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wanted anythin’ so badly in me bad life,’ roared Mr Gum as he sloshed a heap of tripe on to the flames. ‘I can hardly even breathe but who even cares?’
    ‘An’ who’d’ve thought we was hidin’ out in Finnegan’s Sherry Factory what’s on the edge of town miles away from anyone?’ laughed Billy William the Third through a mouthful of entrails. ‘No one’ll ever find us here!’
    ‘Well, that’s jus’ where you’re wrong again!’ said a voice behind them. And wheeling around, Mr Gum and Billy were confronted with the sight they hated most of all – heroes coming to save the day. Because perched on the rim of a massive vat of bubbling hot sherry were Polly, Friday, Alan Taylor, Old Granny AND a special bonus of Jake the dog, who they’d picked up along the way
    ‘DEPARTMENT OF CLOUDS AND YOGURTS!’ chorused the heroes.
    ‘WOOF!’ chorused Jake, even though you can’t really chorus on your own.
    And then they did this really cool thing of standing on each other’s shoulders in an amazing human-and-dog pyramid, which was an idea Friday had come up with on the ride over.
    ‘You’re under arrests!’ cried Polly from the top. ‘This time you gone too far, Mr Gum, you unpleasant vine! An’ I’m not very impressed with you neither, Billy William the Thirds.’
    ‘MEDDLERS!’ screamed Mr Gum. ‘How the blibbin’ blib did you find us, you blibbin’ blibberers?’
    ‘Cos you done carelessnesses, that’s what,’ said Polly, pointing to where a few hooves and entrails floated in the vat of hot, bubbling sherry.
    ‘You MUNCHER!’ roared Mr Gum, turning towards Billy. ‘You been droppin’ meat in the sherry an’ now you’ve ruined everything!’
    ‘I never,’ protested Billy as he dodged a kick from Mr Gum’s hobnail boot. ‘I never!’
    ‘Shabba me whiskers!’ scowled Mr Gum, turning away in disgust. ‘Well, come on then!’ he shouted to Polly and her friends. ‘Come down here, I dares ya!’
    Well, true heroes like the brave men, women, dogs and biscuits of THE DEPARTMENT OF CLOUDS AND YOGURTS do not hesitate in the face of fear. For as their motto goes:
    Doo-doo-doo! Doo-doo-doo!
Doo-doo-doo!
Yeah!
    And now Polly jumped down off the vat and her brave colleagues jumped down behind her, and soon the air was full of punches and smoke and heat and bacon as the final battle began.

    ‘SNARP!’ yelled Mr Gum, getting Friday in the ribs with some spare ribs.

    ‘YISK!’ shouted Billy, as Polly stamped on his foot.

    ‘WOOF!’ said Jake, as he licked up a bit of chicken liver.

    ‘I DO NOT CARE FOR THE WAY YOU HAVE ABUSED THIS SHERRY FACTORY; AND FURTHERMORE I FIND YOUR LACK OF CONCERN FOR THE ENVIRONMENT GREATLY DISTURBING!’ exclaimed Old Granny as she swung her enormous black handbag from before the War into Mr Gum’s nose.
    ‘YAAAAA! You stupid old woman!’ he cried, teetering back towards the furnace. His grotty arms pin-wheeled for balance as he regained his footing. And suddenly – FLISSSSH! – his great red beard and his stovepipe hat were aflame, and as he emerged from the furnace he uttered a yell from the very depths of his soul.
    ‘YOU MESSED UP ME PLANS FOR THE LAST TIME!’ roared Mr Gum. And now it was as if he were possessed of a strength much greater than his own, for in his fiery fury the last of any goodness that might have been inside Mr Gum was burnt up, and he was more of a monster than a man. Or a ‘manster’ for short.
    ‘NAAAAAAARRGH!!’ he wailed.

    ‘FRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR-RRRRRB!’
    Roaring like a chimney, Mr Gum picked up Polly and hoisted her into a corner as if she weighed but an ounce.
    ‘SBUNVV!’
    He whacked Friday across the room like a Brown Davy, the smallest species of insect known to man, which is smaller than one thousandth of an atom.
    ‘URGO-NASURN-GRUK!’
    He grimaced at Old Granny and she fell over and everyone saw the weird old veins in her legs.
    ‘STTTRRIIINGGG!’
    He kicked Alan Taylor the entire length of the factory