The unofficial wabbit

The wabbit enjoyed his lift in the wooden car. Back at his temporary lodgings, he glanced out onto a paved area that was laid out like a tennis court. To his amazement he spotted what looked like a wabbit. It was sitting in a most peculiar way. The Wabbit tried to get the attention of the unofficial wabbit-like thing. But nothing he could do or say had any effect. What would they say at home?

The Wabbit and the Most Extwaordinary Car

The Wabbit was disappointed when he found there really was no room for him in the No 15 Sidecar outfit and so he wandered off for a cup of tea. Then, to his surprise, he spotted what he thought was a chocolate car! But it wasn't made of chocolate, it was made of wood. That was also quite extwaordinary, thought the Wabbit. Could there be a better way to travel home than in a wooden car? The Wabbit couldn't think of one. So he hopped in - and there was plenty of room for a wabbit in there.

Vroom vroom, thought the Wabbit.

The Wabbit was enjoying his holiday. As he wandered through a strange area with tents and machinery and small children with bikes, he was drawn to the chequered flag of Number 15. A man was working on the engine. The Wabbit wondered if he would win the race and decided he would look out for him. Perhaps there would be a celebration with tweats. The wabbit considered sneaking into the nose cone. No-one would notice if he did and he didn't weigh that much. Vwoom vwoom! (thought the Wabbit).

The Wabbit spends a day at the Races

It is, mused the Wabbit, a little known fact that wabbits are rather keen on the races. The Wabbit had been taking time off, visiting his many cousins on Anglesey, home of Welsh Rabbits. And there on the race track, he spotted these two speedy types on the starting gwid. The Wabbit was pleased to see that Petpals was sponsoring the intwepid racing wabbits. (Even if wabbits can run very quickly anyway, without aid of mechanical propulsion.) He settled down, perched on the pit lane wall, in a relaxed fashion - because he was far, far away from his neighbourhood and the wabbits of home.

The mystery of the thrown-away Clothes

Fresh from a lunchtime nibble, the Wabbit hopped his way along his usual route, when he was stopped in his tracks by some stwange objects. They were clothes that had been thrown away, he supposed. Who could they have belonged to? He felt he was becoming a little obsessed with the shadow people, so he put that thought out of his head. All the same .... a Wabbit can never tell. As he speculated (and that's what wabbits do), a young woman noticed him and she pointed straight at him, shouting "Oh look, how cute!" And now it was the Wabbit's turn to vanish and no-one quite knew which way he had gone.

The Wabbit met a Cat

Because it was a little mystewious, the wabbit usually hopped quickly past this house. But he felt a small movement behind him and turned to find a lovely cat of the stwangest colour. He had never seen him before and enquired of his name. The cat declined to say and turned to walk slowly up the path. The Wabbit thought that perhaps the cat knew of the shadow people. "Mr Cat! Do you know where .... ?". But the cat had vanished as quickly as he had appeared. And the Wabbit could not be certain of exactly which way.

The Wabbit spots a Sign

On his way home, the Wabbit could not help but notice the disturbation. Normally they did not keep their signs like this and there was even a special telephone number to report any sign damage. The Wabbit inspected it closely because he thought perhaps there was a secwet tunnel under the sign. Maybe the shadow people used that tunnel and the Wabbit had not given up on the shadow people. He had a look and nosed around with his wabbit nose. But there was nothing but a few wires and a cigarette end ...

Cat Litter Blues

The Wabbit could hardly believe his eyes. But there it was, and Il Micio Cattivo was correct. The value wabbit food had never been to his taste but it was the principle of the thing. Squeezed between the cat lit on the very bottom shelf was the last of the wabbit food. Il Micio Cattivo said that it was all the fault of a man called Berlusconi in Italy but that was a long, long way away.

The Wabbit Eats Out

The Wabbit took his newspapers to one of his favourite haunts - the pizza palace by the canal. The wabbit was partial to many foods but cawwot pizza was a particular delight. He wasn't tall enough to reach the menus on the table so he had to rely on spotting one of the customers who liked the same as he did. Soon, delicious morsels would fall. The Wabbit turned to the media page in the newspaper and there he saw the grave news concerning rabbit supplies. His Italian fwiend, Il Micio Cattivo had warned him about this and Il Micio knew everything about the media. Supermarkets were running down supplies of rabbit produce. Soon they would cut them out altogether, to make way for special produce for people with special tastes. The Wabbit shuddered. In the city, the supermarket was one of the few remaining places to get wabbit supplies.

The Wabbit reads the newspapers

The Wabbit could hardly see the papers, because they had stacked them in an unfriendly way for wabbits. But he could see some stuff in the strange light. He had hoped there was news of what had happened to the shadow people from Castle Doom. But there was nothing but Bwangelina - and the Wabbit did not care about film stars. All he could see was Pet News and even that could annoy the Wabbit. No, there was nothing he could see of worth in the news. And even less in the newsagents. The Wabbit spent some time though, nosing up against the quality broadsheets (it was a far as he could go). It might make a nice bed he thought, if chewed well. He selected The Herald Twibune, the Washington Post - and the Guardian for fun because of the misprints and he stealthily stole from the shop since he had forgotten his money. It was late in the day and he left behind the tops of the front pages, because then the newsagent wouldn't lose any money. He had learned that from the shadow people. But later, when making a nice bed for himself, the Wabbit read some disturbing news ..... (to be continued).

Where are the Men?

There was always something happening in this stwip of road, thought the Wabbit. I should have gone another way (and there were many other ways). He couldn't see a real man with a spade anywhere. But he supposed there was one, because of the chopped wood. They were always chopping wood, which annoyed the Wabbit. What would happen when they ran out of trees and there was no more wood to chop? The Wabbit shook his head and sniffed a bit. Why should he care anyway? Trees were not absolutely necessary, but he liked them all the same. Except for the leaves. When the leaves fell, men came with blowing things that made a terrible noise. But all they seemed to do was move the leaves from one place to another. People are vewy strange, thought the Wabbit.

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Castle Doom

Castle Doom lay on one of the Wabbit's frequent walks. The Wabbit remembered well the old days when anyone could stay at Castle Doom - if they dared! For it was said in the village that if you stayed a night at Castle Doom, then you would never be the same again. For this reason, the Wabbit usually hopped quickly past. But one day rich people from the next village bought Castle Doom and threw out all the poor people who could afford no better and who had turned into shadows. Then the rich people made very big gates to keep out all the people who passed. But the Wabbit knew he could go in if he wanted. No gate could keep him out. He just didn't want to go in, because the big gates made him worried. He was glad he was a wabbit and not a shadow and he wondered what would become of the shadow people. Sometimes he thought he had caught sight of them in the small streets, but he could not be sure if it was weally them. He was sure they had made a home somewhere, but where? Somewhere on his travels, the Wabbit knew he would discover them.

The Wabbit saw a Bike

The Wabbit was going down the road to the shops when he saw this smart bike parked very closely to the cars. He thought to himself (because he was a male wabbit), "I wonder why they use these stwange machines? Wabbits do not like whirring wheels much." But this one was OK because it was tied up to a twee. And it was vewy, vewy still. The Wabbit wished his eyesight was better. But at least he was gwounded. He chortled to himself at the the thought, being a wabbit of a psychological disposition. As he hopped to the supermarket, his thoughts turned to his pals, Buddy Rabbit and Desiree de Rabbit. Even if they were far away, he could easily talk to them. What were they doing?