Custard

“I am an elephant,” said the fugitive, and he was.  This had not gone unnoticed but none of us had felt the need to say it as he was quite clearly an elephant – tusks, trunk, rough grey flank, big ears – yup, he was an elephant all right.  “I am an elephant,” he said again, “we traditionally hide in custard.”

We had just enough to hide him in and when the police broke down the door and searched the house they did not seem to find anything suspicious in the unusually vast amount of custard we had, it being a Sunday.

Mum had made a treacle sponge to go with it, but of course the custard was no good to anyone now.

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