A Room of His Own

Baby Pierre jumped into Margaret's carry-on bag. Just like that. He had no need of luggage.

Don't forget to take something to read! called Aunty Kobo, from the window sill.

Too late.

Baby Pierre looked around. A violet light shone through the canvas sides of the bag, on which he could just make out, back to front, the printed words A Room Of One's Own.

A room of my own, said Baby Pierre. Lucky me. Now what's in the room?

There were two bananas in the room.

Hi! said Baby Pierre. I'm Baby Pierre. Are you going to France?

Pfff! said the first banana. We'll be lucky if we get on the plane.

Yeah, said the second banana. We reckon we're lunch.

Sorry for asking, said Baby Pierre.

That's alright, said the first banana.

We can see you're not part of the food chain, added the second.

Are you fond of reading? asked the first banana.

Yes and no, said Baby Pierre.

I heard someone saying that you should take something to read, said the first banana.

That was Kobo, said Baby Pierre. She'll be cross that I didn't. I should have grabbed something to read on the plane.

Then you're in luck, said the first banana. There are three books in here.

Great, said Baby Pierre, but with no great enthusiasm.

He looked at the books.

300 Fiendish Sudoku Puzzles, he read. Kobo wouldn't like that. A blank diary. Can't read that. And Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, by James Joyce. Cool, that's for me!

He opened the book. Once upon a time there was a moo cow coming down along the road......and he met a nice little boy and the name of the little boy was baby tuckoo....

Wow, said Baby Pierre. I thought James Joyce was supposed to be hard.