Much

For them of you as 'asn't met me, I'm the stone gnome what lives in 'er garden. Strictly speaking it ain't 'er garden at all, it belongs to the church wot 'e works for, and I was 'ere riding me snail along the rockery for years before they turned up.

'Er asn't been round a lot this summer. The rain 'as been tipping down something shocking and 'er's always off places, visiting 'er folks, off to Anglesey, doing work stuff, blimey, some folk never stay in one place. With the weather being so rotten and nobody to talk to, me and me old snail have just dozed most of the summer. There weren't nothing worth waking up for.

Then all of a sudden this morning, there's a very small person running down the garden with a pot of bubbly stuff in her fist. Blimey, I thought, you don't get many humans that size. 'Er ladyship brought her along the rockery to be introduced to me, as is only right and proper, me being an ancient edifice around 'ere, and little Lucy was suitably impressed. She admired me snail, and another real live one what had crawled up his shell without me noticing. Even blew some bubbles for me. Sensible little girl, that Lucy, knows how to show respect to an old chap.

Then, because Lucy couldn't see me face very well (and I am a fellow worth looking at, though I say it meself), 'er ladyship picked me up to turn me round. 'I'd forgotten how heavy you were, Much,' says 'er. It's all right or 'er, she ain't made of granite. She tried again, still couldn't get me turned round. That's when she saw that we've been sat 'ere so long, there's a cotoneaster growing over me snail.

Better get down here with the clippers, missus, before I gets all overgrown like the Sleeping Blooming Beauty.