Dickens, Beaudelaire and Ponies: A Readers Digest.

Katherine is packing.

Olive Python is watching.

What does she need so many things for? And some of them are wrapped in pretty paper.

Tch! Tch! says Katherine. I'm already up to my seven kilos. How much do you weigh, Olive dear?

Depends, says Olive Python. On what I've eaten.

Of course it does, says Katherine. I won't give you anything to eat until we get to Blaxland.

This may turn out to be a very bad idea.

.........

David is driving Katherine to the airport.

I do wish you were coming David, dear, says Katherine. The children would love to see you.

What a shame I can't, says David, blandly. Do wish Butterfly a happy birthday from Uncle David. By the way, here's a little present for her. I trust you have some room in that huge handbag?

Hmm, says Katherine. How heavy is it?

David produces a hefty book of classic stories about ponies.

Katherine does a mental calculation.

All right dear, says Katherine. Don't say I'm not obliging. But I shall have to ditch my library book.

I could pop it in the post, says David.

No, no, says Katherine. Your book can go in here with Olive Python. But would you mind dropping The Pickwick Papers back at home.

You're reading Dickens! says David. Ha ha! How old fashioned.

It's not old fashioned, says Katherine. It's very funny. And there is the added interest of the social history. Here it is. Perhaps you might enjoy it. There are characters in it that remind me uncannily of you.

David is piqued by this suggestion. He grabs The Pickwick Papers from his mother, and shoves it in his empty glove box, hardly noticing that it's a little damp.

I don't know what I'll read now, sighs Katherine. I have no interest in ponies. Do you have anything else on you, by any chance? A slim volume....?

Do you know, says David, I think I may have something Vello gave me. I started it, but found it incomprehensible. I wonder if it's on the back seat there.....?

He turns his head to look.

David! Be careful! cries Katherine. I shall look. Oh, is this it?  Paris Spleen, by Beaudelaire? What a lovely title. May I borrow it?

With pleasure mother, says David. But don't expect to like it.

Katherine drops the slim volume into her giant floral handbag, on top of Olive Python, and the pony book.

Olive Python stops chewing. What's this? Yum. Beaudelaire.