Sunday, 10 May 2009

This week's word is: DRAGONPOX

Not many humans realise this, but dragons are very punctual creatures. I'm not talking full stops and commas here, I'm talking time. We don't like to miss appointments or turn up late for anything. It makes our scales rattle. So you can imagine how I felt when the author moaned to me last week that he wasn't feeling well and was therefore not able to contribute to our weekly blog. "I've got dragonpox!" he wailed. I tapped my foot and blew a stern smoke ring. Hrrr! I growled, which of course meant 'wimp'.
Ever since the author and I became acquainted, any minor ailment he's suffered from has been labeled 'dragonpox'. Headache? Dragonpox. Tummy ache? Dragonpox. Stubbed toe? Dragonpox. It's pathetic. If he had true dragonpox his primary spiracles would probably be inflamed, his optical triggers would be out of alignment and he wouldn't be able to hold his isoscele straight. What's more, his scales would be turning yellow and be dropping off his wings like dead flower petals. None of these things have ever happened to him of course because, now let me think, he's NOT A DRAGON!

While he was 'recuperating' (good word) he decided to tell me an 'amusing story' (yawn) of a bout of imaginary dragonpox he'd had as a boy. (Sorry, run that one by me again. Did he use the word 'imaginary', there? This is worse than I thought!) Anyway, he described to me the time when he was twelve years old and suffered from something called 'a grumbling appendix' - we'll stick with the human terms for now. Several times he'd been examined by a healing dragon (sorry, a doctor) and on each occasion he'd been told that the offending appendix might have to come out one day i.e. be removed in a hospital operation. During this period the author changed schools. Not liking the new school he'd been sent to, he decided to fake illness to get some time off. So he rolled around on the sofa clutching his tummy until his parents called the doctor. The doctor prodded and poked, hummed in thought for a few moments and said, "It's his appendix. He needs to be admitted to hospital - now." "WHAT??!!" yelled the author, sitting up quickly and striking his head on the doctor's bag. "Hospital? No! It feels better now, honest!" But hospital it was. The appendix was removed and the author has a scar to prove it. This gave me an idea. During the middle of last week, while he was lying down with a damp flannel across his forehead I said there was only one cure for his 'dragonpox': we'd have to send for GRETEL. He sat up smartly. The flannel fell to the floor. "Gretel?" he said. "I don't need flowers wafting under my nose. I need love. I need sympathy..." "You need to BLOG," I said, licking my pencil. Gretel or blog? Which would you choose? Yes, BLOG. Next week, fans, fear not, the author will be on time...

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