Knobsie was in the cabbage patch sobbing. He had lost his tiny pink winkle and he was inconsolable.
“Where did you lose it?”
“Me doesn’t know. It just gone.”
Which, in an acre and a half of garden, wasn’t much help.
The gnomes tried, but it was close to impossible, a one centimetre piece of pink plaster wasn’t going to be found unless they got very lucky indeed.
A week later, a sparrow overflew Bertha and dropped something at her feet.
As she superglued Knobsie back together she chuckled. “It’s a good job your winkle looks like a worm’s nose.”
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