shouted Chloe tae Annabelle ower the thunnerin noise o the blades. “Naw, this is your day, Chloe,” her wee sister yelloched back. “This is aw because o you. And onywey, that helicopter’s tottie. It’ll totally guff in there …” Chloe grinned and waved guidbye as the helicopter slowly ascendit, flettenin maist o the plants and flooers in the gairden as it did sae. Mither’s bouffant daunced aroond her heid like candyfloass on a gurlie day at the seafront as she tried tae haud it doon. The bawdrins Elizabeth got blawn across the lawn. She tried desperately tae cling on tae the gress wi her clooks. But in spite o meowin for mercy the wund fae the blades wis jist ower strang and she shoat across the gairden like a furry cannonbaw and landit in the pond. Plowp! The Duchess looked doon fae the helicopter windae, smirklin. As they gaed up and up and up Chloe saw her hoose, and her street, and her toun get smawer and smawer. Soon the postal districts were laid oot ablow her like squares on a chessboard.
