Prince Toby has started his own diary for National Novel Writing Month. You can follow his adventures here.
Monday 21st November 2022
Weight: 1292g (at least I’m consistent), cucumber consumption: 0 slices (no cucumber ever again – waaaaaah!), escape attempts: 1 (from bath), interruption of Very Important Human Tasks for No Reason Whatsoever: 0 (too tired), interruption of Very Important Human Tasks for Toilet-Related or Other Emergencies: 0 (probably because I’ve had 0 food!)
7.15 am: Brrrrrrrr. Super-cold in the Tortoise Parlour this morning. Cannot possibly move one tortoise length (Mediterranean spur-thighed tort length not giant tort length) over to my heat lamp. Hurry up, humans!
7.39 am: Plonk! Under lamp. (Nine minutes late, I might add. I could have frozen like an icicle. Very poor service.)
8.03 am: Human No. 1 is teaching fairy tales and ‘Red Riding Hood’ today. Hope she uses ‘Little Red Riding Tort’.
9.00 am: I heard Human No. 1 tell Human No. 2 last night that he would have to be in charge of my bath this morning because she was teaching early. No sign of bath yet. Think he might have forgotten. Hurrah!
10.02 am: Still no sign of bath. Think I might get away with this.
11.03 am: Perhaps he has decided that I don’t need a bath after all. Clever Human No. 2! (I’ve always liked him.)
12.07 pm: It’s past midday. Humans are having their lunch in the Tortoise Parlour. (We’ve talked about this.) Have definitely avoided bath. Am 100% sure of it. A very merry unbathday to meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!!!
12.22 pm: Aaaaaaaaarggggghhhhh! Human No. 1 has just remembered bath and plonked me in it. If only she’d been in seminars all day. I’m pretty sure Human No. 2 wouldn’t have remembered and, if she’d asked him about it later, then he would have just lied and told Human No. 1 that I’d had my bath. And we would all live happily ever after. Lalala!
12.28 pm: Am sulking in bath.
12.32 pm: Am attempting to escape from bath.
12.35 pm: Am out. Phew! Thought about weeing on Human No. 1’s hand again to show my displeasure at late bath, but I couldn’t manage it. Will stomp around my pen instead, just so she gets the message that we are not amused.
12.47 pm: Am sulking under my heat lamp now.
1.03 pm: How ever will I conjure up the energy to continue my literary masterpiece?
1.35 pm: Suppose I’ll just have to get on with it:
Prince Toby Presents
Sherlock Tobes and Dr Tortson in
The Tort of the Baskervilles – Part 3
When we arrived in Devonshire, I was surprised to encounter several soldiers who eyed us with suspicion as we climbed off the train. It turns out they were searching for an escaped convict called Tortden, a notorious murderer in whose gruesome crimes Tobes had taken a macabre interest. I was 100% sure that Tortden was long gone by now and in no way connected to our story.
As we approached Baskerville Hall, I was struck by its sinister aspect. It looked just the place for a spectral giant tort to appear. The servants, Mr and Mrs Tortymore, matched the atmosphere of that gloomy dwelling and announced, almost as soon as we arrived, that they did not wish to stay on to serve Sir Torty, which I thought was a bit suspicious. What was even more suspicious was that I heard a female tort crying in the middle of the night and Tortymore denied it was his wife, even though she was standing next to him sniffing into her handkerchief at the time.
When I went out onto the moors to explore, I came across Sir Torty’s neighbour, Tortleton, who was roaming around with a butterfly net. ‘Hello, Dr Tortson,’ he said. ‘I know who you are. Where’s the great Sherlock Tobes then, eh? Is he investigating the Tort of the Baskervilles? What are his findings? What do you make of the whole thing, eh? Have I made myself look suspicious enough yet?’
‘How do you know—’
‘Oh, I know everything that goes on around here,’ he said, his beady black eyes glinting as he grinned like a maniac at me. ‘These moors are vast and mysterious and nobody knows their secrets except for me. Look at the Grimpen Mire! Look at that pony getting sucked into the bog!’
‘Shouldn’t we help him?’ I asked, alarmed.
‘Oh, no,’ he said, shaking his head solemnly. ‘You simply couldn’t reach him before you sank yourself. There are but one or two safe paths across the Grimpen Mire and nobody knows them.’
I watched as the pony sank down into the swamp. ‘Artaaaaaaaaaaaaax!!!!’ I shouted. (Oh, no, sorry, wrong story.)
Tortleton gave me a strange look. ‘Yes, it’s sooooooooooo tragic,’ he said in a grave voice. ‘Ooooooh look, a rare lesser-spotted triple-winged broccoli butterfly!’ And, with that, he leapt after it, doing an elaborate tap-dance across the Grimpen Mire.
‘Hang on,’ I shouted after him. ‘I thought you said nobody knew the paths across the Grimpen Mire.’
‘Nobody but meeeeeeeeeeeee!’ he trilled.
‘Then you could have rescued that pony,’ I reasoned.
