The Wombles are set to return, like Monty Python and Dangermouse, in a revival of good 1970s British culture.
By the way, there’s so much sport been going on lately that William Wolfsworth called himself a sport correspondent yesterday. He does like a game of football, but I think that was an own goal.
Hi, it’s G.G. Howling, fantasy travel correspondent at the greenYgrey inspired by J.K. Rowling in the human world. Here’s episode 12:
Chapter 1 Episode 12: Tomsk Times Two
Chekhov’s statue returned to its plinth position and stood still and silent as if nothing had ever happened.
I was wondering what to do with Sibiryakov’s body when a Womble I remembered as Tomsk wandered along and cleared the body up.
I thanked Tomsk, and said I’d been a fan of his when the Wombles were at their peak, although Orinoco was my favourite. I asked him where Orinoco is now. Tomsk replied that he’d returned to his river in South America.
Tomsk Talks Chekhov
Tomsk asked if I knew Sibiryakov, as he brushed his body up into his bag.
I said I had met him on the road to Irkutsk, and he’d seemed a very interesting travel companion.
Tomsk said it was a shame, but Chekhov’s gun kept on being used, and many fictional characters had been killed by it over the years.
Chekhov Helps Tomsk
‘Still, I suppose it keeps me in stories, and gives my work a deeper meaning,’ added Tomsk.
I replied that it did seem to have matured a lot since its time on Wimbledon Common.
Tomsk sighed, ‘Ah, they were carefree days I look back on with fondness. I was young then, and living far away from home. Returning to my Russian city made me seek a bigger mission in life. I had collected so many pieces of paper and sweet wrappers I was ready for a new challenge. When I saw the bodies piled up around the Chekhov statue it rekindled my enthusiasm for public health and sanitation. Chekhov’s statue is alright most of the time, it’s just when it hears philosophical and literary talk that it wakes up and uses its gun.’
Sibiryakov Tomsk Link Remembered
I remembered then that Sibiryakov had indeed told me that Tomsk had told him about me. I asked Tomsk if there was some meaning to the connection between the three of us.
‘It is the self-fulfilling philosophy of Chekhov’s Gun,’ replied Tomsk, before he shuffled away along the Tom River banks looking not unlike he had on Wimbledon Common.
Anton Chekhov, Russian writer, (1860-1904).