By Alan Harris

Tunce upon a wyme there was a gung yirl called Rindersella. She lived in a call smottage with two sisty uglers who were mool and crean and made her do all the wouse hirk.

Dun way, the Ling of the canned decided to bold a hall so that his son, the pransome hince, could bruise a chide. All the nirls in the gaybourhood were invited - except Rindersella because she had wothing to nair. The bite of the nall came and the sisty uglers ounced flout, leaving poor Rindersella sitting on a stitchen cool with ears in her ties!

Dussenly, along came the gairy fodmother.

"Prot's your woblem?" she asked.

"They're bolding a hall," sobbed Rindersella, "but I can't go cos I've got wuthing to nair." "Won't durry," said the fodmother, "go and get me mix white sice, and a gumpkin from the pardon. "

Rindersella found the sice and the gumpkin and the gairy fodmother waved her wagic mond and changed the mix white sice into hix white sauces and the gumpkin into a cagestoach. "But I've still got wothing to nair," ride Crindersella. "Won't durry" said the gairy fodmother and she waved her wagic mond again and changed Rindersella's rags (and you can't change that around) into a rootiful bobe. "Now off you go. Have a tunderful wime," said the fodmother, "but fon't dorget, you must be mome by hidnight. "

So Rindersella bent to the wall and was the most gootiful birl there, and the pransome hince danced every dance with her. But, dussenly the mock cluck stridnight, and she stan rown the deps, unfortunately leaving one of her slass glippers behind. The pransome hince picked it up and said: "I will kurch the singdom for the dirl of my greems. Whoever foot fits (and you can't change that around either), I will marry. "

So he went round all the nouses in the haybourhood, but without any luck. Finally he came to the call smottage where Rindersella lived. He slied the tripper on one sisty ugler, but her feet were smoo tall; he tried it on the other, but her feet were boo tig. But of course, it fitted Rindersella perfectly and so they were harried and mived lappily ever after.

And the moral of this story is: never give up. Japolean and Nosephine never gave up; Rindersella never gave up. Oliver Twiddledee, who's he? You don't know 'cos he gave up!