Here’s my blogging friend, Kate Shrewsday. She writes fascinating articles linking weird stuff like toilets and ice cream (she may not have done that one, but it’s the kind of thing she would do).
She has the chance to go for a Britain-wide walk with her kids and dog but she needs your votes to do it.
Please take a moment to read the post and click the link to vote for her.
I promise NOT to eat a Malteser for every vote you cast (I’m on a diet and I need the motivation).
Let’s just, for a moment, overlook the fact that Grandpa, in that classic first make of Roald Dahl’s Charlie and The Chocolate Factory, is not the one who has won the golden ticket.
In fact, the ticket winner is little Charlie. Cheer-up Charlie. Charlie, against whom the odds were stacked so high they must surely have crushed him. Charlie, who stood for honest-to-goodness integrity in the face of gluttony, avarice and greed. Whilst others got their parents and promoters to spend outrageous sums for the one thing they could not have automatically, Charlie relied on fate to bring the golden ticket to him.
But we all join Grandpa in being elated. In incredulity that finally, just perhaps, the tide of unfortunate events might be about to change.
And of course, for Grandpa, and for Charlie, life was about to alter forever.
This does not happen in real life.
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