He paused on tiptoes as he contemplated this. ‘I suppose so,’ he mumbled. ‘But he was looking at me funny, so I didn’t want to.’ And off he hopped across the moors, after his rare, lesser-spotted triple-winged broccoli butterfly – which sounded about as convincing as an Indian swamp adder.
Just then, a beautiful Red-footed lady tort appeared beside me. ‘Hello,’ she said, ‘I am Tortleton’s sister, Mrs— I mean, Miss Tortleton.’
It was a strange statement for her to make, given that her brother was a Hermann’s tortoise and she was a Red-footed tortoise. Then again, perhaps she was adopted.
‘You must leave this place immediately, Sir Torty,’ she said, just as Tortleton returned with an empty net.
‘Blasted thing got away,’ he said.
‘Oh, hello, brother,’ said Mrs— I mean, Miss Tortleton. ‘I was just telling Sir Torty—’
‘Who?’ he demanded.
‘Sir Torty,’ she repeated.
‘That’s not Sir Torty,’ he scoffed. ‘That’s Dr Tortson, Sherlock Tobes’s lackey.’
‘I prefer sidekick,’ I replied.
‘Hahaha!’ Tortleton said, tapping my shell with his claw. ‘He’s not even here, is he? Left you to do all the work! Classic Tobes!’
‘Yes, well,’ I said, not really seeing the funny side of it. ‘I must make a report to him of my progress. If you’ll excuse me.’
‘Oh yes! Off you go to do his bidding. Toodle-loo!’
I rushed back to Baskerville Hall to write a letter to Tobes.
Baskerville Hall, 13th October
My dear Tobes,
I’ve been very busy. Escaped convict on the loose. The Tortymores acting suspiciously. Mrs— I mean, Miss Tortleton also acting suspiciously. Tortleton is an unpleasant man but not at all creepy or suspicious and I’m sure that he can’t possibly be tied up in this in any way.
What else? Oh yes, I had a beautiful cucumber cream tea yesterday. Absolutely delightful. Strawberry jam as well. Of course, the afternoon inevitably descended into the age-old debate about whether you put the jam or cream on the scone first and it did get a bit hairy for a while and I’m worried I may have offended Mrs Tortymore. She seemed a bit distracted actually and kept looking out the window as the sky darkened, a frown on her face, but she was probably just thinking about the scones.
Think that’s all for now. Definitely nothing else of note happening.
Yours,
Dr Tortson.
P.S. Oh, forgot to mention I heard a monstrous groaning noise on the moors but I’m sure it’s nothing. Probably the wind. Or Tortleton pushing another pony into the Grimpen Mire.
P.P.S. Sorry, there was also that bit where Tortymore was creeping around in the middle of the night and standing in front of the window holding a lantern, as if he were signalling to someone out on the moors, but it was only ten past two in the morning and he was probably just checking the windowsill for cobwebs.
To be continued . . .
3.17 pm: What was the monstrous groaning noise on the moors? Was Tortymore just doing a bit of spring cleaning in the middle of the night? Will Tortleton push any more ponies into the Grimpen Mire? Tune in tomorrow to find out. Same tort time. Same tort channel.
4.04 pm: Everyone is utterly outraged at my stupid humans’ insistence on giving me so many baths. Hewie suggested that I try drinking all the bath water again, but there was too much of it and it was a bit dirty by the time I’d had a soak because I am, in the words of Gladys (Torterella), a ‘stinky, stinky boy tort’.
5.07 pm: Wendy’s House Bunnies have suggested that I need some rubber ducks and a water pistol for my bath. What a good idea!
5.13 pm: Went looking for some bath equipment but Human No. 1 told me that all the ducks were in the study and Human No. 2 was in a Very Important Meeting in there so I would have to wait until tomorrow. Rude!
5.22 pm: But I did find an exciting turtle on my travels. He was a bit of a funny colour and I was rather alarmed when Human No. 1 removed his shell and there was a big hole inside, but he seemed okay about it and she put it back afterwards. He was a bit quiet though. Don’t think I would be that quiet if Human No. 1 tried to remove my shell.
5.27 pm: Despite being a turtle, he didn’t look very waterproof, so I think I might still have to go on that duck hunt tomorrow. (Not shooting them in manner of country squire. Just seeking them out politely in manner of determined tort looking for bath companions.)
6.46 pm: Nick the fox has suggested that I need submarines and boats for my bath. What a good idea! Human No. 1 is rather keen on The Beatles, so perhaps she has a yellow submarine that I can borrow.
7.00 pm: Football tonight and I am supporting Wales. Hurrah! I’ve seen that Albie is supporting England, so I hope we don’t fall out.
7.02 pm: Think I might fall asleep before the end of the football . . .
Editortial Assistant’s note: Toby fell asleep at 7.03 pm.
You can follow Prince Toby on Twitter @PrinceTobyTort (and Instagram, where he is now frantically trying to learn the ropes in case of Twitter explosion, also @PrinceTobyTort). Also, play Tortmaster on Twitter! The prize task is now open! Look out for a new task every Thursday night during the first break of Taskmaster.
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