All week his mum had been reminding him to write a thank-you letter to his grumpa. He began in his big scrawly handwriting … Dear Grumpa, Thank you for my goatskin hat. It is uggsome! The flaps keep my earses warm. I wear it when I go to school and also in bed. Dad says it is a hunting hat so next time we go hunting I’m going to wear it. He sucked the end of his pencil, which tasted of earwax. It looked like the yellow bits of boiled eggs but had a different flavour. When would his dad actually take him on his first goat-hunting trip? he wondered. Since they had left the far blue mountains of Norway, Ulrik hadn’t seen many goats. There were none on Biddlesden High Street or in the park along the road where only the fat ducks bobbed on the lake. He turned back to his letter. We live in a nice cave here. It is called Number 10. It has got lots of rooms. I’ve got my own. I have done a mud picture on the walls and it is me and Mum and Dad and you outside our buggly old cave in the mountains.
