Mr Oliver’s smile remained in place. ‘Good luck then,’ he taunted. It was an open challenge, but not the first one delivered in the last few minutes. If Albert expected friendly rivalry between the competing teams, he was to be disappointed because the undercurrent of cut-throat competitiveness threatened to boil over.
Still glaring at each other, the teams drifted back to the competition area, another raised platform with barriers around it to keep tomorrow’s spectators at bay.
Moving away from the baking competition, which took up most of the left-hand wing of the marquee, Albert and Gary, led by Alan were now facing the area reserved for the record attempt where a large, open food preparation area sat beneath a banner telling visitors they were witnessing the world largest Yorkshire pudding being made. A row of giant machines, looking a lot like oversized cement mixers, were arranged in a line with a raised platform around them so the bakers could get the ingredients in.
Moving around in the food preparation area, which had a barrier from which visitors could watch, Albert saw perhaps a dozen bakers. They all wore white jackets beneath white chef’s hats. The trousers were a grey and black check pattern. There was a rhythm to their work which proceeded with minimal chatter and under the watchful gaze of a tall and burly man.
‘They’re just doing some test baking today,’ Alan explained. ‘To qualify, the world record breaking pudding has to be cooked all over and be edible.’
‘How big are they attempting to make it?’ Gary asked.
Alan’s eyes flared with excitement, but he didn’t answer. Instead, he backed toward the wall of the marquee and waved his arm as a signal to look outside. Indulging him, Albert and Gary came closer and looked through the plastic panel window of the canvas building.
Beaming with joy and excitement, Alan bragged, ‘It’s to be fifty-five yards long. That will smash the previous record.’
‘It’s a monstrosity!’ The comment came from behind them, as once again, Brian put in an appearance. ‘This is not what our championships is about. That’s why in the entire history of the championships, there has never been anything like this before.’
Alan wasn’t to be put off. ‘Think of all the publicity it will bring, Brian. The television is going to be here tomorrow. York will attract an extra million tourists next year just because of this. Think of the revenue to the local economy.’
‘Gawdy and unnecessary,’ spat Brian.
‘The mayor didn’t think so,’ Alan returned with a smile because he’d already won their fight.
The cat did not appear to have moved since Rex last saw him. ‘Do your feet work, cat? Or are you just so lazy that you let your human carry you everywhere?’
The cat was lying on its side, the paws on its right side hanging loosely down into free space over Brian’s arm. It lifted its front paw now to slowly lick it and rub behind its ear. ‘You’re a dog,’ it replied languidly. ‘Such concepts are beyond your comprehension. Your place is on the floor, scrabbling for scraps and dancing to your human’s tune. Cats are above humans, that is why I am carried about. It’s a form of worship, you see.’
Rex was just about ready to pounce. One good leap would get him close enough that the cat would climb its human’s face and learn a little humility on the way. Stupid human, carrying a cat around. Lunging might pull his own human over though. Rex was conscious that his human was old and not all that good at getting up once he was down. It was probably best to wait for another opportunity, so he bit his rising bile down and closed his eyes to the cat’s comments.
‘Hey, dog!’ the cat called. ‘Fetch me a bone!’
Rex’s eyes snapped open. His feet were already moving as he stomped on the gas and committed to his decision. The lead was hanging loosely in Albert’s hand, not looped around his wrist as it so often was and whipped free without yanking his arm. This was a mercy because he wasn’t even looking in the right direction and might have dislocated his arm had he attempted to hold Rex back.
The cat saw the dog coming and knew it had gone too far. ‘Time to go,’ it mewled, scrambling to get purchase on Brian’s jacket. Brian hadn’t paid the dog any attention until it moved, but now his cat, Mr Fluffikins was shredding his jacket as he ran upward over his shoulder and leapt from his back.
Shouting, ‘Catch me if you can, mutt!’ the cat landed with his legs already sprinting.
Rex barked something unprintable in response and barrelled forward. Brian was in his way but there was a gap to go around him. Rex dove for it, but Brian, in a state of panic, chose to go that way to avoid the dog and thus presented his shins to the dog’s granite-like skull.
All Albert, Gary, and Alan could do was watch in horror as Rex used Brian’s legs like a giant cat flap. One moment Brian was standing upright, the next he was two feet off the floor and parallel to it. He crashed back down to Earth with an ‘Ooooff’ of exhaled air, the space beneath him devoid of dog because Rex was long gone.
The cat, far smaller, just as fast, and twice as nimble, even though it was a bit on the podgy side, was going under objects to avoid the dog. Fuelled by anger and imbued with a sense of divine retribution for all dogkind, Rex just went through the obstacles the cat went under.
‘I’m gonna get you, cat!’ Rex barked loudly.
The people in the marquee: chefs, caterers, delivery men, and the people still setting
