Eve White: Literary Agent

from CASPER CANDLEWACKS IN DEATH BY PIGEON

If you were to list the three things that most define what it is to be English, you’d probably say tea, cricket, and donkey racing. In fact, it’s a scientific fact that the average Englishman likes nothing more than galloping around the cricket pitch on the back of a toothy steed with a nice mug of Earl Grey and a ginger biscuit. Of course, donkey racing was invented by Lord Manfred Donkey-Racing-Inventor in July 1483, after having been chased around a bit by a flock of angry donkeys. “What fun!” he delighted, leaping over a fence, catching his foot and landing heavily on his head, with a resounding clang. Inventing donkey racing was the last thing Lord Manfred Donkey-Racing-Inventor ever did, but luckily it was all captured on tapestry by an onlooker and sent in to “You’ve Been Weaved” and the rest, as they say, is embroidery. ~~~~~~EXTRACT TWO:~~~~~ It was most certainly a standing ovation. If there were an even better ovation than a standing one, like a jumping ovation or something, it would have been that. For the idiots of Corne-on-the-Kobb, Christmas and Birthday and Halloween and even St. Pelican’s Day had come all at once, in the shape of a moustache-sporting Italian illusionist who could make bagfuls of rabbits disappear. Most of the villagers would have been impressed if he’d flipped a coin or jangled some keys, so you can imagine how amazed they were when The Great Tiramisu got cut in half, locked his legs in a safe, put that safe in another safe, put that safe in a box full of snakes, angered the snakes by insulting their mother, and then somehow unlocked the safes and glued himself together again, blindfolded, hands tied behind his back, while asleep.