by Terry Deary
5. A spirit level.
Word-search:
6. The answer is “x” – because he’s a little cross.
Spot the difference 1:
7. The difference is that you can’t dip a sailor in your soft-boiled egg.
Spot the difference 2:
8. There is no difference; they are both pictures of Father Christmas’ house in a snowstorm.
Test your knowledge:
9. Tin of plums, tin of peaches and tin of peas.
10. Just below the chin.
11. The hippo-poto-mouse.
12. Nine.
13. A puddle.
14. On his forehead.
15. None. He just has “Ho! Ho! Ho!” levels.
Test your brain-power:
16. O.I.C.U.R.M.T.
17. D.K.
18. If you said M.T.G.G. you’d be wrong! The answer is nothing – ’cos horses can’t talk, stupid!
Master-mind-bender
19. They all have! Ho! Ho! Ho!
Now Check Your Score
20: Dirty rotten cheat! There were only nineteen questions.
10-19: Clever clogs.
1-9: Thicko!
0: Look out, Gnigel, someone out there’s as dim as you!
ON THE TENTH DAY OF CHRISTMAS MY TRUE LOVE SENT TO ME
TEN CHRISTMAS STORIES
When Christmas is over we gnomes like to sit around the fire and tell our favourite stories.
FATHER
CHRISTMAS:
Gnigel, what’s your favourite story?
GNIGLE:
Er . . . the one where the three creatures are scared of the Big Bad Wolf and they grow on trees!
FATHER
CHRISTMAS:
Oh, you mean “The Three Little Figs”.
FATHER
CHRISTMAS:
And what’s your favourite Christmas story, Gneil?
GNEIL:
Oh, the one about the ghost that steals the porridge!
FATHER
CHRISTMAS:
Oh, you mean “Ghoul-di-locks”!
GNELLIE:
I like the story about the girl who steals from the rich and gives it all to Granny.
FATHER
CHRISTMAS:
Ah, that’s “Little Red Robin Hood”!
GNORMAN:
My favourite is the famous film about the man who casts spells in the middle of a swamp.
FATHER
CHRISTMAS:
That’s called “The Wizard of Ooze”!
GNOCKER:
So what’s your favourite story, Father Christmas?
FATHER
CHRISTMAS:
I like the story about Floella, my Christmas Fairy, and the little brown hare.
GNOCKER:
Tell us that one, Father Christmas.
FATHER
CHRISTMAS:
Are you sitting comfortably? Then I’ll begin –
Once upon a time, in the Christmas Tree Forest there lived the Christmas fairies. They spent most of their time practising sitting on top of Christmas trees. There was just one rule they had to stick to . . . it was strictly forbidden for a fairy to kiss anyone!
The trouble was that Floella was a wicked little fairy.
One day Harry the Hare was hopping through the forest when he saw Floella sitting on top of a toadstool, combing her hair. Floella said, “Hello, handsome, give us a kiss!”
Harry the Hare was shocked. “Father Christmas doesn’t allow it!” he gasped. “Anyone caught kissing a fairy will be turned straight away into a Goon!”
But Floella tickled his ears – just the way hares love – and whispered, “Don’t worry, we won’t be caught!”
Harry the Hare trembled with fear and excitement. He looked carefully over his furry brown shoulder, saw that no one was looking . . . and kissed Floella the fairy!
Suddenly there was a FLASH, a CRASH and a mighty WHOOSH!!! of wind. Through the magic of the Christmas Tree Forest Harry the Hare found himself in the court of Father Christmas!
And Father Christmas was furious! “Harry the Hare! You have been found guilty of kissing a forest fairy! Have you anything to say?”
“I never meant to!” Harry the Hare snivelled. “If you let me off I promise I’ll never do it again . . . just please, please!! PLEASE!!! don’t turn me into a Goon!”
Father Christmas took pity on the pathetic creature and said, “I’ll give you one more chance . . . just one more!”
Suddenly there was a FLASH, a C*R*A*S*H and a mighty WHOOSH!!! of wind.
Harry the Hare found himself back in the forest. And there, combing her hair on a toadstool was Floella the Fairy.
“Hiya, handsome,” she whispered. “Give us a kiss!”
Harry the Hare was horrified! “Certainly not!” he cried. But when she tickled his ears his legs turned to jelly and he started to tremble. “Oooh! No! I’ll be turned into a Goon!”
“For one little kiss from me it’s worth it!” Floella murmured.
And Harry the Hare gave in. He kissed the fairy.
Suddenly there was a FLASH, a C*R*A*S*H and a mighty WHOOSH!!! of wind. Once again Harry the Hare found himself in front of the furious Father Christmas!
“You foolish hare!” Father Christmas roared. “You have had your chance! Guards! Take him away – turn him into a Goon tomorrow!”
Harry the Hare hung his head and let himself be led away. As he reached the door of the court he turned to all the gnomes and forest creatures and said tearfully . . .
