Branwell packed his bag, despite the tears and the rather personal and colourful abuse being hurled at him by Vita and the Scragg Ends.
On realising that he had taken a wrong turn on his way to the station, he was somewhat alarmed to find that it was getting dark and that he was in dense, impenetrable wood land.
He did not realise that a travelling circus had an accident on the way to Gusset and cages had been overturned containing wild and angry animals who had immediately headed for the woods.
After the revelry had ended Lola awoke the next day in a horses trough which was in the middle of the dining room and she felt as if her head had been stuffed with feathers.
The night before was a blur that was slowly coming into sharp focus.
“I can’t believe that I really did that.” she announced to her pet chicken Poultry who was rather long lived for a kosher bird.
Her legs seemed to have stopped working and the floor seemed an awfully long way down, and the rest of her seemed to belong to someone else.
“Bunty! I’m stuck!” she yelled rather loudly.
Bunty felt something wooden beneath her.
“Oh good, it’s a coffin and I’m dead, rest at last!” then she worked out that she had in fact slept on the kitchen table and that Lola was causing an unholy row.
Branwell stopped; he heard a low growling behind him and was suddenly confronted by a large bear, a lady bear who had been locked in a cage for ever such a long time and was lonely and frustrated and had probably been oppressed-she was quite confused as a union chap had been around to the circus and had read from a purple book of rules.
There is nothing more dangerous than a semi unionised bear confronting a man who is slightly fuzzy and smelling of animal fat.
Bunty was wearing a punch bowl on her head and swayed a few times before she realised that she wasn’t on a boat.
She saw Lola half in and half out of the trough and decided that she just wouldn’t ask this time as she really didn’t want an exclamation.
The friends righted themselves and repaired for a large breakfast, which to Lola was treacle in her black coffee and a special reserve of rather heady Cuban cigars.
“Bunty, ” said Lola sheepishly, “I’m afraid that I attacked the socialist man last night.”
“Violently?” asked Bunty, “Good girl, I know it’s been a while, what with Max disintegrating.”
“Yes Bunty, but then I changed my mind and threw him out, or at least I think that’s what happened, it may have been a strange dream as I did wake up in a trough in the dining room. I know! There’s A thing they have on the continent called the lottery, and you buy a ticket and win lots of money. You’re good at poker Bunty so we should do very well-let’s go on holiday again!”