The Kite Who Was Scared Of Heights

Once upon a shiny moonbeam Scout was given a kite

A fine looking affair which was red, blue and white

She waited for a day when the winds were alive

That day was a Tuesday, around ten past five

She went to the big hill, and climbed to the top

She ran to the bottom, with no notion to stop

She clung to the string with the tightest of ease

But the kite wouldn't fly, no matter the breeze

Scout huffed and puffed, she dashed up and rushed down

But the kite bounced and flounced along the hard ground

For all of her efforts it wouldn't take flight

For this was the kite who was scared of heights

"What's wrong little kite? Are you afraid to go high?

Do the clouds concern you? Are you scared of the sky?"

"I don't know what is wrong with me," cried the small kite

"Well now," said Scout, "I know someone who might..."

Scout had a plan, and acted very fast

She took the kite to the toy box, and searched for a mast

There, near the fort with its soldiers and moat

Was the boat who used to be too scared to float

"Used to be scared?" said the kite with a quiver

"Why yes," said the boat, "Both up and down river."

And the boat told the kite about how he thought water was scary

How the lakes were unlucky and the sea...well, that was just hairy

So as a young dinghy he spent his time in dry dock

Scared of the shallows and the waves that would rock

The other tall ships all moored up in the port

Bobbing and creaking safely, or so they thought

But one night came a storm, and ships had to be saved

For once the little boat needed to be brave

"So I plunged into the sea - what was I thinking?

'I'm out of my depth! But look, I'm not sinking!'..."

 And so the boat who was once full of self-doubt

Became a great hero when he put himself out

"What do you think of that, little kite? You seem to be crying."

"I like the story," said the kite, "but I'm not ready for flying."

Scout would not give up - she wasn't that sort

She went back to her toy box, knee deep in thought

And there behind the panda and the bear with the scar

Sat the car who used to be scared to go far

"Used to be scared?" asked the kite with some hope

"Why yes," said the car, "I just couldn't cope

With the humps in the road and the lumps in the lane

They wobbled my wheels and rattled my brain."

And the car who was scared to go far told Scout and the kite

How he stayed in his garage morning, noon and night

Short journeys made him car sick, long ones made him groan

What happened if he ran out of petrol? How would he get home?

But then came one summer’s day when the air was still

When the ball who was scared to fall started rolling away down the hill

"Help! Help!" cried the ball. “I’m feeling very dizzy!”

"Stop! Stop!” yelled the car, “It’s time to get busy!”

And with a vroom and a roar that little car got going

Where was he off to? He had no way of knowing

But he raced and he chased until his tyres were aching

And he stopped that ball’s fall with a smart bit of breaking

"That was amazing!" he gasped. "I've never felt so alive!"

And so the car discovered a world beyond the end of his drive

"So little kite," said Scout, "Are you impressed by these toys?"

"I think so," said the kite, "But what's that tweeting noise?"

They gazed up at the sky and stopped all the squabbling

There was a baby bird in a nest, and that nest was wobbling

"Quick Scout!" squeaked the kite, who could suddenly see clearer

"Fly me to the moon!" she yelled, "Or somewhere slightly nearer!"

And so Scout huffed and puffed, she rushed up and dashed down

The kite bounced and flounced and...took off from the ground!

Ten feet, twenty feet, thirty feet and more

The kite was flying higher and higher, way up from the floor

There was no time to look down, no chance to feel fear

The bird was in peril and the kite's mission was clear

She flew up to the branch where the bird's home was askew

And with a nudge and a shove that nest was good as new

"Thank you!" tweeted the bird, "You are so brave and wise."

"No, thank YOU," said the kite, "You've opened up my eyes!"

And the kite caught the breeze and whirled and twirled and swooped

She surfed on the airwaves, she looped the loopy loop

When the winds were calmer she floated down from the sky

And said, "That was amazing! Did you see me flying high?"

"High as a kite?" Scout smiled, "You were as high as Big Ben!"

And the kite who was scared of heights was never scared of heights again.

'(Would You Like A )Weasel On Your Easel?'

Scout is a small girl who lives in a yellow house in Storyland, which we estimate is somewhere in the wilds of East Angularshire. '(Would You Like A) Weasel On Your Easel?' is the third in this series of tall tales, in this case starring Scout (the girl) and Monsieur Fandango (the artist) dwelling on the extreme joys of two central concerns of a young child's life - the magic of small wild animals and the havoc of messy painting. Put those magic animals in an art studio and what could possibly happen? Let's find out shall we?



Would you like a mink in your sink?