“Ah, well, that’s life! Hare today . . . and Goon tomorrow!”
Now Gnigel’s favourite story was about Gneil . . .
One day Gnigel went for a walk to the North Pole to feed the penguins. Who should he meet there but Gneil! And Gneil had a sack of green and purple sand and he was scattering it all over the snow.
“Gneil! What on earth are you doing?” Gnigel asked.
“I’m scattering this magic green and purple sand,” Gneil told him.
“But why are you scattering green and purple sand?” Gnigel demanded.
“To keep the crocodiles away, of course!” Gneil told him.
Gnigel gasped. “But there aren’t any crocodiles at the North Pole!”
Gneil grinned happily. “I know. Great stuff isn’t it?”
Gnora loved to hear a ghost story at Christmas. She particularly loved the one about the ghostly dog . . .
There was once a dog who died and came back to haunt the street he lived in.
He loved scaring cats. One Christmas Eve, just about midnight, he’d scared a fat black moggy and sent it howling home. The ghost dog was so happy he wagged his ghost-tail and wagged his ghost-tail . . . until it dropped off!
The tail lay sadly on the ground. The dog picked it up in his mouth but couldn’t reach behind to stick it back on. Midnight was striking and people were flocking to the pub that was open late. The dog wandered into the pub and jumped on to the bar.
“Excuse me,” the dog said politely. “But do you think you could stick my tail back on?”
The landlord turned and looked at the clock on the wall behind the bar. “Oh, sorry mate,” he sighed. “But, you see, I’m not permitted to re-tail spirits after midnight!”
Gnorman liked ghost stories too. But his favourite was about the Christmas wrapping string . . .
One Christmas Eve, when all the presents had been wrapped, there were just three pieces of string left.
“You know, we’ll probably just be thrown on the fire,” String No. 1 said.
“Or in the bin!” String No. 2 moaned.
“We can’t have that!” String No. 3 cried.
“So what can we do?” the other two pieces asked.
“Let’s go out for a meal!” String No. 3 suggested.
>
And off they went down to the “Greasy Penguin Cafe”. It was packed with Christmas revellers. String No. 1 said, “Right, lads, what’ll we eat?”
“I’d like some tomato soup,” said String No. 2.
“And how about stuffed turkey to follow . . . and we could have Christmas pudding for afters,” said String No. 3.
String No. 1 went to the counter and said, “Three tomato soups, three stuffed turkeys and three Christmas puddings, my good man!”
The waiter took one look at him and said, “Push off, shorty. I don’t serve pieces of string . . . and you’re just a piece of string!”
String No. 1 went back to the others. “He refused to serve me!”
String No. 2 asked, “Did you say ‘please’?”
“No,” admitted String No. 1.
“Then let me try!”
String No. 2 went to the bar and said, “Three tomato soups, three stuffed turkeys and three Christmas puddings, please.”
But the waiter replied, “Push off, shorty. I don’t serve pieces of string . . . and you’re just a piece of string!”
String No. 2 went back to the others to report his failure. “Here, lads, let me try,” String No. 3 offered. But, before he went to the bar he tied a knot in the top of his head and fluffed the end out till he looked like a piece of punk string.
He went up to the bar. “Three tomato soups, three stuffed turkeys and three Christmas puddings, please!”
The waiter looked at him and sighed, “Push off, shorty. I don’t serve pieces of string . . . and you’re just a piece of string!”
And String No. 3 replied, “No. I’m a frayed knot!”
But Gnellie has my favourite Christmas story of all . . .
Once upon a time there was a little girl who wanted a kitten for Christmas. Now, her mother couldn’t buy a kitten and parcel it up for Christmas Day, so she bought it a week before Christmas and gave it to the little girl. “You’re getting your Christmas present a week early this year,” her mother explained and handed over the fluffy little tabby kitten. “Is that what you want?”
The little girl, whose name was Kitty, said, “It’s wonderful, mother . . . just what I wanted. There’s just one thing wrong!”
“What’s that?” her mother asked.
“Well, it has a cute little claw on the outside of every paw and a cute little claw on the inside of every paw – but the poor little thing has no claws at all in the middle of its paws!”
Her mother smiled. “Don’t worry, Kitty . . . when you wake up on Christmas morning you’ll find the claws are there.”
Now Kitty loved her kitten dearly, but she worried about those claws in the middle of its paws. The days passed and there wasn’t even a hint, a clue or an inkling of claws in the middle of its paws!
When Christmas Eve arrived and there was still no sign, Kitty went to her mother and asked again, “Are you absolutely sure that the kitten will have its middle claws tomorrow? There’s only a few hours to go and there’s not a hint or a clue or an inkling as to claws as far as I can see!”
“Wait till you wake up on Christmas morning,” her mother smiled and went on stuffing the turkey.
