Ms Cheryl Diane Parkinson



Penelope Parker, the prickly girl from Peckham, meets the Precocious Pangaloo from Puddelonia.


Puddelonia: a place that none do speak,

Where persons were not permitted to peek,

For people were thought of as pernicious punks,

Polluting, profaning, poisonous skunks!


Peculiar Puddelonians were pint-sized; petite,

So small they could slip in the pleats of the streets,

Puddles of Peckham lay wet on the floor,

battered by rain as it splattered and poured.


Swelling the dwelling; the puddles of Peckham,

You’d think the out-pouring of raindrops would wet ‘em!

Puddelonians loved the rain to come through,

Cos spectacular Puddelonia, grew and then grew.


The more it poured and pelted of rain,

The brighter and sunnier Puddelonia became.

And, in private spectral presence, there lived,

A Pangaloo of Puddelonia! And his name was Viv.


He shimmered and shone; the Puddelonians pride,

And he peppered and sprayed so well that they cried!

He showered with pinks and purples and blues,

A rainbow of colour from this Pangaloo!


Now back to a perverse and prickly imp,

Who was rude and cheeky as a cheeky little chimp!

Penelope Parker was a prickly pear,

A proper madam she did appear.


In private she liked to pick her nose,

Her Papa would encourage a tissue to dispose,

The repulsive green pulp she’d pop in her mouth,

Promptly chewed it and then sent it down south!


The people of Peckham who saw such a sight,

Would wrinkle their nose, spin round or turn right.

But prickly Penelope with her bandy legs,

Defended her choice to recycle her dregs!


Yelling and screaming! Such a horrible girl!

And yet her father thought her a pearl.

He spoiled her, his precious Penelope pansy,

She’d pout and preen, and he’d melt like warm candy.


One day Penelope flopped in a strop,

Cos’ the peltering rain just would not stop!

People of Peckham donned waterproof hats,

While Penelope Parker was being a brat!


“Daddy make the sun shine! I want to play out!”

She screamed and she yelled with a frown on her mouth.

Puddles formed perfectly in the pouring rain,

But prickly Penelope thought it all a pain.


Papa insisted on her pink wellie boots,

But she picked up the remote and turned him on mute!

Pouncing and pounding out of the door,

Dressed in pale pantaloons, sun hat, and more.


Her weakling papa, just like that, let her go!

Cos he couldn’t bring himself to say “no.”

She skipped and jumped in her pretty plimsolls,

Expecting the sun to do what it was told.


Her papa had told it to shine out today.

Cos Penelope Parker was ready to play…

On seeing the rain was still wet as it poured,

Penelope Parker screamed and she bawled!


Her pigtails were sodden and stuck to her face,

She screamed and cried “I hate this place!”

The Pangaloo from Puddelonia heard her cry,

And decided he wanted to find out why…


A Panagloo is magical, that is for sure.

It’s linage unique; a thoroughbred pure!

And as weird as it seems, this one thing is true,

The Pangagloo’s secret’s in the gangaloo!


What’s gangaloo? I hear you enquire

It’s magic that shimmers and quivers like fire…

It’s properties a mystery, none can tell,

Where in Puddelonia the creature does dwell.


Penelope Parker piqued his interest,

He thought her a porker, for her tales never rests!

And when she strolled past Puddelonia’s puddle,

He befuddled her huddle sending her in a muddle.


Whiz! Pop! Kazoom! Magic! Just like that!

Penelope Parker fell and shrunk with a splat!

She shot down in size so fast she could see,

That she was as tiny, as tiny as an ant on a tree!


Looking for blame, she’s bound to rebuke!

But a wobbly stomach made her puke and puke…

The precocious Pangaloo looked down his nose,

At Penelope Parker’s twos and her throws…


He thought her a pampered and spoilt princess,

Who’s terrible tantrums caused a mess.

For her puking and puking caused such a stink!

