Paddington Takes the Air. Michael Bond

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      After drawing his bedroom curtains to be on the safe side, Paddington held the remaining leg up to his bedside light and peered at it uneasily. Now that matters had finally come to a head he rather wished he’d sorted through the pile and picked on something other than the trousers from Mr Curry’s best navy-blue pinstripe suit to practise on.

      On the other hand, when he looked at some of his efforts a little later on he began to wonder if perhaps his first choice hadn’t been the best one after all. At least the two halves had come apart cleanly, which was more than could be said for some of the older pairs of trousers.

      But it was when he tried sewing some of the halves together again that his troubles really started. It was much more difficult than he had expected. In the past most of the material he’d used had been thin and easy to work, whereas Mr Curry’s trousers seemed unusually thick. There were so many folds in his waistbands he soon lost count of them, and the handle of the machine became very hard to turn. In desperation, Paddington tried jamming it in one of his dressing table drawers and turning the machine itself, but the only result of that was an ominous ‘ping’ as the needle snapped.

      It was all most disappointing. After working away as hard as he could, with barely a pause for a marmalade sandwich at lunch, Paddington had to admit that the results fell somewhat short of even his own expectations, and he shuddered to think how far short they would be of Mr Curry’s.