured herself a cup of lemonade that tickled her tongue and made her giggle. Munching away on delicious sandwiches she gazed up at the canary coloured blooms way above her head, closing her eyes when a spring breeze rippled through the pale green stems and ruffled her hair. So thoroughly absorbed was Primrose in the flavour of the sticky-sweet lemon filling her cheeks that she barely noticed the low purr growing in the field behind her. The farmer was also distracted that day thinking of the fine pickles and chunk of cheese he would soon be feasting on and the little bump he felt wasn’t enough to draw him out of his hungry day dream.

The Governessa did marvel when she found sweet Primrose for not only did she smell of the most exquisite sweet lemon cream, but she looked as delicate as a pressed wildflower, flat in the dirt…