For three days and three nights it had done nothing but rain… The sky had been washed away, the sea had vanished into the dense Scotch mist, the land had turned into a grey and green saturated sponge, and the hills were slipping down in sheets of horrible, slithery mud and stones, onto the lower ground.

Of course it had rained on most days of the year so far, but not usually with quite so much dogged determination – and this was supposed to be the height of summer, after all… Algy knew that there was no point looking for somewhere dry to perch, as there was not a dry spot left in the world, so far as he could see. So he plonked himself down disconsolately on the sodden grass, and watched as the puddles grew bigger and bigger and bigger…


It was a damp, dull February day, and the world felt like a massive ball of lead – or maybe it was just Algy that felt leaden… He perched in a bush at the edge of the peat bog and stared listlessly at the pools below. All the colour in the landscape seemed to have drained away into the water, which appeared to be flickering with a strange light … or was it just his imagination?

The bog was certainly an odd place, and it was prudent to treat it with a great deal of respect. From the edge it looked harmless enough, but Algy knew that it could suck you down into its unseen depths, and hold on to you so tightly that you would never emerge again. Even from his perch he could hear the unique, slurpy, gurgling noises that it made. The sound was disconcerting, but Algy understood that providing you maintained a safe distance, the bog was really a wonderful thing. It could rain and rain and rain and rain, day after day, and the peat bog mysteriously absorbed it all, and drained the water away. Algy thought sadly of his unfortunate friends in southern England, who were facing terrible flooding in this exceptionally wet winter. If only they had a peat bog like this one!