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500 words.
The Bedtime Stories podcast.
Dom!
Dom, you need to come here right now.
Oh, your horse isn't on me way.
Dom, seriously, look in the garden.
Oh, my goodness!
What is that?
Some sort of monster.
Must have washed up in the flood last night.
Is that ten heads?
Ten eyeless heads, five tentacles spewing brown, gunge skin as thick as a dragon's horns, as four times as big as the bungalow, and a sting coming out of its behind.
Rich, we need to sort this now or we'll both end up as stew for the monster's dinner.
We'll get crushed in an instant.
We need help.
Someone with a mixture of tenacity, heaps of confidence and special talents that no one else has.
Yes, I know.
Rich, there's not just one, but two of them.
Diddy, Dick and Dom.
Of course.
Great idea.
Get them here now.
Yes, sir.
OK, in the meantime... Come on!
Welcome back to Bedtime Stories.
Let's go!
A BBC Radio 2 500-word podcast.
Come on!
I'm coming!
I think we should get a bit of inspiration from this week's story collection, The Mighty Misfits.
Quick!
The boy who wished to be a girl.
Louis, get down here for breakfast before you're... Come in, Dad.
Louis hated it when his dad screamed up to his room demanding him to come down and live his life in the sorrow of his dysfunctional family.
All his life he had believed that something had gone wrong.
Not mentally, but physically he felt deep down inside him he had been born with the wrong name.
When he reached the bottom of the stairs, his dad proclaimed that the weekly shop was in order.
Only a short while later, the car pulled up at his dad's favourite town market, Greenfields.
He hoped this time that his dad would at least let him admire the yellow dress that hung down off the rack like a princess dress, worn so elegantly at the Prince's Ball.
The hours of the day seemed to pass as dusk creeped closer, concealed by the lasting summer light.
Louis felt most safe at night.
It was the only time he felt his female emotions could overwhelm him, and he and his body can cooperate to make Louis Louise.
He longed for a time where his dad would listen and accept him for how he himself felt.
A girl, a girl who was once a boy.
He lay in his bed, staring, listening, thinking.
Sleep overtook him, allowing his inner thoughts and dreams to take control and merge once more, creating a figure.
A figure to change the way he saw himself.
Come closer, Louise.
It looked out, smiling.
A lady.
It was.
Short dark hair flowing happily in the gentle breeze that surrounded the isolated room.
Blank with personality, blank with life.
Louise walked forward, curious about what story she may bring.
My name is Milo Castro Sardariaga.
I am the first female drummer of my island.
Who?
Why?
What are you doing in my dream?
Sorry, Miss Saldriaga, asked a bewildered and dazzled Louise to this inspiring woman who stood so free-willed before her.
Her last words barely escaped her lips before she faded away.
Don't be afraid to believe in who you are.
Her head bowed.
Again, a woman, broad and strong, beyond her gave the energy of a powerful and courageous woman.
I am Mary Combe, female boxer.
I saved the money I won for my family to put food on the table.
She began to fade, just as the last lady, before she whispered her parting words again.
And no matter how much they tease and laugh, fight for you.
She paused and Louise was left alone.
Alone.
She woke with a smile and new attitude to shedding light to her in the dark dad.
Louis, come down for... began his dad.
No, dad, I, um, please call me Louise, not Louie, stuttered Louise.
Oh, okay then, Louise, murmured her dad, correcting himself.
She felt a new confidence that morning, one she had never known before.
She went on to tell the world her story and the stories of amazing women, past and present.
The day the door opened, We spun round and round, our heads swimming and stomachs lurching.
I felt dizzy and sick as we span endlessly.
Water seeped in from the sides, enveloping us in bubbles.
A loud whirr pierced the air as we continued to spin.
We stopped spinning occasionally, but the whirr continued to perforate our eardrums.
It made my ears ring and head throb.
The water was intoxicating and smelt strong, the bubbles like acidic air pockets.
As the newcomers to the hellhole bobbed and rocked, you could see in their eyes that they longed for a home, for air, for comfort.
I swayed from side to side, my entire body lurching as we span.
I was left here at least three years ago, abandoned and unloved.
I was forgotten.
I can still remember the day when those small dainty hands with claw-like nails bundled me up and threw me into the metal pan which I now call home.
I haven't always been spinning for those three years.
I got sucked through the holes in the back of the pan and there I stayed.
Until yesterday, I thought I would never see daylight again.
The colour rushed out of me like a flood of tears and seeped into the bone-white faces surrounding me.
Then, suddenly, the spinning stopped and the whirr was silenced.
Then the door opened and the light blinded my eyes.
Then I saw something I never thought I would cast my almost blind eyes on again.
Those small, dainty hands.
A face peered in and shouted in annoyance.
A red sock in a white wash.
All the shirts are now pink.
They're ruined.
No!
