Hello, hello and welcome to story nori.
You're listening to jana and i'm back with a new birdie, story birdie and the mischievous nuns.
It was Saturday morning and Jake was quietly looking forward to his favourite weekend treat with Dad.
A trip to the Japanese tea shop for mango bobble tea with sweet, chewy tapioca pearls.
Best of all, it was their time to chat about the big questions they never covered at school, like Are alien spaceships real?
If dogs had the right kind of mouths...
Could they speak English?
And why do certain types of birds have brains like supercomputers?
Things like that.
It was time to leave for the tea shop.
Jake was standing by the front door.
They lost precious moments while Dad searched for his car keys.
Probably left in one of his jacket pockets.
And just as they were ready to go, Mum appeared at the top of the stairs.
Hey boys!
You promised to take the junk to the tip, remember?
Dad sighed.
They loaded the car with a heap of clutter from the back of the garage.
Unused electric fans, broken lamps, picture frames, grandma's old TV and rusty bed springs.
They drove off in the opposite direction to the Japanese tea shop.
Outside the tip, they found a long line of cars driven by Saturday morning dads and husbands.
When they finally crept into the tipping area, grumpy men in yellow jackets barked orders at them.
Oi mate, sofa's not for the metal skip.
Over there!
Pointed.
On the way out, Jake noticed a pile of objects the tip workers had set aside.
Freebies like rusty bikes, wobbly prams and garden gnomes with cheeky grins.
Are those what aliens look like?
Jake asked, pointing at the gnomes.
Dad smiled.
They're gnomes, jake.
They're so cool and they're free.
Dad shrugged all right, grab a couple if you like.
Back home, jake and dad lugged six gnomes through the gate into the back garden.
They lined them up with care a fishing gnome holding a tiny rod, a grumpy one clutching a hammer, a happy gnome with a goofy grin, a sleepy one mid-yawn, a dancing gnome on tiptoes and a sneaky one peeking from behind a painted rock.
Jake and Dad stepped back hands on hips admiring their new quirky crew when Mum leaned out of the kitchen window.
What on this earth are those ghastly things? she said in surprise.
Oh, don't worry, Mum.
They were free.
We got them at the tip, Jake called back.
I think they're aliens, but Dad says they're gnomes.
Either way, Jake, they're dreadful.
Take them back to the tip right now.
Dad scratched his head.
Too late, I'm afraid.
The tip closes at twelve on Saturdays.
Mum huffed.
And then she instructed them to get rid of the gnomes the following Saturday first thing.
At last, Jake and Dad headed off for bubble tea, mango for Jake and matcha for Dad.
They slurped happily as the chewy pearls bobbed through their straws.
They discussed if gnomes might actually be from another planet after all.
That night, when Jake was tucked up in bed and the house lay quiet, a sudden smashing sound broke the silence.
Jake reckoned that Dad had dropped his mug of cocoa.
But daybreak revealed the truth.
Mum's favourite vase lay shattered on the fireplace hearth.
She was not pleased.
That night, the peace was broken again.
Cats screeched outside, setting off the neighbour's dog, which barked madly and stirred the family's own dog Sabre, into a frenzy.
By Monday morning, the garden was a wreck.
Flattened flowers and trampled beds.
What kind of animal did this?
Dad wondered.
Looks like a baby elephant got into the garden somehow.
You know what I think?
I suspect it was those gnomes.
Dad looked at the funny little men and shook his head.
But from the tree above came an approving quack.
Jake's best friend Birdie, the black crow, seemed to agree that the gnomes were up to something.
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Now, on with our birdie story.
Whoever was behind those pranks, they didn't stop.
Late on Monday night, when everyone was fast asleep, loud music blasted from the living room.
A sleepy dad stumbled downstairs in his dressing gown and found the room in chaos.
Criss packets and cake pans littered the floor.
Plates and empty glasses were scattered everywhere.
It was as if someone had thrown a wild party in the middle of the night.
In the morning, Mum interrogated Jake.
Jake, did you make that mess in the living room?
She demanded, while scrutinising him through narrow, suspicious eyes.
What mess? replied Jake innocently.
Because, of course, he was innocent.
That evening, Jake's best friend Birdie visited him.
He tapped at the window.
Birdie! exclaimed Jake when he saw the black crow.
I need your help!
Dad and I, well, we found some free gnomes at the dump.
We brought them home and they've been playing all sorts of pranks.
Mum and Dad thinks it's me who's been causing this mess, but I didn't do anything.
It's so unfair.
Correct.
Life is far from fair.
Agreed, Birdie.
Gnomes are well known for doing bad stuff.
What sane person would want some naughty gnomes in their home?
Mum and Dad will never believe that the gnomes are to blame.
Maybe your mum's to blame.
I overheard her calling the gnomes ghastly.
No wonder they're angry.
And she said, take them back to the tip.
How would she feel if someone was talking about her like that?
She would be cross, said Jake.
Precisely. echoed back Birdie.
But Birdie, what can I do to prove the gnomes are doing all these pranks?
See if you can catch them in the act.
And that's what he tried to do.
Late on Tuesday night, Jake crept downstairs and hid himself under the kitchen table.
