No Tour for Wombat

Wombat sat slumped on his favourite chair... his body aching all over.. He'd given up the idea of riding in Le Tour de France.. His bike shorts pinched too much and he kept falling off his exercise bike. Wombats just weren't built for riding bikes.

The sealer for him was when he tried to practise hill climbing. He didn't have any hills near him so Wombat decided to train on his stairs. He opened the front door... wheeled his bike down to the letter box... lined himself up with the staircase and took off. The bit up the path was OK.. he flew over the doorstep and across the landing. His dream of wearing the polka dot jersey was looking good... but then he hit the stairs... Wombats are strong - everyone knows that. Wombat could dig up a storm and his legs were bulging with powerful muscles, so Wombat knew he had the strength to get up the staircase. The problem was that his bike wasn't so keen....

He hit the first step and the bike stalled. Wombat went sailing over the handlebars, did a couple of somersaults mid air and came to a crashing halt at the top of the stairs. Did it count if you got to the top of the hill without your bike???

Waterworld for Ants..

Wombat finished his breakfast of Wombat Cereal and Wombat Juice. The bike shorts were starting to pinch around his rather ample girth. He did enjoy the padding though, and could sit around on it all day. Wombat went to place his dishes in the dishwasher but froze with fear at what he saw. Dozens of ants roaming around the dish racks!!! He backed away slowly and grabbed his glasses so he could see the full extent of the horror before him. Wombat, his heart pounding, peered over the edge of the dishwasher. The ants seemed to be looking up at him with expectation in their eyes... Waiting for something... He looked closer and realised that they wore bathers or board shorts and were carrying little towels! What were they thinking??? Wombat went to the cupboard to get a soap tablet and carefully - ensuring he didn't touch any of the ants - placed it in the soap tablet holder thinggy.

Wombat looked back at the ants.. they seemed to be cheering. They were lining up at the top of plates and on the edge of cups. They thought this was some sort of Fun Park!! They were waiting for Wombat to turn the water on so the 'rides' could begin! Wombat shook his head. As much as he hated ants he couldn't bear the thought of their disappointment when their 'rides' turned deadly.

"You're all going to die!!" he said - speaking slowly and clearly - not sure if ants understood 'wombat speak'. The ants just cheered. Wombat tried again.. "The water gets hot!!" The ants jumped up and down. "GET OUT WHILE YOU CAN!!!!!" The ants just looked up at him and waved.

Wombat shook his head, stood up and closed the dishwasher. He'd tried. Couldn't do better than that. He pushed the buttons on the dishwasher.. Nothing. Wombat pushed the buttons again... Nada.. zilch.. the dishwasher was dead. Typical! He'd had the chance to rid himself of a few ants and as usual the world was against him! Sighing deeply Wombat padded over to the couch, flopped down and tried to drown out the faint chant of "We want water!"

Training for Le Tour...

Wombat - resplendent in new, yellow Lycra bike shorts - commenced intense 'Tour de France' training for the day. Three french sticks, five wedges of fromage and two glasses of bordeaux. Being a vegetarian, Wombat wasn't keen on trying frogs legs or snails, but he had found some green jelly frogs (with legs) so figured they would do just as well. It wasn't easy training so hard, but Wombat figured if a job was worth doing, it was worth doing well.

While watching 'le Tour' on television Wombat had quickly picked up the fact that it was important to keep eating to maintain energy levels. That was why Wombat knew this was the sport for him. Eating was his speciality!

Vive le Wombat!

Wombat lay in his warm, cosy bed watching 'Le Tour De France'. "I could do that..." he thought to himself as he reached for another Wombat Bar (chock full of tasty wombat goodness). "A bit of training... a few exercises... buy some Lycra... and I'm there." He could see it all.. The crowds cheering, throwing french sticks and fromage, dazzled by his skill, his daring, his speed.....

Wombat, filled with a new motivation (to wear the yellow jersey for Australia) pulled himself out of bed and up onto his exercise bike. The bike (which had been specially modified to cater for his rather short, stocky legs and arms) groaned in protest as Wombat began pedalling. Round and round went his legs and Wombat imagined himself riding in the breakaway group. The peloton bearing down on them at breakneck speed. Tour leaders crashing in front of him - but Wombat skillfully avoiding the mash of flailing arms and legs... He rode harder as he imagined the finish line coming into view.. Sweat pouring down his nose and dripping onto his fur..

Wombat squinted down at the gauges on the bike to see how far he'd ridden. 0.02 kilometers! He'd better slow down! Didn't want to suffer a burn out on his first day of training. Wombat pulled himself off the exercise bike and slumped to the floor where he lay panting, trying to catch his breath. Maybe he could enter a different 'Tour'. There must be smaller countries than France to ride around....

The Finger of Death...

Wombat woke to the sun streaming through the window and landing on his face. "Humph... stupid sun..." He looked at the clock and thought...Oh.. fair enough... Mentally apologising to the sun. It was 12.30 pm after all. He stretched his paws out to their fullest extent and thought ...I suppose I'd better get up... Not one to rush things, Wombat finally dragged himself out of bed at 2.05 pm.

He lumbered down the stairs and - after eating a few chocolate bars to keep his energy levels up - Wombat decided he'd better do some gardening. Squinting at the clear sky as he opened the back door, Wombat had a bad feeling about all the physical exertion he was planning to do. It couldn't be good for him...

He grabbed the gardening gloves off the table and eased them onto his paws. (It's not easy for a wombat to find gardening gloves that fit on account of their paw shape.) One claw in, two, three, ... something was wrong with four... The claw didn't seem to go down as far at the others. Wombat pushed a little harder. He felt a slight 'pop' and something moved... Wombat pulled the glove off his paw as fast as he could and flung it down on the table. Out of the glove limped a large, black, furry spider... Wombat screamed his girly scream and watched the spider drag itself down into a crack in the table.

White faced, Wombat stared at the glove, then at the place where the spider had disappeared. It could have bitten him! He could have been lying dead right now - or at least in excruciating agony!!! (Assuming the spider was poisonous.) He stood there until his heartbeat returned to normal.

Shaking his head Wombat retreated back into the cosy warmth of his home, consoling himself with the fact that at least it hadn't been an ant. With spiders they come in ones or twos.. with ants they come in millions...