Giant Jim and the Hurricane

by Jeremy Strong

  Constable Dunstable frowned. ‘It is

  kind of you to invite us to your house, but I think you are forgetting something. We can’t have any music because you squashed all the band’s instruments and now they can’t play anything.’

  ‘Then I shall play my saxophone,’ said Giant Jim, and he did, and everyone fell over. Then they picked themselves up and began to dance round and round and round.

  ‘You are a very kind giant!’ cried Mr Sniffling, waltzing past with Mrs Sniffling on his arm.

  ‘And you are not stupid at all,’ smiled Mrs Careless, the Mayoress, graciously, as she was twirled by Constable Dunstable. ‘You’re just a bit big, but we are getting used to that now.’

  Crasher’s Mum sneaked up to Giant Jim, shyly put her arms round one ankle, and gave him a big hug.

  Giant Jim played faster and faster, until they were all whirling round like a human hurricane, and Crasher crashed into so many things he felt like a dodgem car.

  Even Florence Fluffybum joined in and, as the sun began to set, the giant hen could be seen silhouetted against the skyline, picking up her knobbly brown legs and dancing delicately across the hilltops.

  At last, when they were so tired that they could not dance another step, the townspeople made a big bonfire with all the rubbish left over from the hurricane. Giant Jim got out his giant saucepan and cooked scrambled egg for everybody. Then they all got up and started dancing all over again, and that night nobody went home to bed at all, because they were so exhausted that they fell asleep on the hillside – all except for Giant Jim.

  He crawled into his Giant House and soon the metal roof was rattling away in time to his giant snores.