We were dragged out into the light and I was pinched by long, silver, glittery nails.
"'You!' the voice snarled.
I felt immense fear come over me, but the hands tossed me aside into the basket of rosy-faced pastel-pink shirts.
All of them were hideously embarrassed at the scandal that had unfortunately befallen their wash.'
If they were not dyed pink, they certainly would have looked it.
I am a football sock, labelled as scruffy and disgraceful.
I smirked at their appearance.
It was a win for football socks.
Socks one, shirts nil.
My laughter was interrupted by the hoisting of the basket which held us, and we were carried out into even brighter surroundings.
As a sock.
My life had been filled with dampness and darkness and has been rather smelly, but the smell that greeted me was fragrant and floral.
We were pinned to a string and hung there for hours on end.
I felt a tug at my feet and a small boy jumped up and grabbed me.
This is the end.
I was taken back inside and I prepared myself for the final throwaway.
A small voice cried, Mum, Mum, I found my other lucky red football sock.
Then I was put in a drawer next to a sock exactly the same as me.
Two souls entwined forevermore.
We need to lay out the map and make a plan of action.
This is a big job and preparation is very important.
We've never come across a monster of this enormity.
It's unpredictable and, well, really quite disgusting.
Yes, we know that, Diddy, Dick and Dom.
So what are you going to do about it?
We're going to employ the tactic of stealth and surprise.
We need to be clever.
This monster is clearly very aggressive.
Very aggressive.
I'll need you both to pick us lots of flowers and grass from your front gardenage.
We're going to use camouflage.
On it.
Hamish, the tap-dancing sheep.
Once there was a fluffy sheep called Hamish who loved to tap dance.
He dreamed of being the world's greatest tap dancer, but this wasn't easy, as his father and grandfather were world championship highland dancers who had high expectations for Hamish as a highland dancer.
His parents told him that his future was in highland dancing, and that he would never succeed in his dream.
Every day, Hamish secretly practised tap dancing and learnt all his moves by watching YouTube.
Hamish's mother and father were excited to tell him that they had entered him into this year's Sheep's Got Talent as a Highland dancer, and they expected him to practice hard.
They were so excited that they had a kilt made especially for him.
Not wanting to be the black sheep of the family, Hamish didn't tell his parents that he hated Highland dancing and that his heart was in tap dancing, so he reluctantly prepared himself for the competition.
He practised the Highland fling and his pass to Barsk, but he couldn't quite get it right.
The day of the competition came and the crowds flocked to see the contestants.
Hamish, dressed in his kilt, slipped his tap shoes into his rucksack for good luck.
He was going to need it.
For Hamish, the acts passed too quickly, and all too soon, it was his turn.
The crowd was silent as Hamish entered the stage.
Simon Cowool gave Hamish the hooves up, the music started, but Hamish was unable to move his legs, which had turned to jelly.
He tried to do the Highland Fling, but then stumbled and landed on his tummy.
It had all gone pear-sheeped.
Simon Cowool raised his hoof to stop the music.
Hamish bleated and pleaded for another chance.
Simon agreed.
Hamish ran to the side of the stage and quickly changed into his tap-dancing shoes.
This time, instead of walking on silently, he tapped his way onto the stage.
The crowd barred with glee as hooves hit the ground to the rhythm of the music.
Hamish's parents, who were sat in the crowd, looked on in awe by this unexpected but amazing performance.
As the music stopped, the crowd and the judges got to their feet.
It was a yes from Simon Cowell, a yes from Ramanda Holden, a yes from David Williams and a yes from Brittany Shears.
Hamish won Sheepscot Talent.
His journey and dream continued, however.
He appeared in the West End musical Forty Second Sheep and he opened his own tap dance study, helping other lambs to fulfil their dreams.
He became one of the most famous sheep in the world.
Hamish's parents, despite their love of Highland dancing, supported him along the way and were very proud of him.
The End Sedgwick and the Unicorns Sedgwick is a dragon who lives in the land of the unicorns.
He has glossy red scales and always likes to wear his favourite blue jumper.
His home is in a cave, but not a dark, damp dragon cave.
No, he lives in a disco cave.
His cave has a disco ball, a dance floor and music playing from all around.
Sedgwick loves to dance and he is the unicorn's champion disco dancer.
One night while sleeping, he dreamt of being a unicorn.
He no longer had scales but long flowing hair.
He had a magical horn on his head and was dancing around as light as a delicate ballerina.
He felt happy and for once didn't feel the odd one out.
The next morning, inspired by his dream, he put on his favourite blue jumper and set off to find the key things to become a unicorn.
As he flew, something caught Sedgwick's eye.
It was a beautiful field of flowing white dandelions, dancing in the gentle breeze.
He gathered a whole bunch to make his unicorn hair.
He then wandered into a wooded area to have a rest.
As he sat down, he yelped out, as something had poked his bottom.