So Kitty went to sleep a worried girl. And when she woke up on Christmas morning she ignored the presents in her stocking and rushed downstairs to look at her little kitten.
She was astounded, amazed and just a little surprised to see that her kitten had four claws on every paw! The middle ones had appeared as if by magic.
Kitty rushed to her parent’s bedroom. “Mummy, Mummy! The kitten has grown its middle claws!”
“Of course it has,” her mother grinned.
“But how did you know?” Kitty demanded.
Her father rolled over sleepily and sighed,
“Oh, Kitty, everybody knows . . . that Centreclaws always comes at Christmas!”
ON THE ELEVENTH DAY OF CHRISTMAS MY TRUE LOVE SENT TO ME
ELEVEN CHRISTMAS JOKES
As I told you, Gnellie is a gnome who’s always feeling poorly . . .
GNELLIE:
Doctor, doctor, I keep thinking I’m a Christmas bell!
DOCTOR:
Just take these pills – and, if they don’t work, give me a ring!
GNELLIE:
Doctor, doctor, with all the excitement of Christmas I can’t sleep.
DOCTOR:
Try lying on the edge of your bed . . . you’ll soon drop off!
GNELLIE:
Doctor, doctor. Father Christmas gives us oranges every Christmas. Now I think I’m turning into an orange!
DOCTOR:
Have you tried playing squash?
GNELLIE:
Will that make me fit?
DOCTOR:
No. To get a gnome fit you’ll have to go to an elf farm.
GNELLIE:
What else should I do?
DOCTOR:
You have to eat your greens – put a bit of colour in your cheeks!
GNELLIE:
Who wants green cheeks!
DOCTOR:
Don’t worry. You’ll live to be a hundred!
GNELLIE:
I was a hundred last Christmas.
DOCTOR:
There you are! What did I tell you! Now just breathe out four times.
GNELLIE:
You want to check my lungs?
DOCTOR:
No. I want to clean my glasses.
GNELLIE:
Doctor, doctor, I feel as tense as an elastic band.
DOCTOR:
Snap out of it.
GNELLIE:
It’s fear of going into that little dark toy cupboard of Father Christmas.’
DOCTOR:
You’re suffering from Claustrophobia.
GNELLIE:
And I keep imagining I’m a snow-covered field!
DOCTOR:
What has come over you?
GNELLIE:
Two sleighs, three polar bears and a flock of penguins!
GNELLIE:
Doctor, doctor, I’ve got a bad stomach.
DOCTOR:
Keep your coat buttoned up and no one will notice.
GNELLIE:
But doctor, I think I need glasses!
DOCTOR:
You certainly do. I’m the baker!
GNELLIE:
Doctor, what do you give someone who feels sick?
DOCTOR:
Plenty of room.
GNELLIE:
Doctor, doctor, will this ointment cure my spots?
DOCTOR:
I’m not making any rash promises.
GNELLIE:
My problem is that I keep stealing things when I go Christmas shopping. Can you give me something for it!
DOCTOR:
Try this medicine . . . and if it doesn’t work come back and bring me a new video camera.
DOCTOR:
Nurse! I want to operate. Take this patient to the theatre.
GNELLIE:
Ooh! Good! I love a nice pantomime at Christmas!
Gnellie went to the doctor with a reindeer on her head.
“Gosh!” the doctor exclaimed. “You have a real problem there!”
“I certainly have!” the reindeer moaned. “Get this rotten gnome from under my feet!”
And talking about Father Christmas’ reindeer you really should know their names.
GNIGEL:
What does Father Christmas call that three-legged reindeer?
GNORA:
Eileen.
GNORMAN:
And what does he call that reindeer with no eyes?
GNELLIE:
No-eyed-deer!
GNEIL:
And what do you call the reindeer with cotton wool in his ears?
GNOCKER:
Call him anything you like – he won’t hear you!
GNEIL:
; What do you call the reindeer with one eye higher than the other?
GNOCKER:
Isaiah!
GNORMAN:
What about the reindeer with only one eye that’s got no legs?
GNELLIE:
Still no-eye-deer.
GNANCY:
What’s the name of the reindeer with three humps on its back?
GNIGEL:
Humphrey, of course.
GNANCY:
And that black and blue reindeer?
GNIGEL:
Bruce.
GNORA:
Tell me, Father Christmas, how did Rudolph get that song written about him?
FATHER
CHRISTMAS:
Well, it’s a long story . . . Once upon a time there was a king in Lapland called Rudolph. He had bright ginger hair so his people called him Rudolph the Red.
Now Rudolph the Red was bad-tempered and argued a lot. He gave his poor wife, Gertrude the Green, a terrible time. No matter what she said he had to argue.
One winter’s day Gertrude the Green looked out of the palace window and said, “Oh, dear, it’s snowing again. You’ll have to clear the footpath before mother comes to tea.”