He waited and he waited, all the while struggling to keep his eyes open.
Eventually, he yawned and fell fast asleep.
Fortunately the floor was cold and he was so uncomfortable, so he soon woke up again and crept back upstairs to bed.
In the morning Mum said Somebody's been eating chocolate, biscuits and ice cream in the middle of the night.
Was that you, Jake?
Jake shook his head.
Well then...
I suppose it must have been the gnomes again, said Mum, but she did not sound convinced.
Well, actually Mum said Jake Birdie says it's your fault because you hurt the gnomes' feelings and told Dad and me to take them back to the tip.
They're really cross and they are playing pranks to get their own back.
Oh, Birdie said that, did he?
Well, you can tell that feather-brained friend of yours that I don't believe in him.
Still less in garden gnomes that come to life and steal chocolate biscuits in the middle of the night.
As Mum looked rather cross, Jake thought it was a good idea to make haste and hurry upstairs and get ready for school.
On Wednesday night, Jake was too tired to sneak downstairs, but nothing in particular happened.
On Thursday there was again a lot of noise, mostly the dog barking.
So Dad went downstairs to investigate.
He found the rubbish had been spilt all over the kitchen floor and Sabre was hungrily sniffing through it.
It was very strange because the rubbish bin was far too solid and heavy for a terrier to knock over.
Again, Jake faced all sorts of unwelcome questions in the morning.
He felt just like a criminal.
Finally, it was friday.
The garden gnomes were due to return to the tip the next morning and it was jake's last chance to prove that they were the culprits who had been causing all this chaos.
Birdie said it would be a good night to catch them.
If I know anything about gnomes, they'll want to make one big final impression.
He called, so Jake again hid under the kitchen table.
And this time he pinched himself regularly to stay awake.
Just after midnight, according to the kitchen clock, a scratching sound came from the window.
His heart raced.
Slowly, the latch lifted and two gnomes slipped inside.
He recognised the one with a pointy beard who was usually sitting with a fishing rod in his hand.
Jake lunged and grabbed the fisher by the foot.
The gnome let out a high-pitched squeak and twisted free, knocking over a jar of biscuits as it scrambled across the counter.
Sabre barked wildly in the corridor.
A spoon flew through the air, followed by a shower of crisps.
A bag of icing sugar burst and the air filled with white dust and mum's china plates shattered on the ceramic floor.
The gnomes darted and leapt, a blur of chipped hats and painted grins.
Suddenly, Dad burst in, his eyes wild.
What is going on? he froze, staring at the chaos.
Jake pointed.
The gnomes!
It's them, Dad!
But the gnomes had magically disappeared in the nick of time.
Mum stood in the doorway, arms crossed.
Jake, talking birds were bad enough, but this gnome business has gone too far.
She sniffed.
Dad frowned.
Wait a minute.
He stepped closer to the counter and ran his finger through a thin trail of icing sugar that had spilt, when he suddenly noticed a trail of tiny icing sugar footprints leading to the window.
Invaders?
Dad murmured.
Mum raised an eyebrow.
Or Jake's been playing a very elaborate prank.
They're way too small to be my footprints, he declared in defiance.
Mum squinted at the prints, biting her lip.
I suppose.
And look there, said jake on the floor.
Beneath the window they found a tiny shoe about the size of a small toddler's foot or a gnome's.
That's spooky, admitted.
Dad, And even Mum did not have a reply right away.
Eventually she said, Well, at least they're going first thing tomorrow, and good riddance!
They cleaned up the mess in puzzled silence.
Outside, there was a low rustling sound.
Jake glanced through the window just in time to see a pair of tiny figures scampering towards the garden vents.
Mum!
Dad!
Look! he said.
And they both glanced over.
And they saw two somethings. but they weren't sure what they were.
Probably a couple of cats, said Mum.
But you've got to admit, said Dad, they looked more like a couple of gnomes.
Or aliens, said Jake.
Or aliens, agreed Dad.
There was a from the apple tree in the garden.
They looked up and saw, silhouetted against the moon, something that might or might not have been a ufo zipping across the sky.
In the morning, dad and jake woke up early and, without being told, they collected up the garden gnomes and returned them to the tip.
They were the first to arrive, even before the gates were open.
Hello mate, what you got asked a man in a yellow jacket who had a familiar face, with a pointy beard and a large nose.
Garden gnomes, said Dad.
Gnomes, eh?
You know there are five at each to drop off?
Five pounds to drop off? protested Dad.
And Jake added...
But we picked them up for free just last week.
Not my fault, mate.
New rule from 1st April.
Everyone are getting rid of their gnomes, so now the council are charging.
Same as asbestos and toxic waste.
Dad sighed and tapped the mobile card machine, paying £30.
Afterwards, over Japanese bubble tea, both Jake and Dad agreed that the rubbish tip man looked exactly like the gnome with a fishing rod.
Unfortunately, after that, there were no more midnight disturbances or pranks in the house.
Just the regular visits from a wise old talking bird who told Jake The story goes to show there's no such thing as a free lunch.
And that was Birdie and the Mischievous Gnomes, read by me, Jonna, for Story Nori.
Bye for now!