He looked down and realised all over the ground were large, pointy pine cones.
Suddenly, Sedwick felt excited, as these would make the perfect unicorn horn.
With his bag of dandelions and pinecones, he hurried home to create his outfit.
The very next morning, he looked in the mirror and smiled.
He had flowing dandelion hair.
His now silver pinecones looked like a spiral horn, and upon his feet he had squeezed his claws into dainty ballerina shoes.
He was ready to show his friends that he was a unicorn and no longer the only dragon.
As he strutted towards his friends, a gust of wind suddenly blew his dandelion hair away.
Sedwick tried to catch them, but in his haste and forgetting he was wearing ballet shoes, he stumbled and fell with a great thud.
His horn hit the ground and broke into pieces.
Sedwick felt so sad and started to cry.
While lying on the ground, he heard kind, gentle voices talking to him.
Oh, Sedwick, are you alright?
He looked up to see his friends, all looking concerned.
He explained how he wanted and was trying to be like them and how he felt sad that he was the only dragon, the odd one out.
His friend smiled and said, Sedgwick, we love you for you.
Not for being a dragon or a dragon dressed as a unicorn, but for being the best friend we could have.
We don't want you to change for anything or anyone, as who else would be Sedgwick, the disco jumper-wearing dragon?
Sedgwick laughed and smiled as he realized how lucky he was to have true friends to accept him.
From then on, he was proud to be the only dragon in Unicorn Land.
BBC Radio 2's 500 Words, the bedtime stories podcast.
Hello and welcome to this momentous event today.
I think the crowd are very excited here today.
What do you think, Richard?
I think that's correct.
Good.
Diddy, Dick and Dom have moved onto the pitch, I mean garden.
Their camouflage is foolproof.
You'll never know that those two mounds of grass and flowers are actually two tiny but powerful fighters.
Oh, look at that.
Look at that.
The monster's roars don't seem to be getting any quieter.
It's going to be a miracle if these To survive.
I think so.
I think my money's on the monsters, to be fair.
Oh, yeah, I think the plan is pretty impressive, though, Richard.
They're going to hit the monster with all the intellect of two enormous brains on top of two tiny bodies.
And that's one of five tentacles gone, trapped under a rock, rolled by one of the mountain grass.
I mean, diddy, dick and dom.
Oh, look at that.
Diddy Dum has found his way up the nearest tree.
Oh, out of touch of the monster's tentacles.
Oh, look at that.
He's jumped right on top of the monster's back.
Diddy Dick has started pelting the monster's sting with water from the nearest water hose.
And oh...
The monster has chopped the water hose in half.
Our water is now spraying onto the monster's many heads.
It's genius.
Tididama stuffed the grass of his very back into the monster's many mouths, stifling the roar.
The monster's now spinning in a circle without a confusion.
Diddy Dick and Dom are doing a fantastic job, the best we've seen yet.
Oh, but hold on.
Diddy Dom has flown from the monster's back.
Oh, he looks hurt.
But wait, the monster's tripped on the end of the hosepipe.
And Diddy Dom has covered himself with the spikes from a hedgehog's back.
The crowd go wild.
And look at that.
He's placing himself.
No, hold on.
He's right below the monster's falling head.
A brave and potentially dangerous move.
But it's worked.
The monster has fallen directly onto the spikes.
It roars and it's dying.
But it's trying to get up, diddy dick.
Can't hold it alone.
You know what we need to do, dick.
We need to go and help.
You're right.
Grab this.
Come on, let's go.
BBC Radio 2's 500 Words.
Bedtime stories.
Gwen was one of those people who others tended not to see.
She wasn't very loud, nor as big as you or me.
The kind of person who simply did what needed to be done, then drifted off again unnoticed by everyone.
It was rather inconvenient when one sought to be a help.
She'd tap people on the shoulder, but they'd just give a sort of yelp.
If she tried to call their name, they would simply sit and stare.
For Gwen was the sort of person who wasn't really there.
She had a sort of friend, though, whose name was Oliver.
The pair were thick as thieves, as friends usually were.
Ollie tended to get picked on, through no fault of his own.
It's just that you can't have imaginary friends when you're big and grown.
She's real, would come the plaintive cry when people would point and laugh.
A little shy, that's all, he'd say, speaking on her behalf.
But as the two grew older, visits were few and far between.
You don't really need imaginary friends when you're 17.
Oliver went to uni and it was there he met a girl.
She said that he was funny and she set his heart awirl.
Gwen watched Ollie fondly as he grew in love and life, happy with a steady job and a caring, beautiful wife.
She spoke with him occasionally during times when he felt down, and when they'd finished talking he would rub his head and frown.
Though I've just been talking to myself, he'd say in pure confusion I feel much better.
And Gwen would shake her head and sigh at her silly childhood friend.
