Paddington Races Ahead by Michael Bond Read Free Book Online

the thumbs up sign.
    He nodded towards Paddington before closing the door. “The early bird catches the worm and you’ve got to start somewhere. May as well give it a whirl.”
    The first man didn’t look wildly enthusiastic at the idea, but he put a brave face on it as he dusted himself down.
    “Would you mind saying a few words into this?” he asked, holding the furry object under Paddington’s nose.
    “It tickles my whiskers,” replied Paddington.
    The van door opened again. This time the second man spread his arms out wide and raised his head heavenwards.
    “I think Adrian would like something a little bit longer,” explained the first man.
    “Excuse me while I mop my brow,” said Paddington.
    “Even longer than that, perhaps?” said the man. “He’s the director and we need to check our levels for sound.”
    “The Portobello Road is a bit steep just here,” agreed Paddington. “That’s why I was going so fast.”
    “Er… yes…” said the man. “But…”
    “Mr Gruber is always saying if we have a really bad storm there’s going to be a nasty accident one of these days. The water sometimes runs past his shop doorway like a tidal wave. We nearly lost one of his deck chairs that way. It’s lucky we weren’t having our elevenses on the pavement at the time. Our buns might have been swept away.”
    The van door opened yet again and the second man pointed downwards with his thumb, mouthing something at the same time.
    “Oh dear,” said the first man. “I’m afraid you were a bit too quick for us that time. I doubt if Adrian had time to get back to his desk. My name’s Sunny Climes, by the way, and I’m gathering material for the forthcoming Games.
    “Perhaps,” he suggested, “you would like to tell us what you had for breakfast. We find with most people that’s usually about the right length.”
    He held out his free hand in order to give Paddington’s paw a quick shake, then hastily withdrew it.
    “I usually have toast and marmalade…” began Paddington.
    “So I gather,” said Mr Climes. He removed an initialled handkerchief from his top pocket and unfolded it as best he could with his teeth. “We don’t want to get any chunks on our microphone if we can help it, do we? Did you have anything else? A cup of tea to help it on its way perhaps?”
    “I’m glad you asked me that, Mr Climes,” said Paddington. “I usually have cocoa, but Mrs Bird is spring-cleaning the kitchen this week. Most years she gives it a good going-over in April, but she left it until much later this year.
    “She wanted to clean out the refrigerator while she was at it and she was worried the things inside might go off while the door was open, so she put everything out on the kitchen table and said it would be a big help if we used up as much as we could.
    “There were several kinds of bacon, three different sorts of sausages, eggs, potato cakes, tomatoes, kippers… a half empty tin of llama pâté. Aunt Lucy sent it to us from Peru last Christmas, but it had gone mouldy…”
    “So what was your answer to all that?” broke in Mr Climes, trying to get a word in edgeways.
    “Thank you very much,” said Paddington.
    “Don’t tell me you ate a bit of everything,” exclaimed the interviewer. “The breakfast table must have been full to overflowing with plates.”
    “No,” said Paddington. “Mrs Bird managed to get all mine on two large ones. Besides, I didn’t have any kippers in case I got a bone in my throat. I thought I did once and Mrs Brown had to call a doctor, but it turned out to be an old marmalade chunk that had gone hard. It must have fallen out of my hat.”
    “I’m sorry…” broke in Sunny Climes. Edging away from Paddington, he stationed himself on the other side of a nearby lamppost. “Would you mind holding it there…”
    “I’m afraid I can’t quite reach it,” said Paddington hurrying round the other side of the lamppost to avoid climbing over his shopping basket on