Everyone – even Uncle Zoltan! – is busy transforming the big pile of sand on the front drive into a big pile of sand in the back garden, where I imagine it will kill the grass.
Perhaps they're building a scale model of the Sahara or, appropriately for the scorching heat, Death Valley…
The sTone Brothers, being immobile, are unable to contribute much, so they're pretending to be on holiday in the quarry/gravel pit in Wales where they spent all their childhood holidays – if it would only cloud over, get a lot colder and rain their happiness would be complete!
Wilson is remaining tight-lipped as to the purpose of the mini-desert, and even Byron, usually so amenable, is refusing to give me so much as a hint.
Nërp will sometimes accidentally let something slip, but on this occasion refuses to say anything unless I can give him the 'secret password' – which of course I don't know.
He insists that keeping secrets is part of his obligation under the umbrella of Asimov's Laws of Robotics.
Honestly, you'd never guess that this is my house – I'm treated more like a lodger… and chauffeur, of course.
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New Readers Start Here Nº 12
PTERRY
• Pterry – a young pterodactyl – was born in Wilson's Museum, hatching from an egg which everyone had believed to be an exhibit.
• The first person he saw after hatching was Wilson so, assuming W was his mother he follows Wilson everywhere and calls him 'Mummy'. It's called 'Imprinting' and is common among birds.
• Pterry is too young to really do anything, but cries if he's left alone.
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