Apple-bobbing crisis puts me in doghouse

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David Curwen, centre, hugs his mother with whom he wa sreunited. Completing the group is his brother Keith

THIS WEEK IN 1975: Reunited after 30 years – but only thanks to a kind stranger

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Greetings Chipsters, everywhere. I’m in the doghouse – no, not my stylish kennel here at Dunyelping, but with my master who is far from pleased with me.

‘Why’s that then Chipper?’ I hear you chorus. Well, it’s all because of Halloween and my preparations for the annual Dunyelping apple-bobbing tournament.

I needed to prepare for the big event and had already spied my big feline rival Brindley Milligan honing his skills with some windfalls.

At the bottom of the garden is a pond. It sits beneath an old apple tree and if I give it a big snouty nudge I can make the apples fall into the water. Then, by standing at the water’s edge, I can spend hours dipping my head into the murky slime catching apples bobbbing on the surface with my razor-sharp canines (they’re my big, pointy teeth).

I set my stopwatch and so far I’ve managed to grab 14 in five minutes, much better than Brindley’s pathetic eight.

However, towards the end I got a little too confident, stretched too far across the pond and fell in. Titter ye not Chipsters. It was a disaster. I was soaked.

So with my tail between my hind legs I sloped into my master’s house and sat beside the warm boiler in the kitchen and shook myself dry, creating a horrible mess and making him very cross. I’ve now been banned from the house.

Chip chip for now. Chipper