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yourself.'
    The director the gallery was very taken aback. He had never been yelled at by a pig before. 'I'm afraid there is nothing I can do. Samuel H. Wiseman, the founder of the Wiseman Portrait Prize, was very specific when he set down the rules.'
    The director took out a copy of the rule booklet and read from the first page: 'Rule number 1 – the painting must be a portrait. Rule number 2 – the portrait must, under no circumstances whatsoever, be of a pig.'
    The whole crowd gasped.
    'Why on earth would he write such a mean, beastly, prejudiced rule?' demanded Nanny Piggins.
    'Well, I have done some research,' the director admitted, 'and according to his family records, he was attacked by a crazed pig when he was a small child. He obviously held a grudge for the rest of his life.'
    'A man like that shouldn't be allowed to set up art prizes,' Nanny Piggins said in disgust.
    'I'm dreadfully sorry,' said the director, before continuing with the rest of the prize-giving ceremony.
    The portrait prize did indeed go to a horrible painting that looked nothing like anybody, let alone the person it was supposed to be. Unless it was meant to be a picture of a person whose head was caught in a vice and covered in orange paint. But Nanny Piggins had stopped listening. She had lost all interest in portrait prizes now that she was not going to be given one. It was such a shame when they were all so terribly good at playing 'What Shall We Do With $50,000'.
    The director droned on and on about 'honour' and 'the importance of art' and 'prestige to the gallery', making Nanny Piggins wish she had brought some sponge cake to shove in her ears, but then what he was saying became interesting. 'Each year, as you know,' said the director, 'aside from the Wiseman Portrait Prize which is, of course, judged by the finest art critics in the country, there is another prize.'
    Nanny Piggins' ears immediately pricked up.
    'The security guards who stand in the gallery and look at the paintings all day long pick their own favourite. So now I'd like to introduce Guard Smith to announce the Guards' Prize.'
    Guard Smith approached the microphone. He was the same guard Nanny Piggins had spoken to a week earlier. And, thankfully, he had a much more direct style of speech-making than his employer. He cleared his throat and got right to it. 'This year's Guards' Prize goes to Sarah Piggins, on the grounds that her painting actually looks like what it is meant to. And I know because I've met her and it's the spitting image.'
    Tears streamed down Nanny Piggins' face as she climbed up on stage to accept the award.
    'Thank you, thank you so much,' Nanny Piggins gushed. 'It is good to know that there are still some people who truly appreciate real art.'
    'You're welcome,' said the guard. 'You certainly deserve it.' And with that, he handed her the Guards' Prize – a large packet of chocolate biscuits.
    Nanny Piggins clutched the biscuits to her chest. 'What a wonderful, wonderful prize,' she exclaimed. 'I'm glad I didn't win the Portrait Prize now. I'd much rather have some chocolate biscuits.'
    And they were really good biscuits. The type that have to be stored in the refrigerator because there's so much chocolate in them. Not that Nanny Piggins' packet ever made it that far. She and the children sat down and ate them all on the spot. They then returned home, completely satisfied that they'd had the better of the art establishment.

C HAPTER 4
    Nanny Piggins and the
Sherbet Lemon that Saved the Day
    Nanny Piggins and the three children were crouched on the kitchen floor, holding a cockroach race, when Mr Green entered. Now, one of the first things Nanny Piggins had taught the children was what to do if someone walks in on you when you are doing something bad. So when Mr Green burst in, the children did exactly as they had been trained – they stayed absolutely still and did not say a word, completely ignoring the four cockroaches as the creatures scattered across