She was there whenever he needed her, until the very end.
And as he slept his final night, Gwen held his hand and smiled and she thought of all the times they'd shared when he was but a child.
And when Ollie woke that morning, he was greeted with a face which he knew he'd seen before in some long-forgotten place, a name which felt like childhood and old, lost memories, and a voice as soft and gentle as trees swaying in the breeze.
I've come to take you home, was all that Gwen had said.
Ollie looked around at his old life and slowly nodded his head.
And placing a kiss on the head of his wife and turning back to Gwen, I'm ready, he said softly.
I've missed you, my old friend.
And so they rose on angels' wings to a beautiful faraway place, a place which reunited friends all across time and space.
And Ollie smiled wistfully, silently saying goodbyes.
For invisible things can only be seen when you close your eyes.
BBC Radio 2's 500 Words.
Bedtime Stories with Dick and Dom.
When Bob asked me to cover for him at the castle, he said it would be an easy gig, no major dramas.
Nothing ever happens round here at this castle.
Old Queen Quigley will be busy admiring her sagging reflection in one of her many mirrors.
His words were believable.
''You'll be knitting and chilling as much as you like.
Never understood your obsession with it.
Who ever heard of a knitting knight?''
So you can imagine that butterfly feeling of terror in my tummy when a shrill but frail voice called for me.
''Knight, get up here this instant.''
I raced up the stairs two at a time and nervously stood in the doorway.
An overly made-up female figure appeared exclaiming in disgust ''I haven't seen you before''.
Agency staff.
Anyway, get that awful dragon out of my bed.
I'm the queen, don't you know?
I'm exceedingly wealthy.
She snorted crassly.
I'm also very beautiful.
She continued unabashed elongating her vowels and reminding me of my visit to Australia.
With that, she scurried out of the room, fluttering her long, artificial eyelashes.
"'What the flipping heck am I going to do with this dragon?'
I mused, whispering, "'Don't hurt me.'
The dragon turned towards me, and I spied his knife-like claws.
Finally, the dragon spoke, somewhat surprisingly in a Welsh accent."
Why does everyone think that us dragons are evil?
His soft voice singsonged.
I blame those legends.
But goodness, I wish you wouldn't stereotype us all.
I'm freezing cold and I'm not going anywhere.
This is the most glorious bed my scales have ever touched.
Satin sheets, velvet pillows...
He gave a sigh and melted back into what did look like an amazingly comfortable bed.
As he did so, an idea popped into my head, like one of those storybook lightbulb moments.
''Give me a second, mate.''
I ran downstairs as fast as a cheetah, threw my helmet off and grabbed my balls of wool, beginning to knit.
All those years of practice, and my hands knew exactly what to do, my mind working quickly to resize dimensions.
I thrust the finished product towards the dragon, no longer afraid of this jovial chap who wiggled into what seemed to be a perfect fit.
A dragon in a onesie!
What a sight!
Grinning, he said, ''Thank you for listening to me and my needs.
I'm glad to see that I'm not the only one challenging stereotypes.
A knight who can knit, multi-talented, we are both misfits, you and me.
I think we make a great pair.
Together we could be something different that can change how the world looks at things, especially us boys''.
We made it our mission and duty to travel the world to find all the other misfits and show the world that every animal and human has a power and plea.
But you can only find it if you are prepared to be kind, curious and creative in your thinking.
BBC Radio 2's 500 Words.
The Bedtime Stories podcast.
Hot chocolate for you and you and you and me.
Well deserved, I say.
Thank you very much for coming to help at the last minute, Dick and Dom.
We couldn't have done it without you.
No, no, no.
You both did a phenomenal job.
When you caught the tentacle under the rock, that was incredible.
Well, we may be small, with very large heads and tiny voices, but we were exactly what the monster was not expecting.
We used the things that were different about us to defeat the monster.
And we used our heights, didn't we, Nick, to throw the blanket over the monster at the last moment.
You're right, we did do that, mate.
Everyone has something different about them that's their greatest strength.
It may feel like the biggest vulnerability, like how small Diddy Dom and I are next to the monster, but with a little bit of tenacity and planning, anything is possible.
Tenacity?
Very true, Diddy Dick, very true.
Now, if you haven't already remember to subscribe to Bedtime Stories so that you don't miss out on any of our podcast episodes.
Just before we go though, there's just about time for our rating tip of the week from our friends at Oxford University Press.
Avoiding plot holes.
A plot hole is something that stops your story from making sense.
There might be a moment in your story where your hero sprains their ankle but then starts sprinting in the very next scene.
Or maybe a character who's been lost in the desert for days suddenly answers a call on their mobile phone.
Make sure there are logical links between the events of your story.
From everyone here!
Radio 2.
Read the script.
Read the script.
And 500 words.
Good luck.
Good luck.
And good night.
Good night.
Bye-bye.
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