* POST No. THREE:

CHARLIE GRRR AND THE TAXICUB… *


Oh, how easily ones hopes can be dashed…

I had big hopes for my future – to actually escape from the Embassy and get on with things - but as usual it’s not quite what I had imagined…

This first post doesn't even involve my meeting with Jasper Growl - that I'll write about tomorrow - this first bit is just about my journey on the way there!! You'll never believe it...

It was after breakfast this morning, that Monday announced that there was a taxi due to pick me up in time to deliver me safely at Growl’s shop somewhere up in the Oxford Street area. “We can’t let you go on the bus – it would cause too much dismay…” he explained – I’d been perfectly happy to travel there myself in some sort of all-concealing raincoat, but seeing as it was actually quite a sunny day Monday wasn’t convinced. “Somebody from TAXICUBS will come and pick you up and deliver you door to door so that nothing can possibly go wrong…”

“I can’t see how anything could possibly interfere with the arrangements!” I assured him.

Of course – as ever – such grand statements always come back to haunt you…

However, at first I thought things were actually going to run smoothly. The taxi from the expected company arrived and Monday waved me hastily inside and we drove off. There was no need for any disguises at this stage, I was told, as the taxi firm were in the know - so I just put on some dark glasses and my lucky silver chain and that was all I bothered with... I was so busy looking out of the window at the autumn colours in Hyde Park that it was only about an hour after we’d left Sloane Square that it occurred to me that something might not be quite right. We’d just driven passed Marple Arch for about the sixteenth time when I decided that maybe I should tap on the window and speak to the driver.

“Driver?” I called out. “Is there a problem… I was under the impression that you knew where you were taking me… I have an appointment at Jasper Growl’s and by the look of the time you’re going to make me late for it…” The Driver mumbled something and nodded from under his large cloth cap – but I couldn’t hear a word he was saying and being a trifle rude as I sometimes can be in these situations I reached forward and pulled the cap off his head. “Speak properly will you…” I told him. “Be clear… Do you know where we’re going on not, please?”

The Driver looked distinctly odd and seemed to be about to hiss at me, but then thought better of it. “I’m rrreally sorry Sir… Grrrrowwwllll! I do know my way – it’s just this is my first day on the job and London’s a pretty big place for a kit-err-a little cub like me!”

I nodded understandingly, “You’ll get used to it – even I can probably direct you to Oxford Street from here and I’m from Beargrrria…”

“If you could give me a little help then that would be very kind of you…” began the Driver and made a few snuffly noises, before nearly driving us into a lamp post, a burger van and a crowd of bratty looking teenagers on the way to cause mayhem. “Damn… Missed them…” the Driver mumbled. “Oooh! I’ve seen the sign to Oxford Street!” he cried loudly and then suddenly began to make a noise deep down in his throat.

“Excuse me…” I exclaimed. “Are you PURRING?”

“No Sir… Not at all Sir…” he replied and nearly crashed into a vicar who appeared to be about to steal a small Labrador puppy from outside of a Starbucks. “I was just singing…”

But he wasn’t singing – I knew that for a fact… “I thought this taxi company was supposed to be run by bears… Nobody but bears and Policemen are supposed to know that I’m even here at the moment… Do you not work for TAXICUBS?”

By now the taxi seemed to have given up the ghost in a side street and was probably blocking the way should anyone want to come down this stretch of road. “I do work for TAXICUBS, yes… But… But… This is my first day and…”

“But you’re not a bear…” I said as I switched on the light in the cab and peered through into the front seat. “Sir… You are a Grey and White Kitten in a bubble permed wig and longjohns… Wearing a Yogi Bear t-shirt doesn’t make you a bear you know… Even giving the occasional beary grunt doesn’t count… What is the meaning of this?”

The Kitten looked like he was about to cry. “Please don’t tell anyone Sir… I need the money and my friend Mac is having a week away in the Isle of Wight so he said I could work his shifts until he got back as long as I didn’t let on to his bosses and made sure I looked as much like a bear as possible…”

“Which you don’t…” I sighed. “Not one little bit… What’s your name, son?”

“I’m so sorry!” whimpered the now quite fearstricken feline. “The name’s Deeley, Sir!”

“Well, don’t look so upset, Deeley – I’m not going to get you into trouble… I just want to make sure we both don’t get killed and that I get to my appointment with Jasper Growl on time… Just as long as the Police don’t arrest you for poor driving and me for leaving the Beargrrrian Embassy… We can sort this out – you just see if we can’t…”

Deeley was looking very pale. Which is saying something for a kitten with an already furry white face. “I think it’s too late for that…” he mewed as a blue light seemed to flood the taxi and a loud siren began to drown out any conversation…

The taxi windows were steamed up but already the law was tapping on the glass. “Ok…” I sighed. “You’d better let me deal with this…” I said. “But you’re going to have to do exactly what I say… Do you understand?” Deeley nodded. A plan was forming but I really wasn’t sure if they would fall for it… Just perhaps if I could be very clever…

TO BE CONTINUED…

Much love!

Charlie Grrr xxx