From the journal of Harold the FearlessThe apple tasted a bit odd. Musty, almost, as if it had been packed in a huge crate and the apple living next door but one had gone mouldy. I flipped through the book but the nearest I could get to a spell for 'oven-roast chicken' was 'incendio' which i was pretty certain was a spell Jasfoup had copied from a teenage wizard book. At least he didn't copy the 'trudge wearily from one bit of the forest to the next with a damp tent' spell.
The spell worked, though. Worked too well, to be honest. I was left with a charred piece of chicken which looked as if it had come from the evening menu of a Toby Inn. I could almost see the blood spattered aprons of the waiters.
From the journal of Julie Turling
I can't believe Harold wants to eat the cockatrice. I'll wait until he tries to cook it and then incinerate it. It's for his own good. He's also eaten the apple. Does he believe he's immortal or something?
From the journal of Felicia Turling
Ooh! Barbecued chicken!
Jasfoup's Journal
How undignified!
Not only did I have to get a bus back into town but Lucy filled her nappy just before we got on. I don't think I've ever been so embarrassed in my life. That'll teach me to offer to babysit..
I shall go and call on Meinwen.









