Nanny Piggins and the Race to Power 8 by R. A. Spratt Read Free Book Online Page A

stain all down the front. I told you I’d get you back and now I have.’
    ‘But that cardigan didn’t suit you at all,’ argued Nanny Piggins. ‘It clashed with your hair.’
    ‘That’s not the point!’ yelled Abigail. ‘It’s the principle of the matter.’
    ‘You see, everyone,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘This is how dangerous principles are. It allows one impossibly beautiful pig to carry a grudge against another impossibly beautiful pig for all these years. Which is why, if you elect me mayor, I promise to be unprincipled at all times.’
    The crowd cheered again.
    ‘What about my medal?’ panted Nanny Anne.
    ‘You can have it,’ said Nanny Piggins, handing the large winner’s gold medal to her, ‘although I don’t see how you can enjoy it. It’s not made of chocolate at all. I know because I bit it to be sure.’
    Nanny Anne took the medal, then collapsed under the weight of it due to inadequate carbo-loading.
    ‘Only one question remains,’ continued Nanny Piggins. ‘Why? Abigail is usually in far flung, not terribly democratic countries influencing national elections one way or another. Why would she come to a small town like Dulsford and get involved with a mayoral election?’
    ‘I told you,’ sulked Abigail. ‘The pink cardigan.’
    ‘That might have been part of it, but there had to be more,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘How did you find out? Who got in touch with you?’
    ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ lied Abigail.
    ‘Then perhaps you do – Mr Green!’ accused Nanny Piggins, dramatically pointing at him.
    Mr Green flinched, then looked scared as the whole crowd turned and glared at him.
    ‘It wasn’t me. I didn’t do anything. You can’t prove it,’ he babbled.
    ‘Do I have to come down there and stomp on your foot?’ asked Nanny Piggins.
    Mr Green’s shoulders slumped. ‘All right, everything she says is true.’
    ‘I knew it!’ declared Nanny Piggins.
    Nanny Piggins spent the rest of the afternoon shaking hands, signing autographs and refusing to kiss babies (they are terribly unhygienic) for the crowd.
    When they finally made it home she certainly needed the tall glass of chocolate milk that Boris poured for her.
    ‘What a day,’ said Nanny Piggins.
    ‘Are you hurt that your sister turned up and tried to ruin your fledging political career?’ asked Derrick.
    ‘Of course not,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘I’d be hurt if she hadn’t. It’s always nice to know that family cares. Even if they only care about thwarting you.’
    ‘Are you cross with Father?’ asked Samantha.
    ‘A little,’ admitted Nanny Piggins, ‘but I’ll forgive him as soon as I shake a bag of itching powder into his underpants drawer. Then it will be like this whole incident never happened.’
    ‘So, no jogging for you?’ asked Michael.
    ‘Goodness no!’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘I’ve promised the organisers I’ll enter again next year.’
    ‘You have?!’ exclaimed the children.
    ‘Yes, but only if they adopt my brilliant suggestion,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘I told them to run the race from the town to the cake factory. If the cake factory is the finish line, everyone will run much faster. They’re going to call it “The Cake Run”.’

Nanny Piggins was standing in the living room, posing for her mayoral statue. I know this seems a little presumptuous (the election was still a month away) and extremely egotistical (she was way behind in the polls). But it was traditional for the newly elected mayor of Dulsford to commission a portrait of himself or, in this case, herself. And if Nanny Piggins got elected she had no intention of doing anything dull. She wanted to have an enormous statue of herself made entirely out of marzipan. That way it would be a piece of art the people of Dulsford could actually enjoy, by licking the sugary almondy goodness every time they walked past it.
    Fortunately Nanny Piggins was dear friends with the world’s leading marzipan artist, Piers