Chapter Nine
Close encounter with Mushrooms, Starlings and Barrows

After making rapid arrangements, Hapless, accompanied by his pal, Roland Weasel, set off with the doughnut on the long journey to Grimauladris, which turned out to be an enigmatic and little visited hamlet situated in a secluded valley not far from Welshpool. In a leafy lane at the edge of the hamlet stood Hogsendell House, a grand old building, now ostensibly a convalescent home, which was often frequented by Dumbledalf and at which he was staying at the time. As luck would have it, the nine riders, having ridden hard on a long road, just missed Hapless and Roland at the house. The two were waiting at the bus shelter across the road, and saw them arrive. They creaked in looking bedraggled and tired, variously stopping or falling off their bikes in a disorderly manner, and began peeling themselves from their saddles, with much groaning and apparent suffering.

For a minute or two, the only conversation proceeded along the lines of, “Aaaagh!”, “Ooow!”, “Ouch!”, “I’m infertile!”, “Aaaaaaooooowwwwaagh! I’ve split my sporran!”, “Oh my God, my balls are missing!”, and similar expressions of obvious pain. Sitting on the ground in his cap and gown, one chap said, “Oh God! Never again! What they Hell are we doing in this horrible place? I never want to see a bike again. I’m going to leave this one here”. He leant it against the hedge in Hapless’s driveway.
“Result!”, said Hapless to Roland, or Ro as he was generally known.
“Yeah! If it’s still there when you get back.”, commented Ro.
“Ooooooooowwgh!”, moaned another voice.
“My bollocks! Is this what I went to University for?”, enquired one voice.
“I wanted to go to Oxford.”, said another “Oh, the dreaming spires… Earl Grey tea on the lawn, I could have been creative there. I could be sitting on new-mown grass in a cloistered garden right now, surrounded by impressive buildings, and beauty, and writing something vital, and triumphant, and meaningful. Not tossing around here on this trivial stunt; sent on some marzipan-ridden quest to find a crappy model of a doughnut! It’s ridiculous! What does he want it for anyway?”.
“Don’t talk about marzipan and doughnuts in public!”, admonished an admonishing voice.
“Well, you just said it too!”, retorted the dreamer in defence.
“That was different. I was admonishing you”, replied the admonisher.
“Were you? In that case I’ll consider myself admonished, your bleeding highness. Now shut up or those guys at the bus stop will hear us”. They looked towards Hapless and Ro who, looking at each other, retreated a step into the bus shelter, and hoped the bus would arrive.
“You watch yer mouth”, retorted the other, “or I’ll make sure Professor Rowling gets to hear of it! I’m in charge, don’t forget. Who’s got the marzipan?”, he continued, sternly.
“Don’t come on all bald with me!”, the dreamer warned him. “I’ve had just about enough of this crap already!”
“Are you calling me bald?”, demanded the first. The dreamer looked at him.
“Well, don’t tell me you didn’t know you were bald!”.

Slowly, some of the men found that they could stand upright. Three of them staggered towards the door. Hapless couldn’t decide whether they looked like old men, or little boys who had pee’d their trousers. They knocked on the door. They continued groaning. When they realised that there was nobody home, and nothing to do apart from go back empty handed or follow the trail, they sat on the lawn dejectedly. One of them had a piss in the Viburnum.

“Cheeky Sod!”, said Hapless to Ro.”.
“You despicable fellow!”, admonished the bald serial admonisher. “You should wait until you find a convenience! Where’s your cap?”
“Lost it miles ago.”, came the plain answer, “Did you want me to piss in it?”
“I crapped in mine!”, said another, proudly, “They’re stupid anyway".
“Who are those two, staring at us?”, said the micturator, doing up his zip. At the same moment, the bus came, and Hapless and Ro scrambled on board quickly, and took their seats. As it pulled away, they could see the band of henchmen trying to get on their bikes, getting off again in a disorderly way, staggering, crying, and then sitting, carefully, on garden walls around Hapless’s house. As the bus turned a corner, Ro thought he saw a fight break out.
“We should have got on the bus casually”, he said to Hapless. “They know it’s us”.

Once they were in Wrecsam itself, Hapless and Ro repaired to The Hogs Tusk, and chatted about their adventure so far. Ro was not actually the same Weasel as cursed by Drake Murphy. He was a generation down from the event, and once removed, in the sense that it had in fact been Jams Potts who had taken the torus. He who, in an act of simple but inexcusable cowardice in view of the likelihood of the wager backfiring on him, had given Murphy the name of his gardener, Arnold Weasel rather than his own. Now, after their light refreshment, the two walked, ignorant of their danger, towards what they hoped was a warm welcome in the tiny and distant valley of Grimauladris. They decided to do the next stage of the journey on foot, partly for the experience, and partly to avoid the henchmen of Vol-au-vent, whom they thought would be more likely to look for them on the main road and transport interchanges. Hapless was carrying a large carpet bag in addition to his rucksack.
“What’s in that thing?”, asked Ro.
“Nothing much”, said Hapless.
“Well it looks heavy for nothing much”, Ro replied, “and you’ve been lugging it around the fields”.

Making what they believed to be a short cut, they had wasted time hiding from the dangerous looking but well trained dogs of a rancid old mushroom farmer. Then they had become lost in the woods, and were accosted by a strange chap who wanted to show off his bird call impressions. They managed to lose him by escaping through some allotments, only to be confronted by a mean old bloke pushing a wheelbarrow.

“I need a beer after that lot”, said Ro.
Before long, they found themselves near The Red Dragon, and couldn’t help but go in. After a blessed pint each, Hapless dumped the carpet bag on the table. He opened the clasp on the handles with a degree of pomp and ceremony before groping inside. Ro looked on expectantly as Hapless’s face brightened. He pulled out a full-length mirror, and stood it up. Ro was surprised. Then, out came a standard lamp, lit, and with an embroidered shade, which he placed in the corner behind an armchair so that it illuminated the bag. Ro was astonished. Next, pulled out by the hair, was Mary Poppins, who straightened herself in the mirror and marched off.

“What the hell just happened?”, Ro asked incredulously, but before Hapless could answer, Mary Poppins came back with a tray of four beers.
“Drink up!”, she said in response to Ro’s bemused gaze.