That no-one cared if her plimsolls were pink!


Surely no-one would miss such a horrible child!

If she disappeared no report would ever be filed…

So the magical marvellous being went active,

His shimmering coat became radioactive!


It shimmered and shone, pinks and blues,

The Pangaloo’s fur as it went gangaloo.

And Penelope Parker who picked her nose,

Turned into a… what do you suppose?


The purpling palette of colours for sure,

Turned Penelope Parker into a panda with paws!

Then sent her promptly to puddle filled Peckham,

Where she went post-haste to her papa: Graham.


Who screamed in panic, and pined for his princess,

He prayed and prayed to see her yellowish tress,

He even missed her wails and moans,

And annoying complaints in grey monotone.


Her whining and pining and her ’get it now!’

Even when he was dumbfounded as to how.

She was his girl, his baby, his love,

The precious one sent to him from above.


And so, screwing his courage he went a searching

For the one who’d done the treacherous transferring.

The magical Pangaloo felt his cry,

And whizzed him to Puddelonia to hear his ‘why’?


On reaching there, what he saw made him stare,

It was the Pangaloo’s mate, the fair Pangelaire.

And just like him her magic was wild,

And her interest piqued by a naughty child.


‘What have you done to my girl you monster!’

The Pangelaire’s temper grew hotter and hotter.

For where the Pangaloo was lovely and calm.

The Pangelaire was much more likely to do harm!


She bared her teeth and roared so loud!

Her shimmery coat was now a storm cloud!

What once was bright yellow and pink,

Was now getting darker and full of black ink.


Puddelonians sensed danger and ran for cover,

And at a safe distance, they liked to hover.

For nothing creates such a scare,

As a Pangelaire who’s fur goes gangalaire!


Her normally bright coat went black as thunder!

From her face disappeared all her innocent wonder…

As she listened to him scream and shout and yell,

She could see the traits Penelope developed so well.


The Pangaloo watched as she shimmered with rage,

Which he thought was justified so did not assuage.

His partner, he loved her sense of justice;

Where he was soft, she was more like Augustus


Severe when angered, and swift with judgement,

But quick to cool when the reason was spent.

But here and now, was Penelope’s dad,

Causing a scene and behaving so bad!


The Pangalaire’s fur: a shocking gangalaire!

All of the Puddelonians could see and could hear!

The whizzing and popping and screeching noise

As she grew and grew to an unbelievable size.


A massive thunder cloud searing with light!

Like a great ball of darkness, anger and fright.

Any idiot would have apologised, run if they could,

But Penelope’s dad went on cussing where he stood.


Furious she flashed and out shot the light!

A massive bolt that gave the watchers a fright!

It struck him hard between the eyes on his face,

Causing him to collapse, right there in that space.


And then she performed her master stroke,

She changed his make-up, (and this is no joke)

‘A matching pair!’ she said with such glee

And she turned the man into a panda: a ‘He’


The ‘he’ matched the ‘she’ that was Penelope Parker.

A punishment for the pair, like a permanent marker.

And to top it all, she transported them with magic,

Straight to a zoo to make it more tragic.


And that’s what happened to Penelope Parker

Who’s future now is sombre and much darker

than it was before when she was a girl.

And life like a flower, would curl and unfurl.


So let that be a lesson to the human child,

There’s consequences attached to growing up wild,

Never defy your parents so true,

Allow them with wisdom, to look after you.


Never shout, demand, or curl up your fists

Throw tantrums, scream loud and have hissy fits,

For you never can tell if magic is nearby

If a Pangelaire is aware of your terrible cry.


Never swear, or demand, or be a spoilt brat.

Never wear in winter, a cool summer hat.

For no one likes a moany old bat,

Who has no respect for others and that.


No one likes a kid who’s a raving nut.

No one likes a kid who behaves like a mutt.

So never wear in the winter a cool summer hat,

If you have any designs on staying a brat.

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