No Sir, I would not like a mink in my sink

That would make it very hard to get a drink

Minks are slinky and warm to hold

But I don't want one in my washing up bowl

Would you like a stoat in your coat?

A stoat's in my coat? Well how can he see?

This fella shouldn't be in here, he should be set free

He's worrying my pocket, he's nibbling my sleeve

He's got his eye on my buttons, he really must leave

Would you like a vole in your bowl?

Monsieur Fandango this is really too strange

Those apples and grapes have been carefully arranged

A vole in my bowl would cause me great strife

It would be very unsettling for my very still life

Would you like a mole in your coal?

Sir oh Sir this situation is dire!

I'd better refrain from starting a fire

I fear for my carpet, bless all of my souls,

After all, aren't holes dug by little moles?

Would you like an otter on your jotter?

An otter on my jotter? That would be a sight

But how can I sketch? How would I write?

He should be out swimming by the banks of a river

Not stuck indoors making my watercolours quiver

Would you like a weasel on your easel?

Now hang on a minute, this is getting absurd

These mammals are splendid but haven't you heard?

With a weasel on my easel I simply can't paint

Whatever's up next? A fox feeling faint?

Would you like a faint fox in your paintbox?

Oh Monsieur Fandango this is making me frown

My palette's all furry and his fur's dark brown

This fox is not fleet, his whiskers are pale

And if he doesn't wake up soon I'll paint with his tail

Would you like a beaver with a cleaver?

By Van Gogh's  beard! Pale saints alive!

This toothsome critter is playing with knives!

He's gnashing and slashing, my canvas is spoiled,

And don't get me started on the state of my oils

Would you like a ferret in your beret?

A ferret in a beret? Why Sir, hang your head in shame!

Those words may look similar but they don't sound the same

Ferret sounds like 'Turret', as on top of a fort,

And 'Beret' sounds like 'Monet', or so I always thought

So Monsieur Fandango, my mood is dark black

These rodents and whatnots are a real art attack

They are chewing my pencils, they are gnawing my brushes

They are chasing each other and ignoring my hushes

The mink's in the sink and is chewing the plug

The stoat's left my coat and is now ruining the rug

The vole in the bowl is eating the fruit

The mole in the coal is sneezing out soot

The otter's blotting my jottings with his damp little paws

The weasel's scratched my etchings with his sharp little claws

The ferret's in a French hat and looking quite cute

The fox is out-foxed by the great smell of Art Brut

The beaver's disbelieving but frankly Sir, I don't give a dam,

I'm outta this s-s-s-studio, I am I am I am.

'(Have You Seen My) Cow On A Plough?'

"Scout is a small girl who lives in a place called Storyland, which is we've heard is somewhere in the East Of Englandshire. '(Have You Seen My) Cow On A Plough' is the second in a string of (he)artily unhinged sagas, in this case starring Scout (the girl) and Farmer Fandango (the farmer) ruminating upon the perils of two fascinations of a young person's life - farmyard animals and wheels. Put those farmyard animals on those wheels and what would would happen? Let's find out..."



"Hello there Scout. Have you seen my goose on the loose?"

"A goose on the loose? Sir, you should take care!

Luckily your bird's on that wagon over there.

So we don't need a search party out at the double -

A wild wild goose chase would have caused trouble!"

"Have you seen my lamb in a pram?"

"Well, a lamb in a pram is an adorable sight,

But  Farmer Fandango this just isn't right!

This lamb needs to gambol in meadows and frolic,

Not lie around with a bad case of colic!"

"Have you seen my collie in a trolley?"

"Hold onto my glasses, my eyes are out-popping.

For I strongly suspect that Shep's been out shopping.

But a sheepdog on wheels, sir that's just not smart.

What's coming next? A sow in a cart?"

"Have you seen my pig on a gig?"

"Lawks, is this piggy taking herself off to market?

Does she have scratchnav? Where will she park it??

Don't get me wrong - I like trotters and snouts,

But this piggy's getting jiggy when you should muck it out!"

"Have you seen my goat on a milkfloat?"

"A goat on a float? Sir, this is too weird,

He's got a cap on his head and cream on his beard!

His gold top bottles are rattling in their crates,

And if he drives that slowly he's going to be late!"

"Have you seen my duck in a truck?"

"Oh Farmer Fandango, this gets ever stranger.

A duck in a truck must surely spell danger!

He's driving with feathers, how can he be steering?

This tale is quack quackers, sir are you hearing?"

"Have you seen my sheep in a jeep?"

