“How on earth did that get there?”
“Whose is it?”
“Can I go on it?”
As a village they were so proud of their village pond. It was more of a lake really, and led to them getting occasional bus trips to the village that overwhelmed the bordering-on-poky tearoom.
And now it had a ship in it.
And not just any ship. A pirate ship, the flag jagged and dark against the bright blue sky.
“Should we call the police?”
The local journalist, who was also the butcher, snapped a photo.
A gangplank suddenly lowered from a window.
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