Rex went through the stall like a freight train.
From his vantage point, Albert could only cringe. He’d tried shouting for Rex to return but he knew it was a worthless gesture. Gary and Alan were attempting to help Brian back to his feet though he angrily slapped their hands away.
‘Get off me!’ he demanded. ‘Let me go! I told you to get that dog out of here. He’s far too big to be allowed inside. You’ve already ruined the championship, Alan,’ he made a point of sneering the event organiser’s name, ‘and it hasn’t even started yet!’
‘Are you bleeding, sir?’ asked Gary, genuine concern on his face. He could see the spreading stain on Brian’s jacket and hoped he wasn’t really hurt.
Brian tracked Gary’s eyes to find the same mark and threw his hands in his air. ‘Oh, well, that’s just perfect. On top of everything else. Your stupid dog has ruined my jacket.’
‘Is that blood, sir? Are you hurt?’ Gary repeated.
Brian’s expression changed, a shadow of doubt creeping onto his face momentarily. It was gone in a flash as he said, ‘What? Err, no. This is just … it’s um … it’s cough medicine. Yes, it’s cough medicine. I have a tickly throat, so I picked some up on the way here today.’ His explanation given; the look of righteous indignation swiftly returned. ‘Now, if you don’t mind. I think I will collect my cat.’
Alan had the cough medicine on his fingers from helping Brian to his feet. He took a handkerchief from his pocket, shaking it out to unfold it before attempting to wipe his hand clean.
The cat was, at that point, balanced on top of a pallet of flour which was still loaded onto a forklift truck. The far end of the marquee was pinned open so supplies for the world record attempt could be brought in.
Getting up there had been easy enough, the cat used his claws to scale the paper sacks and in so doing, had ripped most of them open. A small avalanche of flour had mounded onto the floor and was all over Rex as he continued to try to get to the cat.
Loosely translated, his barks were, ‘How long do you think you can stay up there, cat?’ I give you the loose translation because Rex was, by this point, using some fairly inventive cursing to punctuate his sentences.
The cat adopted a cat pose, lifting one lazy paw into the air to lick it while sitting on his hindquarters as if there was nothing in the world which could possibly bother it. ‘I shall come down shortly, dog. By then you will have been clipped back onto your lead and taken away like the dumb beast you are.’ Then, with a flick of his tail, the cat locked eyes with the dog ten feet below. ‘Ooh, I wonder if they will put your excitable nature down to still … you know, having your bits. Maybe it’s time Rex went to get his trousers lightened; don’t you think?’
What the cat hadn’t counted on was the team of bakers drafted into make the giant Yorkshire pudding taking offense as the cat destroyed their provisions.
Albert, Gary, and Alan were all hustling to get to the scene of the next drama. Between the shouts of the bakers, Rex’s barking, and the cat hissing at everyone and everything, Alan’s attempt at calling for calm went unheard.
In a bid to get the undamaged bags of flour out of the way of the dog, who was himself now covered in white powder, one of the bakers jumped into the seat of the forklift and began pulling levers. That he didn’t know which lever did what became instantly apparent when the pallet of flour flew upward into the air.
Cries of alarm rang out as it wobbled ten feet above the marquee floor. Rex knew well enough to abandon his quest for the cat, sent a silent prayer the feline would get squashed flat and ran for his life.
The baker at the forklift controls had eyes the size of saucers now, his hands twitching as he tried to decipher which lever might do what. All around him, though none daring to come forward to help, other bakers shouted instructions. Their voices competed and conflicted though, no two people telling him the same thing.
Albert grabbed Gary’s arm to hold him back. ‘Best we don’t get too close, lad.’
Too late though, the load, already unstable, pitched over as the cat decided it was time to seek safer ground. His leap proved to be the final straw as fifty-pound bags of flour began to topple from the leading edge of the pallet. The first one started a cascade as more and more fell from the lopsided pallet. Each gathered sufficient speed on its way to the floor that they exploded on impact, sending up an ever-expanding cloud of fine white powder. Still running, Rex felt sure he was clear of the danger, until one sack fell from the left side of the high pallet onto the end of a table, flipping the other end into the air. On the table had been caterer size cartons of milk, open because they were about to be used.
The cloud of flour continued to expand, engulfing all in its path. It
