Jed and the beanstalk

I was woken early one morning by a hammering on my back door.

 

‘Who on earth could that be?’ I wondered, as I quickly dressed and rushed downstairs.

 

It was Alun, my neighbour, the only other resident of Happy Island.

 

“It’s eggs, Jed.”

 

“Eggs?” I said.

 

“Yes Jed, 50,000 eggs.”

 

“50,000 eggs? What are you on about?”

 

“It’s the EU egg mountain, Jed, they’ve dumped 50,000 eggs on us as part of the egg mountain dispersal scheme.”

 

“I thought we’d left the EU.”

 

“Not yet, Jed. The mainland government has spent the last six months issuing contradictory press releases from rival ministers, we’re in exactly the same position as we were six months ago. We might never leave at this rate.”

 

“What on earth are we going to with 50,000 eggs. There are only two of us on the island.”

 

“I thought I might bake a cake Jed. And possibly do an omelette.”

 

“But that still leaves …”

 

“50,000 eggs Jed, I was being sarcastic. And it’s not just the eggs, we’ve also got a hundred sacks of beans.”

 

“Beans. What are we going to do with a hundred sacks of beans?”

 

“Throw them away Jed. Neither of us likes beans. I’ll dig a big hole and bury them.”

 

The next few days passed in what can only be described as an eggy blur. We had scrambled eggs for breakfast, boiled eggs for lunch, omelette for dinner and egg noodles for that other meal we have that doesn’t really correspond with a mainland equivalent. I even dreamt about eggs.

 

So I was in a somewhat blurred and confused state when I was woken one morning by a hammering on my back door.

 

“It’s the beans, Jed,” he said. “They’ve grown into a giant beanstalk.”

 

“Are you sure?” I said. It seemed unlikely.

 

“Yes Jed, you can see it from here, a great stalk of green leading all the way to the clouds.”

Alun was right, I could see it from my back door, a great stalk of green leading all the way to the clouds.

 

“We should cut it down,” I said, I’m merciless with weeds. 

 

“Don’t be silly Jed, we should climb it.”

 

“Climb it? Why?”

 

“Because it’s there, Jed. We could be the first people alive to reach the top of the beanstalk and see what’s in the clouds.”

 

“Well, we might be the first to climb the beanstalk, but we’ll hardly be the first to reach the clouds, planes fly through them every day.”

 

“Not that cloud Jed, that’s the cloud all the planes mysteriously go round. It’s as if there’s something up there that the planes are deliberately avoiding.”

 

“Now you mention it, it is a bit strange that that cloud never moves. It would be interesting to take a look and see what’s there.”

 

After I’d done my morning ablutions and packed a sandwich lunch for two, we set off up the beanstalk. It was a long, slow climb, but luckily both Alun and myself are experienced climbers, and before too long we’d reached the top.

 

“This isn’t a normal cloud, Jed,” Alun said. “It’s like a kingdom in the clouds, the floor’s solid, and look over there, a giant palace.”

 

“You don’t think it’s heaven do you?” I said, “Only I’m wearing the wrong trousers for heaven. I wouldn’t want god to see me in these.”

 

“Are there giant chickens in heaven?” Alun said.

 

This was the sort of question that my theology teacher always confused me with. “The bible doesn’t mention giant chickens,” I said tentatively, “But then again it doesn’t explicitly say there aren’t giant chickens in heaven.”

 

“What I mean, Jed, is that there are some giant chickens over there. We should take a look.”

 

“Haven’t you had enough eggs?”

 

“These aren’t normal eggs, Jed, they’re made of solid gold.”

 

“Are you sure?” I said, laying golden eggs seemed an unlikely reproductive system.

 

“Yes Jed, I know a giant golden egg when I see one.”

 

However, our conversation was interrupted by what I can only described as the bellowing of a giant.

 

“Fee, fi, fo, fum, I smell the blood of a mainlander.”

 

At this point the giant appeared, a huge, towering hulk of a figure who was clearly neither god nor angel.

 

“It’s a giant,” said Alun. Alun has a degree in stating the obvious from the off-mainland university.

 

“Be he alive, or be he dead, I’ll grind the mainlander’s bones to make my bread.”

 

Too late we tried to hide, but we’d already been seen. The giant reached down with his enormous arm, grabbed the two of us in his enormous hand and raised us up towards his mouth.

 

“We’re not mainlanders,” Alun shouted, as loudly as he could. “We’re off-mainlanders.”

 

“Oh, are you,” said the giant, “So am I. I guess I can’t eat you then, as it’s mainlanders I hate. That’s a pity, I was rather looking forward to eating a couple of mainlanders. There isn’t much meat up here, so I’ve had to become vegetarian. I used to have eggs, but recently the chickens have started laying golden eggs.”

 

“Have you thought about using the gold to buy real eggs,” Alun suggested.

 

“Oh no, I won’t trade with mainlanders, they annoy me terribly. Frankly I’d rather go hungry.”

 

“You could trade with us,” Alun said.  “We have some eggs we could sell you.”

 

“But I’d need thousands of your little human-sized eggs to feed me up. I am a giant you know.”

 

“It just so happens …,” said Alun, which is why Happy Island now has the largest hoard of giant golden eggs in the known universe and why Alun and myself are now outspoken campaigners to remain part of the EU. We’ve even threated to leave the mainland if we have to. It’s the only way to ensure we have a steady supply of a ludicrous amount of eggs. Mind you, we’re running out of places to bury the beans.