"Now hang on a minute, this is getting berserk

A sheep in a jeep, just how does that work?

He's gone through the baaaarn, he's up in the clover

Perhaps our woolley friend drives a Lamb Rover...?"

"Have you seen my cow on a plough?"

"Chickens and eggheads, this is no farm!

This yard is a war zone! It's a place of great harm!

This lady should be lowing and chewing the cud

Not turning your turf and moooving the mud!"

"Have you seen my nag in a Jag?"

"Now Mr. McFarmer this is becoming surreal,

To see your prize steed behind such a sleek wheel.

For while this animal charm is a joy be had,

I'm sure you're saying four wheels good, two wheels bad!"

"So Mr. McFarmer, you must take control,

This isn't a farmstead, it's too rock' n' roll,

I've come to the country to see wide open spaces

But all I've witnessed so far are whacky farm races

Your geese are released and honking like crazy

Your collie's in a trolley because he's so lazy

Your lamb's in a pram all swaddled in silk

Your goat has decided to deliver the duck with the milk

Your pig is trotting to town with good tidings

Your sheep's stopped being sheepish and has gone off joyriding

Your fresian ploughs furrows with great bovine cheer

And your horse thinks it's Morse, it would clearly appear

I came here for peace, I came here for quiet

Instead I'm confronted by a farmyard riot

Your stable's unstable, your field's in a jam,

I'm departing this farm I am, I am, I am!"

‘(Would You Like) Bees On Your Cheese?’

Words by S R Williams and images by Antonio Papaleo


Scout is a little girl who lives in a place called Storyland, which we think is somewhere in the middle of East Anglia. '(Would You Like) Bees On Your Cheese?' is the first in a series of haphazardly arranged escapades starring Scout (the girl), Mr Fandango (the waiter) and a pawful of absurd situations which in this particular case relate to two central concerns of young person's life - the perils of strange food and the excellent gruesomeness of insects. 

"Good afternoon Scout. Would you like lice on your rice?"

"No Sir, I would not like lice on my rice,

That wouldn't be fun and it wouldn't taste nice,

It's bad enough when they sleep in your hair.

But egg-fried lice? That's just not fair!"

"Would you like a fly on your pie?"

"A fly on my pie? Oh me, oh my!

Frankly Sir, I'd rather die,

Apple or mincey, meaty or lean,

This is one crusty crust I'd like to keep clean!"

"Would you like a caterpillar as your sandwich filler?"

"Mr.Fandango, Listen to your head!

Are you putting creepy crawlies in my bread?

Even with egg and cress that's going to be tickly,

And too many caterpillars is too, too sickly!"

"Would you like fleas on your peas??"

"No I would not, and that's a fact!

This is one dining offer I'd like you to retract,

Fleas on peas would leave me vexed-

I presume bees on cheese is coming next!"

"Would you like bees on your cheese??!"

"Oh mercy me, I saw that one coming!

I heard them too, with all that humming.

This is all too much smellow yellow for me,

Although I do like the sound of 'Bumble brie'..."

"Would you like a snail in your ale???!"

"Heavens to Betsy, I'm only a child!!

I'm not allowed ale, no matter how mild!

Please Sir, a snail in my ale will just not do -

And a bug in my jug is taboo, too!"

"Would you like maggots on your faggots???!?"

"Maggots and faggots? Are you having a laugh??

All that wriggling will make me barf!!

Sir oh Sir, this creepy menu is making me doubt,


That you have any meals with the ticks taken out!!"

"Would you like some beetles on your meatballs???!!"

"Would I like what what on my wibble??

Sir I sense you are starting to dribble!!

This is no 'Daily Special', it's a punning crime,

Why, "Beetles and meatballs" don't even rhyme!!!"

"Would you like nits on your grits?!??!!"

"Would I like my grits sprinkled with nits???

Really, this tea room is quite the pits!!!

I'm telling you now, there's something fishey

About all these dishes being so...un-dishy!!!!"

"So before you bring another plate,

Mister Fandango, let me reiterate:

I do not want lice on my rice,

And I will send it back twice (if not thrice).

I do not desire fleas on my peas,

Or have a taste for bees on my cheese (even in threes),

Caterpillars crawling into my butty,

Would make me itch and go 'Tut-tut-tutty'.

A snail in my ale would make me turn pale,

And nits and grits are right off the scale.

The maggots and faggots can stay in the can,

And beetles and meatballs? They don't even scan!

Frankly Sir, your gaff is a sham -

I'm leaving this story, so I am, I am, I am!"